The beast wasted no time in avenging itself on its tormentors, massive head lunging down and snapping a neck between its beak as if it was nothing. It was just a bigger rabbit, wrapped up in stinking hide and hair. But the griffin had no time to turn its kill into a meal; all around were [i]more[/i] of its gaolers. Some even remained unbowed despite its display, and the intelligence behind its avian eyes looked at them calculatingly for only a second before defining the knights:

[i]Challengers.[/i]

The griffin reared back defiantly, height on full display; far larger than either of the parts it resembled. Larger than a lion. [i]Much[/i] larger than an eagle. Only the mightiest of warhorses would have equalled it, and rearing back in the magical firelight, it was an intimidating sight. Once again, the animal let loose a cry--not a screech of frustration, but a piercing cry of challenge, a single deafening call audible throughout the camp--if not for miles around, enough to spook the horses the knights had brought with them.

The massive wings beat heavily, demanding that all before it kneel, that Lein and Serenity lower their necks in submission and accept their fate. A gust of wind strong enough to send the unaware tumbling; a gale made entirely of muscle and sinew.

[@PigeonOfAstora] [@ERode]

[hr]

[h2]Tyaethe Radistirin[/h2]

The paladin winced as the massive tree came down. Was this entire camp set up as a trap to separate the captain--no, that wouldn't make sense; even Jeremiah would know that it wouldn't save [i]him[/i]. There had to have been something else intended for that, to start with; the tree must have been for equalising the battle somehow. This was just opportunism. At least they knew where the so-called Bandit-King was, and [i]her[/i] group had its orders: get to the captain and reinforce her. 

Of course, that meant she had to pull more of the attention to herself and force the veterans to stay on her. 

"So, you must have been important once. Now look at you, a bandit," she taunted, pushing away the first axe blow. If they [i]weren't[/i] important, were just some peasant levy or low-ranking man-at-arms, then there would be no reason to have gone on the run. They'd [i]gotten[/i] the traitor, hunted down the ringleaders--massacring the soldiery wasn't practical or necessary. "For a few minutes."

When the second heavy axe swing came down, Tyaethe adopted for the radically impractical tactic of stepping into it--not enough to stop the blow, or even deflect it. Enough to stop the axe from getting an angle to go clean through her armour, but the arm beneath was surely broken all the same, having been taken with so little resistance. Useless for swinging the sword now clenched in that fist. That was fine, it would heal soon enough, and she could still push forward.

Against humans, against trained warriors--always push forward, always attack. That was Tyaethe's style. Injury was just a nuisance to be accepted; defence a frivolity that drew out the battle. Here, then, the bandit was expecting a normal response to injury--panic, defence, some form of backing off. Instead, the paladin's paces quickened, and her [i]good[/i], left hand slugged them in the face, dropping back to the blade's ricasso, pulling the weapon up tightly to once try and gut this one like a fish.

With her rapid advance, and proximity to their ally, Tyaethe wasn't worried about the spear strike--not immediately, the first blow glancing off the armour. They'd try something worse next time, she needed to deal with the axe-wielder fast or at least keep them off-balance. Fighting on multiple fronts was [i]annoying.[/i]