[Flashback:(Sondra)]Darkening Clouds

[Antar]

12th of Spring, 508av...

Just after Dusk, upon the western roads heading towards Sunberth... about five days from Sunberth's city limits...

Darkened clouds lit the rainy skies above. Amidst the flashes of the storm above a lone traveler , cloaked in black, sped upon his horse's back towards the city. The drizzling rain ran coldly down his back as the droplets soaked his skin. He'd have to take shelter from the elements soon. From the winnowing intervals of lightning in the sky, the storm's power was intensifying. Through the farthest breadth of clouds on the horizon the storm was outlined by the pale crescent of the full moon's glimmer behind the towering stacks of dark grey cumulonimbus clouds.

He had spent so much time in darkness, Antar was nineteen... or at least that was approximately what he thought his age to be. It had been eight years since he had fled to the streets of his home city, away from his family after he had struck down the stepfather which had abused them. Seven years before he had seen his sister brutally murdered in front of his eyes by a gang of 'elite' society whilst living on the streets. Six years since his personal hell began under the tutelage of his 'Master', a man well steeped in the arts of assassination. Five years since he foolishly thought he had escaped his Master's clutches to track down and kill his sister's murderer's, snuffing their lives out of existence. Such retribution had been scant blessing as it had left him numb and cold. Four years since Ekytol... where he met her, Sabia, a poor creature of beauty which had been captured in the same bloody webs he was in. Three since he had been forced to kill her for escaping in Ekytol. Two years since he had been invested with this curse of magic. Even if he rarely used it. But that was unimportant.

Noth's mind dismissed such things now as easily as his lungs drew the very air he breathed. Such things were unimportant, the only thing important now was this day, on this present job and keeping to the road. The only thing of any import was the survival of the day. To move on and be ready for tomorrow. There was a merchant in Sunberth who had betrayed one of his masters and had sent a shipment of weapons to a smaller gang within the city, letting one of his cohorts the Master had trained without the necessary tools for completing a job.

The client had not been pleased, and there was a blood price set on the merchant's head. Such a thing was common in the anarchy of the city, just 'business as usual as the locals would say, and he knew the organization never did much business there. There was far too much competition, though the thought did cross his mind that it might be a wonderful place to lie low for awhile.

The clopping of hooves within the muck of the road was muffled by the rains and the thunder, and that was the reason he was pressing onwards now.

Moving his body with the horse's canter, Noth pulled the animal to a sudden stop to ease off the road into the woods at the crest of the hills... his instincts had screamed for him to move, that something was wrong. The horse's nostrils wavered slightly in fretful breaths and the animal pawed the ground with its hooves as it's senses confirmed the faint tinge of smoke

In the distant skyline a thin thread of moonlight pierced the clouds to shine towards the slaver's camp... calling his attention there. Up ahead around the bend, a trio of slaver's caravan's were pulled off for the night, and the assassin could see forms milling across the firelight as some commotion seemed to be happening there amongst the drizzling rains. Squinting his eyes a little to keep them open, Noth waited for the storm's flashes to give him a bigger picture of the surrounding area. The wreckage of another caravan was nearby, this one looking like it was from a group of gypsies or perhaps 'honest traders.' He could not tell. All he could tell was from the angle of it's tilt, the axle broken and the leather top seemed to have been charred by fires of slavers torches.

Dismounting as the shouts grew louder within the camp, the assassin belted his oiled armor a little more to ward out the cold of the rain as he slowly pulled the gladius from his back to consider what was happening. Instinct told him to flee, to avoid whatever was going on... but a slighter, rarer, voice in the back of his mind bid him to stay. Calling him to bear witness to some strange twisting of minor events, as if his presence here was required.

Looking down towards the camp he saw the blurred features of a few women in the distance being coralled closer to a cage, some human, others not. All being harassed by the slavers below. A few were putting up a fight it seemed. Watching from the darkness, the assassin began to take quiet steps towards the slaver's camp.

[Sondra]

They had not expected the Konti to seize on a weapon so ill-suited for her size. She’d struck down short Kassik, who doubted a woman’s capacity for violence. Full of the pride of life, he had ambled for her asking the "sweetling" to give the hammer back. When close, he lunged. Problem was, she dodged and let him slide in the mire. One blow to the back with the flat end to get him down, another to the skull with the beak to keep him there. His body was still at her feet, his face half sunk in mud and bits of his skull mingling with his dark hair. She half squatted over his body, fearful and dribbling the rain that trailed down her head. Despite the dread that made her limbs tremble, or perhaps because of it, she would give no quarter. The long handled hammer swung terrible haloes about her. She grunted and shuddered with each attempt, but she would not stop. Her back was to the cage, and the other imprisoned travelers huddled in it behind her. Some had got away, this batch ought to have been the slow ones, the limping deer whose tender bones snapped so easily. But desperation could set a woman aflame, and the pale witch had a talent for guessing what angle they’d try next. “Give us our mate, you fishy vagik,” one of the five demanded, ignorantly hoping Kassik could still be saved. Bared teeth and a Kontinese swear was all her answer. “When you get tired and drop that hammer,” a calmer man remarked, “We’re going to cut you from crotch to chin with a fish hook. Give now and it’s just slaving.” Sondra lurched a little, sickened by the very real threat, but she did not relent. Words of mercy were good as lies in their mouth, especially since their broken friend was under her boot. Her answer was a twisting of her grip about the handle.

[Antar]

He walked forwards in darkness, punctuated only by the steady rain and the sound of the wind sprinkling the treetops of the forests which lined the roads, vaguely reminiscent of the sea with individual droplets forming the rythm of a siren's song which served to draw him ever closer as he drew his longbowOriginal skill rating in effect around this time: 30 longbow I'm a stickler for continuity . He wondered why this was interesting to him, he could potentially ditch the horse and sneak past the slavers, let them deal with the diversion and leave these women to their fates.

That would have been the best tactical move on his part, providing he could get away. It was only a short ways till Sunberth, even if it was overland through some hilly terrain. But it wasn't unmanageable. Akajia's blood it would have been the safest option as well...

But he didn't.

The sounds below were drawing him in slowly, as if he could sense a necessity of purpose here that mystified him more then the pounding of his heart in his chest, spurning himself onwards. He flitted, from cover to cover keeping low to the ground, and more importantly, stopping within the shadows of the night as he ventured to keep out of the small glimmer of Leth's rays.

Working his way forwards, he began to smell the stench of sweat and voided bowels on the air. Fear mixed with the stink of blood and death.
Whoever was down there was putting up a good fight. But then again, when faced with slavers and there was a choice between almost certain death after years of toil and a slim chance of life if you fought back. Then he'd choose the chance of life hands down every time... so long as he was in one piece as still breathing. Here in the shadows, his form was ensconced, half in and out of the darkness. Only pierced by the flashes of the brewing storm on the horizon...

Slinking ever closer, he would draw his bow and line up a bead on one of the individual shadows below advancing towards a cage of screaming women... shortly after he would let the arrow be released and the feathered shaft would fly from the shadows, piercing a man with a longsword in the leg, bringing him down to one knee in front of a half obscured figure with white hair.

[Sondra]

She had learned to never hesitate. Sondra slid her hands on the hammer's handle, adjusting between power and control. It twirled in her soaked hands: beak first for this one, the skull was its own armor. Then heave and swing for the tender temple. He was still fumbling for the arrow in his wounded knee, when she had made her decision. The beak stuck and she whimpered as he half pulled her with him. Her weapon was too crude and final for such a body, able to pull her about. But gods was it effective. Her foot pressed his soft ruined face into the sludge as she jerked the instrument free. Something like sobs was breaking her grunting breath into fractions. Her wild eyes were looking at the rest of the dumbstruck crew between her fevered tugging. Two of six, and someone out there was on her side. Hackles raised and mouths viciously contorted into growls. "Run girl!" A shrieked commandment from the cage. But what about them? She was petching useless dead though. And where was she going to go? The arrow. Someone out there was armed and feeling moderately charitable. Sondra was no warrior. She was only desperate and broken enough to not falter when faced with a man's blood on her hands. It got easier each time, but it was never easy. The Konti used her free hand to sloppily throw the slaver's fallen longsword into the others' faces. It was more distraction than weapon, her aim and strength worn into feebleness. As it broke their lines, she ran for the tangled wood.

[Antar]

Two feathered shafts would spring out from the darkness of the rainy night like slivers of vengeance for Sondra's pains. One, flying over her left shoulder to sink itself deep into the fleshy thigh of one her pursuers. The other would go wide, barely grazing the arm of a second man. But some bit of luck seemed to smile upon the konti woman as the first tumbled to the ground, tripping a good many of their lot. Antar sighed and faded back around the tree, shrugging off his shadowsilk robe as the woman charged in his direction. He could leave her there. Vanishing into obscurity, only to circle around this obstacle in his path. But perhaps some small part of his soul that was still human cried that such a determined escapee deserved to live. If only to become a more deadly creature in the future. Stepping out from the tree, Sondra would see a wave of blackness amidst the tall pines as the cloak would envelope her senses before she felt her body become twirled around, only to slam somewhat hard into the base of a tree with Antar's weight pressing down upon her. A penetrating whisper would suffuse her hearing, as the unknown man would crouch down to let his lips rest beside her ear."By Akajia's blood, stay still and wait for them to pass you before you make a move and we may just make it out of this alive. When I say now, I'll take them from the right, you take them from the left." A kukri- a long dagger seeming the length of a machete would be thrust under the cloak and two gauntlets would twist her hand around its hilt. Arming her for the fight."Vengeance be your guide. Strike when I do." Without another word, the pressure would vanish, Antar in his night leather armor darting towards the remnants of a fallen tree some ways away. Blending like a shadow into the night he turned his face into the trunk and readied his second blade for the four slavers to come. It's sheen was dulled by tarnish, and the rain, the wind, the sounds of the storm amongst the trees would hide him well. Perhaps, even from Sondra's eyes. Whether her gift would act up during that brief moment of contact, Antar would be oblivious. Unknowing of the fact whether or not he had an ally... or a potential enemy waiting to slit his gullet the moment he turned away.