[Baroque Bay] The Great Escape

by **Fallon** on February 1st, 2015, 1:25 pm

85th Winter 514 AV
Early Morning

Everything up until that moment was running smoothly. The Quay had been sold on, the ship to escape having booked and their passage secured. Those who looked for escape had been granted it, their resources pulled together for that final stand and a defending retreat against a city that rejected them. It was no surprise, and already it had turned to blood to simply survive - but soon, soon it would be no more. Zeltiva was to be their destination, one way or another. But it was only now that the plans snagged, defeated by the elements itself.

Fallon cursed, though far from loudly. Her chest was still heaving from her sprinting, legs still trembling from her running up the gangplank and onto the vessel - only to find it stilled. The light of day only just peaking out across the horrizon and sending the docks within its glow, the bitter taste upon her lips. Around her she could hear the clunking and crunching of men attempting to break the ice and free the vessel. Her fingers curled tightly around her tulwar hilt, her jaw tightening and pulling up into a snarl. She gave a lean in to the captain, eyes filled with rage before once more it died behind the mask of thought as she breathed upon him, "What do you mean, we cannot sail?"
"The ice! It's too thick!" came the exclamation in response, "It'd cripple our hull before we even got out of the bay!"
"Bullshyke! You said it was cracking yesterday! You said it was melting," She spat, anger flaring up in the moment, gauntlet grasping tightly around his collar, and dragged him closer. Teeth gritted, the rough angry edge in her voice as she glared at him, and the fires clawed back down, smothered in a wave of cool, "You told me you'd be able to sail today."
"We can't Bitzer! We can't!"
Her fist slammed down against the mast, throbbing up through the cushion of it and into her bones. Wincing she pulled it away, the shake out to the pain as she snarled and turned her head, "You said..."
"I can't, I'm sorry Bitzer! I'm sorry!"
"You... you don't give a damn about this! We've paid you coin, we're just an easy group for you... Bastard," She spoke, slow tones, holding an unnerving level of neutrality, turning her head away out and across the ice, "Petching son of a bitc-"
"I'm sorry I can't take you and your-"
"Sorry? Sorry!?" Her voice raised up once more, the anger returning in floods, and turned into a struggling shout, "You think your apologies are enough? The danger and risk you bring to my pe-."
"Bitzer please!"

"You lead them to die!" She barked, her fist shook as she released him and gave him a push away. Sucking in the air she braced her feet upon the deck, her shoulders heaving as she sucked in the cold winter air. Her fist shook, breaths quick before she averted her gaze away for the desperate clawing onto self control. Chewing upon her lip she gave him the smallest push away and stormed her way across the decking. Her patience was beginning to wear thin, her temper rising up as the stressed throbbed against her.

She forced the cold to cool her temper, her ears twitching to the sound of her own voice echoing out across between the masts and bay. Around her she could see the looks of the crew, the frosted wood and beams of the ship and the faint groan of ice that surrounded the hull, thin but not thin enough by all accounts. The breaths gave a judder, her gaze sweeping back and forth then onwards out the bay to the open ocean and breaking ice. So close and yet so far - her lips pursed into a line, her collar brought up high around her chin as she halted her pacing. The angry hiss escaped, "Shyking hai."

Useless, nothing could be done. They were without protection, they had no place to fall back to. It was merely them, the ice and the elements now. Fallon looked back to the city, the gauntlets clicking and the blades chinking with the subtle movement. She shifted, moving to the edge of the deck and back with a squint. Leaning out over the edge, she felt her eyes widen, the scowl falling away into a steeling expression. It was one of the sailors that spoke up however, announcing in an almost fearful voice, "Captain! There! By the street! They're gatherin'! About a dozen of them!"
"What?" The Captain responded, his head snapping round.
"There captain! Dozen or so of them, all armed and coming to the docks! They're comin' for us! Gods they are!"
"Petchin-" He did not finish by the time Fallon swept her gaze around to him and gave him a steely glare. They needed to get out of here, as quickly as possible with few casualties, there was no way around it. But the net had already closed in around their escapes back into the city it seemed - they knew and they would not let them out. The only way now was forward it seemed, but that route was blocked.

Time, they needed time. Time could allow them to work something out. Her eyes gave a flicker down to the ice, the hull scrapping and bobbing in the water despite the imprisonment that was around it. Her hands fell to the tulwar, the look returning to the captain. Keep the cool, keep the calculation of thought process. Inhaling she moved to the gang plank, her form straightening up as she squared up voice, "Captain, get the ice broken and prepare to sail. Carve a way out while you have the time. And be quick about it" She sighed then, hands tugging at her leathers and her blades - it was all she had on her person now, the rest of her few belongings were kept carefully below, "I'm going to give you that time. So don't waste it."

He gave a blink back at her as she stepped away, the creaking of wood as she met the wood pier and begun the slow walk back towards the city. She did not give him time to argue with her, the dumbfound silence however rested there as those leather toes crunched upon ice and snow. Gaze locked ahead, she already spied the congregation of those that seemed to march ever closer to the mouth of the docks. The captain gave a cry, barking his orders and sending the sailors scuttling into life.

"Look! Look! The Red Wolf came out to play! More like Red Bitch by the time we're done with her!" She caught the sound of the shouting jeer as she came into ear shot. Blades were drawn as she met the harder, more solid ground of the docks. Gauntlets flexed around the hilts, that flicker of pause as she forced her mind into combat, her pace slowing as she moved. It gave a crunch, the iced slush crushed beneath her tread as she took her position and waited for who were approaching. Another inhale in, she forced the combative mind into place although there was the urge to run and fight. Her stomach gave a rebellious lurch, her feet bracing upon the ground. Wrists turned, the click as she stared on ahead and met the approaching storm.

It was time to pull out all the stops.

Selling recipt :

by **Noven** on February 6th, 2015, 4:26 am

Nov sat huddled along the side of the ship closest to land, hood drawn over his head. He didn't know which he dreaded more. The eventual outcome of all the yelling and pleading bouncing between Wolf and Captain, or the thought of having to spend their entire trip to Zeltiva hanging over the side rails, puking his guts out. If they even managed to set sail at all, that is.

Bitzer was furious. And who could blame her? Noven might have felt a bit more peeved himself, had the delaying of acute sea sickness not brought such relief, temporary as it was. But to be honest, he would rather they begin the journey now than wait a moment longer, sitting like some giant duck in the middle of the Bay.

Not two ticks after this thought had passed, the shout of alarm came. A dozen or more armed killers were coming straight for their ship. The cook popped his head above the rail to confirm the report. Every nerve, every muscle in his body tensed in that familiar calm before an inevitable bloodbath. Slowly removing both of his gloves, he didn't even need to see Bitzer to know when she had decided to take the first step into the fray. The bloodthirsty jeers of their enemies announced her approach for all know and hear.

Noven remembered his last thought before entering the fight of his life--of all their lives--was that of the orphanage. When he had revealed his decision to accompany the remaining Scars to Zeltiva, Jillene had looked upon him with those hard, blank eyes of hers. Then she went straight to setting up arrangements. Creating a cover story, spreading it amongst the staff, and using what few resources she could afford to ensure that when he came back, it would be from escorting one of the orphans to the University, not running for his life along with the rest of the Scars. She had asked only one thing of him in return: to ensure he didn't do anything drastically stupid and throw all of her efforts out to sea.

It was probably the kindest thing the Isur had ever done for him. And it was also going to be yet another promised the Sunberthian would not be able to keep.

He couldn't let Wolf Girl go in there alone. That she had stepped out there at all was madness in it of itself. But she wasn't doing it to be reckless or outwardly brave. She was doing it to buy them time, to fulfill her task of getting them to safety, whatever the cost.

Swearing under his breath, the cook threw off his coat and checked his Tamos. He then stuffed his coat and gloves along the side of the ship and walked out to join Bitzer at the front lines, hoping against hope none of these petchers would be left alive to remember his face. He didn't know what he would do if the orphanage was attacked because of him. But, at the same time, he couldn't let his leader fight alone, either.

Coming to stand by his leader's side at the front lines, Nov took quick stock of their surroundings. It seemed most of the locals and lingering sailors had cleared out as soon as they'd caught wind of a massacre. The harbor all around them was nearly empty, save for a few crates and barrels and the occasional gull calling overhead.

"A dozen of you just to take down one girl?" Noven jeered, his breath turning to frost as soon as it hit the frigid air. It was cold as shyke today and the vigorous exercise of murdering more mobsters was a welcome way to warm his limbs. "That's low, even for you cocksucking lot."

He turned to Wolf Girl and waved his arm then, making the gesture showy enough for their enemies to see. "Say, Bitz. Who do you think will cut down more idiots today? You, me, or that guy there with more butter knives than brains?" The particular individual Nov was referring to was actually holding what appeared to be a set of rather dangerous looking throwing knives in each hand, but the comment seemed to agitate the poor sod nonetheless.

Hmm, maybe he needed a little bit more encouragement.

"Oy, you stupid, ugly fuck!" Noven shouted through the haze of wintry, morning mist. "We're about to slaughter every last one of you, not have you serve us breakfast and butter our toast!"

The knife wielder roared. "That's it! Fuck this waiting. I'm going to shred you to pieces and feed you to the dogs you cocky little shyke!"

For a split tick, the cook thought he might have succeeded. Thugs always fought dumbest when provoked. But one of the more stoic looking figures shot out an arm and stopped Knife Boy before he could charge like the mindless animal that he was.

Uh oh. That wasn't a good sign.

"So..." Nov muttered to Bitzer in a chagrined voice. "I think there might a few smart ones amongst them after all."

by **Zandelia** on February 6th, 2015, 1:54 pm

It was time, or rather it should have been time but for the cursed weather and their terrible luck. Ice had covered the waters, locking in the only ship they had for their escape attempt. At least, she had reasoned, their belongings were stowed carefully and they had managed to recoup their losses on the Quay. They had left much of what they owned with the abode, they were travelling and travelling light. Importance had been placed upon weapons and provisions, a few items of sentimental value were stowed away also. She had appropriated a chest from the Quay to house the smaller items but for now she was keeping watch, secluded in the throngs of the Seaside Markets whilst they waited out the delays. It was a tedious task but necessary – they would send a runner to grasp her when they were about to leave.

For now, however, I’ll stick out the watch duty. I told them I’d keep them safe, all of them. I’ll not be letting them down because I was negligent. I’ll bloody well not! she told herself with a fierce, adamant will.

She was fully armed this day too, even holding her shortbow in her left hand ready to be used despite her lack of skill with the weapon. This was not a time to pull punches and everything that was a potential weapon to kill any hunters would be used, she had told them that – all of them. Not to act foolishly but that from here on out it was either kill them or be killed, there were no middle options open to them. Use what they could to live, fight with any weapon – improvised or not. That was what would be required to survive she had stated and she was living by that statement herself, she disliked being a hypocrite after all. She disliked dying even more. So it was that, as she was watching to one side behind a stall, the band of thugs barrelled their way through the crowds, kicking and punching any whom didn’t manage to get out of the way in time. She watched them and let them pass, too many for her to engage alone but she had an idea – encirclement.

Now, if anyone else was smart enough to stand watch elsewhere now would be the time to have the same idea that I have right now. Luck hold, you better damned well hold. We’ve come too far to get struck down at the last petching hurdle! she raged internally as she circled behind the group as they passed, she kept to the crowd where possible though she did stop to help up the few injured that she could get to and usher them away from what was surely about to become a bloodbath.

She kept up her stalking and stood in the edge of the crowd as they watched the spectacle with wary eyes. She heard the exchange, Noven continued to push himself up in her esteem and she had to force her face straight to stop herself laughing. She frowned and pulled an arrow from her quiver. She notched it to the bow string and kept it lax but ready to draw. As she was about to step out she was stopped with a hand on her shoulder, she turned and began to pull the arrow back until she saw it was a simple man with rough sun clothing.

“I would’ve killed you, you silly sod!” she hissed at him.

“You can’t go out there, there’s twelve of them. You will die”

“And I can’t not go, they are my people”

“Can I help?”

“Have a weapon?”

“No, used to be a hunter though, could sue that there bow” he eyed her warily.

“Then you can have it if I fall. Sorry friend, I don’t give weapons away in the middle of a fight. Stay here, keep safe” she told him succinctly as she stepped out and pulled the arrow back to her cheek as she had been taught so long ago.

“Don’t worry LittleRred, I’ll make sure that if any of these dandies step towards you they’ll get an arrow in the back. Any volunteers?” she growled as she aimed and a few turned to face her – that was it, split their attention and their directions.

She was a good twenty paces away and they knew at least one of them would die before they got half way there, two perhaps before they made it to her. She could see the indecision in them though she knew herself that she’d be lucky to kill one of them. This was but a distraction, a ruse. When the true battle began she would be fighting with close weapons, not ranged.

by **Fallon** on February 8th, 2015, 7:27 pm

Fallon's hands locked around the tulwar hilts, pulled, then paused. They juddered for a moment, the smallest of trembles as they refused to draw, joints seizing up and stiffening, reluctance to go any further until she forced will into drawing them. They came out with a hiss, her eyes staring forward as she heard the crunching steps of Noven come next to her. She did not have time to turn her head to him as he took up the position of jeering and locked the advancement for now just by appearing. Her eyes darted to catch one of the thugs be held back by a veteran, showing there was at least some command in the ranks. Around her the air seemed to still, her eyes looking to try and pick out a leading figure among the group - strike the sheppard down and the sheep would scatter, in theory at least.

"No Shyke Investigator," she exhaled, face steeled and hardened, "Why are you here? I said I'd give you all time, get out of the ice and free." Her feet moved, feeling the pressure of the enemy moving in around them, the eyes all staring down. A dozen against two, it did not seem like a fair fight. Fallon knew however she could hold her own, least for a little while - but Noven she was not so sure about. Good with his fists but this would be a true blood bath more so if they had their own way. Kill or be killed flashed and flared within her mind, her grip tightening around the hilt of the blades.

"You should leave why you still can," she spoke to them, firm and hard, but far from a shout. She looked at them from beneath her brow, watching and looking to the expression. In response there was only the sneer and that step forward as if to prove their point, "Make us Red Wolf. You and your scars are ours now."

Another tremble, that pent up war beginning to rise within her and struggle. She was tired of the fighting, she was tired of all the blood and the pain. It was all pointless now, there was nothing to be gained from it, perhaps it would have just been easier to give it all up. But she could not, not yet at least, not until all the others had made it safely onto the boat. Only then could she allow herself to give in. She whispered to herself, "No more. No more after this. No more. No more..."

It was when Zandelia's voice however that cut across the dozen however that their attention shifted from the to the other. She could see the split, hear the angered growl and the eyes turning back between them. An attempt to draw them into a reaction. It was their opportunity as she saw it to divide and conquer, and so Fallon took it. Shoulders squared down, eyes locking forward to the nearest unsuspecting target. The left blade was brought arching back, a rock forward up onto her toes, the right brought round across on the horizontal - there was no holding back now. A step right into his space, but there was no war howl, no final shout - just the longing to finish this once and for all.

She caught that look of white in his eyes, that moment of terror and fear as she closed in. His mouth opened, barely a beginning pitch of noise as the edge dug into his side. The left came arching downward at that point, hacking down and across the exposed neck with a crunch. There was barely a turn of heads as the momentum continued, the body slumping to the ground and her eyes looking forward once more to the enemy, "Leave. Now."

by **Monarch** on February 9th, 2015, 7:19 pm

Monarch

The gang had not come here to parley, to offer terms, to extract something from the fleeing Scars. They had nothing to want from the broken group, had already ripped from them that most precious of treasures: the will to fight. Now that the Scars were defeated and fleeing town, the gang had nothing more to take from them. They weren't here to claim a victory, for a victory had already been had. And, in truth, it didn't matter if the Scars perished here or if they managed to escape, for their survival was meaningless now to the great beast that was Sunberth.

The gang had come to the docks with weapons bared to make a message, written in the blood of the broken Scars: We are here. We are strong enough to break others. Now nobody's afraid of the big red wolf.

Most of the gang members that had arrived were little more than boys, picked right off the streets and given a blade in return for service. They had young faces and young eyes, alive with vicious spirit but lacking in experience. In their hands they clutched swords, axes, daggers, spears, rough weapons with jagged ends meant to inflict pain wherever possible. They were expendable fodder, that much was clear to all onlookers. Of the twelve that were gathered on the docks, awaiting the arrival of the Scars, only four looked to be seasoned Sunberthian mercenaries. One was a Myrian, bare-chested with bone spikes stuck through her biceps, a giant that stood tall above the others and wielded two huge cleavers. Another was dressed in hard splint-mail, a man with a ragged black beard and a longsword resting on his shoulders. The third notable fighter was an Eypharian dressed in silks and trinkets, an odd attire for combat... but the four daggers she wielded looked wickedly sharp. And the final figure, the one that seemed to command the most glances from the others, was a man bedecked in leather, a silver beard complementing the sharp look in his eyes. This final man took great care to always be standing behind another gang member, keeping himself out of direct eyesight.

They all stood, shivering in the cold, waiting for the Red Wolf and her little minions to close in. The crew broke out into jeers as Fallon and then Noven approached, but the silver-bearded man kept the gang at bay. He touched the knight on the shoulder and murmured in his ear, a secret message the Scars could not overhear. Nodding, the knight drew his longsword and prepared to break his way through the crowd, intending to meet the advancing Fallon head-on...

Zandelia's interruption gave a start to the whole gang - they had believed the Scars were squandered on their little stuck ship! - and so gave Fallon an opportunity to strike. The target she ended up choosing was an unwashed youth of twenty, who was no match for the Red Wolf in single combat. The rest of the gang managed to turn their heads to the scene just as their comrade hit the ground, bleeding out from his slit throat. For a moment, all was silence, Fallon's command echoing in the chilly wind and punctuated by the sickening gurgling of the slain man.

Finally, the silver-bearded man spat out his order. "Kill them."

Nodding grimly, the knight advanced forward, brandishing his sword and adopting a practiced fighting stance. He approached the Red Wolf cautiously, keeping his guard up and making small adjustments to offset her own defence. But he was not the first to attack Fallon, for three untrained gang members let out war cries and surged past the knight, taking advantage of the distance between her and Noven to surround her. Though they had little skill in combat, they exploited her easily-flanked position and attacked her where she was least defended. The knight joined this small circle of fighters, watching Fallon for an opening and striking hard when one presented itself. The Red Wolf, skilled though she was, would have to break out of this trap soon or else risk being cut down.

Another four gang members bypassed the encircled Fallon and ran for the ship, the only obstacle between them and undefended crew being Noven. They came at him recklessly, led by the over-enthusiastic Knife Boy, waving their weapons about and hungering for blood. There was no semblance of a formation among them - they simply intended to rush and overwhelm him with sheer force of numbers.

Zandelia was not forgotten about in the heat of battle. The silver-bearded man, retreating from the main street and followed closely by the Eypharian, gave a sharp whistle and pointed in her direction. Two gang members, one of them being the massive Myrian, turned towards the archer and charged her, splitting up to come at her from either side.

Moderation Note :

by **Kaie** on February 10th, 2015, 7:39 pm

All was quiet in the bowels of the Scars' escape vessel. Every now and then light filtered down through the floor boards, sailors gave shouts to one another, and heavy picks outside gave off great pings when they struck the thick ice. The Myrian gave a groan and pressed her head against the salt-smelling wooden wall behind her where she sat. Amber eyes were shut, a deep grimace painting across her bronze features when she drew her knees to to her chest. I should've killed that bastard, the savage growled internally with a palpable bitterness that rivaled her pain. She could feel the tightness of the bandages wrapped around her torso, somewhat hidden beneath her leather vest and shrouded by her winter cloak. If I had been more focused he never would've even grazed me. Muffled shouting overhead was the best distraction she'd had since she'd resigned to sulk below deck. One voice belonged to the woman who had once served as her leader. Judging by the way she was chastising the male speaker for what she could only assume was utter incompetence, the Myrian concluded he must've been their gracious captain.

"Well that sounds real petchin' good," Kaie murmured in her brutal, native tongue and flashed open her bright eyes to gaze up at the floor boards. Pink lips pursed in deliberation. The ancestral gladius was withdrawn from its scabbard and jerked backward into the storeroom wall at her back with a thunk. Teeth grit, left hand pressed off the ground while the right gripped the handle of the stuck sword for leverage, and soon enough she finished the agonizing challenge of finding her feet. There were more voices aboard now, more panicked than before. There was the angry thud of feed across the floorboards of the ship deck above, ice pick strikes coming more frequent in a faster, desperate tempo. The jungle-born ripped her gladius from the wall, sheathed it, and made her way toward the stairs. A rat skittered beneath her feet with an indignant squeak. The boat gave a moan as she navigated its innards over to the light of above. There was a pause in her advance, the biting of her lip, then a narrowing in her defiant, fiery eyes before a hand shot out to grip the rail and make the first painful step. Her left hand crossed her body to press against her wounded side over her ribs. A few chimes and she was finally above deck. What a sight it was.

Gone were the arguing ex-gang leader and captain. Absent were the few of her friends who had boarded the ship to seek asylum from the death that was assured if they stayed in Sunberth. With a furrow of her brow, the Myrian wandered to the dock-side of the ship. Shyke... Lined before the small number of remaining ex-Scars stood a comparatively more formidable force. They had the numbers to overwhelm them, and each was armed to the teeth with murder in their eyes. Her stomach dropped, the nerves in her sword-wound seizing as if to remind her of the last similar crusade. It wasn't until she laid eyes on the sight of the woman of her race, the spikes in her arms a testament to the savagery they shared, that her heart sank. Hands rubbed at one another absently as if to rid themselves of some unseen taintedness. Sights settled upon Fallon and then Zandelia. Those guilty hands quickly balled into tight fists.

"You!" Kaie suddenly turned on her heel and shouted at the lone deckhand still on board. There was a raggedy mop in his hand, which he swiped back and forth across the spotless deck."Kihala, have mercy. Kihala, have mercy," he murmured with shaky hands over and over. Not so much of a glance was given to the Falyndar native. If only she hadn't left her spear below deck. "Give me that stupid thing." She made her way to him and tore the old mop from his nervous fingers when he again ignored her words. Bronze fingers seized him at the collar of his shirt, and just like that he seemed to return to reality. Green eyed stared wide in terror. "The Goddess of Life does not intervene against Dira. If you want to live, get a petchin' pick and break that damned ice already!"

She released the man with a nudge and rushed toward the ship's side. A glance was given to the old mop, then the solid edge of the ship's railing. The Myrian lifted the tool, and with a cry, hurled it down upon the edge of the railing just behind the mop's head. The covered laceration protested, but she turned her pain into energy, and brought the mop down upon the railing with all her might twice until the wood splintered. The raggedly mop head clattered to the deck, leaving a formidable spiked end to her makeshift spear. The mercenary woman fell against the railing, biting her lip and letting out a muffled shriek while that hand shot to her side. She banged her left fist upon the wood and stubbornly tore down toward the battlefield.

By the time the order came and the attacks flooded toward the ship, the Myrian had just arrived behind Noven to join up with a battle cry of her own. So focused were they on the sole defender of the ship in their path, the furious interjection of a spearhead from a new opponent caught the first to flank Noven in the belly. He gave a scream that mirrored the tortured sound of his killer as she buried her weapon in him down to the ground. Kaie ripped it from his flesh a took a step backward, swiping the spiked end of the makeshift spear toward the next of the remaining three that eyed her instead of Noven, who must've certainly had his hands just as full. Her body's distress as a result from the previous battle made her knees weak, but as the gnosis on her neck burned something fierce, it was not the anguish of the wound that commanded her attention.

Amber eyes zeroed in on the sight of her fellow Myrian rushing Zandelia, the cleavers in her hands swinging back and forth as she made her sprint toward the archer. Another jerk of the wooden spear to keep her newest foe at bay, and the desperate young woman called toward her sister in their shared tongue. "No! These are my people!" Another angry swipe at the recruit that tried to rush her while distracted, and she screamed out against Morwen's breath. A last hope the woman would respect the wishes of her own, or turn to take up arms against her own blood. "Mine! Worship in battle elsewhere!" The things she would've done had she the strength to slaughter the meaty barriers before her to cross that battlefield...

by **Noven** on February 11th, 2015, 9:27 am

Wolf girl drew first blood in a vivid spray of crimson. After that, the song and dance that they had all been waiting for, that Noven come to know so well in the City of Slums, finally struck its first chord.

The bay suddenly exploded to life as their foes surged forward. They crashed upon the former Scars like a roaring wave, a dozen promises of death and bloodshed unleashed in a matter of ticks. He watched three greenies rush Bitzer first. They cut between him and his former leader just as Nov caught sight of a fourth lingering in the back, donned in armor and brandishing a sword. A real sword.

They were in so much more trouble than any of them could have initially guessed.

That was all he managed to deduce before the cook was forced to reorient himself. Four more mobsters were charging his way. In an encouragingly predictable fashion, Knife Boy was up at the very front leading the charge, the thirst for retribution written clear across his pockmarked features.

Nov kept his left hand hidden while his right gripped one Tamo. He was torn--Bitzer was so close yet so far, separated by a wall of belligerent flesh, but there were four other opponents to deal with just on his own. If he tried to help her, he'd only leave his own hide exposed and double the numbers of her already staggering enemy count. Not to mention he seemed to be the only obstacle between a hoard of murderers and the Scars' only ticket out. Cursing aloud, the cook shifted to face his attackers head on. The faster he killed them the sooner he could help the others.

Just as the first recruit came within flanking distance, a savage scream erupted from behind and a spear lodged itself right into the unsuspecting man's belly. Noven was still reeling with confusion and a minor heart attack when the Myrian yanked out her bloody spear. There was little time to relish his relief, however, upon seeing Kaie. The three remaining survivors were now eyeing her instead like a pack of hungry wolves, barely held at bay by the swipe of her spear.

Nov did not waste his brief but useful advantage. With their attentions diverted, he was able to inch forward a few small steps. It didn't get him within stabbing distance, but it did force their enemies to swivel back and forth between both mercenaries, unable to tell who was going to attack first.

"Cmon, you ugly petcher," the cook grinned, deciding to speed things up a bit, "breakfast isn't going to serve itself."

"Reeves, don't--"

Knife Boy took the bait like a fish to worms. He snarled in hatred as he shoved one of his companions out of his way and threw a dagger in Noven's direction. The cook lunged to one side, narrowly avoiding the blade, and had only just enough time to scramble away as another came flying for his head. Meanwhile, the others stayed back to ensure the Myrian made no advances, not wanting to get in the way of the lethal projectiles.

"How about..." the cook panted between sharp twists and turns, "you put away...those butter knives...and fight me like a man...you fucking coward."

Reeves had no intention of fighting fair, but the comment brought a renewed surge of ire coursing through his body. He wanted to make this petcher suffer. Reaching into one of his numerous pockets, he withdrew a knife he saved only for the most deserving of his victims, laced with some of the most gruesome poisons known to man. He closed his eyes just for a tick to offer a fervent prayer to Vayt, as was tradition before using his most treasured blade. Then he opened them again and raised his arm. He had yet to miss once after unsheathing Anguish.

But Noven gave him no time to aim. He was barreling down on Knife Boy and already within arm's reach by the time Reeves finished his prayer. The cook hit his foe like a battering ram, bringing them both crashing to the ground. A furious struggle ensued as Nov fought to stay on top and keep the man's blade arm pinned firmly to the ground.

Hold on...why stop at pinning?

Expression growing stone cold, the merc gripped his opponent's throwing wrist with his left hand and bent it violently at an odd angle. Crack! Knife Boy's mouth opened in horrified pain. His precious knife clattered uselessly to the floor. Then Nov flared his mark without a second thought, eager to end this fight as quick as possible.

He didn't stick around to listen to those familiar howls of white hot agony. The other mobsters were closing in on him, one armed with a mace and the other a butcher's cleaver. They had stayed back at the sight of Anguish, but with Reeves currently incapacitated, there was no need to fear any collateral damage from the blade's wicked edge. The one with the cleaver stayed farther back to keep an eye on Kaie while his companion loomed over Nov and a screaming Reeves, readying a swing to slam his mace straight into the cook's ribs.

Nov didn't even look up. He could hear approaching boot steps and sharp intake of breath before the swing. Just as the mace was reaching its peak, the cook rolled off of Reeves, throwing himself to the right as a grunt of exertion heralded the weapon's rapid descent. Nov felt the rush of wind against his face as he stared up at his new opponent for one, harrowing moment before he hit the planks and nearly rolled right off into the sea.

The recruit gave him no time to recover. He slammed his mace down a second time, going straight for Noven's throat. The cook caught the hand with both hands. He could feel one of the spikes poking against his turned cheek, threatening to break skin as it inched lower and lower. With a cry of desperation, Nov threw all of his upper body into pushing away the mace while his right leg kicked the man in the shin. A look of surprised pain flashed across his opponent's face as he crumpled just a little, allowing Nov to shove the weapon to one side. He then aimed boot again, this time at the spot beneath his attacker's jaw, twisting his body to accommodate the move and pouring every ounce of strength he could muster into the kick.

The ensuing impact sent the man's head snapping backward. His arms flew out to his sides as he tried to regain his balance, the dark splotch of a livid bruise already spreading across his chin. He blinked upon recovering, upper lip rising in disdain at the damage the little shyke had done.

Too slow. Nov was moving low and fast, his Tamo held out before him. His opponent swung again. The cook jumped back out of the way, but not before he slashed the mobster across one of his hairy arms. A thin, red line blossomed, though it did little to faze its bearer. Deciding to change things up a bit, the mace wielding recruit made to swing a fourth time, but changed direction at the last tick and aim low instead. One of the spikes drove itself straight into Noven's calf, bringing him down to one knee in a burst of pain. His attacker grinned. Time to end this cocky little--

Nov's left hand had reached down and encircled the man's cut. Right before the crimson veins that webbed across his skin flared bright red and sent his opponent drowning in pain that no simple cut should have induced. Then the cook raised his Tamo and sank it into the man's throat, holding it there until incredulous eyes grew dull with death.

by **Zandelia** on February 14th, 2015, 5:01 pm

Leave peacefully. Please. Just leave without a fig- PETCH! the thoughts slipped through her mind quickly as her gaze darted from person to person amongst the throng. There were many but most of them looked as if they're only training had been bar scuffles.

The group surged and split off quickly enough, she had little time and only one arrow as they charged. She was given a few precious ticks to weigh up her decision and made it as fluidly as was possible. She wasn't a great archer, she would be the first to admit that, but she knew the greater threat when she knew it and that damned Myrian giantess was one of the few mercenaries that actually appeared mercenary. She let the arrow fly and didn't pull another out, there was no time as she was coming under their rough pincer assault. She watched the arrow miss its target, she had been aiming for the woman's chest, but it did glance across one of her shoulders to leave a red smear she hoped was enough to hamper them slightly. She frowned and blinked, time slowed as the scene unfolded – Fallon was bearing the worst of the brunt she noted. She made her second choice and stepped rapidly towards the youth attacking her. She threw the shortbow like a javelin at the Myrian's feet, hoping to entangle or at least slow, and pulled out her tonfa.

“Die, bitch!” the lad screamed, covering fear with anger perhaps.

She stepped into his guard and his sword met her left tonfa, it deflected and whirled out to catch the inside of his wrist as the other weapon came across to crack out at his shoulder, numbing it and causing him to step back. He had a dagger in his other hand, a poor imitation of his Myrian partner, and her brought her left tonfa across his body to slam into the inside of his upper arm to compound the disability she had affected. Pivoting she jabbed her right elbow back and around to connect with his jaw. That brought the Myrian into line of sight – she was close, closer than she had hoped and both cleavers starting an attack. Her left arm levered up the boy's numb left and she looped it over her head whilst she had time, mere ticks perhaps, and stepped in behind him then. The Myrian didn't care, she just let the attacks come to butcher her own. Zandelia kicked out after her weapons impaled the lad, her foot upon the corpse's back to send the Myrian stumbling slightly. She heard Kaie shouting in the background.

“You first” she muttered as she took a deep breath and felt the sweat start its sticking.

“Less shouting and more killing Kaie! If you die I'll bring you back just to kill you myself!” she barked at her as she used the bought moments to glance around, where was Fallon?

There...bastards! she raged internally and knew there was no choice.

Five bodies against Fallon, one against herself now. No, she had to intervene before it got her lover killed. She looked at the Myrian briefly, she was beginning to make her way towards her again, faster now though with satisfaction she saw trickled blood down her arm and she had dirtied up a bit from the tumble. She turned and ran towards the fray, veering towards the flank in her quest to try and collapse it. They were focused upon the Red Wolf, baying for her blood. The bloodthirsty little girl, barely out of her teens by the look of it, didn't know what was coming. Zandelia stamped on the back of her knee viscously and as she was brought down the butt of her right tonfa cracked into the back of her skull the left swung around to connect with her jaw a tick after to the sound of crunching bone. She fell and thus her goal was achieved – the lad next to her now had his attention on her and a look of semi-horror upon his face. She stepped back to avoid his wild lunge and she then had two upon her once more.

She sought to regain her footing but even so barely ducked under the cleavers of the Myrian to prevent a beheading. A foot lashed out at her but her tonfa crossed to block it's impact and she pushed it to the side buying her enough time to come fully to her feet. There was a short lull before they both came at her again, she whirled her tonfa into a lattice of dual blocks and parries as she circled, trying to prevent them from flanking her. She had no time to see how the others were doing as she kept herself alive. She managed to crack the boy upon the knee and he was limping slightly but all she managed upon the Myrian was a few glancing blows to her forearms as they both tested each other's guard – she was damned good.

Have to get rid of the refuse first, then the decent ones. The longer the weak stay alive the more meat shields the true mercs have to use against us she told herself as she breathed heavily and the sweat poured across her brow, there to sting the healing cut across her forehead.

The clashing in the background, the screams and roars, all filling her with an anger she had not felt outside of when Fallon had been under threat. There was that here too but also something more. Family, they were all her family now. They were forced together by hatred but she would see them all leave safely with respect and affection. She growled at the pair as they darted towards her again. She stepped between them then, shifting her tactics, their blows coming at her from both dies, her head twisting to keep up with them. She kicked out at the boy as he attempted an overhead hack, he stumbled backwards with a squawk. She turned and blocked the cleavers as they came at her. She needed to disarm the brute, that much was clear. As the next exchange whirled she saw her opportunity. Tonfa blocked a downward assault but this time forearm to forearm, thus stopping it. Twisting her body to avoid the second stab she flicked her free tonfa over her head and clashed directly with the Myrians fingers. Bones must have broken but she didn't care about that,, only that the weapon fell free. She scraped it back and away with her foot.

They separated then and they were both injured, she had a nice little gash across her torso. Her armour had blunted most of the damage but she could feel the wetness of warm blood beginning to trickle out underneath her leathers. She didn't have time to worry about how severe it was – if she had to buy the others safety with her own demise then so be it. Their next exchange began and it was easier with only two weapons against two. She tried to keep at least one between her and the other, the boy if possible, as the weapons raged. Circular defence flicked out to bat them away, finally after what seemed like an age she saw another chance – her tonfa smacked the boy's sword across his body and she turned her wrist to flick it around to crunch into his throat. She stepped back as he fell to his knees with a gurgling sound.

“And then...then...there was one” she panted at the giant.

She seemed somehow even more formidable as the battle went on – she didn't even seem tired.

by **Fallon** on February 14th, 2015, 7:27 pm

The world ignited into combat. Her blades whipped back to her as she took up the defensive, those quick few and precious steps back away from the twitching corpse and give her a fraction of more time to prepare. Every tick counted in battle, every moment was vital and told the difference between kill or be killed. The thugs were the ones that came at her first, rushing and swiping at her, weapons keen and their forms circling. A wide radius at first, but she could quickly feel the net closing in around her - more so as the slower, steadier steps of the knight came ever closer.

She saw the others continue to rush on past, behind her the war cry of a foreign tongue screaming out above the heads. The cries of the falling, the maddened shout for pointless bloodlust filling those thugs within. And all the while there was little more than that bitter sensation to simply lay down. Let them take her and drag her down, let the others have that chance to escape. No more blood.

There was a swing down of the axe that snatched her attention to the nearest young thug. Her first reaction was to step back, but that was far from an option now. The right tulwar swooped round, the more confident of the two hands, and upwards beneath the head and to the shaft itself. Steel dug into wood, scraping back up to the axe head arm purchasing leverage as she brought her weight to the arm and pushed against it. At least, that was until she caught the glance of a spear tip within her gaze. It was a rushed thrust after that, her entire form barging against the axe in a lock, and the left more uncertain blade on the defence. Batting it aside as it was thrust at her the first time, she watched him pull it back once more for a second go. Time, she needed more time. She gave a glance to the axe wielder, craned her head back, and promptly brought it swinging forward into his temple. Pain bloomed, the form of the axe man staggering beneath the strike, grip loosening and giving her enough to give him a hard, firm shove away.

Blades snapped back, her form moving after him as she went - her own target sited as the others once more closed in around her. It was her opportunity to break out of this entrapment, and so she took it. He barely managed to see her coming before she was upon him, right stabbing forward with a thrust, the sharp point piercing up into his tender underbelly. There was no time to wait for the gurgle, her form contorted as the waves of combat swayed to and fro, her mind with it as she saw the spear user fumble with it. Grasp tightening upon the right tulwar, her muscles strained as she pulled it out, hearing the sickening crunch from the other thug that was upon her and the slumping of the form to the ground.

She barely had time to register Zandelia - that momentary jarring of thought to get to her consuming - before the spear came at her again and this time, the knight joining in with the blows. Blocking a sword was one thing, but blocking a piercing weapon was another all together. With the opening before her now she stepped out of the immediate forming circle, blade catching the other, the mind repulsing to the act. The wrist twisted and flicked, the rebounding clash of steel as her attention was snatched between the two. On the defensive, her mind snatched between the two once more, her steps quickening and speeding up as the press continued. The left tulwar gave a hack into the spear shaft, metal sticking into wood and her hand releasing the hilt the rest of her continued to step to the side of it and down towards the thug free hand snatching down onto the shaft as she did. The firmest of jerks, right blade pulling back her eyes sharpening down upon him and giving him no time to decide between fighting back and letting go. She slashed across him, tip digging into flesh and the grip growing limp.

The spear was dropped, another step back as she peered upon the knight and where the attention was now at, one blade between them acting as her defence. It was her free hand however that curled back behind her, the trained position for such times taking over. The fingers and palm looped down and into the belt, her breathing hard, muscles twigging and twitching as she moved. There was still others to deal with, still enemies to cut down and return unto the earth and all the stops to come forth. And it was with that in mind, that Fallon slowly begun the process of pulling upon her djed and the astral layer of her left arm.

It was time to end it.

"No more. No more..."

by **Monarch** on February 14th, 2015, 10:38 pm

Monarch

Noven bravely held his ground against the overwhelming numbers coming his way, but his enemies were entirely convinced that he was a dead man walking. They showed little fear in their advance, seeing the burly cook as nothing more than an obstacle to overcome in their rush towards the Zeltiva-bound ship. The arrival of Kaie changed the tide of the fight, giving them pause - now, their advantage wasn't overwhelming, and the appearance of the battle-ready, battle-hungry Myrian struck fear into their hearts. The recruits held back, striking cautiously whenever possible, wary of getting a spear shoved in their belly. They might have gotten the idea to fall back and regroup with the rest of their number, had Reeves not been goaded into charging Noven directly. Thinking that they would be letting their partner down if they didn't charge as well, the recruits wielding the cleaver and mace followed after Knife Boy, pressing their assault against the Scars. That was a terrible mistake - while the recruit with the cleaver managed to steer clear of harm's way, Reeves and then the mace-wielding man were taken out by the scrapping Noven.

There was a tense moment that followed after Noven took out his opponent, as the recruit with the cleaver stared with hard eyes at the Scars in front of him. On one side, there was Kaie, jutting a spear at him... on the other, the cook, that had just incapacitated two of his fellows. His eyes flicked back to the street, the man clearly thinking that he should not just run away and abandon this hopeless fight... then let out a battle cry and charged at Noven, swinging his cleaver wildly. At the same time, there was a sudden flurry of activity near Noven's feet. Reeves, writhing in pain on the ground but not entirely unconscious, had managed to retrieve his precious Anguish and now wielded it with his unsteady right hand, swiping savagely at the cook's legs.

Meanwhile, Zandelia was gaining ground against her two opponents. The boy she had been tangling with was eager to draw blood, but very inexperienced, and against the one-eyed fighter he was little more than a buzzing irritant. But the Myrian was much more dangerous, and worse, actively enjoying the fight. Though one hand was mangled, the fingers bent at unnatural angles, and her body was sore and bruised all over, a bloody grin was spread across the woman's face. "Good," she cooed, circling about Zandelia and slashing her cleaver idly through the air. "Good... and there will be one, yes." A savage look was alight in the Myrian's eye, and as she maneuvered closer to her opponent, Zandelia was able to spot the telltale markings of a Gnosis upon the Myrian's left bicep. The mark was not complex, a crude circle broken apart by jagged teeth, a sign of Myri's approval. No sooner had Zandelia noticed this than the Myrian was suddenly charging her again, her speed and crushing strength superhuman. Prowess flowed through the warrior's lungs as she assaulted the Scars member, slicing and lunging and bringing her cleaver down and down again upon Zandelia's guard. Sparks flew off the metal tonfas as they connected with the cleaver, and while Zandelia was able to block many of the attacks, the Myrian could drive her steadily back.

And then, suddenly, an opening was made. Clenching what remained of her broken hand into a fist, the Myrian slammed it hard into Zandelia's nose, the sheer power behind the woman's punch knocking her opponent off her feet. Grinning wildly, the Myrian reared her cleaver up and prepared to bring it down on Zandelia, ending her life... and stopped.

"No. You're not mine," she hissed in Common. "You're hers," she continued, gesturing over at Kaie. "I kill her, and then you'll be mine."

Without a further word, the Myrian began racing across the battlefield towards Kaie, her face glowing with an intense battle rage. "Sister!" she snarled, pushing aside the cleaver-wielding fighter and stomping towards Kaie. "I will worship with you instead! Come, show me what Myri has given you!"

Left behind in the middle of the street, Zandelia would be able to spot something the other Scars could not: on a nearby roof overlooking the battlefield, she could spot the shuffling of two figures as they got into position. At first peeking over the edge of the roof at the ground, the two figures eventually pushed themselves to their feet and drew their longbows, getting ready to start firing down into the fray. They did not notice Zandelia, as she was too removed from the centre of the battle.

Against the Red Wolf, the circle of fighters that surrounded her did their best to keep up their advantageous position. They hacked and clawed at her defences, but she was an experienced warrior that managed to keep them off-balance and unable to press the attack. Finally, Fallon was able to break out of their flanking circle and felled two of the recruits, preparing to unleash her magical talents to turn the tide of battle. While the knight did not understand that she was about to tap into her magical abilities, he did see an opening when it was available. Surging forward, the man let out a wordless cry and barraged Fallon with a series of dizzying strikes, intending to distract her. While the Knight occupied her attention, the recruit on her right flank lunged forward, hoping to hack away at her exposed side.

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