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[Doran Flint]

20th of Spring, AV 514
Half to one mile outside Sunberth
20th Bell.

The sun had just slipped below the horizon, casting a royal blue shadow across the nights sky, turning the once white clouds into black, furrowed blemishes that threatened to release a torrent of rain at any moment, held back only by the hopes of a raging party that surrounded a roaring fire, warmed not only by the flames of the Slag Heap but by the sounds of merry music, the sight of passionate dancing and the taste of cheap ale and stale bread. But to Doran these scenery was simply a wistful glow in the distance, teasing him as it flickered and glimmered.

Doran turned his back away from the city and the party he should have been enjoying and instead focused on the job on hand, dismissing all thoughts of what he could be enjoy and thought instead of what he stood to earn, the basic maths causing his heavy brow to furrow in response. They weren't far out of Sunberth, perhaps a half a mile from the city edge, a mile at most at the edge of the vast dark forest. It was an unnerving sight truth be told, the almost infinite sight of shadowed, tangled trees filled with strange howls and unsettling cries. Fortunately for him, his job took him away from this wilderness, not further into it.

With a relieved grunt a box was settled down onto the back of a cart with a familiar clink of glass bottles, a much smaller one that the cart behind it with one wheel completely snapped in half as a gargantuan horse tamped nervously in front of it. It was said owners end up looking like their pets and that was certainly true of this driver, he had a long, narrow face with large brown eyes slightly too far apart and large, tall teeth that had yellowed with age. His long, straw coloured hair had been pulled back in a ponytail which revealed the fact one of his ears had been cut off completely. "That's the last of them" He declared as he stood back from the cart, examining the handful of boxes and sacks that balanced so precariously on the cart but it appeared to be stable "That should stay up, that mule have got his work cut out for him, but it isn't to far so you should be good."

"Nice on mate, how ya gonna get that thing fixed?" He asked, shaking the man's hand with a firm grip "Looks pretty fucked to me" He inferred. The man waved him off "Nah, I'll be fine with this. I got a spare wheel in the cart, still dunno how it broke, sure gave by horse a fright but all the cargo is intact, and this close to the city I'll have no trouble with what's out there, they don't come this close to the city. Hurry up though, you can bet your arse that he's counting how much gold he's losing every second" He said with a grin.

"Yeah, you're right" He agreed, pounding on the cart with his fist as it struggled into a slow start "Well, best of luck to ya mate" He nodded as he followed on after the cart. "Get this bloody mule goin' as fast as he can, I ain't spending a tick to long out here as I can, and with that party on thieves will be havin' a field day." He warned the driver. He looked like he was expecting trouble, in his hands he fondly help a crossbow already loaded and ready to shoot while at his side hung his sheathed sabre, he was ready for a fight.

-Doran Flint

[Kenneric Crowe]

The light was receding, but Ken had no trouble seeing clearly, though he kept that fact to himself. The driver seemed confident he would be fine out here, able to fix his cart despite the setting sun. Ken stood upon his cart’s bench, watching the others load up the spirits. It was good that the driver didn’t want a ride, Kenneric wasn’t entirely sure Flash would be able to haul all of that. It was lucky they wouldn’t be going up hill at all in this journey.

The rough mercenary who served as his partner tonight shook the driver’s hand and hoisted himself up beside Ken. He cradled a crossbow and urged haste. Perhaps the warning of danger was legitimate. This was Sunberth after all.

“Yes, yes. I’m going Mister Flint. Good day, old man!” Ken waved a hand over his shoulder at the driver, who had already dismissed them and turned back to his cart. “Flash isn’t fast, but he's got endurance.” Ken spoke, wanting to defend his old donkey.

Sunberth loomed ahead, the nocturnal activities of it’s inhabitants giving off faint glows from within the bosom of the city. There was never a dull moment in Sunberth, but he hoped for a few dull moments tonight. Ken knew that anything one merchant valued so much, another valued equally. The idea of combat to defend another man’s spirits did not appeal to the scholar turned hired hand. But he needed the money, and he had Doran Flint here.

The two had not had much time to speak before setting out, but Kenneric thought the other seemed capable in his own right. He was a stocky fellow, presumably able to use the weapon at his waist. Kenneric himself carried a vicious hooked dagger in one boot and a small blackjack he had purchased earlier in the season tucked into his belt. The weapons made him feel a tad bit safer, but he sawn’t skilled with either.

The city, unlike most, lacked any official wall. Flash pulled the cart diligently between two outlying buildings and they were suddenly within the grasp of the city. Ken began to search doors and windows as they rode, ever watchful of prying eyes. “These neighborhoods are where they will attack, I think. If they do that is.” Ken glanced over at Doran Flint. The man had a falcon’s face, lined with hardship and void of kindness it seemed to Crowe. Or perhaps is was the setting sun.

“I hope you know how to use that thing, Mister Flint.” Crowe forced a grin and flicked the reigns once again.

[Noven]

Nov grunted as the cart jolted into motion, forcing him to wake from his peaceful slumber. Well, not peaceful, exactly. It was more of a moment of respite than proper shut-eye. He couldn't remember the last time he'd slept soundly, except maybe after that one night of raucous copulation with Mae.

Thinking about the redhead did no favors for his mood. The merc propped himself up amongst the boxes, looking around to regain his bearings. Syna had sunken past the horizon to hoard her radiance for another day as the Slag Heap flames danced in her absence. People from all walks of life were gathered around, celebrating and sloshing their liquor about as they danced and sang.

The dark haired, surly eyed merc stared at them indifferently. Five years ago, he would have been cursing life up and down, left and right, inside and out at the injustice that left him manning a cart while the rest of the city kicked off their shoes and got roaring drunk.

But that version of him had died long ago. Buried along with the scant few bodies of everything that had mattered to him in life.

Funny, that he was surrounded by bottles of booze and harbored no will to nick one for himself. What good would it do, anyway? He needed the money, not a hand chopped off--or worse--for something so trivial. With a sigh, Noven heaved himself atop the rambling cart and sat himself down on a crate.

"Hey," he muttered in way of greeting. Nov looked to the driver, a blond, gaunt looking fellow who might've seen better days, and then to the other hired hand. The man looked to be more or less the same height as him, but much heavier and sporting a well groomed goatee. Kinda reminded him of his old buddy Garrett, but less off putting. Heh, kinda like him already for it, the young merc thought to himself.

Nov eyed the crossbow in the man's hand for a moment, then cleared his throat. "So, ah...didn't catch your names," he added.

A pause. "I'm Noven."

Not the smoothest of introductions, but he'd never been one for tact anyhow.

[Doran Flint]

Doran ran a rough hand over the sleek, wooden stock of his crossbow "I can use it, let's hope I don't have to" He muttered in response as the slipped into Sunberth, hopefully not garnering any attention from the scum that filled his city. Doran's eyes scanned the street as they rolled in, the houses were no doubt either empty or filled with squatters high on drugs who didn't know what day of the season it was let alone the fact the Slag Heap was in full swing right now. He wouldn't want to be them right now, all the houses were in a state of disrepair, all were adorned with smashed windows, rotting wood and roofs covered in holes. A sharp breeze rolled in behind them, causing the hairs on the back of Doran's neck to stand up on edge.

"They can attack anywhere if they want to" He reasoned, thinking of this imaginary adversary who crept in the sahdows, this part of Sunberth was never so quiet though just as bleak but that gave him no comfort "We've gotta stick to the wide roads, they've got free reign of the city" He muttered as he rubbed the back of his cold neck, flattening the hairs as they tried to warn him. Doran looked over his shoulder as the voice in the back of the cart spoke to him. He was fairly indifferent about the sight of the young man in front of him, he looked like any typical street rat that had grown up in Sunberth, he would have appreciate some more experienced comrades right now as the cart squeak its way through the city but they would suffice for now. "The name's Flint, this lad is Kenneric or somethin' like that." He answered as he turned back round disinterested "If you lookin' for friends wait until we reach the party, focus on the job right now" He ordered as he stepped off the cart and began walking beside it, partly to give the wheezing donkey a little respite but mainly to check the alleyways as the passed them.

"Clear. Clear. Clear" He muttered to himself as they passed the dingy, slimy alleyways that crisscrossed Sunberth, he couldn't be sure that they were empty though, past a certain point alleyway walls shrouded their own, hiding them in darkness. "What I wouldn't give to see in the dark" He muttered as he stepped back up to the cart, ready to haul himself back into it before a sudden crash filled the road, sending the old donkey clattering to a stop as it brayed in dismay. Large empty crates piled into the path in front, blocking their path as a voice muttered on the other side of the road “Got ‘em.”

Doran raised his crossbow, jamming the stock into his shoulder as one eye peered into the darkness, waiting impatiently for the dust to settle that had been churned up by the commotion, and his ragged breathing filling the silence that hung over the road as all other noises trailed off into silence. A shadow flashed in the corner of his eye as he saw dust flow around it, encircling his target, Doran responded as a loud twang filled the alleyway, sending a bolt flying off into the darkness, clearly missing whatever he had seen as the gleam of metal faded into the distance. Suddenly the scuffling of shoes could be heard as a gruff voice barked “Give ‘em Hai” before the familiar twang resonated down the street once more.

“Get down!” Doran cried out as he recoiled backwards behind the cart while the whistling bolts headed their way.

-Doran Flint

[Kenneric Crowe]

Kenneric cursed and rolled out of the cart lightly. He botched his landing in the road and scrambled to get behind the cart. Doran Flint had been the first to respond, but his night vision was poor and he hadn’t managed to hit any of the ambushers. Kenneric peered into the shadows of the street, able to discern more than Doran apparently. “I think I see four, Flint!” His voice shook with anxiety. Kenneric, though willing to get his hands dirty, was not used to combat. He had been a simple scholar before coming here and had taken this job out of something akin to desperation.

“Four. Two on either side of the road, using the alleyways as cover.” Ken watched as both his companions reacted. Clearly the two hired swords were better at this type of work than he, but he was determined to make his own skills useful. He fumbled in his belt and pulled from it the sap he had bought some days earlier.

The darkness birthed two more dark bolts, one slamming home in his own cart. The other whizzed overhead. Crowe hissed as it passed overhead. He was at a loss. His small weapon seemed woefully inadequate against shadowy crossbowmen. Ken reached down and pulled the hooked dagger from his boot, the blade gleaming viciously in the limited light.

The smell of booze and smoke accosted the alleyway, courtesy of the wild celebration of the night. Ken glanced first at Noven, then ran to Doran.

“Hey Flint. We’ve got to get this cart out of here.”

[Noven]

Noven was impressed. Someone with a mood as foul and prickly as the Old Geezer Sawyer himsef. He made a mental note not to mention the similarities to the senior merc, though. Probably earn a swing of an axe for comparing him to someone who used a crossbow.

The young merc was tempted to respond with something acidic, but decided not to in the end. Their temporary leader was more or less right anyhow. Focus on the job, worry about other shyke later.

No sooner had he accepted this than sounds of wood crashing against cobbled stone erupted up at the front, forcing their donkey to an abrupt stop. Nov almost fell out of the wagon entirely and propped himself back up just in time to hear the distinct sound of a quarrel firing somewhere above his head. Then shouts, preceding a dozen more bolts whizzing through the air and thudding into their wooden cargo.

Noven kept cover as well as he could, shielding his head and staying out of sight behind the boxes of liquor. All the while he could hear the kid up front--what had this fellow Doran called him? Kenneric?--shouting numbers and insisting they needed to get the cart out of the way.

In that moment of utter chaos and confusion, Nov shut out everything as best he could to consider their options. They could stay here. Their assailants didn't seem skilled enough to hit their marks without clear vision. And staying, in addition to avoiding taking an arrow to the face, had the possibility of counter ambush. If their attackers believed them dead, or recognized this to be a stalemate, they might be forced to approach the cart themselves. They would have to at some point, anyway, to whisk away the goods.

But that would take too long. And they were already short on time as it was. Nov sighed to himself. It was either risk his life to save a cart full of booze, or not get paid at the end of the night.

There was a moment of relative silence as their assailants scrambled to reload their bows. Petching miracle the donkey hadn't been hit.

Wasting no time with debating his decision, Nov heaved himself out of the cart and landed feet first onto the stony street. He peeked around one side of the wagon to confirm the kid's numbers. Well, more or less right, except now the attackers were re-positioning themselves, clearly trying to get within closer range of their loot.

Nov turned back to his fellow mercenaries and relayed a simple, curt plan. "I'll distract them. Cover me if you can, and take down the ones who get close. Then we get this thing moving as soon as possible."

Then he braced himself, drawing his Tamos from one another, and broke out into a mad dash.

Shouts of alarm erupted as their attackers realized what was happening and they renewed their efforts with all the untempered, frenzied fervor of amateurs. Nov made sure to weave his way toward the first attack, taking cover when he could and relying on pure luck when he couldn't. Fortunately, it was dark, and they were horrible shots.

He made it behind a couple of garbage filled barrels, ignoring the overwhelming smell as more bolts skittered against the stones behind him. Thud, thud. A couple more sank into the barrels, but they were of no concern to the merc. He had only eyes for the ragged looking way-layer some six feet in front of him, looking wildly around for the cart guard to pop up at any moment.

Which Nov consciously chose not to do. Instead, he reached into the barrel, fished around for a bit, and withdrew his hand with a fistful of refuse. A few more quarrels rammed themselves into his wooden barriers.

And then, without further ado, he launched it at his target's face.

A mushy, dripping assortment of rotten fish, vegetables, and gods knew what else slapped against the man's unsuspecting face. His shouts and disgusted gags were muffled as his compatriots yelled at him to keep calm, jamming more bolts into their crossbows.

And that's when Nov struck, bursting from his cover, Tamos in hand. Then he sunk both into the center of the flailing man's chest, flaring his mark as the blades disappeared beneath a threadbare tunic and grimy flesh. The ensuing screams of amplified pain ricocheted off the walls, only to be drowned out in the raucous noise of drunken mirth surrounding the Slag Heap fire.

His victim writhed in a blaze of agony, likely not to live for more than another chime or two. Struggling with the man's twitching form, Nov gripped the handles of his daggers and hauled the dying body on top of him, using it as cover.

One down, three to go.

[Ablation]

Noven :

Experience:

Stealth +1
Tactics +2
Leadership +1
Running +1
Weapon: Refuse +1
Weapon: Tamos +1

Lores:

Introductions: Kenneric
Introductions: Flint
Shield: Dead Body

Kenneric :

Experience:

Tactics +1
Acrobatics +1
Stealth +1
Observation +2

Lores:

Danger of Sunberth
Introductions: Flint
Introductions: Noven

Other:
Your CS hasn't been updated with any of your threads, nor are your Skills in the correct format. I know you have the green check mark but please review the expectations for CSs and make sure yours has all the requirements. If you come back to play on Mizahar feel free to PM me for help regarding your CS.

Please don't be afraid to PM me with any questions ^-^ and please don't forget to remove your grading request from the list.