Celes watched Laird's tight behind as he tramped out of the tent, stretching luxuriously nude in furs.  But after only a moment, she got up herself, strapping on a few key pieces of armor:  bracers, a gorget, and shinguards, strapped her sword around her hips, and carried out her light shield, covered in spikes.  The armor were simply piecemeal, parts she picked up here and there that fit and worked bet for her.  Sometimes she might put on a few scraps around her breasts and groin, or even a few plates of metal, but today seemed like a good time for maximum shock value.  Especially if she were planning on challenging a warchief.  The sword, however, was a Vynar heirloom, passed down for generations she was told, still as sharp as the day it was forged.  She would need it to be.<br/><br/>In the mean time, Laird had the right idea.  She walked to a firepit and accepted a bowl of sausage and bread, eating and chewing thoughtfully as soldiers rushed about arming themselves.  It didn't take her long to get ready, which allowed her to be a calm anchor in the center of the bustle.  Getting all the barbarians together would help eliminate them all at once, instead of fighting their normal guerrilla war.  Their increased numbers should be tempered by their disorganization and lack of tactical discipline.  Her own platoon was well practiced and cohesive, able to react with new formations as the battle unfolded.  But taking out their warchief would be key.  It seemed simple enough for a young, "slight," female human to enrage him.  She would just have to be taken seriously enough for him to accept single combat.<br/><br/>The time came, and she joined her soldiers on the front line of their funnel trap.  Standing slightly ahead on a large boulder, she waited and watched for their approach so she could swiftly issue her challenge.  Otherwise, she'd have to quickly regroup to meet the warband as a whole.