[@ERode][@AThousandCurses][@Psyker Landshark]

[b][h3]NORTHERN NERO ROAD[/h3][/b]

Ferg frowned as he observed Chunji's intervention. Looking upon the vines that began to take in his sword's essence and the blood splattered upon him, a click of the tongue escaped him as he locked eyes with the boy. "I would have avoided that course of action, dabbling in things you know nothing of so wholeheartedly," he would spit. The vines latched onto the sword would pulse rhythmically as if they were beating hearts, and the shimmer of green cloaking the blade would pulse in time with them. "On common rabble, it would have worked, though."

As if on cue, the vines would rot away and the blood would seem to boil away into steam, seemingly overloaded with essence, or otherwise exposed to something unfathomably vile beyond the scope of conventional sapping. A brief glint of green passed across Ferg's eyes, his pupils turning emerald for a split second - and with a smile, he stepped in and began to bring his sword down towards Chunji. Alto stepped forward to intercept, but it was clear he wouldn't be fast enough before Ferg's assault would begin; the bandit was intending on going for the kill.

It was then that he gazed towards his peripheral upon hearing the intense beating of hooves and, more importantly, the crack of gunfire. For the first time, the man's eyes widened, mouth agape with a head-on assault-by-wagon speeding forward. There was no time, and self-preservation kicked in - Ferg stepped backwards and quickly sheathed his sword as the wagon hit its mark. "Holy fu-"

[b]CRASH.[/b]

The skeletal menace caved under the impact, falling downwards in the direction of the melee as jagged bits of sharpened bone also descended as rain onto the battlefield. The seconds to follow were absolute chaos - Alto had tackled Chunji out of the way the best he could, Rio was tackled for cover by Iraleth, and all but Michael had evacuated the blue carriage; who was now soaring through the air alongside Otis, screaming and cussing in terror as if this had been enough to finally waken him. 

Dust had kicked up into a cloud over the area, obscuring it for the next half-minute as people scrambled and damage was assessed. At the end of this time, as the dust settled and the surrounding area had become visible once more, Ferg and Kirn could be seen further away from the impact zone on the other side, idling inside a circle pattern drawn in the dirt. Ferg was on one knee, one hand in the middle of the circle and one firmly gripping his sheathed swordstaff. He appeared to have scratches across his face, arms and clothes, but was otherwise stable. Kirn, in contrast, had a bone spear impaled through his working leg, a skull buried partially in his gut, and his left arm bent at an angle not meant for living things - clearly in such pain that he had lost the ability to even scream out, in a state of pain-induced shock as he idled there on his knees. Each had a Personal Barrier raised, though Kirn's flickered off and on like a dying lightbulb.

"An unfortunate turn. Perhaps more drastic measures should be taken for next time. And better help," he would scoff as his palm pressed firmly upon the center of the dirt circle. All at once the pattern would seem to spark, and a second later, the two within were gone. All that was left was the sobering silence of damage assessment and regrouping after a life-threatening battle.