He raised his sword to strike, but Brother Odd was already in motion. He caught the blow with the head of the rake, twisted, and sent the weapon spinning from the mans hand. Turning, he swept his opponents feet from under him, sending him to the floor in a clatter of armor.

No, there will be no violence here! the abbot shouted, but it was too late for that. The spark had already fallen in the forest, and all they could do was hope to survive the conflagration of violence that followed.

Brother Odd certainly didnt stop. Instead, he charged at the next of the soldiers there, and maybe the man still hadnt realized quite what his opponent was, because he brought his sword up lazily. Brother Odd swept round the parry and slammed the end of the rake into his throat, hearing the crack and gurgle of it before the soldier started to topple. Odd dropped his rake, caught the sword, and turned to the other monks there.

Run! he bellowed, in the voice hed long used to command men in the field. Some obeyed immediately. Others hesitated, looking to the abbot. Those were the first to die. The soldiers on the dock were already hacking down with blades, lashing out at any target they could see without a care over who they hit. They were expecting pleas and peaceful protestations… Odd gave them violence instead.

He charged a pair of them, slicing out low then high with his newly captured blade. He was still getting used to the weight of it, and the first man was able to parry, while the second thrust at Odds flank. He twisted away from the blow, but still felt the steel slicing into his flesh.

That triggered the old fury, bringing out the side of himself that didnt stop, didnt hold back, didnt care. He roared like a wounded animal, hacked down on the soldiers arm hard enough to cut it off at the wrist, kicked the first one back.

Back, damn you! he bellowed to the monks, and now even the slowest of them on the uptake were trying to run. Odd moved between them and the soldiers, giving ground slowly even though the battle rage in him wanted to charge at them. He maneuvered around crates and boxes, lining it up so that the men there could only come at him one at a time, could only die one at a time.

Oh, how they died.

The first went down in a fountain of blood, charging forward too carelessly and all but running onto Odds sword. The second came in more cautiously, with the mechanical sword work of the badly trained. Odd parried two blows to get the measure of him, took a slicing cut on his arm, then took the mans head off in one sweep of the blade.