Warhammer

Damien was a little pissed off now at Bjorn. The fact that the Norseman attacked an injured man and others in a sanctioned tournament was beyond cowardly. Here he thought the barbarian was an actual warrior but apparently not. Now the Duke wanted to ride after Bjorn with all the knights. Damien was on his large horse at the moment with his armor on. It was great except for an unnoticably small dent on the side-forehead of his helmet that he gained from his fight with Rupert.

Damien led his horse closer to the Duke who was on the ground for the moment. "Rupert was a honorable knight. I have only one question for you though. When we find Bjorn and we will, what do you want us to do if he does not come obedientely?" He asked. Damien knew the answer would most likely be to kill Bjorn but sometimes there were more unique orders that were given for capture. Bryon probably knew what he was asking too. If the Duke had any of those strange strategies than Damien would obey them without complaint.

Keren stroked the large dark green neck of the water horse as he whinnied. The creature hated other horse breeds with a passion that was reserved for the battlefield. Which is why she was one of the first on the front line. Flog'eros refused to let any enemy horse live without a injury, often rearing up and slamming his hoofs into the other horse's muzzle. "Shh... Calm, large one. We will fight soon..." She whispered to her partner, his ears flicking back to hear her.

Nerippos were intelligent animals, often following through long and complicated commands with ease. They imprint on one person only and will protect their owners, even if they're dead. It was often that a rider and Nerippos died together in battle, back to back almost. Keren just ran her hand through the horse's mane, her fingers slipping though the plaited hair before she nudged him a bit faster, so she was near the Duke but not crowding the poor man. She looked at her gloved hand before moving both back to the pommel, seeing as Flog'eros could keep up without guidance. The horse understood and kept a steady pace, his head shaking as he whinnied again. He snorted and broke his stride some, more uncomfortable with the other horses.

Cralix made no attempt at advancing to the front of the column. He had no desire to fight a man he didn't know. His crimes were uncertain. Yet all of these "honourable" knights were intent on hunting down and slaughtering the barbarian. They rode with intent, with bloodlust in the gleam of their eyes. He would fall to the back of the column, spurring his horse forth to keep pace with a knight that also kept back. His voice would be muffled by the mask and under the shroud of hoove beats on the dirt path. It would be audible, nonetheless.

"What exactly did this barbarian do?" He'd smile appreciating the tense and unsettled knight. It was somewhat clear he felt uneasy about chasing the barbarian down. A good man by the looks of him. The knight would open his mouth to speak, then hesitate a moment, fiddling with the reigns of his horse. His eyes flicked from Cralix to the rest of the knights before him.

"They say he killed a great deal of squires and then chopped poor Ser Rupert's hand clean off." The man would exclaim, his voice breaking in the middle of the pushed sentence. This explained his nervous bout. Lady of the Lake watch over him, if we were to see combat. It was sad to see men experienced in combat weak in the face of challenges that may seem particularly dangerous. I had heard of a Norscan that had killed a troll, a goblin army, and a skraven army in the same day. Perhaps it was the same fellow we were chasing now.

Cralix better understood the situation, spurring his horse forth, farther into the column.

The great Norse Roc Eagle swooped in low and landed on Bjorns shoulder as the Jarl rode at the head of his column of riders, putting its beak near the Barbarians ear, it cawed and squawked in its own savage tongue.

Bjorn nodded,

"It seems the Sothling Duke is followin' us already,"
The Jarl called aloud to the rest of his Warriors,
This revelation was met by a gale of mocking laughter from the Huscarls, showing exactly what they thought of Bretonnian Law.

"Seems he thinks tae bring us to account fer out 'Crimes.'

Bjorn continued to another chorus of jeers and curses.

"Puny little Southling!"
Growled Thorrin, one of the large Norse Warriors,
"I say we take his head, teach the little man some respect!"

"Aye, I'll geld him myself, an' that Grail Knight too!"
Put in Olric, stroking the broad head of his axe as he did so.

Bjorn grinned, raising a gauntleted hand as he spoke,
"Aye, we'll pull up beyond the next ridge and wait fer him, If he has the sense to stop an' hear the truth about Ruperts Assassins an' our own... Treacherous Kinsman then we may let him leave with his head."

A loud cheer went up from the Norse Warriors, weapons flashing from sheath's and shields being unslung as they crested the ridge, taking advantage of the high ground over the plains below to await the Duke and his men...

Luxa
Luxa was near the front of the formation even though her father had told her to be careful. She was like him in many ways, but careful was not part of her vocabulary. Her hose was nothing special, a shade of brown with a black tail, Luxa hadn't named it and didn't plan on naming it. She would fight in the dirt and mud with her soldiers when it came down to real warfare, but this was a manhunt.

She held no grudge towards Bjorn for besting her in the tourney and she would not be quick to send her lance through the man's heart.Maybe Bjorn would even kill the Duke, now that would be wonderful Luxa thought to herself.

Henry de Hemillion

Henry had arrived at the rally point, armed with his spear and sword. Other knights had had the time to put on their armor and retrive their lances, unfortunately Henry didn't have as much time to spare and instead found himself a good spot, not too close to the front as he knew he held neither rank nor honor to be in such a position.

"... He cut sir Rupert's sword arm off. One stroke and now he's a cripple!" Henry heard a knight say. "The savage even had time to kill four squires and beat a fifth to pulps!"
"What knight would do such a dishonorable thing?" Henry asked, turning around on his horse.
"Sir Bjorn Steelheart, his heraldry is a Dragon headed Norse Longship on a stormy sea," the knight responded.
"What form of noble Bretonnian takes such a heraldry?" Henry replied, confused by the description.
"He's a Norse made knight by deeds." That comment made a few knights grumble in dislike, Henry being one of them.
"Would explain his sense of honor. Killing another knight's property and then cleaving his sword arm straight off. He ought to hang!" Henry said, though lowering his voice as he didn't wish to insult the Duke's decision.

"We ride!" the Duke called, followed by the sound of hooves riding.
"Lets catch the bastard!" Henry declared, lifting his spear up, followed by a few 'Aye's in return. From what Henry had learned, this 'Bjorn' seemed just as savage as any other Norseman. He didn't deserve to have such a title, or even lands. I will spear that peasant. See him punished for attacking his betters, Henry thought as he kicked his horse in the sides, accelerating to a run along with the other knights.

The Duke would not go so far as to say Rupert was honorable if anything he saw at the hall suggested anything it was that he was coward easily frightened, but he was a knight nonetheless, a knight that was at an event in his lands. It was his duty to ensure the safety of his guest, and for someone to disrespect himself and the customs of bretonnia in such a way was unforgivable. There was no excuses for such actions. "Comes obediently? You assume I would allow him the chance to surrender." Duke Byron said easily to the knight. He was not quite sure yet as to what he wished to do. He could kill him in the field, bring him back for a public execution, or leave him to rot in a dungeon somewhere.

A public execution would most likely be best, it helped to remind the peasants of their place. If a knight's life could be forfeited so easily, it would leave little doubt about their own. "Alive if possible. I want him made into an example of what dishonor brings. No knight is above such things." He said, "But should he die, I will not weep his loss." the Duke finished. He had little doubt that the instructions would get passed along in short order. The young knights, the Knight Errants of which many were only 14-15 were nervous, he was an old enough campaigner to know that without needing to look. Most of the Knight of the Realms would not be as this was just another skirmish that will end in the slaughter of dirty Norsemen. The Questing knights would especially have no qualms. Fighting was their life since they took the Questing Vow, and then there was Tristan. He had spotted the Grail knight on his ride out, and was glad he joined.

As a Grail Knight, he was not sworn to Byron's service, and the Duke was not quite sure why he had come, but his presence would calm the younger knights who were nervous, and calm the more impetuous young knights as well.

"Sir Tristan." The Duke said not looking back, but he did not need to as the answer came immediately, "Yes?" Tristan inquired, "You are in command until my return." The duke patted Ajax's flank, and he galloped ahead before shooting out his mighty wings and beat them once sending both the duke and the pegasus soaring into the air. The rush of air against his face was the same as ever, yet it was never something one grew tired of.

Using Ajax, he covered the ground rapidly, and left the others behind as he scanned the grounds below for the barbarian and his ruffians. The Duke urged Ajax on, and they flew in a great circle examining the land from different angles, and then he spotted them. In truth it was not so hard as 10 horses tend to stand out. Perched on top of a cliff they waited, he guess that somehow the barbarian knew they were coming already as his men were not dismounted and breaking camp, but instead already mounted. Such things only cemented the barbarians guilt in his mind.

Turning his mount, he flew back to the column of knights and let Ajax take him in for a landing ending with a soft trot to meet the knights before Ajax returned to his quick trot to return themselves to the front, "The barbarian seeks to ambush us! Should they attack, kill all his men! But leave the barbarian alive! He will get to watch his men die, such is the crime of treachery!"

Bjorn tilted his head skywards, observing the sight of the distant, circling Pegasus,

"Well lads, looks like Justice has arrived."

Another gale of derogatory laughter echoed from the Northmen as axes were banged against shields and war cries bellowed into the cool afternoon air.

Bjorn Steelheart watched the winged steed do a final circle before wheeling off back in the direction they had come.
He was not yet sure what he wished to do with the Southling, kill him in the field, drag him back to the keep for a public execution or simply take his sword hand and leave him to rot in a ditch somewhere...

"The Southing Lord knows we're here,"
Thorrin grunted at The Jarls side.

Bjorn shrugged,
"If the fool seeks to inflict his petty Southern Laws upon us to protect that Murdering piece of Squig shit, Rupert, then he deserves a bloody an' humiliating death."

Br'nard, sitting to The Steelhearts right, leaned forward over the Pommel of his saddle,
"What are yer orders, Jarl?"

Bjron frowned,
"Should they attack, kill all his men, but leave the Duke alive, he will get tae watch his Knights die, such is the price of throwing in his lot with a coward an' murderer such as 'Sir' Rupert."

Cralix pulled ahead and the more indecisive knights made way. He tried to be respectful in his speaking. The Duke was a powerful man, he did not fear his power. He acknowledged it, respected it. He knew not how great in skill or numbers the enemy may be. He knew not if they were enemies at all, and this is what pained his heart. The thought of killing on a whim, an innocent man and his innocent men. Well, innocent of the crime they're accused of if that were the case.

"The barbarian seeks to ambush us! Should they attack, kill all his men! But leave the barbarian alive! He will get to watch his men die, such is the crime of treachery!" The Duke in a rage told his column. Cralix awaited until the Duke seemed through with words. Looking to the cliff and then back to the Duke..

"I implore you to be cautious, my Duke." Hopefully this wouldn't be something he regretted doing, at the chopping block. He pulled at the reigns of his horse to keep it steady as it became restless. These men for the most part seemed displeased at the thought of battle. It was perhaps that morale was low for the most part, this could get bloody for our side as well as their's if it wasn't handled delicatley. "They have the high ground, and he may be innocent of the crimes he's accused of. You could lose valued friends and knights. Is it not better to start with diplomacy before severing heads?" Cralix would frown, before continuing. "I trust your judgment, you're a strong warrior and powerful leader, I trust that you'll handle the situation as you see fit." He would nod to the Duke and look to the column.

The Duke and Company

The sound of some man behind him, made the duke turn his head. Implore him to be cautious, who in the warp was this guy? He was one of the knights, but Duke Byron couldn't put a name to the.. hood? Odd, but he had bigger barbarians to fry. The men's horse began to fidget tired of waiting, and the knights themselves wanted to hurry up and extract vengeance and then return to the festivities. Killing barbarians for the Lady was a sign of a good year to come, the younger knights were eager as ever to show the elder knights their stuff.

"Then hold your tongue in silence." The Duke said, "Why would a man run from a city right after the crime was committed? Why would he lie in wait for us? Why would he be willing to fight if he is innocent? Because he is not innocent. He is guilty, he had his chance to surrender, and obviously he chose to fight. Only a fool would chose to fight a battle in an attempt to prove his innocence." The duke pulled the reins and began the walk around the ridge to where the land would be more level. It would be beyond foolish to charge straight up the face of the ridge. It was a fairly short and uneventful ride, but it usually was. The calm before the storm. The breath before the plunge, he could already fill the vigor filling his arms and the adrenaline start to ebb into his body.

Once they reached the edge of the ridge, they could spot the band of norse barbarians up ahead on the raised hill. The duke began to shout at the knights to form up. The opponent was too small a force for the lance or wedge formation to be needed, so he ordered a double line formation. 15 long and 2 deep. It would keep the horses from getting in the way. He rode up and down the line examining the knights... one last time before the charge. He may never see some of them again, but they would die well for battle is the only place for a knight to die.

Cralix would grimace, pulling at his reigns and falling into formation. A weak and unjust Duke, then. He had been wrong to assume this man was anything more than a brash coward. Did the Lady of the Lake truly bless such men? He dare not question her wisdom ever, but he questions the power of the men that make such poor decisions, always. This show of just how unfit the man was to rule this Dukedom, would be his downfall, Cralix was sure of it. He wasn't one to plot in the shadows. Though he was more than willing to kill a snake for the good of the people.

Cralix watched the Duke check the formation of his knights and looked about at the armoured men around him. It was sad to think some of them would die unnecessarily on this man's poor orders. And so he waited for the charge, wielding his spear in his right hand and holding the reigns with his left. His knuckles white on both, teeth gritted at the anger he held for this weak Duke.

There wasn't much talk while the knights rode. Henry mainly thought about how the Norse would fight, he had never fought them before but he wouldn't think them any smarter than the greenskinned monsters that had killed his father. Eventually someone called, "Theere they are!" Pointing at a small group of horsemen on top of a hill, quickly followed by orders of making a two by fifteen where Henry found himself closer to the left flank than the center.

"Curses, they have prepared this," Henry spat on the ground as they advanced, knowing that holding the higher grounds could be an ace in any battle.
"We outnumber them three to one. They may be fierce, but we have all been riding horses before they had hair on their shafts," the knight next to Henry commented. "Let them come. Our ranks will close in on them like a bear trap. They have doom themselves."
Henry couldn't help but to smile fiendishly when he heard that. With his spear lowered, he prepared for a charge.

Luxa
Luxa ended up near the center of the first line, the energy and excitement was flowing from her. She wasn't one to revel in warfare, but this wasn't warfare this would be a slaughter. Most of the Norsemen would die in the first charge any that lived that would quickly be cut down by the second line. But, her father had taught her about Norsemen, they would not route and they will not surrender. He told her they were nothing like the rabble she had fought against, they were all hardened and all knew how to use their weapons. But, so did she. She put a lose grip on her lance, she would let go of the lance after it penetrated. Then she would draw her long sword and hack away at the unlikely event of any survivors after the charge.

Alexander
Alexander gave up his search for any suspicious activity near the tent and went off to hide the Norse knife he had... acquired. He came across the largest tree he could fined and buried the knife there. Then he put and X on the opposite side of the tree with his dagger. It wasn't the perfect hiding spot, but it would do for now. Alexander then began thinking about his daughter as he walked back to the stands of the tourney. He was angry that he couldn't ride a horse, maybe one day he would have his "problem" dealt with by some healers. He took a seat at the top of the stands and began looking for anything suspicious or out of place. Someone killed Rupert and that someone may have seen Alexander take the knife. He may have ruined a plot, or completed it who knows... except for one, and that one was definitely involved in this somehow.

The Duke and his Knights came pounding up the hill in a glittering formation of lance and steel, up above, the Norscans howled with laughter and beat axes against shields as they savage battle crys began to rend the darkening sky....

"BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD!!"

"SKULLS FOR THE SKULL THRONE!!"

And then the Norsemen themselves were hurling their mounts down the hill in a frenzy towards the Bretonnians, lances struck first, un-horsing and slaying a handful of braze Huscarls, but then the Barbarians were past the lance points and in close with the Knights.

The fighting was brutal, the weak, smaller Southlings no match in close against the war bred Norse, but they had armour and numbers on their side and soon the battle tide began to turn...

Bjorn Steelheart struck one Knight Errant clean from the back of his steed, breaking every bone the lad had in his body and dumping him a lifeless heap on the ground.

A second Bretonnian caught Bjorn's Hammer as it came down hard upon his skull, crushing it like bloody paper within its crumpled helmet.

"BURN! MAIM! KILL!!"

Bjorn howled, driving his fist into the face of another Knight, denting the man's visor and obscuring his vision before finishing him off with a brutal side stroke of the hammer, flinging yet another broken corpse from its saddle!

A lance caught Bjorn hard in the chest, punching through his armour and piercing the flesh beneath, with a howl of rage, the Norseman bought his Hammer down upon the lance haft, shattering in to splinters before head-butting its wielder savagely in response!
The young Knights nose shattered like breaking glass as he pitched from the saddle with a scream, only to be trampled beneath the iron shod hooves of Bjorn's War Horse.

Looking around, The Steelheart saw his men falling one by one as the greater numbers of the Knights closed in on all sides...

Ignoring the lance haft protruding from his chest, Bjorn reached down the front of his breast plate and withdrew a pendant set with a rube that seemed to glow with an intense fury...

The Steelheart grinned through bloodied lips as the Knights raised their blades...

Hefting his Warhammer one last time, The Jarl spurred himself forward into the fray!

Two mighty strokes felled as many men in as many seconds before a sword sheared through Bjorn's defence, a moment later a mace thudded hard into his back and a second lance drove clean through his gut, protruding from the other side in a vivd explosion of gore...!

Once more, Bjorn shattered the lance haft and grinned savagely at its wielder, before slowly pitching from his own saddle to land heavily in the dirt...

As the Dukes Knights closed in on all sides, eager to inspect their kill, the Jarl managed one last, pained smile before his eyes began to close...

The ruby at his throat flared a furious scarlet and then...

And then, The Heart Of Woe exploded.

A gift to Bjorn from an old Dwarf Smith in times gone by for old battles forever remembered, the enchanted amulet exploded like a dying star, ripping through the ranks of the Dukes forces without mercy, tearing men and horses alike to shreds and sending broken bodies and tattered limbs flying in all directions!

A great plume of fire shot skyward like a soul departing this world as beneath it the body of Bjorn Steelheart was incinerated instantly, along with the bodies of his fallen comrades and any Knights too close to the source.

A true Warriors funeral pyre.

As the resulting shock-waves spread through the remainder of the Dukes tattered force, sending horses rearing and less skilled riders toppling from saddles, The Steelhearts soul soared high on wings of fire, bound for the halls of his Ancestors, and an eternity of feasting and battle..!

Away on another hilltop, a solitary Raven watched the display from its perch atop a dead, lightning struck tree, the distant fires reflecting in its cold, black eyes...

The Blood and Raven Gods had both revived their tribute, this night, it seemed...

The battle had been fierce. Cralix had pulled away from the thick of it, once the knights got to enjoying themselves as the Norse became to thin numbered to hold back the knights. They fought bravely and there was sudden silence, Cralix pulled at his reigns turning his horse around to view the collection of horses and riders clambering about to catch sight of the fallen foes. How pitiful. The mask would be damp, his right pauldron splashed with blood. He reached up pulling his hood down in respect. Suddenly there was a stirring in the crowd and a sudden explosion, that seemed to rock the Earth beneath their very feet. The whinny of the horse was but a whisper in the sudden overwhelming noise. There was a deep pop and a ringing, the clothe hanging loosely around various plates covering Cralix were whipping in the wind, he struggled to lift a hand to his eyes to try and catch a glimpse at the sudden carnage. His horse was deeply disturbed, striking the ground as if looking for footing. When suddenly..

It reeled back on it's hindlegs and Cralix hung on for dear life, the heat of the explosion heavy in the air. Suddenly the horse was stumbling, struggling not to fall. Steel armour of the knights became shrapnel, with the explosion. His horse was hit in the body, and he himself in the leg and left pauldron. He fell from the saddle as his horse stumbled and fell, pinning his right leg. He was dazed and utterly confused. He fumbled with the shrapnel buried in his horses side, struggling to save it's life.

Luxa
Luxa shook her head as the battle came to an end she hadn't gotten to do anything, the charge had began and Luxa was off. But, she didn't make it to the Norsemen, her horse stepped in a hole, the horse's leg broke with a loud snap and she went flipping head over heels and Luxa soon followed. When Luxa had hit the ground she looked around just in time to see a horse about to crush her. She dodged away just in time, but she was still in the fray and had to get out of it. Luxa took off crouched running. She couldn't tell friend from foe so she didn't even bother to draw her sword. Just when relative safety was in sight a knight came crashing down on top of her. He must have weighed half a ton in full armor. Using all her strength she pushed, but he hardly moved. She had yelled then drew her knife and began cutting away at the man who she now knew was still alive. Luxa didn't hesitate even as the man began to scream. She just slit his throat and continued carving in till his head rolled from his body. Finally his weight was not even so she manged to roll him off then ran to a near by rock were she would hide for the rest of the fight.

She was beginning to walk towards the crowd when she was knocked onto her back dazed. When her ears stopped ringing she looked around and saw that something was protruding from her side, before she passed out from blood loss or shock she gurgled, "Dad's gunna be pissed." her head hit the ground and she was out.

Bruce dug his heels into the side of his horse, sending it charging. His spear was leveled and his eyes were set on one of the Norse, though if he had known how these men fought, he would have given it a second thought.
Doing just as he would during a joust, Henry aimed his spear for the Norseman’s chest but he brought up his shield and Henry’s spear broke. He rode on and turned his horse as he drew out his longsword, though the other knights were already engaging with the barbarians.

He hesitated. “Lady of the Lake,” he muttered as he saw the fighting. Bones broke, armor was torn apart and the younger knights fell like flies as they attacked the Nosemen. Every Norse must be aiming to drag at least three others with him, for Henry had never seen such martial skills combined with the ferocity of greenskinned monsters.
Again he rode towards the fray, but this time he rode with a cold, calculating mind. A rider-less horse whined and backed out of the fray, and Henry rode in, his sword stabbing out after the mans’ torso, yet he parried as if it was nothing more than a mere nuisance and returned the attack, his axe bit down in his right deltoid.
He dropped the sword and pulled his reins, desperately trying to escape from the battle and then… An explosion.

Henry opened his eyes there was dirt in his mouth, his left eye stung and his left deltoid burned from the wound. “What happened?” was all he could squeeze out of his mouth as he staggered back to his feet. He felt sore and beat as he looked around the battlefield for his horse and sword. Just by looking at the dead bodies and the charred bodies did Henry conclude that they had won, but at a high cost.
While he searched he couldn’t get his mind off how brutal a battle it had been, the Norse had turned the whole field into a slaughter ground.

Why have such filth even been permitted to walk these lands without chains around their feet and necks? Henry thought as he picked up his sword. Peasants have risen to knighthood. Barbarians knighted because of their so-called deeds. What is becoming of Bretonnia?

He winced as the shrapnel cut his fingers, and a long gash along his palm, drawing sticky red blood. It came loose, however, he pulled it free and the horse struggled. His vision was blurred and his ears still shot from the blast. He tossed the shard aside and pushed at the horse gently. It struggled to pull itself up. Cralix grunted cooing and pleading for him to find the strength. Minutes passed and he lay applying pressure to the wound over the ribs of the animal. It feared for it's life, it's eyes were moist and his spirit was broken. He lay for minutes until it passed. It's eyes glazed over and it slowly found peace in darkness. He had lost feeling in his right leg and with every minute that passed, found strength that had been taken from him.

He was tempted to hack at the body until it became easier to move. He had respect for the animal, though. Never went about naming it, and he regretted that. Deeply in this moment as he had died fighting a battle that wasn't his. He looked about, his vision had over time, cleared and now the ringing was faint. He found four or so feet above him, stuck in the ground was a large rock. It could allow more wiggle room, probably allow him to escape. Perhaps if he could just..

He reached, and failed, reached and failed. For minutes he was edging little by little toward. Often tempted to wait for help. He reached again, his fingertips brushing it. He smiled gleefully, as a boy getting his first sword. He reached again, this time grabbing it, it was a heavy rock. Of decent size, he pulled it and used it as a wedge, propping up the beast. He slid, and struggled for a minute or two, swearing and hissing his unfortunate luck. Finally he broke free, pulling himself with his arms. He gave a great sigh of relief. His leg was numb and nearly fallen off after struggling so long under the weight of the horse, for blood.

Speaking of which, it covered his hands, and his leg where he'd been hit himself. At a closer look he'd found it wasn't nearly as bad as it looked. He waited a few minutes, till he could drag himself around. He pulled himself up, pulling his sword from the ground and going about looking for survivors. It was a desolate place, the ground was uprooted in areas, bodies of horses and men lay lifeless in places, metal covered the ground, and shields and various weapons sat about.

The fighting was glorious. When the charge hit the Norse lines he even got a kill. It was an unfortunate Norseman who was trampled by the knight's horse after his injury. Damien had looked around the battle seeing that the Duke had everything under control, he trotted his horse away and around the carnage to check if there were anyone leaving the battlefield.

The knights were slaughtering the Norse before it happened. A giant explosion lit up from the middle of the fray, ripping apart fully armoured knights as if they were made of fabric. The clash stopped after that and Damien began to trot to see if any were alive. Before he got there he caught the sight of a knight collapsing on the ground so he kicked his horse to gallop.

Lying on the ground was Luxa, Alexander's daughter. Her side was badly injured. Getting off his horse he tore off the symbolic cloth over his armor and began to wrap the cloth around her side to keep her from bleeding too much. He picked her up to place at the front of the sadal so she would not fall.

Damien knew he would have to get her back to a healer very soon. Before he left he rode down to the sight of massacred soldiers to check if there was even the slightest clue that any knights were still alive.

Alexander
Alexander began drumming his fingers on his leg with impatience. How incompetent was this Duke. He took forty well armored knights out to take on maybe a dozen Norsemen. Alexander's impatience finally pushed him to move. He stood up and went off to find something to do. Maybe they had a brothel around here... for the Ale of course.

Luxa
Luxa felt that she was on a horse bobbing back and forth. One of the men must of picked or up. She opened her eyes just enough to see the giant of a man that she had met last night. She was about to say something clever, but then her side flared up in pain and she slumped back into unconsciousness.

Cralix was stumbling about looking for survivors before he had fully recovered, he'd ripped the piece of plate from his leg and blood seeped from the wound, he'd pulled his grieve loose to apply pressure. He found many dead, many living, some as good as dead, others who had pulled themselves away from the wreckage and some had clearly ridden away. It was ghostly and unsettled. That's when he saw it, The Duke must have been making his way through the battle to get to the corpse of Bjorn, the blast had nearly blown him apart, he was covered in black dust and grime, he had a large piece of metal burried in his side, his armor had the feintest dents. From combat or the explosion, Cralix didn't know.

He limped over to him, pain coursing through his beaten body. He sheathed his sword, and against the Duke's grunts of pain, crouched pulling at the shrapnel. The wound wasn't deep, the plate had done well by him, nearly stopping the piece completely. He pulled it and the Duke winced. He was limp and unwilling to move. Cralix looped an arm under him, grabbing him beneath the arm with his now free sword hand, he let his wound go without pressure for the slightest moment using it to help him, gritting his teeth in effort, pull the Duke to his feet. He returned the hand to his own wound, wincing.

He held hate in his heart for this man. He would live today to die tomorrow, but by Cralix's own hand. He would perish, honourably. Unsuitable, for such a coward.. The Duke bellowed and screamed bloody murder, cursing and gritting his teeth with each struggled step. They had been making their way to a horse far off, it was shaken and had it's saddle awkwardly set where a rider had struggled and fell from it's back. It was dark brown, it's face a dirty shade of white.

After the laborous walk, Cralix had managed to get a hand on the reigns, it took several tries before he could get the Duke on the saddle of the horse. Cralix let out a deep and struggled breath, tying the reigns around the hands of the Duke and putting them in his lap, for the first time, that Cralix had seen, the Duke squinted an eye, opening it just enough. He made sure the Duke's feet were well in the stirrups and reached down pulling a sword from the ground and sliding it into a sheathe that hung loosely at the flank of the horse.

Then there was the patter of hoove beats and Cralix looked back to see a man on horseback(Saxious) surveying the ruins of the battlefield. He raised an arm to beckon the man to come. The Duke would need someone to help him back to the tourney grounds. Cralix wouldn't leave until the rest of the survivors were taken care of.