Kollo diverted the momentum of the axe swing with his blade. The war elf followed up the attack with several more swings of his mighty axe only to strike empty air as the bandit nimbly sidestepped and evaded the mortal blows. Marschal couldn't help but halt his approach at the sight of Kollo's dance of speed and swordsmanship. He really did remind him of his brother. Using his smaller stature to his advantage, Marschal could see Kollo visibly struggling to strike the large war elf's blind spots. The hulk was deceptively quick. He either swiveled away from Kollo's blade or defended himself with a parry. Even when the bandit was able to cut the elf, the monster would simply muscle through the pain if it felt any. Whether or not the wound was deep enough to hinder the large warrior in any discernable way, it was anybody's guess.

The Paravellan lost track of time spectating the mesmerizing performance between the two blood-born warriors. When he did look away, he found the rest of Kollo's surviving men surrounding a single wounded war elf showered in blood. Most of it probably didn't belong to him but Marschal figured that enough of it had to be his own considering the way he limped in the centre of the human circle. One of the bandits ventured too closely to the war elf, no doubt believing it to be an easy kill. Marschal knew better. So, he wasn't all too shocked when the elf suddenly lashed out, slashing the man's face decorating it with several deep lines of red blood. The Paravellan thought it a miracle that the man was still alive, an indication of the extensive damage dealt to the war elf. Marschal decided to himself that Kollo's rabble were pretty decent fighters for non-Paravellan humans. They were still idiots. But they were idiots who knew how to fight and kill.

Marschal tore his attention away from the ugly fight, opting to view a battle with a little more...panache. That and one of the contenders held something that didn't belong to him.

Kollo weaved his way around the muscled mass of an elf, who only grunted and snarled louder the longer his axe remained unstained with human blood. That was when Marschal witnessed the bandit's face light up at the chance of victory. Kollo sidestepped another axe swing before thrusting his sword at the split-second opening. For a brief moment, Marschal believed he would see the war elf collapse in defeat. However, that vision died when the elf caught the blade with his bare hand, abruptly halting the thrust.

The Paravellan shared the same wide-eyed face as the bandit captain. Kollo looked up to see red eyes and two rows of serrated teeth smiling down at him. The bandit pulled at his sword with the hope of slicing off the elf's hand. But the blade didn't budge. The elf's blood trailed down the bandit's weapon as he fought to release his sword from the brute's grip. Suddenly, the war elf pulled Kollo's sword from the bandit's own hands and hurled it aside with a scoff. Kollo seemed to have been stunned.

However, that paralyzed moment didn't last very long before the large war elf lunged at him, grabbing for his throat. The bandit shifted to the side, avoiding the clawed hand before maneuvering gracefully around his foe until he seized the opportunity to jump up and climb onto the beast's back. He was close to being thrown off the writhing elf until Kollo hooked his forearm underneath his enemy's chin, locking him into a chokehold. The whole ordeal reminded Marschal of a man trying to tame a wild horse.

The bandit proved to be difficult to shake off as the elf's face gradually grew a shade of red that rivalled the colour of his eyes and the blood painting his razors. In a last-ditch effort to save himself from a fainting oblivion, the war elf's arm suddenly lashed out and managed to rake his claws across Kollo's face. The bandit suddenly yelped in agony before visibly stifling his pain and retaliating in kind by digging his own fingers into the sword wound that Marschal recognized was dealt from the torchbearer earlier. A reciprocal roar of pain ripped the night air as the elf continued struggling to rid himself of the pesky human rodent. Kollo's grip on the beast must have loosened because the elf's claws eventually managed to clasp around the bandit's arm and, with a single hefting motion, hurled the human off of him. The bandit landed on the ground and didn't get a chance to stand back up before the elf booted his foot up against Kollo's ribs sending him flying across the rocky terrain.

Suddenly, the sound of footsteps raced down the stony slope. Marschal turned to see one of Kollo's men charging towards the angry axe wielder. When the bandit reached the war elf, he launched himself at his enemy with his sword raised. The image that followed after confused Marschal for a bit. One moment the bandit was flying at the muscled monster, the next, two shapes were speeding past the war elf's body. It wasn't until Marschal noticed the fountain of blood spraying from the two halves of the bandit's body, did he fully comprehend why the elf's axe was drooling dark red in the glinting torchlight.

Without missing a beat, the war elf spun just in time to block Kollo's sword with his freshly fed axe. Like continuing a conversation, the bandit leader and the war elf picked up where they left off, demonstrating their lethal reflexes which hadn't seemed to wane since they started fighting.

Marschal didn't have to look to know that the other remaining war elf had died. Otherwise, that one idiot wouldn't have had enough time to charge towards another enemy. A peculiar thing for a man to volunteer to be separated from his waist. Each to his own, Marschal supposed.

When he turned to face the rest of Kollo's company he saw a line of men marching down the hill towards their commander and his adversary. The corner of Marschal's lip couldn't help but quirk up at the exhausted gait in their stride. More idiots. The elf their commander was facing was not like the rest of his comrades. Altogether, if they were lucky, maybe they'd be able to take off an arm before they were all felled down like logs of flesh. In their state, Marschal could tell they'd only get in their leader's way, maybe even put him in danger. The Paravellan didn't seem to be the only one who realized this.

"No!" Kollo shouted, still fighting. "He's mine!"

The imbeciles continued to inch forward.

"STOP!"

Kollo's booming voice froze his men in their tracks. Surprisingly, it had the same effect on the war elf as well, giving Kollo the freedom to glare at his men. Marschal couldn't help but cock an eyebrow at the elf. He seemed to have understood the situation and growled at the other bandits; a comical comparison to the smaller human berating his men.

"You have another job to do," Kollo spoke with a slightly gentler tone. "Do it." But only slightly.

Marschal could see the men hesitating to follow their leader's order. Luckily, they capitulated with a nod before heading off up the uneven hill. From the sound of warring blades and shuffling feet, Kollo and the war elf had resumed their contest of strength versus speed.

However, Marschal's attention was fixed on the bandits climbing the slope. The Paravellan squinted through the darkness and into the cluster of torchlight to discern the bandits' mission. All he could see were four silhouettes navigating through the rocks and heading for the lake. Marschal supposed that would make sense. Although, they would make better time if they weren't cramped up together...The Paravellan leaned in, as though that would make up the distance, to peer closely at the group of killers. He was able to make out a small shape huddling between two of the moving men. Were they escorting someone? Marschal's eyes never left the small silhouette, even when they began to shrink into the distance.

Suddenly, a scream of agony whipped Marschal's head back to Kollo's fight. He witnessed the bandit's blade drop with a clang against the rocks. Marschal looked up to see the swordless bandit staring wide-eyed at an arm that ended in a stump. His scream echoed off the stones around him until it abruptly died off with an iron grip around his throat.

The elf's claws dug into Kollo's throat as he was lifted up into the air like a dangling child. Marschal couldn't hear the war elf's words from where he was. He didn't need to. The Paravellan could see what the elf saw: Calibur's Warwielder strapped to the bandit's back. Transfixed on the sword, the elf's free hand began to slowly hover towards the weapon's handle. His reach for the blade reminded Marschal of an act of reverence, as though the sword would shatter if he didn't handle it tentatively.

All the while, Kollo writhed in his grip with a space where his hand should have been bleeding out onto the rocks. Perhaps he planned it. Perhaps it was a reaction born from a desperate act to survive. Regardless, Marschal missed the strike and he would have remained ignorant of the counterattack were it not for the quaking roar bellowing from the large axe wielder. It was difficult to discern the source of the pain from the angle and distance of where Marschal stood. Only when Kollo was dropped to the ground did the large war elf tilt enough towards Marschal's range of vision to provide him with a clear view of the dagger planted in the brute's eye socket.

The elf moved to grab the dagger handle. However, Marschal could see that Kollo had other ideas. Taking advantage of the elf's pain, the bandit's boot shot out, sweeping the beast off his feet and sending the war elf tumbling down like a lumbered tree. After his opponent collapsed with a heavy thud, the one-handed Kollo scrambled up onto the elf 's chest and yanked the dagger from the eye socket with the same care and tenderness a hunter would show a boar. Dagger in hand, Kollo raised it for the killing thrust which made Marschal instinctively perk up. Would there finally be a victor?

Marschal's answer was ripped away from him when Kollo was suddenly kicked off the war elf's body. It took the Paravellan a moment to reconcile the two new silhouettes as two elves materializing from the pitch black. The newcomers descended onto the axe wielder and by the time Kollo recovered from the kick to his chest, the war elf's body was already being carried up the hill by the two tusked elves.

Tusked?

From the bandit's resigned sigh, the fight was clearly and finally over as he watched the enemy recede into the distance. Kollo pulled himself up with a slow rise, an act made slightly more difficult with the absence of a hand, his sword one at that. Marschal could only guess what the bandit was thinking as he gazed down at his cleanly severed stump.

"Aaaaaaaaaargh!!!"

...Well. It wasn't a very difficult guess.

With the elves dealt with, Marschal braved a step forward towards the Warwielder and its holder. His shuffling feet must have been noticed by Kollo as his cry of anguish was abruptly silenced. The bandit whipped his head in the Paravellan's direction as he was approached. When Marschal neared the disheveled bandit, he could see Kollo's shoulders and chest rise and fall with heavy breaths.

Kollo's eyes locked onto Marschal's with a furrowed brow. "You didn't run?"

The Paravellan turned up to face the elven shadows fading into the distant night before lowering his gaze back to the one-handed bandit. "Would I be safer if I did?"

Time passed before Kollo tore his eyes off of Marschal and turned away nodding to himself, as though he had finalized an important decision. The Paravellan couldn't help but wince when a disgusting hocking sound from the bandit's throat sent a stream of dark red spit from between the bandit's lips.

"Just as well," Kollo said as he looked up at his town. The sound of screams and fighting sang into the cold night like a haunting lullaby. A lullaby that Marschal gradually grew comfortable with. A truth that made him hang his head.

"I'll need money to help me get back up on my feet," Kollo continued. The bandit turned back to face Marschal with a hard, appraising stare. "And you're going to help me get it."

Marschal stood frozen in place.

***

Marschal roughly landed into the boat after the bandit tossed him in.

The Paravellan groaned as the boat shifted across the shore until it sat into the water. He was in the process of pulling himself upright when Kollo slightly tilted the vessel to climb aboard. When Marschal fully righted himself, he flinched back as Kollo fell upon him with a blade in his hand. A pathetic yelp escaped his throat before he noticed the dagger cutting into his wrist bindings. When his hands were released, Marschal turned up to face the bandit with a furrowed brow. Kollo responded to his expression with a wave of his bleeding stump.

"Well, I'm not gonna row it, am I?"

Fair enough, thought Marschal. The Paravellan moved to grab the two oars while Kollo began to tear fabric off of his clothes, no doubt to bandage his red wound. Marschal fought to pull the boat across the lake with his frail unathletic frame. All the while, he could hear Kollo grunting as he wrapped the cloth around his handless wrist. It would probably get infected. Not that it mattered.

After following Kollo's directions, they were halfway across the lake when Marschal looked up at the town over the far shore. They were now too far for the screams to reach them at this distance. Unless, of course, if there were no more screams to be heard in the first place.

That fleeting thought crossed Marschal's mind as he continued to pull the boat across the water.