It was chaos, nothing more. When Cruran's mass struck the crowd of bandits, those below him collapsed under the weight. The barbarian felt the sting of a blade slice across his arm and the crushing of bone beneath the bandit he had struck. The man had raised his shield at the last moment, and his arm had paid for it. The impact and collapse of the enemies vanguard was so jarring that Cruran once again felt his sword fly from his hands. He had no time to think about where it may have gone. With a shake of his black mane Cruran jumped to his feet and brought his heel down on the face of the nearest fallen bandit. With an iron grip, he wrenched the short axe from the man's dead hand and swung it outward.<br/><br/>In the maelstrom of confusion, Cruran found no shortage of nearby targets. He cleaved the axe into one man's neck with a spray of blood. The barbarian yanked the axe out and lifted it over his head, turning to bring it down on another head, cleaving the man's skull open. He grabbed a sword from the corpse and swung out with both weapons, spinning and driving his two weapons into the confused throngs of bandits. Those with the wits to realize what was happening couldn't get away from the Chasind berserker because of the masses of allies around them.  They screamed as sword and axe tore open their bellies and  severed their limbs. All around them, men that had been charging to fill the lines against the retreating Templars were stopped by the sudden bloody spray from their kin's wounds. The bodies around the barbarian began to fall upon one another before at last the advancing bandits that reached him had pieced together that he was an intruder amongst them.<br/><br/>Cruran drove the sword into a screaming bandit's abdomen as he tried to back step away from the wild man. The barbarian buried the weapon to its hilt then yanked it out in a heaving splatter and kicked the man backward into the ranks of his allies as they moved forward. The few men stopped their advance as the body of their wailing comrade stuck them. Behind him, Cruran heard a flurry of shouts, yelling to tell the front lines that they were in danger from behind.<br/><br/><i><span style="color: Red">Good.</span></i>Cruran thought as he splintered a bandit's shield with the axe in his hand.<span style="color: Red"><i>Come and die, dogs.</i></span>The man's thoughts were of such murderous nature, that he had not even thought that distracting the attention of the of the bandits would aid the villagers as well.<br/><br/>Cruran felt his hands growing slick from blood, and his forearms were stained with dripping red. The bandits had stopped shoving themselves forward and had at last begun to form a perimeter around the barbarian and his stage of mauled corpses. Cruran's cleaving swings were given a moments rest as he stood, facing the oncoming hordes with blood matted black hair clinging to his head and shoulders. He bared his teeth and growled with each breathe, staring at the faces of the terrified and trembling men. He held his two weapons ready in his bloody grip. From the corner of his eye, Cruran saw the tip of the sword had been broken from the rest of the blade, making it a grizzly cleaver rather than a sharp stabbing weapon.<br/><br/>The Barbarian howled and lunged forward, swinging both weapons before him, and striking raised shields. What counter attacks that should have followed were halted as the barbarian wailed on the defenses, battering the arms that held the shields and pushing their masters back into their allies. Cruran halted his assault and parried and stab from  a bandit to his left before swinging for the man's arm and missing as he retreated. They were like wolves surrounding a lion, not one of them strong enough to attack its prey head on, but all ready to take bites at it until the beast grew tired.<br/><br/>Cruran swung again at the lines, and placed his foot forward to advance. He felt his foot slip as the ground turned. The barbarian looked down quickly and saw that it wasn't the ground at all, but the hilt of his great-sword that he had stepped on. Cruran howled again like a wild animal and flung both of his weapons at the crowd. As he released them, he ducked and firmly placed his hands upon the weapon's handle and lifted it. He turned, and swung as he stood. With one broad stroke he cleaved a bandit's head from his shoulders, the man, having been outside the smaller weapon's reach, was no longer safe against Cruran's now longer and heavier weapon.<br/><br/>The finesse that wielding two weapons required was abandoned and Cruran swung like a madman at the crowd, charging forward and letting his mass and his blade's weight bowl over anything before him that didn't think to get out of the way. The cobble ground was slick with blood as more died before the barbarian or discarded their weapons and fought against the crowd to retreat. They were cowards; weak, foolish cowards. They would die like the cowards they were. As one man thought to run, Cruran lunged forward and swung again. The man screamed and writhed as the blade hacked through the muscle of his back and cleaved into his spine.<br/><br/>The bandits stared in horror and confusion. This was not the attack they had been promised. They expected villagers with pitchforks, not this... thing. At the edges of the wide street, bandits surged to fight the Templars and vulnerable villagers. Attacking the defenses of the village still seemed saner than attacking blood drenched reaver.<br/><br/><span style="color: Red">Come on!</span>Cruran roared at their frightened, blood spattered faces even as he began to feel his arms sting and ache.<div class="messageTextEndMarker"> </div>