[GM Post]

[b][color=ed1c24]"Hmm?"[/color][/b]

The only reaction that registered the blow was a slightly surprised grunt, Ragnar's leg sliding an inch forward but that's it. The following slice produced more result, slicing into flesh yet nowhere as deep as it should. An angry red line was left, none of the blood escaping the wound. The northener himself didn't seems to be bothered at all as he recognize Cedar's ursine form, even as he's tackled with the full momentum of a bear.

That one showed more effect, Ragnar's displaced bulk slamming to the table with dull thud. The table violently slid a bit from the impact, waking the two sleepyhead with startled "huh?".

Then the arrow struck, its glimmering tips punctured through the brute's neck. Another arrow from Veronica followed, right into the eye, but with a shake of the head it missed the soft target and scored a light scratch on the forehead instead. Yet despite the supposedly fatal blow, Ragnar laughed uproariously as he let his axe go, reached, heaved, and tossed Cedar on to the armored newcomer running on top of the long table.

[b][color=ed1c24]"Gahahaha! Not enough! Not in number, not in strength! More! Ragnar shall take you all!"[/color][/b]

The northener reached down to grab his axe when Yvonne's figure bolted from the false wall, swinging the mace low through the legs with the full force of her inner strength. A meaty thud and dull snap echoed, followed by a much louder crack of the weapon's handle breaking in half. Still tapping into her strength, the mercenary kicked Ragnar back to the stairway he came from where he collapsed - and promptly get back up, no apparent discomfort despite one shin quite obviously broken inward.

[b][color=ed1c24]"Huh, what? Oh! Mad Blade! Here for a rematch, ain't you?!"[/color][/b]

[b][color=#a4161a]"Piss off, you motherfucker."[/color][/b] Yvonne rolled her eyes, grabbing the axe to slide it off all the way to the other side of the room.

Unhurried footsteps from the stairs. An old man with slick, white hair and even slicker, whiter beards came into view, his entire attire practically screaming "pompous wizard". Formal, double-breasted frock coat the color of burgundy with silken lapel, trouser of the same shade, cashmere waistcoat, immaculately shined leather boots, and a fancy purple cloak to top it off. He carried an ebony walking stick, the handle studded with various gems with more adorning the fingers in the form of various rings. Clear grey eyes surveyed the room, an illusory monocle hovering over the right side as he focused his attention on Ragnar.

[b][color=#778da9]"Downed already, Ragnar? I thought you northeners tougher than that."[/color][/b]

Behind him more footsteps echoed, coming closer and closer to the room. Sounds like mundane reinforcement, but even the strongest can still be overwhelmed with sheer number.