She floats down almost like an angel falling from the heavens, her dissent abruptly ended as the ground touches her feet. A moment before her winged steed was turned into sparkly magic by the abrupt attack of the wooden shafts and feathery flight of arrows by the bandits that now stand before her. This bandit encampment was just a mere second thought a few hours before, but now having dealt with the ghostly villagers and the sorrow that befell them this place was the only place she wanted to be.
The sound of her armor adjusting as she lands on the ground awakens her from this almost dreary dream. She quickly eyes her surroundings and realizes there are six to eight males, mostly with spears and bows surrounding her while her comrades are flying in over the tree tops to help her. Some of the enemy already show the signs of being burned from the fireball that the master wizard positioned in the middle of this camp, in fact the small roots and grasses that lie in the center of this camp still flicker aflame. It’s good to know that some of her allies are worthy to keep around.
Karlithen grasps her executioners axe tightly with both hands until she feels the oxen leather strapped on the hilt of this weapon being squeezed between her fingertips. It doesn’t look like the enemy will show her any quarter so she will show them none, and she steps forward. Her beautiful face and expertly trimmed body are there for a reason, and is with all males the trap is quickly sprung. As their busily watching her lavish body she quickly and effortlessly swings the mighty axe before they know what even hit them, most of the time there will be bloody stumps laying on the ground before their eyes are removed off her. And this time is no exception.
Several mighty swings into this battle and already some of her allies are standing about, slicing and stabbing at the enemy, most have dismounted from their winged horses and now lie scattered throughout this mercenaries home. With them they bring weapons of steel and prayers from the gods and magic the likes of which hardly any on Midkemia have seen. These certainly aren’t the first foes they have faced in deadly combat and they certainly won’t be the last. They use their magical blades to slash and stab beneath and through the armor the enemy wears for protection, and before long several of the bandits are bleeding profusely. Although all this action has come at a price, several of her allies and Karlithen herself have cuts that bleed as well.
Her executioners ax which she keeps clean and well polished has bloodstains soaking into it, this prized possession which she has sorrowfully named “Lasting Nightmare” is living up to its name. With every stroke she takes with it her enemy eyes slowly turned to fear, a fear that’s deep within one owns soul, one that rises up and takes hold of what little essence of life remains. No longer are the enemy staring at her body, no longer do they smirk and jest at this female that stands before them, they now fight for their very survival.
The well trained fighter and sometimes rogue along with the deadly assassin are flanking several of the enemies surrounded by the encampment’s tents all the while been nipped at by the guardian dogs that are trying to protect their masters. One of the dogs lies in his side barely breathing in its tongue lies motionless hanging out of his mouth. The dogs master is trying his best to stay alive is well but several gaping wounds won’t prevent that from happening much longer.
What these thugs don’t possess Karlithen’s allies do, and occasionally the divine energy washes over them from the powers harnessed by their cleric and their wounds fuse together. While Isaac worships some god, a god that Karlithen knows little about, his power doesn’t discern between followers and the energy heals the wounds nonetheless. Arch-Indar being Karlithen’s god is all she knows about, not that she’s proud of it. Religion, the gods, holy beings, and anything else having to do with the divine just isn’t Karlithen’s bag. Why would it be after the life that she’s had to live so far. A life she’d rather not think about in the heart of battle but staring her in the face every single moment this executioners ax does exactly that.
Several minutes into the heart of battle, several long minutes between those that live and those that die and the battle still rages. All of Karlithen’s allies still stand, most bloodied and most show the signs of wounds, while the enemy has not been as lucky. Several lay dead and one lay with a neck wound that certainly will cause death shortly. Several of the guardian hounds lay curled up next to their dead masters still barking at the invaders to leave.
Three of the battered, beaten, and near death bandits try to surround Karlithen maybe to get a killing blow on her but she is far too wise to fall for their simplistic trick. She quickly swings her ax around over her head and brings it to a thunderous roar into the ground. She then takes one of her hands and glides it up to her long blonde hair where she takes her fingertips and rubs it into the blood spray of one of her fallen enemies. She then caresses her bloodied fingertips with her tongue, up and down, in an through until her tongue is well bloodied. She then points to the three enemies staring deeply at them, almost challenging them, daring them to make the move. Two of them are totally and completely intimidated and freeze where they stand, not able to move even a single muscle. Frozen like statues, their will to survive keeping them from doing anything that could possibly cause them further suffering. The third enemy not as smart as the other two lunges at her but before his blade even in comes close to her the executioners ax is ripped up from the ground and in one stroke connects deep into the man’s chest and Karlithen stares at the last beats his hearts ever makes.
In a frenzy Karlithen looks around to find her other allies stand above their fallen enemies as well, they are bruised and battered just like Karlithen but alive. She collapses upon the ground keeping her head down so the others don’t see the tears, she doesn’t want them to think any less of her but she can’t help herself. The battles are a constant reminder, the blood, the fear, the past. She lets her long blonde hair cover her face so the others can’t see, so maybe they won’t know that she isn’t a heartless warrior after all. She’s put up such a front, one that no one can see through. A brave, heartless, desperate warrior, one without compassion
- one without fear - one without feeling. It’s the way she wants to be known and that’s the way she wants everyone to think of her, no need for anyone else to be involved in the struggles that happened in her heart. Not now, not ever. And she thinks this very thought as the tears rolled down her face and fall upon her bloody axe…..