Argin and his mock -honour guard- watched impassively as the bandit horde roared violently towards the prepared town. His entire body shook in a cruel delight to witness his makeshift army charge into those helpless fools, and he could never remove the cruel smirk that remained printed on his cold lips. Men charged past him from his left and right, for although Argin was keen to enter the fray, the wall must be first corroded with the sacrificial bodies of the first few waves before he brought his boot through the remaining defenses.<i><span style="color: RoyalBlue">She does not care, blood is blood...</span></i><br/><br/>Howling Screams had already begun to reach his ears as his men fell prey to simple entrapments, now and then bear traps claiming part of someones leg and the man still attached being trampled to near death by the non caring brethern. For those that found themselves escaping the deadly bear traps suffered a crueler fate for those that fell for the next set of traps. Caltrops. Those that stumbled upon them had become body carpets for the horde. Falling upon such simple tools and with the powerful weight of the men behind them forcibly toppled the unfortunates upon the large nailed tools, piercing flesh and only driving the wounds deeper. If any survived, those men were as good as dead to him, if only they did not scream so much. It was a little worrying on how many bodies he found himself stumbling over, if it wasn't for the fact that he was dealing with simple peasants, the somewhat dwindled numbers would have worried him.<br/><br/>Passing through the gauntlet of traps finally brought open the clear ground that only demanded a heartfilled charge from the remaining men to appease, however bandits had already began to peel off from the front. Fear had already gripped at their hearts and some already fleeing to the sides and into the distance.<i><span style="color: RoyalBlue">You cannot train cowards...</span></i>Argin thought bitterly to himself.<br/><br/>His thoughts soon became nothing but a shroud of rage and anger, drawing his Tevinter curved claymore from its half sheath and beginning to match his men in a half jog, a jog that soon became a run, a run that soon became a sprint. His rallying cry brought whichever bandits left to unite. Deadly flurry of arrows dwindled more men and those that they struck became mere obstacles for the rest of his men to fight by. Fate chose the remaining men to charge with more vigor and fury, adrenaline surged through the half worn charging army of murderers and thieves. The wave of bandits finally clashed violently against the peasant walls.<br/><br/>Wailing and Roaring, Argin soon tore through the ranks be it either bandit or peasant as his blade ripped through the tender flesh and fragile army of bodies, blood and bile exploded around him as his cruel blade tore and ripped into anyone who stood in his way.<br/><br/>The only time he found himself faultering would be the the whistling of arrows that continuously struck more of the men around him, the only remaining presence of those men being the feathered arrows sticking through the remaining bodies that fell lifelessly towards the floor around Argin, which forced his gaze to the rooftops. The doors were boarded up, the windows also. It infuriated Argin, frustratingly growling loudly over any men in hearing range "<span style="color: Blue">Grab some bloody ladders and kill those soddin' pests!</span>"<br/><br/>With the line buckled, the bandits began to spread like wildfire through the streets.<br/><br/><br/><br/>-------<br/><br/>"Oy, Elf! Our fight be elsewhere. bosses orders! Follow me or your Elf women are dead!" A large man wielding a large and spiked maul ushered Trischal with four of his other comrades, splitting themselves from the southern battle and acting as the taskmaster, taking his small flanking vanguard through the side streets of the town. His voice was strong but worry and fear was a hidden stain "Our orders be to fight towards the center, that is! All sneaky like... No followin' orders means dead Elf lady, Elf" He juggled the maul in his hands in anticipation, although handling it as a child would a toy for the first time.<br/><br/>Regardless, the brute pressed them on towards the center but a little short from finally reaching the center, what they bore witness too was enough to boggle the bandit men to a complete stand still. A small band of peasant women, each armed with nothing more than kitchen cutlery; pans, knives, rolling pins, the lot. At the head of them all was a rather bloated looking woman, dressed as a well used cooking apron, coloured with so many different shades of stains that it was a worry what the woman had cooked. But their attentions seem to fall more upon the beating of a well used and chiseled rolling pin into an open palm. Her stern look could make the Maker himself cower in fear, however ignorance played its part well for the men as they began to feed on the fear of her companions. There eyes were wide like a deer who had just spied its predator, pans held up but shaking heavily as if the bloody thing was as heavy as the large woman standing right in front of them. "Pick your women fellas! I be thinking the brunette is giving me the eye. C'mon Elfy, you know you want one too" The taskmaster of a brute growled with a mixture of lust and depravity.<br/><br/>"HOW DARE YOU!" Screamed the center woman, raising her rolling pin high. The men once again paused, but they slowly began to advance.<br/><br/>Before any action could even occur, the rustling of full metal armour began to echo in the distance. "<span style="color: DarkOrange">In the name of the Maker and the blessed Andraste, bring yourself and those women back to the chantry!</span>"<br/><br/><br/>-------<br/><br/>Ser Katharine muttered impatiently as she continued to cast her gaze over the north camp. Nothing still. The clawing sounds of battle, screams and the clashing of iron grated on the woman with no remorse.<br/><br/>"Men!" She exclaimed in a mighty and commanding growl, but pressing herself through the crowd until she was at the rear. "The attacks from the north is delayed, Half of you will come with me! As practiced!" With a gesture, she pointed downwards towards the center of Greenvale, and the men and women of Greenvale were soon quick to obey as half the militia gathered behind her. "Onwards!"<div class="messageTextEndMarker"> </div>