Cara flinched at the suggestion. She turned, slowly. There was a deep fire within her, an ancient, primal aura. It was fed by something beyond her, and it was clear that she was possessed by it. She said, in a voice darker than any child should ever hold.
"If you want to run away...okay. But I wont leave my father."
And with that, she did another foolhardy thing. She decided that the dwarf was going to be fighting a war on two fronts. She twisted her hands, placing them on the bulwark, as spines began to form upon the top of them. She waited one, two, three seconds, as they slowly formed, before flicking them. The spines launched forwards, a scattershot that would glide through the sky, deadly.
Of course, Cara did reduce the amount of shielding that she had Ewan had, and she quickly cowered behind the golems, placing her hands on them and getting them to regrow.
---
Tharron was struck with the flask. His armour lit up, burning, glorious, resplendent, mortifying. A roar? It wasn't a roar. It was a sound that was not a sound. It emerged from nowhere. It was agony, and wrath beyond measure.
Perhaps it was a bad idea to anger Tharron. The greens drifting through the air suddenly launched out tiny thorns, small enough not to kill, but containing a tiny amount of an agonising toxin, potent enough to feel a pain that was never there. The greens would simply drift to the ground, after this, their only purpose fulfilled.
Tharron himself did not flounder, did not falter. Instead, it was as if the dwarf had rendered him berserk. The creature launched itself forwards, rushing towards the gate, dragging his sword behind him. Roots burst from the ground, following after him, tearing up the city. He rose up his sword, leaping forwards at the closest hostile, living beings - the slave soldiers, going to swing the gnarled ironbark weapon.