Oba

“We march for Cirdore...'And we shall know no fear!'..”

The war-cry echoed all throughout Ophelia’s body, reverberating off each and every bone, renewing it's vigor with each droning step she took. All around her the twisted trees of Eganthill loomed, stretched arms risen towards the heavens, boney bark fingers gnarled towards each other, thick skin-like leaves nestled amongst one-another, creating a maleficent canopy that only the most stalwart rays of light dared pierce. Mighty trunks of IronWood surrounded on all sides, standing shoulder to shoulder like soldiers, providing only tiny crevasses to slip through, and swaths of ample shadow for those with fowl intend to hide, while mighty, jagged roots jutted from the ground at obscure angles, making the terrain a nightmare to traverse. The animals had long fell silent, and the ghoulish breath of chilled air howled mournfully, like a Revenant looking for her former love, drowning out the heavy footfall the Vanguard and her soldiers.

The trees had been softly declining for days now, and the company of soldiers had finally pushed themselves into seemed like a small clearing. “Halt...” Ophelia’s icy hiss shattered the silence she and her men had been entrenched in for days, and for sureties sake she rose her hand to formally signal the order which her troops obeyed without hesitation, falling into a line behind her.
“I don't like this..” A gruff and ragged voice clawed itself from the owner's throat, drenched in unease. “I don't like this at all, Captain..Why would we stop here? This clearing doesn't seem safe in the lea-” Before the man could finish his descending sentence, Ophelia had spun around on the heel of her thick plate boots, and backhanded him with a mighty iron gauntlet, before grabbing his throat. “What exactly are you implying solider?” Her voice was a cascade of fury. “That my judgment is unsound, or that you're afraid? Tell me, which one do you want your death to be for?”Tensions had been running high for the last week, and the normally firm, but reserved Captain was far beyond her last nerve, and fully intend to kill at this stage, but before she could continue her irate barking a single, soft, metallic “click” rang out from the ring of trees around them.

“Captain,” The rear soldier spoke up now, but in vain due to Ophelia’s mood. “I can hear it, soldier.” She hissed. “That means the scouts were right, they have heretics with them...Form up, now! Sound off, ascending, now!” The command and urgency in her voice was more than enough to instill raw fear into the soldiers, who took position in a circle around her, kneeling and with rifles drawn.
“Phrax, Aye.” “Kalin, Aye.” “Ferras, Aye.” “Jarris, aye.”
The soldier's droning barely registered with their Captain as her steely green eyes darted between each and every tree, noting the gun barrels behind most, and adrenaline-floodgates opening with each. Her raised hand slowly clenched into a white-knuckled fist. “Hold steady, men. Fire on my mark..” Time itself seemed to pause for the warriors, every moment they took, precise, every muscle twitch, calculated, and every finger rested heavily on a trigger.

“For Harak's honour, ATTACK!”

The forest erupted with the sound of MarkVIII rifles, trees groaned and splintered as high caliber rounds tore their bark like flesh apart, while screams and heavy thuds swelled amidst the cascade of bullets., and Ophelia’s howling voice rose above the chaos. “Let these degenerates know who comes to claim their lives today!” “FOR THE GLOURY OF THE HONOUR GUARD!”
Each man stood fast as bullets sailed past them by fractions of inches, each man pressed the assault when bullets dared hit them, and each man roared in a bloody fever when their bullets bit flesh, but it was quickly realized that the were making no true headway. Frustration as wave after way of heretic shattered on the Honour Guard's defense finally broke loose. “Form tighter, men! Supportive fire only, rain Harak's fury upon them!” The Captain's hoarse shout was issued as the formidable woman broke into a full sprint, right into a river of bullets.

Blinding fury consumed her without remorse. Judgment and self awareness were lost in the frantic fury of her deafening heartbeat, and the thundering of her grieves. The human and Ladren forces had no clue as to what hit them. Ophelia had managed a fifty yard dash in full plate in record time, and leaped with all her might, crashing down on a Human gunner, crushing his ribs with a sickening crash. Like a savage she whirled around to her next victim, grabbing him by the throat with such extreme force not only did his neck break, but when she flung his corpse it's head tore clean off. Grabbing the axe that rested on her left hip, and issuing a roar of raw blood-lust as she wildly launched herself at the gawking Ladren. Harsh steel bite through iron, steel, boiled leather, flesh, and bone, as horrific cracks and scream flooded from the treeline as a virtual river of blood began to flow.

The four Warriors, still in the clearing, long out of ammo at this stage merely stood, and waited for their Captain, or the Ladren to show themselves. Seconds turned to minutes, and minutes ticked on, and on, and on, until a soldier finally spoke up. “Do you think she got herself killed..?” The highest ranked of them opened his mouth to answer, but a completely naked, and blood-soaked woman beat him to it. “And what kind of idiotic question is that?” Shock and awe hit the men, who stuttered and bulked for words. “Captain..Wh...What happened? Where are they? Are we..Safe?” In response, a devilish grin fell upon the blooded captain. “Any warriors they had are dead, check corpses, collect ammo, and arms, find my armour in there somewhere, then burn it. All of it. Start a fire, and let it eat away at this good forsaken pit of a forest. Someone'll put it out eventually..And call for a goddamn evac..I've got some bullet wounds just dying to meet a doctor..”

Torin Criss
Torin was beginning to worry. He and his small team had been searching for several hours for a rather large force of Human guerilla fighters dubbed by the Crown as "Heretics". The fighters were part of a large network of human's aiding the Ladren, and he was suppose to meet them in this area to take the freed Ladren slaves to the shore line, about two weeks away on foot, and from there the Ladren would take a boat supplied by the network to the Tropics. But the freed slaves and their escorts were late, and it was beginning to grind on Torin's nerves
"Sir! Come quick!".
Torin looked up from his map as the young but uncanny scout, Frederick came sprinting towards the vanguard and his small group of fighters.
Torin stood up resting his hand on his battle-hammer.
"What is it, Frederick?", the Vanguard asked in his baritone voice as he looked down at his scout.
"T-the Ladren and their escort, I've found them", the young man sputtered out, his eyes wide.
Torin raised an eyebrow, waiting for Frederick to go on.
Frederick continued to stutter, his mind going faster than his mouth could keep up.
"D-dead!", he finally spat out.
The eight men around the pair immediately looked to their leader.
"Show me", he responded, his voice dropped another octave.
Frederick spun and took off at a sprint, Torin and the other eight warriors on his heels. Within a few minutes, Torin began to smell smoke, and moments after that, charred wood and..something worse.
When he saw the burned clearing, Torin began to hear his pulse in his ears and quickened his pace, outrunning the soldiers and even the scout.
As soon as his feet hit the ashy ground, he whipped the battle-hammer out of its sling, preparing to meet any enemies that were still around, but all he and his elite group found were bodies, about half of them were charred, the source of the terrible smell from earlier.
He let his gaze roam around the carnage, both humans and Ladren covered the ground, some with bullet wounds, others had been butchered by sharp and blunt weapons.
"What happened?". Someone from the group behind Torin asked.
"What do you think happened, idiot?", someone else said bitterly.
"It's a massacre", said yet another voice.
"You think they took any prisoners?".
"No". Torin stated, causing all the banter to silence."If this is the doing of who I think it is, we won't have to worry about any survivors giving away our names". Torin had a good idea of who did this, only one person would leave this much carnage...especially when the Ladren were involved.
"Whys that?", Frederick asked quietly.
"Because there won't be any",Torin muttered, tapping a clump of ash with his boot.
After a few moments of silence, Torin cleared his throat.
"Gather the bodies, we will not leave them to be ravaged by animals". He said "We'll make a mass funeral pyre".
"What if we find the attackers?", asked Frederick
Torin stopped walking.
"Show no mercy, for they deserve none", he said coldy.

Voices roared like violent ocean waves from the massive crowds that sprawled out in a full three-sixty from the Arena's mighty stands. Shout after shout for the next fight, cheers, drunken revelry, unbridled human blood lust split over the steel railings and onto the sand of the Pitt, while excitement and euphoria danced through the air, baked in the bitter-sweet stench of ale. For some reason, the crowds were bigger today, and almost every named fighters had been pulled in to please the masses, along with the most exotic or deadly adversaries the Pitt Masters could find. Tension was reaching stellar peaks as the ever-so-cocky announcer finally gripped his mic between his pudgy little fingers, and gathered the Arena's undivided attention.

“Ladies and gentlemen, and the rest of you savage little gits..Our next fighters have been secured, and let me assure you, it's a helluva match up!” A unanimous cheer resounded from the mass of people, reverberating off of every surface, and rocking every soul caught in it's typhoon. “For your pleasure today, my lovelies, I bring you Rorick The Bloodedge, our resident wild-man, and berserk destroyer of lives!” More cheers resounded as the famed Ladren warrior stepped onto the hot sands of the Pitt. Tall, muscular, green haired, and swathed in scars, the furious Reaver thrust his axe skywards, a bid for more cheers that was quickly fulfilled. “And to face him..?” The announcer couldn't help but chuckle, as the young, purple haired girl stepped forth on the field, bouncing on the heels of her feet, and grinning ear to ear. “Our very own vixen from Cirdore, Nyxos! The mad-mage. Give it up for her brave suicide, folks!” Leers and jeers descended from the crowds, but did nothing to detour the girl's happy smile, as she waved up at them, ignoring her formidable opponent. “Let the slaughter....Begin!”

Chuckling to herself, Nyxos waved at the Ladren man, who raised an eyebrow while spitting in her direction. “You're dead you little bitch, 'ere me? I'll gut you!” When all she did was shrug, the furious man launched himself at her in a warriors-frenzy. Underestimating his prey, he swung his axe in a slow, but powerful crescent, hoping to cleave her in half, but the cheery little girl merely twirled out of the way. “That it, Mr.Warrior?” She teased, goading him into another fierce, but clumsy attack. The crowd roared with anger as he missed again, hungry for action. “Awh..Mr.Rodrick..They aren't happy with your show...I guess this means it's my turn..”

Twisting as she dodged another harsh blow, the little girl put her full momentum behind a kick aimed at his lungs, which impacted with both a heavy thud, and gasp from the crowd as Rodrick fell to the ground. The true power behind the kick was her magic, the second the man gasped she'd began pumping in waves of air she'd stored up from his poorly thought out assaults. He writhed on the sand, clutching his stomach while pained, and desperately sickening sounds escaped his throat, and sent a shiver of pleasure down Nyxos' back. “Come on now, Mr.Warrior, shows not over yet..” She cooed, while grabbing his arms and forcing him up on his feet. The crowd watched in silence as the disturbing events unfolded. The girl turned around and leaned in, gently kissing the man on his cheek, and the second her lips made contact with his skin, he exploded with a gory “pop” sound, leaving just the blood drenched girl standing under a slick rain of blood and fragmented body parts.

Brushing a bit of spleen from her hair, Nyxos curtsied, and blew a kiss at the now uproariously cheering crowd.

“Who's up next, to challenge our little maiden now, hm?”