[center][color=#008b8b][h2]Fionn MacKerracher[/h2][/color][/center]
[hr][@VitaVitaAR] [@HereComesTheSnow]
[hr]
The bandit at Fionn's feet gurgled for a moment in response, blood pooling around the haft of his axe where he'd planted the butt of it through the brigand's throat. He withdrew it with a jerk, shaking off some of the blood, as the ringing in his ear subsided and the rest of the battle's din came into sharper focus. Not only the roars of combatants, the noise of metal on metal, or the screams of the dying...but the crackling fire growing louder than it should have, and the unmistakable, rhythmic impact of metal on [i]wood.[/i]

Fionn halted in his advance, stepping back slightly as he turned to where the noise was coming from.

[i]"Look out!"[/i]

Fionn reacted purely on instinct, grabbing out at whoever was nearest him, bandit or knight, with a diving tackle away from where they'd previously stood. In the breath after, a thick, gnarled limb landed in the vacated space, crushing those too slow or unlucky to avoid it. Those who weren't killed outright soon let loose their own screams as their clothing and flesh began to burn and char, Fionn scrambling back to his feet before either flame or foe could try to lick at him.

A hand caught at his ankle; he glanced down, and saw that the one he'd saved was a bandit. Not only that, they were already digging out a dagger to try and stab at his legs with. With a disgusted growl, he kicked their helmet, stunning them long enough to remove their head with a lazy swipe of the bardiche. He glanced back up, looking through the flames back to where Fanilly had been.

[color=#008b8b][i]Surely she wasn't crushed...?[/i][/color]

Scanning across the field of those who were shocked, stunned, or only just rising from their mad dash out of the way, his eyes settled on Fanilly and Rickert, before an unbelievably massive blade cleaved the latter apart. The flame rose up, forcing him back and his vision away as he grit his teeth, just as he heard the bandit king's grandiose self-introduction.

[color=#008b8b][i]The Terror of the Red Flag.[/i][/color] There was no time for relief that Fanilly had avoided the falling tree, not when she was faced by a man that even the Band of the Red Hands whispered about in a mix of awe and fear. He turned on the ball of his foot, swinging his purloined weapon wildly to clear a path back to his allies from where he'd lept. [color=#008b8b][i][b]"Gerard!"[/b][/i][/color] he barked, knocking aside another bandit. [color=#008b8b]"Where are yo—"[/color]

[color=goldenrod][b][i]"FIIIIOOOOOOOOOONNNNNN!"[/i][/b][/color]

More relief. A bandit ahead of him fell to the side from a shoulder tackle, giving way to Gerard's blood-splattered half-plate. He nodded once, falling in behind his comrade as they charged, lifting the blade above his head and [url=https://youtu.be/9LUORQtK0lg?t=28]spinning[/url] it in a wide circle. Momentum quickly took over from the initial effort needed to get it started, his hands just guiding it along as he followed behind Gerard, any mercenaries seeking to cut in between the pair or off to either side shying back instantly.

To their credit, none of them were foolish enough to try and rush in against such a weapon. Even with heavier armour the weight of the axe's head alone, coupled with its momentum, would be enough to shatter bones and cripple anybody who tried to stop their advance. Once they came close enough, though, he split off to one side; where Gerard used an axe as a step to vault over the tree, Fionn rushed up, planting the butt spike of the bardiche into the bark and pole vaulting over it with the weapon, wrenching it out once he was guaranteed to sail over.

The flames caught at his cloak, which he tore off the moment he landed, revealing the glistening mail beneath, as of yet unrent by any blade. With luck, that might hold true to the end of the battle. Behind, he heard the piercing screech of the loosed griffin, as it joined the frey as well; but where it had been the center of his focus before, that had now shifted entirely to the bare-chested brute that harried his captain. At a flash of movement to his right he swung out once more, the flat of his bardiche connecting with the helmeted head of one of the bandits that had managed to wind up on Jeremiah's side of the tree; the man fell in a clatter of ill-fitting stolen armour, sprawling senseless against the ground.

Unharried for the moment, Fionn cast his gaze about the sparser side of the battle, ignoring the bandits and knights engaged with each other as he sought out his targets. His feet started moving the instant he saw the hulking warrior engaged with their diminutive leader, and faster when he recognized the corpse a few paces away. The look in his eyes and face as he advanced was like that of a man possessed, an open threat to anybody foolhardy enough to get between him and Jeremiah, even as his broad chest heaved with a roar:

[i][b][color=#008b8b]"BUAIDH NO BÀS!"[/color][/b][/i]