"Oh, hell!" Rorik yelled, jumping backwards into the fray of rebels. He immediately stabbed one in the throat, then kicked him hard in the knees, breaking both legs. He elbowed a rebel behind him, grabbed his head, and threw him into another group of rebels. He then proceeded to jump up on top of one rebels head, balancing on one hand, and pushed himself off into the tree just above them. Wasting little time, he ran down the back of the tree, his blue knife turning a great fiery red and growing in size until by the time he hit the ground, it was a large claymore. with three quick swings, the tree was severed at the stump, and Rorik took a kick at it which sent it down into the group of confused rebels.<br/><br/>Jumping up on the fallen tree, he noticed something. Blood. No, his blood. A wound in his shoulder...a feeling of aggravation came over him as he knew that whatever had hit him, it had hit him deep.<br/><br/>He wouldn't be able to fight for much longer; maybe their tactic had worked after all...