Vetra had seen the thunder spell before it triggered, and she had brought her hands up in a shield a split second before it went off. IT had saved both her and Ingrid life, but the thundercrack had shattered the entirety of the rear wagon they were in and the concussive blast still rang in her ears as she dragged herself up. A man dressed in ragged furs moved confidently towards her. His face was draped in the shadows of his deep hood, furs lining the edges and further helping obscure his features. But she could see the crackle of lighnting magic in his eyes. They peered at her like she was an ant he was about to step on. He lifted his hands as they glowed while he began to conjure another spell. Vetra stood on unsteady legs, blood trickling out of her nose. That had been a high level thunder spell. No bandit would have that and remain a simple bandit. Beside her, Ingrid had gotten up to her feet as well, the dwarf seeming far better off then Vetra. “AMBUSH!” She yelled as she gripped her axe and bolted towards the mage. Vetra saw the tears in Ingrid's eyes as she charged and knew instantly what the sick smell of burning flesh was. She didn't turn to look, even as she heard the wounded whimpers.

Ingrid's charge was bolstered by sudden winds that lifted her off the ground as she shot like a missile. “I’ll fucking kill you!” She screamed at the top of her lungs as she struck at the mage. The mage held one hand up with a snarl, conjuring a shimmering shield made out of lightning and hardened air. It was another relatively high level spell and by the look of the mage he has outmost confidence in it. That is why he looked utterly terrified as the the axe hitting it made visible cracks appear from just one blow.

“I'll kill you, you twice damned swine. You hurt my baby!” Ingrid snarled as she smashed with another massive blow of the axe, the shield cracking further as the grief stricken, maddened dwarf kept swinging like she was cutting down a tree. The mage chanted a quick spell and flew back as they blasted Ingrid with a bolt of concentrated air. But Ingrid barely moved, buffering the spell with a windblast of her own , using the fact that she also had far more brawn then the mage to stand her ground.

“Come back here!” She yelled as she smashed her hand into the ground with thunderous 'crack' . A solid fist of rock rose up and snagged the mages ankle with enough force to snap it. Ingrid moved in on the mage who began to blast bolts of lightning at her in order to keep her away for long enough to get away. She blocked the first few with a shield of wind and debris but grunted as one made it through, sending her stumbling back. In her anger she had made the mistake to take a superior spellcaster head on. She was a hybrid fighter, not a mage. She needed to fight to her strengths.

“I got you Ingrid.” Vetras voice came from behind her as the half-giantess drew herself up fully, having used the time to heal herself up. She lifted her hand and wines shot up around the mage's feet just as he managed to shatter the stony hand that held his ankle. He tried to jump away, but the vines tore into clothes and skin ad his jump became a stumble that landed in what was a very lively patch of underbrush that had just burst through the thick snow. He swore, but had no time to untangle himself as a massive buck-like conjuration of wind slammed into him, exploding outwards in so much stone shrapnel and sharp blades of wind. He howled in pain as his body was torn up by sharp rock and slicing winds only for an axe to come flying with unerring accuracy, embedding itself almost entirely in his clavicle. He coughed up bloodas he began to reach for the weapon in disbelief. As if to add insult injury, Ingrid walked and tore it out herself, the Mage collapsing to the ground dead.

Olaf moved on instinct as soon as the first rider set off into a gallop. Shield and axe at the ready, he launched himself forward to land square in front of the caravan. He could tell by the look and feel of the four riders that they were the highest leveled of the bunch. One split off to the side, leading 3 men on foot to circle to one side of the caravan just as the cry of Ambush rang out. One of them stayed back, lifting their hand in a spell as the last two barreled straight for Olaf. The one leading the chargh produced a long, straight blade with runes all across it. He leapt of his mount as he slashes down, producing waves of flame that battered Olaf. Olaf let his magic flow, a barrier forming with his shield as the anchor, shielding the caravan from the fires. The man landed into a sprint and closed the distance, jamming his blade into the shield with force, only to bounce off it as Olaf bellowed out a war cry. The mans hood got blown back as well, revealing a man in his early 30’s with blonde hair, a well kept beard and a runic tattoo across one side of his face. He looked to well put together and to clean to be a bandit. Ainars plans had clearly extended further than just raiding the north, he was mixing his own warriors in with the local bandits now.

The leaders sword began to glow, and was soon wrapped in flames as he began his approach anew. Every so often he would lash out and wash Olafs shield in white hot flame. Each attack made a small dent in Olafs mana. But Olaf knew that was never the point. The man was there to keep Olaf tied up defending the caravan from being lit on fire, while other bandits mopped up the rest. He had absolute confidence in his old companions, his main worry was Saga and to some extent Sasha. Sasha was at least level five, but saga was only level two. One bad hit and they might just be dead.

“You will die today, Olaf Attridson.” The man spoke with a smirk as he kept lashing the shield with fire. His companion had also unmounted, but in a far less dramatic manner. The bandit took down her hood, revealing a woman with similar features and blonde hair as the young man. Her figure was lithe and willowy, with slender arms and and a physique that Olaf associated with mages.

“To kill Olaf Attridson.” The woman spoke in almost reverent voice. “We will live a good life with such rewards we get from your head.”

“Is that so, whelp?” Olaf snorted. “I have heard those words before” Knowing that he had to move and push the fight to the enemy rather then stand passively and let them adhere to whatever plan they had made for themselves, he dropped the shield and shot forward. Almost as soon as he moved the woman conjured a bow out of nothing, the shimmering gestalt of a weapon firing seven arrows of light in quick succession. Each impact barely registered on his shield but exploded into blinding bursts of light that made it impossible to see. As soon as the last arrow had exploded, the mans sword came slashing from the side. Olaf didn't bother blocking it with his shield, instead letting out a stunning roar as his axe lashed out. The man stumbled back but dodged the axe, hopping off to a safe distance and lashed out with fire against the caravan instead. Aiming to distract Olaf and punish him for letting go of his defensive posture. Unfortunately for the bandits, the fire never reached the caravan. Instead the fire was redirected as Ordan, locked in his own duel with the Bandit still on horseback, used it to fuel a spell he was weaving.

Ordan had been weaving fireballs and tongues of flames to harass the bandits and his initial attack had turned on of the weaker bandits following the flanking leader into charcoal. But after that he had been forced to focus on the mage on horseback. The mysterious bandit mage used a mix of Earth and Dark magic, conjuring walls of rock to block fireballs and using the shadows Ordans bright fires made as temporary portals used to launch shards of rock at Ordan. One or two nicked the fire mage, and it looked as if the bandit mage had Ordan at a disadvantag, But Ordan did not worry. In his mind he very much had the upper hand, even if the other mage didn't realize it. He weaved every wasted fireballs excess energy back to him, slowly building up for a bigger spell. One hand flicked stones with fire runes, making for cheap fireballs and the other hand held a far more complicated runstone behind his back. When the leader with the fire word decided to try and take a potshot at the caravan, he saw his chance. He held the stone out to his side, pointing it at the wave of fire. “Fire of the Old, fill my vessel anew.” he shouted as the fire was all but absorbed into the stone that now burned with iridescent light.

“Burst now, in freedom once more.” He tossed the stone into a high arch. The mage seemed to realize his tactics would not work on the far greater rune stone and began to weave a protective spell when his horse was spooked by the sudden flare of light from the stone. "And fall upon my enemy in endless scores."

That one second of having to calm the horse mid-spell cost the bandit mage everything. The large stone shattered, and each piece became a molten hot slug that exploded outwards only to curl and curve their trajectory toward the mage. Before the mages spell could manifest fully, with a cocoon of hardened earth and solid rock rising from the ground around them, rider and mount both were peppered with molten stone and magic fire.

The mage could not even scream as he was dead on the spot, the slugs blowing holes trough him before the rocky cocoon wrapped about a now dead and blasted to bits corpse, sealing the dead away. Ordan staggered with a mad grin, holding onto a caravan wagon as to not topple over. It had drained nearly half his mana in one go, leaving him woozy. “Never used it in actual battle before..” He said. “It sure was a worthwhile investment.”

The two siblings were persistent and clever and had they fought someone just a few levels below, or someone not as battle hardened or well trained as Olaf, their plan would have worked. But such was the reality of battle. Many times when you go up against a superior opponent, you do not get to walk away unless you realize in time that retreat is the best option. Harald Beorson was the son of a warrior who he to was a son of a warrior. His family had been warriors since his people first come onto the northern shores. He was not one to run away with his tail between his legs. And neither was his sister. Harald surged forward, his blade glowing white hot as he used his “Fires fang” ability to super heat his blade enough to cut metal and wood like it was nothing. He drove the blade into the shield, saw how smoke began to billow and pour as his sword slowly but surely worked its way past Olaf's shield magic. All the while, his sister sent arrows of light that were so fast not even the Rune Warden could shield against them all. They pressed him, greedy for the kill.

Olaf stepped back, grunted and waited. When his shield was at the point of breaking, he grinned wildly as he spoke an incantation. “As I break and mend once more. Protect me and mine with a mighty roar.” As he said it, all the runes of his shield not yet spent, exploded outwards with violent force. Herald's had no time to react taking the brunt of the blast. HIs sword, red hot and all but spent, shattered back against him, not that he had a lot of time to contemplate the irony of if. As he was flung, seveeral of the pieces embedded in his chest, face and shoulder. The force rippled outwards, pushing in and pulverizing his ribs. He was dead before he hit the ground. Olaf grunted in pain, all but a quite a bit of his mana had been spent and his stamina was down to a third. He turned a glare at the woman with the bow, who now stood alone. Her eyes wide, she looked to her brother, lying a crumpled heap. Look to the still smoking sarcophagus of the mage that had come with them. They no longer heard the sound of thunder crackling at the back of the caravan either. She knew she had lost.

“You can yield. Or you can die.” Olaf huffed.

“Your shield is spent.” She said as she formed her bow and aimed. “I will die here. But I will die with Olaf Attridson as my final kill. They will sing of me. Here and in Valhalla.” She snarled.

“Oh. I am not who you should worry about lass.” Olaf said, huffing. “It's them.” He pointed to the side of the caravan, where Hilda saw Magis, the brute that they had sent to take out the carriage and the side guards. He lay dead, a woman dislodging her two axes out of his body. But it wasn’t the dead body of her comrade that caught her eye. It was redhaired warrior who was rushing towards her. Hilda began to aim her bow but it was to late. A spear came sailing with speeds that could rival that of her light arrows. It struck true, making her stagger backwards in shock. It wasn’t lethal, but it had been enough of a opening for Olaf to move. She had set of the moment she turned her bow at Saga, and before she could conjure her bow again, Olafs axe moved horizontally with no not hesitation or mercy. It was as clean a cut as it could possible have been. Hilda fell to the ground, body and head separated.

Olaf didn't spare her a second glance but looked up at the wild eyed Saga. There was a wild, violent aura about them as they stared at the body of Hilda. Olaf could see the tense, adrenaline driven body language of someone who just been acting and moving to survive as well as someone who until just now been under the influence of a berserker rage. “Is it… Is it over?” Saga asked, looking to Olaf for confirmation. Sasha was slowly making her way along with Hallvar. He motioned for them to wait as he looked to Sagas fragile form. Their arm hung limp to one side, their face was caked with blood and there would be many scars at the end of it all. Ones that might never go away. That was what killing did to a person.

“It is over.” Olaf said, walking towards them like he would a cornered beast. Confident but non threatening, reaching a hand out he grabbed their healthy shoulder. His body language letting them know it was ok to relax, that they had someone to watch their back. “You did good.” He said in a soft, almost fatherly tone.

"You did real good." He said again as he brought her in for a hug. Saga didn't blink, they just buried their face in his massive chest. Their breath was ragged, sobbing almost. But there was no tears. Just a strange, horrid racking of breath, as adrenaline stopped blocking pain that would make people faint on the the spot. Around them, the others gathered, some limping, some torn. Looking at the carnage around them. Olaf quietly waited for Ingrid to arrive along with Vetra, confirming that all of their group had survived. Ingrid's eyes were red with tears and he knew immediately why. He lifted one arm, and let his beloved embrace him as well.