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R'han lifted the curved sword shoulder height preparing to end the life of the suffering Knight. Glancing over her shoulder with little reservation she felt her blood run cold as she stared at the scene that would haunt her for months to come. Her father kneeling before the roman commander, Arthur.

Dropping the sword she left the Knight to bleed out thinking the chance of his survival was slim to none. A scream of anguish penetrated the sounds of battle as R'han watched her father fall to the ground dead. She barely recognized that the pained noise had come from her own throat.

"Father," she choked out as she fell to his side. His eyes open with death his blood slowly filling the earths wet ground. Her father's sword lay by his motionless body, shining and smeared with blood.

Picking it up she stumbled slightly, her anger blinding her common sense. "Arthur!" she cried. She was facing his back which had began to slump under the fatigue of battle, her hair was wild and her eyes to cold for any human. Pointing her father's sword at his back she spoke once more, "Once again you Romans have taken from me, but this time you shall pay."

Arthur turned in surprise, this girl, this Saxon, must be mad. He rolled his shoulders back, feeling a slight pang of guilt at the pain that distorted her normally attractive face. He had killed her father, and she wanted revenge. He knew what it was like to lose a parent to a war that was not your own. He knew it to well, "I protect what is mine. I am of Rome no longer; to kill me would be pointless."

R'han growled loudly. Noticing the bloodied Sarmatian knights surrounding her and Arthur, waiting for his word to end her life. He glanced towards his men, "Harm her not Knights. She wants to avenge her father."

R'han stepped forward, gripping her father's sword tightly in her hands. Vaguely realizing that she couldn't fight with a sword half as well as with her staff she mentally screamed at her ignorance.

Arthur met her, standing no more than three feet away. She swung the sword with out warning, catching the future king of Britain off guard. He blocked harshly and pushed the blade aside. He had seen her fight his scout and knew he would not take her challenge lightly.

Turning slightly he was able to cut her side, the blood on his blade mixing with that of her own. They fought on, mostly evenly matched both receiving and giving tiny cuts to the others body and pride. Arthur could see her rage growing with the increasing sting or pain, and the blood drained from his face as he fell to the ground, a dying Saxon knocking him off his feet. He lay there prone as she approached.

The wind was knocked out of him and his head spun with the impact to the cold wet ground. She was standing over him, eyes cold and almost radiating with the need for death. Her booted foot slammed into his chest. He could feel his lungs strain with fatigue. She lifted the blade to his throat, preparing to bring it down upon his esophagus.

"The gods will forgive you," breathed Arthur.

R'han who was startled by the comment pause her killing blow, the pain at once returning with the ending euphoria of her adrenaline rush. The ground beneath her feet began to lurch forwards suddenly and she dropped her father's sword. Looking around her, the land seemed to spin as she fell to her knees, finally noticing the bodies of her fallen warriors. Her stomach heaved and she clutched her stomach in pain.

So this is what it's like to die, I will see you once more sister, she thought. "Saveage."