Finding what's behind the masks(Sam, Matt, Ronan, Mae)

[Ronan]

Ronan followed the others as they made their way across dry grass. They were not galloping as such, but they moved at speed, Tairell showing the other Striders how it was done. They had trained long and hard to work together with such skill. Ronan led, but wherever he willed, she moved, needing only a little guidance. When they came to a stop, they all circled Sama'el, waiting for his leadership. The young Watcher nodded into the distance, describing his plan. "So be it," Ronan muttered quietely. "Give them a little taste of Drykas justice." The plan was a strong one, leaving no opening, and attacking in such a staggered fashion so as to cause disarray among their opponents. Ronan caught Sam's eyesight and gave him an affirmative nod. The hunt was on.

[Lariat]

Urging her strider to stop, Shaeva looked a Sama'el, her features grim. "A sound plan Sama'el. We follow your lead, the others await for your direction. They will emerge from the grass soon after your charge, though there has been little word of Vatiz" Her words trailed off towards the end. She had read the web and seen what it foretold as the rest of the others had, and it did not speak of pleasantness for their drykas brethren. It served to be cryptic for the moment amongst the outlanders though to both keep up moral and not let on to the magics they worked tirelessly to keep otters from knowing. If she let on she knew for a fact the fate of Vatiz as she would if only drykas where amongst her would certainly raise suspicions.

The look she gave Sama'el conveyed such concerns and she trusted the Watchman to intuit such from the passive glance. Whether it was fully comprehend or not though she hadn't the chance to realize though as Sama'el started forward, his steed charging forward in plume of dust and displaced grasses. His skill on a yvas was unmatched and envied by all drykas brethren. Here was a man meant to be a champion of the drykas leaders, and if his Clan had any sense would make a Ankal of him. She didn't dare speculate any more on politics though, for she noticed they were cresting the hill.

"Zulrav favor us" She whispered to herself as she saw the sizable camp sprawled out before them, and nudged her strider to break off from Sama'el lead and race the opposite way while pulling the string of her bow taut and sighting down the arrow. Just behind her she could hear the clunky outsider but she pushed him from her thoughts. He was not of her concern for simply he was not drykas.

Across the camp the clash of steel rang out over the shouts of dozens of men within the camp, and looking up briefly she saw Sama'el strike down a man before disappearing behind a row of tents. Her eyes quickly focused on her own targets and releasing the string her bow sang with a poignant twang, and before her steed a man fell over an arrow protruding from his breast. Another two arrows soon followed that one dropping two more of the trespassers. All around more horsemen joined the fray, riding in to cut down handfuls of the intruders within minutes.

Moments passed and suddenly she was in the path of Sama'el, noticeably without the following of Matthial, and saw similarly the other outsider had also abandoned her mount in favor of joining the battle on foot. Outsiders were so strange. With a slight squeeze of her thighs she brought her strider to a halt before Sama'el and turned the with a nudge of her knee on the creatures ribcage. "Shall we do battle side by side" She spoke wryly, remembering for the moment how to smile with more pressing thoughts to occupy her attention. Hardly eating for a response she urged her strider forward into the thick of the battle, moving for the center of the encampment boldly.

[Sama'el Sunsinger]

He caught Shaeva's glance, and thought he knew what it meant, but there was little to be done about it just then. He was not so skilled with the Web that he could leave his body while riding, and they hadn't unlimited time for him to do so. But he could see the energetic lines before and around him, the living web of magic that belonged to his people. If there had been a definite need for him to know, he assumed Shaeva would have made sure he understood, but instead he led Ronan and the Kelvic around in a wide arc, quickly pulling ahead on Dohaina's fleet hooves, but leaving a trail for them to follow, and then the circle began to close on the raiders, the noose to tighten. The way they were laid out, the outlanders were nearest each other. If they could not sneak up properly, at least the raiders' attention would be fixed in one direction and the Drykas could attack from the other, gaining another edge in the battle. He dreaded casualties on their own side, but knew he could only do his best to ensure they had as many advantages as possible, the best chances for success and survival. And then they were moving in. He was not the surest shot, and so he did not fire as many arrows as his brethren, but he waited until he could fire off his best possible shots. He too gave a quick prayer to Zulrav to guide his arrows. That Winter he had witnessed the stormgod curse that stupid Isur, and he wanted nothing better than to please the god who had so favored his people. One shot, then another, and a third. A voice too close had him wheel about, arrow tensed to be loosed into Shaeka's face, but he recognized her, turned and fired the arrow in another direction, catching a raider in the back. He nodded, stowed his bow, and drew his scimitar, urging Dohaina along his fellow Watchman, laying about with the curved blade as his father had taught him long ago in another life.

[Ronan]

Ronan followed on Tairell, his Strider tense with anticipation. It crackled in the air. A crescent of light cast itself onto Sama'el, illuminating him as the leader he was slowly becoming. Ronan had not known him long, but Sam's qualities were clear to see. And now, they were upon the camp, the element of surprise burning within them. Sama'el loosed arrows onto their attackers. Ronan touched Tairell's neck tenderly, pulling up alongside Sam and Dohaina, and dismounted alongside the Watchman. As he pulled his scimitar out into the light and unleashed carnage, Ronan unsheathed his brother's dagger. A footstep behind. He twisted, lashing out. Though he missed, his would be attacker stumbled backwards. Squaring off, they circled like animals, and Ronan met the man's strikes with his dagger. Though it was not a large weapon, he had the benefit of agility on his side. Ducking at the first opportunity, he carved upwards, striking his opponent across the chest. Rent flesh and blood filled the gulf between them. He turned, to see Sama'el in combat with his own opponents. He glanced around, wondering how many men they would have to face. Ronan was not afraid, for one reason. Among the chaos on the plains, with Matthial and the Kelvic, he had found that poor woman. It was her death that spurred him on.

[Lariat]

Perhaps the storm god heard his prayers for his arrows struck true, laying low men and beast alike in the span of heartbeats. The harsh scent of charred flesh, of voided bowls, and blood saturation the air, sickening in its intensity. All around them souls cried out in agony, their death cries mixing with the clash of steel, and thrum of bow strings. This was battle in all it's bloody glory, revealing more truth than most bards tell of it.

Astride Sama'el, Shaeva drew her spear and arching her arm she hurled it forward to pierce a man that charge forth from a massive tent before them. Moments later she was off the back of her strider and on the ground, twin shot swords appearing in her grasp. A swordsman charged forward from the tent only to be struck down by Sama'el, and nodding her appreciation to the Watchman she charged into the structure. Around him the others seemed to have the raiders well in hand, and the entrance to the tent beaconed him. Darkness and silence awaited in its canvas.

[Sama'el Sunsinger]

This was the first pitched battle Sama'el had seen since his youth, when the bandits had slaughtered his pavilion. There was a fever in his eyes, and anyone who knew him well -- none present -- would have seen the supreme effort with which he was fighting to maintain control. He could hear Hasieran's death scream from over a decade in the past as if Tanroa Herself had called that bloody night to the present. Perhaps his family would not want each cut of his blade and kick of his foot to be a sort of revenge in their name, but some of his bitterness was leaching out with each blow he landed. But he was no berserker. He saw Merenwen and Matthial break into the fray, and he was glad to see they yet lived. He flinched as a spear passed his line of sight, but it was friendly fire and not intended for him. Wheeling around, he saw Ronan possibly save his life, and a shaking smile took his face before he shouted in Pavi and rejoined the battle. Instinct had sort of taken over, and he only made nominal decisions with his thinking mind. Perhaps that was how he managed one or two feats of survival, including when he heard Merenwen scream and shift instinctively into her animal form to protect herself, and Sama'el charged ahead, stepped up on one man's knee, breaking it as he stepped off his neighbor's shoulder, throwing his balance off so Matthial could run him through. And Sama'el's own scimitar came down on the man behind them who was threatening the Kelvic, blade swiping down across his back, which was all the lynx girl needed to go for the man's throat. When he landed, he was so surprised by what he had managed to do that he stopped, which would have been fatal if Ronan hadn't definitely just saved his life then. He hoped he would remember to thank the man later, and buy him a drink back at the tents. Then Shaeva was nodding to him, and the course became clear. He turned the scimitar's hilt around in his hand so the blade guarded his forearm, and drew his dagger. There would be less room to maneuver in the tent, but he could get a few jabs of the dagger in to give him space and time to bring the scimitar around. He plunged into the tent.

BERSERKER! :

[Ronan]

Mopping up their attackers, Ronan wheeled round and round, calling to Tairell for comfort. The Strider kicked up, knocking a man in the face, and breaking his jaw in the process. As Merenwen and Matthial made work of the final few, Ronan backed towards the tent, following the path Sama'el had made. Forged by chaos, fuelled by heroism. As he neared the cloth opening, a man jumped him. He turned, but it was too late. A sword slash cut across his upper arm. Flinching had saved his life, for the cut was not mortally deep, but blood rang true all the same. Cursing he slashed outwards in a frenzy. Sweeping to and fro, in the art of the dagger dance. This time, prepared, he bit his tongue against the pain and swept for the man. Ducking a sword strike, he came up and cut the man's neck. The gargle of blood made him wretch. But there was no time. He made for the tent, hoping to aid his fellow Drykas within.