Norr

Alexandria gulped as she watched the minotaurs beat upon the fortification that kept the rest of the Civil's fighting force safe. Her grip tightened and loosened on her blade...it was clear that she was nervous. But suddenly ,the gigantic bull men were called off, and began to retreat, causing a tad bit of confusion in the ranks, and Alexandria as well. Her mind began to question why they would call a reatreat on their gatebreakers? She prayed the answer wasn't seige engines....

However, apperently, her force's commander decided that it was time to refill the metaphorical bloodbath that they were sitting in. The gatewatcher called the all clear for the gates to be opened, and sure enough, the defensive door opened, and Alexandria's unit bellowed out, a mere fifty or so men. Their commanding officer barked orders at them as they readied themselves for combat with the foe.... They reached outside of the gates, for them to close back again, and their haven had been cut off from them. They were prey to anyone whom felt hungry.

Alexandria, being in the front lines, looked out into the distance. It wasn't just their gatebreakers that were falling back... The enemies ranks fell back. Then who were they supposed to be- Oh by the sweet, merciful Gods.... Alexandria's eyes fell upon a spidering-like humanoid, feared for her monsterous battle prowess. She ripped through an advancing rank like a hot claymore through warm butter. It was terrifying to watch her wade through...no, annihilate her allies. Demoralizing wasn't a strong enough word. But the more she watched, the more she was enthralled.... But suddenly, a lone figure came into view! He brandished a claymore, and looked like he was going to stand one to one with the spider demon! Was he insane?!

But apperently, thinking time was over. The officer had finished talking, and rose his blade in the air. All of the men around her yelled fiercely, a moral raising tactic that almost always worked.... The glorious charge had it's benefit alright...too bad that most of these men would be walking into their own grave. She too began to ran in the direction of this new fight that awaited them. Her unit roared, waving their blades around their head. She was starting to feel the effects of the inspiring tactics. He blood began to boil, and her heart began to race. It really brough her into the spirit. She raised her sword and shield in the air, clanging them together to make sort of a "war drum" effect. Nothing inspired the human heart into battle like a war drum...

The man and the spiderface were not far off, but Alexandria's force had a few footmen to deal with... The enemy soldiers rose their pikes and lances as her force encroached. And after what seemed like an eternity, they colided. Alexandria brough her shield around in front of her, causing the enemy's spear to glance off the smooth metal. With the dangerous side of his weapon out of the way, Alexandria didn't hesitate to bring her own particularly pointy sword to the man's underhelm, piercing his head like a kabob. She felt his warm blood drool out from the wound in his chin, as she jerked the blade out, and his body dropped to the ground, spasming.

The next soldier to fall again brought his weapon towards the lightly armored female. His club whirled around heavily, before he brought it down harshly in her direction. She knew better than to try and block such a dedicated blow. She sidestepped out of the way, and stomped hard on the shaft of the weapon after it smashed into the ground. The club jerked out of the orc's hands, and he looked at her in almost disbelief. She brought her shield around to meet the man's armored helm, making an almost comidic "Frying Pan to the face" sound. The orc stumbled backwards, turning around. She wasted no time, and plunged her weapon into the vulnerable back of the knee on his armor. Her blade went completely through his knee, and out the other side, pinning his leg to the ground. He yelled in agony. She reached forward, letting go of her pin on him, and jerked his helm from his head. She rose her shield arm, high in the air, and grasped her wrist with her other hand. She let out a warrioress's cry, and smashed his head as hard as she could with the shield, filling the surrounding area with a satsifying crack. She bent, and reclaimed her weapon as the body flopped to the ground.

Yet another fighter charged the shieldbearing woman. This one a berserker, brandishing two handaxes. The ogre yelled barbariously at Alexandria and charged, swinging his axes like one possesed. She could only backstep, and intercept his blades, on blow after another. But he made a mistake. He swung both at the same time. Alexandria was used to this move with fighter whom bore dual weapons. She brought both of her items to block both of his at the same time. Meanwhile, she brought her booted foot up to meet the man's chest, causing him to stumble back. She then reeled back, and slammed the rim of her buckler into his leather helm, stepping into the punch. He toppled back, dropping his axes to hold his face, and broken nose. She didn't hesitiate to literally jump onto his chest, digging her heels into his gut. Her blade arm came back, and slid across the man's neck, a nice scarlet spray coming out to greet (and coat) her upper body and neck. She stepped off of the man, and panted. The effects of adreniline were starting to wear off. She wiped the sweat from her brow, and brushed it from her exposed arms and legs.

She looked around, and it seemed that she was one of the lucky ones. Most of her platoon members were strewn across the ground, rolling in their own crimson lifefluid. She frowned, wishing she could've helped them...but it couldn't be helped... they had no healers in the castle to her knowledge anyway. She sighed, and gathered her guts, looking back towards Spiderface.... Apperently, she had made her first move against Captain Crazy... She knew he was getting in over his head, but she was drawn to watch. The enemy's troops stopped to watch this sole man duel the woman.

"Oh dear, you're so boring." Mercy pouted. The man failed to respond to her, instead charging at her and trying to bring his sword down on her arm. "I can't let you do that, hon." She cried out, using her abdomen to parry the blade. The edge of the blade hit the round angle on her armored body, and skidded off thudding into the ground. Without hesitating, the powerful Nightmarian Arachnid raised her legs and slammed them onto the blade, sinking it into the dirt where it was lodged. "So tactless... so manly." She crooned, blowing a kiss at the man before her abdomen pulsated slightly, releasing another spray of webbing. "I'll be back for you, honey."

Jumping away, the fortress seemed to have changed. Magic power radiated from the castle as men shuffled about. It seems as though the General's reports were wrong. She really deserved a raise now. "Oh dear. Looks like we have ourselves a problem." She whispered softly, watching men load up some arrows into bows very carefully. Her chain whip was hung back once more, as she withdrew a thick string of webbing out of her abdomen. Her body remained twisted around so her abdomen was in front, so she had no problem retrieving the webbing. Molding quickly, as fast as a spider can, she threw the webbing at the wall to the left. Suddenly, her Abdomen retracted slightly. Just as the webbing hit, it automatically began shooting back into her body. It was gross, but effective. Almost upside down, Mercy just barely managed to evade several arrows, the hot shrapnel glancing off her skin and leaving cuts. "Look now, boys!" She called up, turning her body over to see the defenders. "That's the only chance you'll ever get a shot of me!" She slammed into the wall, her legs absorbing the impact. With the litheness only a spider could muster, she scaled the wall, toward an archer slit. Peering in, she gave a growling hiss at the terrified archer.

Mercy giggled, hurriedly watching the archers scramble to get a better shot on her. Scaling down the wall, she landed on the ground just as another small volley was shot her way. The exploded around her, the shrapnel flying past her and sometimes cutting her skin. one arrow managed to smash against Mercy's armor.

However, Mercy's exoskeleton was that of a Knighted Widow. That meant that she was essentially a living tank. Her body rejected magic, which is why she doesn't use it. That being said, however, Magic has little to no effect on her and her armor. Naturally, explosions might leave some trauma, but combustion induced by magical means simply glance off her body. As the arrow exploded off her abdomen, she blushed and pretended to groan. "Ohhhh, that felt good." She crooned loudly, causing nearby soldiers to look at her in confusion. In response, she curled her body over, loosing a string of webbing through an archer slit near ground level. A mass of startled cries were heard, and one could only assume what happened next in there. Whether they suffocated or are simply glued to the ground one can never tell.

"Silly boys. Nightmarians have a natural Magic Repellant. It's called our bodies." She said sweetly, looking at the archers. She looked back, looking around to see if her big man Zareth was trapped. She would enjoy him. She began walking over toward the gate once more, well aware of her surroundings.

Behind the mask, Zareth was seething. His favorite blade was now shoved almost to the hilt into the earth. I'll need to dig that out later. Then, all seemed slow. The webbing shot towards his chest, probably with enough force to knock him on his back and pin him beneath the viscous fluid. He twisted away, almost evading the sticky mass. Instead of colliding with his body, the webbing caught the end of his kilt. There was enough force behind the webbing to spin him around, and he hastily undid the belt holding the kilt up, allowing it to slam into the ground with a wet squish. Now only adorned in his pants and boots, Zareth knelt by the fallen blade.

Time seemed to slow. Zareth closed his eyes behind the mask, gathering himself. His father polishing the greatsword in their small hut, telling Zareth that he would one day the greatsword could be his. That he would inherit the farm and everything that his parents owned. Zareth gladly nooded and told his father that he would do his best. "Father....", whispered Zareth. "I won't let these vermin take away from the memory of you. Nor will I allow anyone else to lose what I have lost. This I swear."

As he stood, Zareth's pulse started to quicken as adrenaline seeped into his veins. His hands were clenched into fists, and then relaxed. Crossing his arms to his waist, he withdrew the axes from the loops on his belt. Gripping them tightly, he turned towards the gates of the city. A cry ripped itself loose from his lips. It could be heard from inside the battlements, and around the battlegrounds. He ran towards Mercy, axes in hand. "This ends now!", he bellowed.

Alexandria ran directly at her foe, aquiring a roar out of sheer guts as she charged the arachnid woman. She was ready to strike, alongside of her berserker ally...when all of a sudden, her foe turned to her, almost instantly, and snatched her up within her tight spiderlike vice. Alex squirmed under this grip, barely able to move herself. "L-let go of me, you...you fou-" Her sentence was cut short by the huge walloping "Smack" that sounded as her roped ball smashed into her back, filling the air with the sounds of bone cracking. She was then almost launched away from the half-spider, and hit the ground, which certainly didn't help her new broken bones. She screamed, her hands writhing, and dropping her own weapon mid-air. It clattered away somewhere....she couldn't tell well. She was in too much pain to care right at that moment.... She wanted to roll on the ground, and hold her ribs, the pain jabbed and speared within her...she was more than sure her ribs had been broken...and her lung probably had been speared by her own bones....

Tears rolled down her cheeks as she lay there on the ground. Something ran through her...adreniline, most likely.... She felt the daggers of her wounds numb untill she could feel them as pinpricks... She couldn't die like this...she just couldn't....She had to do something....But what? He weapon was who knew where.... Out of sheer will she forced herself to roll over....and she saw it. Not her weapon...but a weapon that she could use... An orcish cleaver sword.... Her arm reached out, and the ground in front of her ...and mustering her strength, she pulled herself towards the blade. Arm after arm, handful of dirt after handful of dirt, she was going to make it to this blade.... And she was going to give that spider harlot something for...

She finally reached the blade, her fingers wraping around the crude leather handle. And the weapon was clearly made for an orc: It had fair heft to it for a one handed weapon...perfect for cleaving through armor. But she looked over. An entire swarth of Gnolls came rushing along, towards the open gates. This was perfect...but it was going to be so painful...but anything to get back at that Spider. The gnolls came around, and began to swarm over her. They surprisingly didn't stomp her into the ground as they ran by, just jumped her or so...but this was good. A few gave a trample, but it didn't matter...her body was still numb from it's painkillers. She was almost directly between the spider woman and her target; the other warrior. Hopefully, she would try to tread through the stream of Gnolls, and to her foe...completely forgetting about her presence... if this worked....she would get a taste of revenge before she died...

"Miralight, huh?" She affirmed softly, tapping a finger to her chin gracefully. She listened to the excited halfling blaze through her introduction, her praise, and her questioning. She seemed honest enough, but Mercy wasn't stupid as well. Too many battles have actually been won with trickery than actual strategy. Deception and Stealth were among the leading factors involved in a win. What interested Mercy the most was her offer to heal her arm. Though it grew back itself, it was convenient to have one back as soon as possible. When she suddenly withdrew it, she knew that she probably didn't know how did a Nightmarian's arm work. Mercy shuddered slightly at the thought of a twisted arm. She would have had to chop it off again and regrow it. However, Mercy wasn't all too eager to rejoin the battle. Especially with her hot-heated Lamian prince. Oh the silly boy, always rushing headlong into things.

She agreed silently to answer the questions, her eyes softening just a tad. The halfling didn't seem to need a affirmation, as she had already launched into a flurry of questions.

"Does the social misconceptions by those that call you a monster or a savage beast upset you at all? And if so can you expound upon that upset.." She shot out.

"No, not really. I find it rather cute. Anyone calls anything outside their own race a monster or savage. Sometimes even within. It's adorable, the men do it all the time!"

There is a rumour that your kind lay eggs in live humanoids in order to propagate your species is there any truth to that and then if so do you hang them up in silk while the young gestate or do you just let them sit on the ground.. I mean really it does make a significant difference in the birth and the amount that the young eat before the body has too much cellular degeneration and is rendered uneatable. She shot out almost right after Mercy had answered the question. Mercy regarded her with a curious stare before answering.

"You should know better than most people that a woman has to retain some mystery." Mercy admonished. "I can't give away my entire species' secrets because somebody asks. If it haunts you so much to know, go to Ecclavaria, our capital and ask for the Senior Mother. If she tells you, then you know." Mercy winked, all four of her luminous red eyes blinking at the halfling girl.

Slowly she straightened. "Any more questions?"

((Civil Encampment, Justice))

Dukald watched as this terrorizing man threw threats and everything else but the kitchen sink at all around him. He too, was one of the that was assualted verbally by this bastard. I never said "Urgent" message....Who does he think he was?! Putting words into my mouth like that?! He acts like he ran the army like-... Oh wait. He did. He heard of all of what he intended to do, and was planning on that. But the dwarves had disciplined him better. He knew better than to interrupt a General or question him when not being given permssion to speak. He sat there, his steely green eyes looking over the crowd, and into the man's eyes when he addressed him. So his first assumtion was right. The woman was the general...but it didn't matter now. He felt sorry for her, but couldn't let it phase him. He would visit her later, and make sure she was going to be okay.

He nodded, and slapped Grimhide's rear. "Go ya beast. Git in a stable, er something. Stable!" The dwarven man uttered. The bear seemed to understand the word, and began to waddle it's wet hide off somewhere. The man then followed the man far behind. He didn't know where his tent was, concidering he THOUGHT he just arrived in time to save the other General. Not set up his tent, ready it, and THEN save the General. But he digressed. Eventually, he would reach the tent. He made note of it's position...and then wished he had some cigars.... He'd need 'em.

He gathered his guts and glory, and after about five minutes, walked into the tent and looked at the threat-throwing man. He clicked his heels, stood up straight and gave a heavy salute. "Sir! Permission to speak, Sir!" The dwarven man barked. He knew this General was uptight and unmoving, on how he recited decrees of warfare that the dwarven man had too learned. But he waited for the General's permission to speak before reporting. But he knew in his heart that like all people whom had a flagpole wedged in their ass, he would snap at him, saying something like, 'I already gave you permission, filth' or 'could you not hear? I said to report in.' Generals like him would always bend and flex the rules and regulations to make it so they could yell more. He kept the stoney face of respect, showing no sign of thinking other than reporting in, dispite wanting to pour boiling oil on this man.

-Unknown Location-

"Zareth...."

"Zareth......"

"Zareth............"

Zareth's eyes opened, but he might as well have had them closed. The blackness around him was so complete that he could not even see his hand in front of his face. He could feel something underneath him. A table perhaps? There was no way to tell. A faint breeze blew across his body, leaving an icy cold trail across his chest. He tried to reach out to his chest, but his arm couldn't move an inch. What in the....Manacles? No. I feel no steel around my wrists. What then? He struggled against his restraints, trying to rise, or to break them.

"Can't seem to get up now can you, my soon-to-be Champion?", spoke a voice. "Do not fret. Soon all will be in order, and I will have what I desire. Now, please don't struggle. you'll only make things worse."

Zareth's pulse quickened. He knew what kind of person the voice belonged to. Evil. He struggled desperately at his restraints, but to no avail. He was trapped now, with no options of escape.

"What do you want?"

There was a dark chuckle that seemed to come from all sides. "I only want a servant who can assist me with my....plans....and to protect me when it matters most......someone who will fight for me when it counts."

"Why me?"

The voice responded with no emotion. "Because you seemed like just the right man for the job. Now hold still. This process will be quite painful, and the pain only multiplies when you move. So do hold still."

Zareth felt a sharp pain digging into his chest, followed by the feeling of something splitting the skin of his chest and digging in. He let loose a bloodcurlding scream, and passed out. He could taste blood.