Khait curses at the seemingly uncircumventable course.  Not moving her lips, she sends her words to Thud.<br/><br/><em>'Follow me into the valley... not too close.'</em><br/><br/>Then, catching a glimpse of Ora careening overhead, she sends one more message, the golden goat-faced mask unflinching as she spurs her howler into a sprint...<br/><br/><em>'We'll need your support from above, vermin waiting ahead.'</em><br/><br/>She slides the bloodied shaft of her lance into the studded leather sheath on the holwer's flank, then whips the huge, hissing bastard sword from her back.  She holds it in one hand, the blade in her lead hand taking the readied position at her opposite hip, ready to cut down whatever she encounters.<br/><br/>Into the mist, she rushes headlong, the howler's fearsome and mournful cries bellowing through the valley... no hesitation.  She might be swarmed, overrun, picked apart by crossfire... she needs not hide her smile.<br/><br/><em>"fuck you all..." </em>she says in the Abyssal tongue, the blade in her hand pivoting, twisting idly, spinning in her idle grip.  She cannot wipe the smile from her face as she hurls headlong, begging death and blood alike.