The main assault body fragmented as both bandits and peasant alike mingled together to become a  bloody whole, the front line on both sides remained shattered and broken against the rampant assaults. Neither force seemed to understand the need to maintaining a strong line, both eager and desperation mixed with the first taste of bloodlust turned what was thought to be an organised approach to a chaotic bloodbath, each man fighting for their own lifes rather than their kin.The crimson soaked peasants screams mixed with the impetuous howlings of the bandits, which created the haunted melody that chilled the souls of the already  broken men and women on both sides, a rhythm that was kept in tune with the repetitive clashing and screeching of steel.<br/><br/>Knight Captain Jaeron howled his plea to the Maker with each swing of his lyrium tempered blade. He had fought many apostates, however apostates never came in the hordes that he had to contend with now. Each swing wrought the screams of the a flailing murderer, refusing to die for that brief second before pain wracked and paralysed their bodies. He didn't need to strike a killing blow with so many bodies trying to kill him. Once he had followed through an attack with his blade, the Makers shield would soon follow up to accurately slam his defeated opponent to one side or to either knock a potential threat to a distance. There was no better deliverance than to apprise the symbol of the Sword of Mercy, always having the shield facing his foes. The look in the bandits eyes always became one of true despair, soaking itself in the image of a fully armoured figure trading looks with one other. Despite his advantage, Jaeron could already feel  fatigue starting to plague him, but his cries to the Maker bolstered his will regardless. It was his faith that had kept him alive so far and hearing the victorious cries of his fellow Brother Templars rallied any doubt in his mind. This fight was still far from over.<br/><br/>He soon stumbled across Alex as the fighting continued, driving a blade into the back of a bandit that had attempted to sneak up behind her, however he was surprised to how fast the red haired woman had reacted as the cruel man was not gutted not by his blade alone but her blade also seemed to have been driven hilt deep into the limp corpse between them. The stoned face Templar acknowledged the woman, nodding his head in contempt with her presence along with a surprising relief for another armoured figure that was not part of the order. "Blessed be the Maker for delivering you to us, Alex." The blade twurled in his hand once more, parrying the blade of an opportunist bandit and diverting him with an immense blow of his shield, the man collapsed upon the trodden dirt, recoiling in pain as he embraced his head in any attempt to soothe the surge of agony that wracked his body.<br/><br/>For Jaeron, even with his Brother Templars, the battle seemed uncertain. Casting an observant glance around the battlefield would have him notice the hasty shadows running from between alleys. The threat of flanking was soon to be inevitable, if they were certainly organised. Jaeron was not considering to take the risk, not with lives at stake. It was now made clear. It was becoming too much of a risk to stand their ground and with his body empowered by his faith and his mind steeled with his clairty through prayer, a final pummel with his shield finally gave him a chance to step back and raise his blade in the air in an attempt to rally. Even if someone was to strike at him, he had placed his faith in Alex and his nearby Templar Brothers to keep him protected . They needed the forces near the chantry, also with the sight of the chantry itself, the men may very well be inspired to fight to their last breath.<br/><br/>"Fall back to the center of Greenvale! Protect the Chantry!" Jaeron barked his command as loud as he could, his brother templars already repeating the commands that their captain had ushered, raising their blades in the air to gain the attention of any survival stricken villagers, their shields raised to protect them from any attacks.<br/><br/>"Stay with me, Alex Warweld. Your blade is needed. Kill all that make themselves the enemy of the blessed Andraste!"<br/><br/>___<br/><br/>The battle did not only happen on the ground, more and more ladders were erected upwards as Argin's forces attempted to take the battle to another level, upon the flat roofs of Greenvale. Lyle and Aure proved to be an inspiration to the peasants who had accompanied them, each nurturing enough bravery and courage to take a ladder each, placing the responsibility upon themselves. Many took to Lyle's approach, firing what arrows they can before kicking the ladder from the roof. It worked perfectly, and bandits gave up most of the time out of fear that they will end up as the arrow struck corpses that had fell upon them in their previous attempt. Those that took Aure's approach came out of it more badly but in turn felt more braver after tasting the bitter taste of battle and sweat in getting closer to their foe. Despite them not having the same experience as Aure when it came to combat, the high ground provided much of an advantage as a desperate kick to the head, shoulder or chest sent the bandit flying upon the mass horde of bodies and blades that awaited them below. A proud grin stained each and every one of them, one of shere surprise to still be breathing, others who felt that surge of power pumping through them as their bodies rewarded them with an immense adrenaline rush, pumping vigoriously through their bodies. Some ladders soon began to buckle, or snapped in two in the shere battling havoc as both peasant and bandit alike toppled and slammed against the flimsy constructs, a full ladder of bandits always toppling in turn without any effort from the roof occupants.<br/><br/>Not all efforts were however in vain for Lyle's and Aure's warning did not reach everyone on the battlefield. On the other side of the field, the buildings also became victim to the scaling bandit horde. The immense pressure and inexperience however dulled their senses of the militia that had set their roots upon the roof, clumsily firing volley after volley at the visibile bandits who scaled the other buildings in an attempt to assist them. Not used to the shroud of war that stung their minds, which made it easy to believe a false indication that their building was inaccessible despite baring witness to recent activity to the buildings opposite them, it was only then that they would suffer the same fate, too late to find themselves at the mercy of a rusted bandit blade. Henceforth the battle soon reached both levels. It did little good however, drawomg numbers away from those that had attempted to scale Lyle's and Aure's building as soon as they had began to take notice, for in their minds: Why would they want to risk their lives walking into a death trap when others had already succeeded in finding a route to the rooftops?<br/><br/>The idea was soon abandoned as each attempt to climb the ladders and the constant replanting of kicked ladders became more and more rare, the life threatening attempt to reach the rooftops becoming too overwhelming for the fickle minds of the bandit horde. Those that were thinking of making the attempt, those that would rather not join the others who had overwhelmed the other buildings, opted more to keep their feet on a place they knew was firm and solid, deciding they'd rather stand toe to toe against a man with a pitchfork than staring down at a man or woman with a notched arrow or readied blade. Despite this turn of events, arrows were still limited and it didn't take long for some of the peasants who remained to start searching for objects or vandalising the roof itself in the attempt to find something to throw at their suppressors.<br/><br/>"Fall back to the center of Greenvale! Protect the Chantry!" The barked command echoed between more and more men on the ground, a voice at first familiar as Jaerons before everyone else began to repeat his order, in turn the peasants on the rooftop looked to both Lyle and Aure. The rooftops certainly looked easy enough to traverse but there was always the potential of fragile roofing and the risk of not making the next jump. Even if Argin's forces had not scaled their building, there were still remnants of his forces who had succeeded on their half of the buildings towards the center, however it was little in comparison to the other half. Still, less gruelsome than the horrific end the militia had suffered on the other side. Despite their desire to follow the Knight Captains orders, they seemed more interested in what both Lyle and Aure had to say, although they looked at Aure with as much fear as if they would be her next target "Please.. tell us what you need of us to do" Coming from a young man, a torn stone from the roof nestled in large, strong hands. Blacksmith hands. "You both look.. capable.. please.. I don't want to die."<br/><br/>It became clear what the brutal carnage had wrought upon their home as the mass surge of bodies began to drift to the right of their position as the villagers rallied towards the chantry. It was only then did the corpses speak more than words could have as the frenzied mobs fled the battlefield. Both bandit and peasant alike remained mangled in the mixture of trodden dirt and peddlestone, a true nightmarish display of twisted corpses and death. Some of the bandits even took advantage of this ordeal and fled, others that had become a victim of bloodlust pressed on forward. The bandit numbers truely had been dealt a devastating blow.<br/><br/>----<br/><br/>Argin was delighted to watch the viel of chaos cast upon Greenvale, in every direction he could hear the death throes of men and women and a cruel twist of his face only indicated his enjoyment. The Tevinter blade had already drank in both the blood of the villagers and his own forces, each strike he made drew blood and he completed his swings despite who was around him, only to blame his -accidental- victims that they were too close to his blood letting. There was no reassurance that his army would stay together, being aware that murderers are just scared men for the most part. Baring witness to chunks of his main force splintering through the streets was infuriating, although he could have guessed why. A malicious laugh escaped his lips and he pointed in the direction of the soon fleeing men, the laugh had halted and a dark and sinister growl took over in response to Jaeron's command "<span style="color: RoyalBlue">Bloody follow them, kill each and every soddin' one of them! Burn down their precious bloody chantry!</span>". He didn't need to order them to spread out, they were doing that themselves although at this point, even for peasants and refugees, they would still be able to hold them back the main offensive body if their numbers were less.<br/><br/>Disappointment blindly struck him as the shadowy figures on the rooftops still lingered.<span style="color: RoyalBlue"><i>Bah, these fools cannot do anything right...</i></span><br/><br/>Now with no threat in the immediate area, despite those on the roof, Argin marched onwards with what was left of his so called -honour guard-, only two remained but each were just as tall and threatening as him, neverminding the poor choice of weaponary they carried, large spiked mauls that were already glistening in dark crimson blood. "<span style="color: RoyalBlue">Time we bloody well finished this soddin' job, lads.</span>" The two men pumped their fists in the air, cheering loudly as they broke into a slow jog. If there were any times to regain stamina, this was one of them.<br/><br/>----<div class="messageTextEndMarker"> </div>