As Dalanesca kissed him, Marth failed to hide his astonishment. It was lucky that he sat in a dark corner, for his cheeks were the colour of fresh lobster as well, and it took him a few minutes to recover from the shock. His chest was pounding as he watched Dalanesca go to the bar and procure some keys. His astonishment was completed when Dalanesca later flashed him an annoyed expression, as if Marth had somehow done something wrong. You kissed me, I was just playing along!

Marth tried to keep a composed expression as Dalanesca finished her interaction with Borza and his cronies, and succeeded only partially. He managed to see, however, that Borza had become suitably suspicious. As Dalanesca returned to him, he nodded at her, got up, and followed her into their second floor room. "Oh, that's, uh… Fine," he said, going a little stiff with tension.

As they entered the room, the potential for hinky situations only increased, as there was only one large bed in the room. Realising that sleeping in this room - which offered no options for individual privacy - together with Dalanesca was inevitable, Marth resigned to his fate and steered his thoughts back on the mission. "Yes, an early start would be for the best," he conceded, drawing up some parchment, a pen, and an inkwell from his travel supplies - getting to work on making a rough copy of the map Dalanesca had shown him while she undressed. As she apologized, Marth felt a little pang, but decided not to let it show. "No need to apologise - really." It only took him a few moments to replicate the most important aspects of the map, after which he decided to rid himself of his heaviest gear - his new plates.

As she offered Marth the other side of the bed, he hesitated for a moment, then nodded. "Yes, that seems reasonable. We'd better be well rested, the both of us." He proceeded to ditch his robes, revealing for the first time since his exorcism - to anyone - his torso.

His arms were heavy-set, far thicker with muscle than what the robes he wore would indicate. He also had a respectable eight-pack, a set of abdominal muscles long, lean, and strong, betraying how agile the man must truly be. His shoulders were large and his neck thicker than it appeared through the collar of the robes, and his chest was wide. All of these features, however, paled in comparison with the story his skin told.

Across his chest and arms were scars - small burns and clean, old combat scars told of a story of hard, and occasionally even deadly practise and combat. A long, thin scar across his chest showed signs of invasive surgery, a wound taken in battle - and it was fifteen years old, making Marth roughly twenty when he got it. However, there were also many scars on Marth's belly and around his nipples - fresher by far, and not nearly as neatly treated. By all appearances, these scars ranged from a year or two old to mere months old, and they all appeared to be self-inflicted. Many of the wounds the scars originated from appeared as though they had been infected, and a chunk of flesh was missing from his left pectoral muscle, as though Marth had been mauled by a beast with sharp claws.

As Marth turned around to hang up his robes, his skin told yet another story, this time in the form of a tattoo that covered his entire back. Along his spine was an old tattoo of the Dragon Lance - Marth couldn't have been older than twenty when he got it. Slightly younger were a pair of dragon's wings sprouting from the spearhead, the skin of the wings inscribed with text. The left side, over where his heart would be, the text was written in Wyllmochvarian, but the translation in the common tongue was written on the right wing. For Republic and People, a Man lives to serve - bound by Duty and burdened with the Virtues of Power, Knowledge, Wisdom, and Honour. It is the duty, then, of the Explorer, to stop at nothing in the search for the means by which he can Protect and Enlighten his Countrymen, for in Greatness lies the Salvation of the Motherland, bought with the Blood and Glory of its people.

The words 'wisdom' and 'honour' were crossed out with scars that could not be more than a few weeks old. The equivalent words on the Wyllmochvarian side were similarily scarred over, in what could only be interpreted as a concious disdain for what those words, in that setting, represented.

On each side of the spear, below the wings, were a pair of images in duality - on his left side was the image of a scholar, teaching his students, holding in his hands a book opened for all to see. The class was sitting in a courtyard, not unlike the one in the Blinded Scales, made of stone and brilliant in its construction. On the right side of the spear was the same scholar, but with the book closed and clutched to his chest with one hand, holding a whip in the other. The students in this image were slaves, toling away in a courtyard ruined by corruption and neglect. This was the newest ink - barely a few years old and clearly drawn when marth was older and more wizened. Below was a banner, written entirely in the common tongue of Canelux: Knowledge shared is a nation strengthened - Knowledge withheld is individual tyranny.

After haging up his robe and organizing his belongings on the vanity (which took about a minute) Marth took off his boots and socks, and headed towards the bed, sitting down. He looked back at the woman who had so thuroughly balanced and unhinged him, and she appeared to be asleep. Marth's gut was crawling with butterflies, a sensation he hadn't experienced in over a decade. Confused, tried, and with emotions waging war on him, Marth sighed deeply, and lied down in bed - his past and present predicaments vying for domination of his thoughts.

And then quietly cried himself to sleep.

When Marth accepted her literal invitation to share her bed, she felt her body tense up.  She was not necessarily nervous about it, but she was uncertain about where the two stood given the events that had happened downstairs.  She hadn’t necessarily meant to kiss him - it was something that had just happened, and now she was beginning to regret it.  She didn’t necessarily regret the actual action of it happening, but rather the circumstances in which it had happened.  The feelings she had held toward Marth had been confusing, especially since her revelation of power to him.  She did not know if the feeling stemmed from their divine bond, or from something else - and her actions now had certainly not helped that confusion.

She could hear Marth undressing, and unconsciously half-rolled over to glance at him.  He hadn’t seemed to notice her, and she fought to stifle a gasp as she took in the sight of him.  He was much more toned and muscular than she had imagined him to be - but that, as much as she enjoyed it, was not what had caused her surprise.  The gasp she had hidden was due to the many scars and burns that flecked his skin.  She knew that now was not the time for her to ask him about them, as he did not even know she was seeing him currently.  Seeing the chunk missing from his chest, her mind immediately drifted to the wound on her own chest, and to Reaver.

  When he turned to hang up his robes, she continued to look at him long enough to take in the markings and tattoos on his back, which made it quite obvious that this had been his way of life for many years.  She noted the crossed out words on his back, wondering if those, too, were a result of Reaver.  

She rolled back over, her back completely to Marth, and closed her eyes.  She could hear him milling about, organizing his belongings, and began to slowly drift off to sleep, the night’s events playing through in her mind.  WIth a heart full of confusion, she drifted off, breathing deeply by the time Marth climbed into the bed next to her.

—-

Dalanesca blinked slowly, her mind focusing in on consciousness.  She had clearly forgotten to draw the shades the night before, because the sun shone brightly through the windows in the morning.  Marth’s back was to her - very close to her - and at some point in the night she had rolled over and curled up fairly close to him.  One of her arms was stretched out above her head, her fingertips barely brushing Marth’s hair. 

Slowly, she pushed herself away from him, being careful so as not to disturb him from his sleep.  The light that cast through the window indicated to her that it was still fairly early,  and she had gone to sleep earlier than him the night before.  She managed to get out of bed without rousing him, and padded towards the table that she had laid her belongings on.  She quietly pulled her leggings on, not bothering with the armor yet.  She opened the door, and as was custom of these types of inns, a tray with a pitcher of water and a few stone tumblers as well as bread and fruit had been set outside the door not long ago.  She picked it up and brought it back in, setting it on the table.  

She poured herself a bit of the water and sat in the chair, taking a sip, and thinking back on the night before.  What had she been thinking?  She had been distracted from the fact that she was acting when he had begun to play along - what had she expected was going to happen?  He was highly intelligent - of course he was going to realize that he needed to play along in order for the charade to work.  She had made the mistake of allowing her emotions to take over her mind, and in that time she very well could have ruined a trust that was necessary for the bond the two needed to keep strong.

She poured water into the other tumbler, and looked out the window.  It seemed that it would be a good enough time now for Marth to be awoken, and she stood with the tumbler in hand and padded, barefoot, across the floor to his side of the bed. From where she stood, she could see the scars and marks on his chest.  She studied them for a moment, deciding that at a later time, she would ask him about them.  She crouched down next to him, her hair still quite messy from sleeping with pieces of it falling in her face, and gently placed a hand on his shoulder, lightly shaking him.  “Marth,” she said quietly.  “Time to wake, I think we need to see about getting moving,” she said, and placed the stone tumbler on the table next to the bed.  “Got some water for you, I’ll leave it here,” she said, and stood up, walking back to the table, intent on re-armoring herself now that she had taken the first steps to wake him up and did not need to worry about being quiet any longer.

Marth woke up as Dalanesca shook his shoulder, blinking for a few seconds before sitting straight up. The tumbler of water was within reach from his sitting position, so he splashed some in his face and took a quick wash. As he was rubbing himself down with a small cake of soap, he spoke to Dalanesca - addressing the proverbial elephant in the room.

"What happened last night and how… I'll be fine with leaving it at that. It wasn't nothing - I'm not an idiot - but we needn't think of it right now." He got up and dried himself off (magically) and went over to his equipment, beginning the arm-up process. "But the last thing we should do is stop talking." He paused for a moment, looking down the scar-riddled ruin that used to be a relatively pristine torso. "So if there are any questions, or statements, you'd like to present… I think now is a good time." He put on his robe and turned to Dalanesca, buckling up his belt and packing his belongings.

However his companion would choose to respond, Marth spent the next few minutes listening and adjusting his armour. With robe and armour in place, he no longer looked as big as he did naked, though surely some things could not be unseen - the way his robes folded around his muscles, the size and strap adjustment of his plates… On closer inspection, his robes probably carried a minor enchantment to make him look less imposing, but once you knew, it could be easily spotted. The last thing Marth did before being ready to travel was clean the blade of the Dragon Lance, of course using fire as opposed to cloth.

She was halfway through buckling her chest plate, having already pulled on her reinforced leggings, when Marth spoke up, addressing the previous evening’s events. She didn't respond for a moment, only giving him a sideways glance as she fastened the stays of her chest plate. She was unsure how to discuss the situation without further complicating things between the two of them. Her gaze lingered to his scarred chest once more, before she turned away completely to finish putting her armor on, pulling the harness over her head so she could attach the sheaths and what not that she needed to carry with her. 

She sat on a chair turned to have her back to him, twisting her hair into a long braid. As she wove the plait, she turned her head a bit to look at him once more, seeing that he had now gotten his robes on, deceptively hiding the muscles she had seen first hand. “I never said it was nothing,” she said quietly, her emotional confusion quite apparent in her voice. “Nor did I have any intention to give you that impression.”  She fell silent again. Though she was mildly uncomfortable given the situation, she was glad that Marth had brought it up. It was probably best that they at least mildly discussed the situation before beginning their day’s journey - it was going to require them to be in the highest of focus. 

After a moment she spoke again, turning sideways in her chair to face him as she tied a piece of leather around her hair to keep the braid in place. Though Marth had said perhaps they should not think on it, she knew that it had to be at least partially discussed before they left. “I shouldn't have done that,” she said apologetically as she reached for her scarf. She held it in her hands for a moment, looking down at it. “Not because I didn't want to, but because of this, because it's distracting from the task at hand,” she said, glancing back up at him. The look on her eyes supported her statement. “That's why I did that. I got caught up in the whole facade and I took advantage of the situation and I did something selfish because I wanted to, and it's not fair to you,” she added. 

“The truth of the matter is, Marth, that it wasn't the first time I thought of that,” she admitted. “It's just the first time I acted on it. I want to blame it on this bond that we have, this divine connection that seems to have been contrived between the two of us… But it was there, at least somewhat, before that.”  She let out a sigh and stood up, walking to retrieve her blades and place them in their sheathes. “And this is why I never brought it up. I acted on it - stupidly, might I add - and now it's caused a problem.”  

She paused, her brow furrowed as she glanced over her shoulder at him while he cleaned the Dragon Lance. “I'm sorry,” she said quietly, turning back to finish sheathing her weapons, feeling uneasy about the situation as a whole. She had either started things on the mend, or possibly made them much, much worse. 

As Marth finished kitting up, he listened to Dalanesca's explanation about the night before. It wasn't nothing, she readily admits to that. His pace slowed down a bit as she explained how she had acted stupidly, about how the entire event had unraveled to put the operation at risk - and how she admitted that she'd felt the urge to do so before. Marth, upon this little revelation, had just finished cleaning the Dragon Lance - and he went up to Dalanesca, composed as can be.

"So you did what you did because you wanted to." Marth looked on the floor, and gave a brief chuckle. Then he laughed aloud, the seriousness and tension he'd felt about the situation vanishing. "Don't be sorry, Dalanesca. You've given me the right to payback." He put his finger under her chin and gave her a quick kiss - nothing too long or meaningful. He held it for roughly a second, before breaking it and looking back at her with a smile.

"I've wanted to for some time, as well. Now, I think, we should be more or less on the same page." He looked at Dalanesca with a sly - and it should be noted, determined - grin, flicking his head in a gesture towards the door. "So now we don't have to worry about it. It'll be waiting for when we have the time. So, what do you say we get back to the matter at hand and find that shard, hm?"

Dalanesca opened her mouth to ask what Marth was laughing at when she was cut off as he mentioned payback and gifted her with a quick kiss. She took it as his way of explaining that he was in agreement with her on some of the thoughts, without actually saying so. When he pulled away, she stood still for a moment, not necessarily in shock but more in a way to process what had just taken place. She could see that Marth was smiling, and in turn couldn't help a bit of a grin from forming on her lips. 

The mention that he had been thinking the same as she had for a while gave a leap of hope in her stomach, though her expression did not give such away. The look on his face showed that he was most certainly not upset with the situation, and she nodded in agreement that they would discuss things further when time allowed. 

“Sounds like a plan,” she said, and finished hooking up her armaments. She stepped towards the door and pulled it open. Just as she was about to step out, she turned back to him. “You're brave… Getting payback on a goddess? Must be pretty faithful that she'll not reprimand you for that,” she said, a devious grin on her face. When she turned to walk out, the from morphed into a full blown smile, and she felt a huge surge of weight being lifted off her shoulders. She stopped outside the door, awaiting Marth to join her. 

Marth smirked at Dalanesca on his way out. "Goddess of balance wouldn't deny anyone the chance to get even," he said, "but by all means - reprimand me, my lady." As he walked out, he ruffled her hair again, ready to embark on the next leg of their journey.

---

After a brief brainstorming session with martin, whereupon he took his men-at-arms to march a slightly longer, but hopefully faster route, Marth began following the trail of Borza and his cronies. Mercenaries one and all, they moved relativly slowly - and so blatantly that following the trail incognito was a breeze - and so Marth had time to spend the next few days rather leisurely. Most of the time, marth would chat with Dalanesca, making plans for clergy and indeed her own realm, as well as keeping the embers of the flirt burning comfortably. He made no untoward advances during the nights, though it still got chilly in the evenings, so he offered to lie close.

---

On the fourth day, the party reached the defile through which Borza had to make his way to get to the shard. There, they were met by a handful of men-at-arms - young boys which marth had learnt earlier were forester's sons, and so were familiar with the basics of hunting and stealth. With this handful of extra manpower, Marth gave chase, hoping to time the vice-trap right - catching Borza and his men between two forces with no chance of escape.

Finally, he heard agitated shouting ahead. One voice was Martin's - it was calmer, so the fighting probably hadn't begun - and the other was the voice of the mercenaries' sergeant. Marth urges his companions on, and arrived just in time to see the scene unfolding.

"You don't move aside, we'll stick ya' and force ya' aside!" shouted a big man that had to be the leader of their mercenary unit. Even with his hood up, Borza was visibly annoyed, both by the situation and his companions. "What mr. Douglas here is trying to convey, paladin" - he spat it like an insult - "Is that you are currently standing between us and our destination, and we would appreciate if we could move towards said destination without having to resort to base force." Martin stood in place, defiant - and on foot, as the terrain was too cramped for horses. His blade was already drawn.

"I am fairly confident we're both well aware that I cannot allow you to access that artifact," he began, his men-at-arms in a compact, well-rehearsed fighting formation. From the looks on their faces, they were either veterans, or inspired by the veterans in their unit - no man was flinching. Martin was smirking, his eyes locked with Borza's. "And we have you surrounded. Give up now, and you'll be free to turn around and leave." Borza spun around, as well as a few of the mercenaries, and spotted Marth, Dalanesca, and the handful of soldiers they had with them. Marth's veins were glowing a bright blue, his hands clutching the Dragon Lance.

"Devil Eyes Borza. You are hunting an artifact, a Shard of Reaver. Reaver is violence incarnate, a demon existing only for bloodshed. He is also posessive, and cannot be allowed to acquire a new host. For this reason…" Marth entered battle stance, clearly not in the mood for negotiation. Perhaps a bold move, but with only a glance one could see the rallying effect it had on the soldiers - they went from defiant and determined to outright eager. "… You will surrender, or experience the searing wrath of the Dragon Lance up close."

With this, Borza narrowed his eyes. He then sighed, and threw up his hands in surrender - before immediately launching a black bolt of energy - aimed at Dalanesca. In one fluid movement, Marth brushed his thumb on the inscription of the Dragon Lance's shaft, re-activating it as the Guardian Dragon Lance, which sheathed the blade in light - and swept the blade in the path of the dark bolt, turning it, and sending it crashing into the hillside. The mercenaries let out a cry and rushed - half rushed Martin and his companions, which left Martin with advantage in numbers as well as skill and equipment - but the other half rushed towards Marth and Dalanesca, leaving them severely outnumbered.

Marth's eyes opened wide, and his eyes visibly darkened with violent intent. "So be it."

Though an impending battle loomed ahead of them, Dalanesca found herself fairly happy with the way the next few days passed.  The amount of downtime shared between Marth and Dalanesca had given them ample opportunity to discuss things regarding the Blinded Scales, and the changes that were to be made.  She found herself quite happy with the fact that, on occasion, Marth would make a comment or offer her a glance that kept the feelings the two had discussed alive.  He was a proper gentleman to her in all aspects, and she found it quite refreshing.  

—

When the pair met up with the forester’s sons, she felt a bit more confidence about the situation.  Dalanesca had never felt overly strong in battle, and although she was well aware of the fact that Martin’s men-at-arms would be in the fight as well - assuming all went according to plan - she felt a bit more at ease by the added addition of men.  Had she been in a situation where showing her divinity would have been acceptable, the battle would have been non-existent, as she could have dealt with everyone present in a simple motion; unfortunately, she did not land in such a position.  Protecting this aspect about her identity was crucial at this point - but she had a few ideas that she would implement when time allowed.

It had seemed that Marth’s plan worked well - they approached voices sounding in the distance.  She did not recognize the first man that spoke, but Borza’s voice rang clear to her before she could even see his face.  She moved to stand only a few feet to Marth’s left - wanting enough tactical distance between them but wanting to keep him close.  Martin seemed ready for a fight, and Borza and his men had not seemed to have noticed Marth, Dalanesca, or the men they had brought with them.  

When she noticed that Martin’s blade was drawn, she rested her hands on the hilts of two longer daggers, one sheathed on either side of her, in preparation for the inevitable.  Shortly thereafter, Martin gave notice to the fact that the company had them surrounded, and she could see the recognition in Borza’s face as his eyes travelled first to Marth, then to her, then to the handful of men that had come with them.  It was clear that he remembered her from the tavern, but it did not matter that their cover had been blown - she had an inkling that after this battle there would be no Borza to fool.

When Marth began addressing Borza, she glanced at him.  Dalanesca could see the power in his veins, coursing blue across his body  His voice resonated in a commanding manner, and it was unusual for Dalanesca to hear or see him this way - but she quite enjoyed it.  He shifted stance, at which point she brought her knees into a bit of a bend, half-drawing the long daggers from their sheaths.  

It seemed as though Borza was contemplating what he was going to do - but it became immediately clear that was not the case when he sent a surge of dark magic in Dalanesca’s direction.  She moved to dodge the bolt swiftly, but it was unnecessary, as she saw Marth make one swift motion with his Dragon Lance that deflected the bolt into the hillside.  Her eyes darted to her companion in a brief glance of thanks, but returned immediately to the enemy before them.  Half of the men had began a surge towards Martin and his men-at-arms, while the other half began rushing towards Dalanesca and Marth.  She looked at Marth, prepared to see worry in his eyes, but worry was not what she saw.  She could feel the violence coming off of him - he was prepared for a battle.

The five forester’s sons drew their blades, ready for combat, at which point Dalanesca also fully unsheathed her daggers.  Though she could not use her divine powers in this circumstance, she was not going to go without the extra boost to her speed and strength.  As the enemy grew closer, one man in particular focused on her - and she could actually see that it had been the man who had made an advance on her in the tavern the night previous.  She narrowed her eyes, and just as the man lunged at her with his blade, she ducked sideways out of the way, his blade missing her as he swung it down.  He lost his footing and did an accidental somersault, landing square on his back.

With excellent precision, she pounced on him, finding herself extremely grateful for the flexibility allowed by the Fellhunter armor she wore.  She crouched over the man, who fumbled for his blade, having lost it when he landed so roughly on the ground.  “‘Remember me?” she said, the scales of balance in her mind tipping towards the darker side.  The man’s eyes widened in recognition, but before he could utter a word she moved swiftly, burying one of the daggers so forcefully into his chest that her hand went partially along with it.  She froze for a moment, a bit taken aback but the outcome of her attack having not exerted much of her divine strength before, and quickly pulled her arm back, her hand and wrist thoroughly soaked in the man’s blood.

She climbed to her feet just in time to see another man swinging a curved blade at her.  She ducked out of the way so the blow did not land true to her neck, where it had been aiming, but the tip of the sword sliced through the outer surface of her armor on her left bicep - she could feel the cold stinging sensation that came with metal slicing through her skin.  It hadn’t slashed her too deeply, but her eyes narrowed in aggression at her attacker.  

He stood at least a foot taller than she, and in normal circumstances that would have had her backing down - but not this time.  Instead, she ran towards the man, who planted his feet apart in the ground, blade ready to strike at her again.  When she neared him, she dropped, sliding between his legs.  Her daggers drawn on either side, she slid them precisely enough to slash through the backs of his boots and through the tendon’s in his ankles, at which point he screamed in agony and dropped to his knees.  Dalanesca quickly stood, circling around him only to bury her blade into his eye socket.  Moving quickly,  she retrieved her blade, directing her gaze to Marth to see what circumstance he found himself in.

As the mercenaries charged at Marth and Dalanesca, the veteran wizard quickly assessed the situation. We're outnumbered. Martin's men are bound to win their fight, ours will be tougher. Borza will have no clean arcs of fire for a while, though that may not stop him. I cannot afford to worry about Dalanesca at this time, she'll be able to handle herself. I must paralyze Borza and buy time for Martin and his men to punch through and relieve us. These thoughts passed through Marth's head in a fraction of a second; And he wasted no more time than that to commence his attack.

Borza had kept a few mercenaries around as a bodyguard, and was preparing to cast. In response, Marth made a most disgusting noise with his throat, and small flames trickled from his mouth. He then spat, unleashing a glob of bright orange spit which launched itself in Borza's general direction, whistling past a mercenary on the charge. And then, the defile shook; In a single, visceral instant, two of Borza's guards were torn apart by the blazing shockwave - limbs, bone, blood and fire spraying from the spell's point of impact. Borza himself and a handful of guards where thrown through the air, and those guards not immediately knocked down were sent staggering in various directions. Martin and the men-at-arms didn't flinch - they all had extensive training fighting mages, and such magickal violence was something they were accustomed with - but about half of the mercenaries fliched and stumbled as a result of the sudden eruption.

All of that happened in the blink of an eye, and with murderous intent, Marth went immediately to work on pressing his advantage. Coming at him was a hulking man with a big sword, who in his rage had shook off the mental and physical impact of the spell. With a muffled grunt, he brought his sword directly down towards Marth in a wide arc - but Marth checked the blade, meeting it with the blade of the Guardian Dragon Lance, and with a grunt of effort turned the strike to the side. He stepped in, and in the same motion as his parry, jabbed the foeman's chest with the butt of his spear. The spear let out a spark, and the man howled. With a flash, his body contorted, electricity dancing across his flesh, and after a single second, he crumpled onto the ground, shaking violently. Marth danced, taking another step with a spin, once again bringing his leading foot forward - and the blade of the spear. From a sharp angle, he brought the blade bwteeen the man's seventh and eighth rib, piercing his heart - and that was the end of him.

At the same time, Martin and his men charged, using the shock of the enemy to their advantage - tearing through their ranks while they were disorganized. This gave them a number of easy kills, Martin himself claiming the lives of two foemen with his claymore. After the initial assault, Martin's men formed ranks and began pushing, an unyielding wall of shield and sword which brutally punished the lack of discipline and any technical error by their enemies. The mercenaries on that side of the battle had already begun wavering, and the less experienced and more craven mercenaries were already on their back feet ready to run. Martin and his men, on the other hand, fought with steely confidence, even after taking a few casualties, and with the screams of the dying in their ears.

Similarily, the forester's sons had created a battle line in the trees. Many of the mercenaries favoured larger weapos, weapons that in tight quarters offered very little flexibility. The boys focused entirely on surviving the encounter, but they had the presence of mind to know that eliminating a threat was a fair way of avoiding it - so without taking any hits but the most inconsequential, they brought down about half a dozen men themselves. Thanks to their equipment, training, and background, they were able to use the terrain to their advantage and prevent the enemy from bringing their full numbers to bear, and seemed relatively confident despite slowly retreating.

By now, the fight had raged for about fifteen seconds, and the second and third enemies were upon Marth. They approached from his eleven and two, but Marth wasn't deterred. Swinging his spear in a wide arc, he forced one foe to leap back, buying space and time with which to take them more individually. Marth sidestepped his closest opponent to bring him between himself and the other opponent, and with a jab at the closest foe's shin, Marth brought him to heel and excecuted him with a thrust just above his collarbone and down into his chest. The man who had previously lept back came at him, wielding broadsword and shield. I hate shields, Marth thought, but he wasn't helpless. He feigned a misplaced backstep and stumbled, losing grip on the Dragon Lance with his offhand, an advantage his opponent forseeably pressed. The man charged, and knocked Marth's spear aside with his shield - and for a single terrifying second, it looked as though he'd be able to cut Marth's head off. However, Marth's foot dug into the soil, and he was stable - and as he blocked the blow with his vambrace, he inhaled - and with a howl, engulfed his enemy in dragonfire. The mercenary's scream reverbarated through the entire battlefield, a feral shriek of terrible agony, and he turned and ran, arms flailing and covered in flames.

With their leader apparently incapacitated, facing well-trained regulars and a fire-breathing, lightning-wielding veteran of a hundred battles, the morale of the foemen failed them. The most junior of the mercenaries were the first to run, clamouring up a hill to steep to feasibly traverse, and the senior men who didn't follow were soon surrounded and slain. On Marth and Dalanesca's side of the battle, the picture was a little different - the dozen mercenaries who still stood were now fighting not to kill their enemies, but to punch a hole through the forester's boys and escape. Marth realised this quickly, and shoted to them. "Let them run!" The boys swiftly banded together and hugged a cliff in defensive formation - being a difficult target, the men pushing them didn't bother. Soon, the battlefield was clear, leaving roughly two dozen dead or dying mercenaries and half again as many fleeing, with eight men-at-arms lying in the dirt - one of which was a forester's son, but he had taken a wound to the leg and looked as though he'd survive. While the soldier got to work on helping their friends and putting their enemies out of their misery, a handful of them took Borza and his surviving bodyguards captive. They were all still a bit dazed and would be unable to do anything coherent for a minute or so, so Marth went over to Dalanesca to check on her.

"You alright there, 'Nesca?" he said, with a smirk - knowing she found the name a little annoying. He then spotted the blood on her arm, and perked an eyebrow. "I assume that's not yours," he said, casting a glance on the poor bastard she had stuck.

Having caught a gap in the onslaught, Dalanesca allowed herself time to regroup.  Her mind had somehow shifted into gear and given her a thirst for battle she had not ever felt before - but now that no one was attacking her for the moment, she could feel it subsiding.  She glanced towards Marth just in time to see him slicing through one opponent and setting the other ablaze with dragonfire from his mouth.  For a brief moment while watching him, she felt the same rush of adrenaline she had felt from engaging in battle herself, though he quickly dispatched his remaining foes and the feeling subsided.  She was beginning to understand just how powerful her Redeemer and Destroyer was, and had a new wave of thoughts of his capabilities circling her mind.  

From her vantage point, it seemed as though the forces were retreating.  Her thought was solidified as truth as Marth yelled to the forester’s sons to let them retreat.  After a moment, it seemed anyone left in the area was either on their side, badly injured, or dead.  Martin’s men-at-arms had taken a solid hit but still stood mostly in tact, the remaining men helping those on their side who were injured and executing those who were not.  She stayed in her place, sheathing her left-hand blade but still grasping that in her right tightly, the blade still shiny and wet with blood from her last victim.

When Marth approached her, she could not help but smile at seeing that he had come out of the battle unscathed.  From what she had seen, he had been more than able to hold his own, but there was that part of her deep down that had feared for his safety the entire time - though perhaps not when the thrill of running her blade through another had briefly taken over.    “I’m fine… Marth,” she said, though her smile faded a bit at the name he chose to refer to as.  She paused as she spoke his name, having tried and failed to come up with a comparable retort.  “I am glad to see you’ve made it out alive, as well,” she added, truthfully, and gave him a bit of a smile again.  She sheathed her blade and took a look at her hand as Marth questioned the blood, realizing that it was completely caked in red blood and bits of viscera.  She glanced to the victim in question, seeing the hole in his chest a bit too large to have been caused by a blade.  “Uh… no, it’s not,” she said, glancing around to be sure no one else was in earshot.  “I guess I’m a bit stronger than I know,” she added, subconsciously attempting to wipe her hand on leg.  She nodded down to her arm, where a steady trickle of blood was flowing out from the wound she had sustained.  “That, however, is my blood,” she said.  She prodded at the wound with her clean hand, seeing it was not bad enough to need stitches.  “I think I got the better end of the deal.”    

From behind them, a moan of pain echoed out.  It came from the man whose eye she had buried her dagger in - the blow had blinded him in that eye and he was incapable of moving from his severed tendons, but she hadn’t killed him.  She let her gaze rest on him for a moment, writhing in pain on the ground.  “Hold on,” she said to Marth, her voice sounding more annoyed than anything.  She sauntered over to the man who lay on the ground, and drew her longer blade from the sheath that rest over her spine.  The man began to sputter, begging and pleading as he could see what was about to happen with his one good eye.  She placed her booted foot on his chest and bent down a bit, forcing the tip of her blade up under his chin, slowly forcing it up into his skull.  When he ceased movement, she pulled it back out and sheathed it, walking back to Marth.

“Couldn’t very well leave a loose end,” she added.  Something within her had told her that too much evil rested within the group they battled, and left her with a resolution that killing was not wrong - not in this situation.  “It looks like your plan worked well,” she added to Marth, glancing around at the carnage that surrounded them.  As she scanned the area, she froze, completely still, her eyes fixed off in the distance.  A far bit beyond where they were standing lay the rubble of an old building, and she could sense something off about the area.  The more she focused on it, the more she could tell that this was where they needed to go - the pure evil resonating from it had upset the balance in that area.  Apparently, Marth’s plan had been even better than they had anticipated, and they had met Borza almost exactly where they needed to be.

She took a few steps towards Marth, standing close enough where she could speak softly - softly enough that only he could hear it.  “It’s there,” she said, nudging her head significantly towards the rubble she had seen.  She offered no explanation, knowing that Marth would understand why she was so certain.