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Hardly a display becoming of a goddess and definitely not a beautiful effort, but there's an understandable awe to witness what may appear to be a young Menaj woman randomly throw herself screaming at a northern warrior in a mess of violence. Driven by your rage, each enemy puts up a worthy fight but no mortal can withstand your godly strength and speed and such, even as uncoordinated and inexperienced at fighting as you are. Impressively some of your opponents even manage to land a blow on you, chopping into you with an axe or stabbing you through with a spear, but none of these can put you down and they only serve to further fuel your rage. Wild swings and kicks and headbutts, with divine might, quickly leave you standing battered and bloody but triumphant over each foe you beat down. Panting with steady breath, steaming from the godly blood exposed to the air, eyes wild for the next target to tackle to the ground.
It's a perplexing sight for any mortal, but they invariably know they are dealing with something... more, when they see your glowing eyes bearing down on them, and your mighty voice shaking them through their armor. All the worse for them because as well as the fear, there's the reluctance and guilt to attack a such a divinely beautiful presence such as yourself. In fact many opponents simply yield outright, falling down in fear or awe of... whatever they believe you are. That doesn't save them from a good punch or a kick, but it's better than those whose fear or resolve overcome your enchanting presence, and they fight back at least in self defense or a desire to capture you for themselves.
Ah, but they are only human after all, mortals. Roughly beating a path through the field, as much as you punish the enemy, is as much as you inspire your allies. The soldiers and desperate people of Eindward, who'd risen in anger at your initial wounding, now have... well they're not sure what to make of you either, but you certainly are inspiring! Something to rally behind, as they follow in your wake to counterattack the enemy and dispatch those you already beat down. A definite turning of the tide of battle, but your truly desired foe, the elves still wait beyond the now-routing northmen.
<span class="mu-r">"...you're still with me, Albert?"</span> you stop during a temporary lul in the fighting while the northmen retreat, looking around for more enemies but noticing the paladin close behind. He and a few brave others, seemed to have kept pace with you in your haphazard assault through the enemy lines.
<span class="mu-b">"Always, my Lady."</span> he answers, a few of the others offering a similar cheer of support, as the lot of you stand amid the smoke and ruin of the exterior of the razed refugee camp. Though, as mortals they don't have your endurance and are clearly quite exhausted, most of them injured... in fact you expect the ones here following you are the only ones who weren't so wounded that they could continue after you.
