[Baroque Bay] The Great Escape

by **Kaie** on February 16th, 2015, 12:56 am

Keep them back, keep them back, came the perpetual mental chant within the exotic warrior woman's head. The spear in her hands swayed with the movements of the final cleaver-wielding man before her, jerking it at him whenever he attempted to test her resolve. The make-shift spear had done its job. It bought her distance, a few extra ticks to persevere against the pain in her side. A protection from the exploitation of her physical weakness. The cook beside her was a flurry of calculated strikes, and the screams he elicited out of his two adversaries was enough to make the savage shoot him a curious glance once out the corner of her eye.

All had exploded forward in their quest for blood...Fallon, Zandelia, Noven, and the formidable force that opposed them. She could hear the not-so-distant clashing of blades and bloodcurdling shrieks that signaled death. There was that telltale dilation in her eyes, the quickening of her pulse to feed hungry muscles, and the clarity despite her busy surroundings as adrenal action was executed. Then, just when she thought she was to punish him with a more aggressive jut of her spear, the cleaver-man's nervous gaze turned toward a newly available Noven, and he rushed at him with a shout. Kaie's confused amber gaze flicked away and toward the new opening. Fallon had her hands full with a variety of thugs. Across the field she could see the dueling blonde and her towering, jungle-born foe. Tsu'kai's face flashed before her. Never again. Her decision was made before she had a chance to reconsider it, and despite her ex-superior's scolding, her voice rose again as she stormed their way more fiercely.

"I. Said. Mine," she roared in their shared tongue as the taller of the two savages grounded their foe with a strike, a cleaver raised to bring their dance to a fatal end. Sheer confliction drew across the face of the opposing Myrian as she hesitated in executing her killing blow. There came that angry tightening of her expression and Kaie watched as the cleaver was jerked resentfully in her own direction. No one will be killed by my blood. Not mine, came the first thought of relief when the jungle-woman turned from Zandelia. However, those wishful notions ceased the tick she saw the furious eyes of her racial sister. Lips pursed at the threats called in their language, and her fingers wrapped more tightly upon her spear.

"This is not the way!" Kaie hissed as she fell into a defensive crouch, the spearhead lowered slightly as if to promote peace between them. The taller Myrian's lips turned into a sneer. "Ma'khan'um!" She spat, lunging forward at her with a downward cleaving of her weapon. Kaie shot her spearhead forward but her target danced skillfully out of its way. The cleaver came down again from above. The younger of the two savages ripped her spear upward with both hands, barring the edge of the blade from reaching her with the length of the shaft. Wood split, and by the time Kaie mustered a forward kick into the woman's hips to separate them, her spear was naught but two large splinters. She cursed and discarded them upon the ground. Her bronze right hand tore free her father's ancestral gladius from its sheath, the sharpened edge gleaming fiercely in the morning sun.

This time it was she that gave the battle cry before they met again, giving a horizontal swing of her sword at the woman's middle. Gnosises flared against one another. Cleaver went into motion, the first time parrying her attack away so hard it spun her opponent like a top, the second time punishing her with a slice to her right forearm. Kaie let out a cry, falling back and stemming the fresh blood with her free hand. "Already lost the fight in you, Sha'lokk?" The other Myrian woman began to stomp toward her again with her cleaver gnashing through the air."So desperate to save worthless Deyhans when you can't even protect yourself!" Kaie grimaced, straightening despite the attack on her ego and the protest from her pre-existing injury. She has speed. Experience. Strength. Close quarters now. I can't rely on distance to save me.

The woman lunged in again, sparks flew as gladius and cleaver clashed, and between their savage screams as their battle continued, the fight was far from even nor finished as Kaie struggled against internal and external adversity.

by **Noven** on February 19th, 2015, 8:11 pm

The cook pulled his dagger back out, unmindful of the blood that sprayed forth as he inspected his wound. It wasn't too deep, fortunately, just half an inch of so into the side of his left thigh. He was more concerned with infection than anything else; the thug's mace had been rusty at best and there was no telling what else its spikes formerly sank themselves into.

There wasn't much time to dwell as a furious shout of rage bellowed from one side. Nov turned to meet the charging thug, only to be forced into a hasty, limping retreat as something glinted in his peripheral. Instinct alone had guided his aversion. He reacted with the sole assumption that whatever was moving that wasn't Bitzer, One Eye, or Kai equaled enemy. It wasn't until after he'd hobbled out of the way that Nov saw Reeves had woken up and begun to swing around that wicked blade of his. Krysus, the man was pissed. He was still lying on the ground and clearly under the lingering effects of Vexation, but that did nothing to stop him from swiping vehemently with his one good arm.

No sooner had the cook avoided one attack, however, than he found himself facing another. Stopping just for a couple of ticks to change direction, the goon with the cleaver resumed charging with frightening tenacity.

Noven was injured and alone, as Kaie had rushed forward to fight one of her own. But this wasn't his first scrap and it wouldn't be his last. He put as much weight on his left leg as he dared, feeling the slight gush of extra blood trickle down his leg once he did, and braced himself.

The cleaver goon came full tilt, swinging his knife like a mad man. Before him in ever shortening distance, Nov waited, fists held out before him. This wouldn't be a particularly hard or untested move, but there was one shot at doing it right. His opponent had the advantage of strength, speed, and weaponry at the moment, given his burlier size and rush of momentum. But what he didn't have was focus. He was throwing his cleaver around haphazardly, no doubt used to employing it more as a means of intimidation than killing.

Noven counted his very life on this little fact.

When the thug finally rushed close enough to bring his cleaver down, a brief expression of victory flashing across his face as the blade plummeted straight for his target's head, Nov stared up with about as much emotion as stone. Then he spun suddenly but carefully to one side, now on his opponent's left rather than his front. The cleaver whistled downward into empty air, though it came too close for Nov's liking. He was missing a few ends of hair by the time he could end this particular fight.

While his opponent balked for a moment to recover from his failed attack, Noven gripped the man's shoulders and kneed him straight in the balls. Oldest trick in the book but it never failed. With a painful wheeze, the thug doubled forward and his cleaver clattered to the ground from limp hands. His attacker wasted no time. Nov brought his hands together, drawing up his right elbow as high as he could before slamming it back down on the point just where the goon's neck and shoulders met. His enemy went tumbling to the ground, grappling with a mixture of pain that had nothing to do with a Vexer's touch. Just good old fashioned, hand to hand cheapassery. Then Nov raised his Tamo and buried it in the man's skull, keeping it lodged until the body went completely still.

But the cook had every reason to be cheap. Blood was still flowing down his leg and his comrades locked in furious battles of their own. It took more effort than the first time pulling out his dagger from its skeletal confines. That, and there was one last nuisance to contend with.

Reeves had managed to get back on his feet. He was a bit unsteady at first, right hand barely able to keep his favorite blade held before him, but the pain was finally receding. He could think and see clearer now, and the thirst for blood was still fresh on his tongue. He didn't just want this petcher to die. He wanted him to suffer. Him and all those in his life he counted dear.

"I know what you are," Knife boy hissed, chuckling, "Vexer. Mister Silver will pay me enough to buy this entire, sodding city once I bring you to him."

"I thought you wanted me dead. Or were you going to serve me breakfast after all?" Nov feigned disinterest as best he could, but the thug's words struck something truly dark in his heart. He almost wanted to allow himself to be taken. Let this fool bring him straight to the very subject of the vendetta he'd been nursing for more than five years. But that would mean exposing his secret to all of Sunberth...which meant dooming Jillene and the runts and just about everyone else who had ever been seen with him.

Knife Boy laughed a cruel, scornful laugh. "Oh, you're so much more use to me alive now, Vexer. I know your secret. And I know just the right person to tell." He pointed Anguish straight at the scowling cook. "You're gonna to do much worse than die you cock sucking bastard."

It was Noven's turn to feel his blood boil now. He couldn't quite charge with his injured thigh, but he stormed toward the grinning thug in a rain of wrath. The petcher couldn't be allowed to live. He had to die. Right here, right now.

For the first time in a long time, he put vengeance aside. Even he could see there was too much to lose if he gave in. It would have to be another time, another place, to discover more of this mysterious Mister Silver. But for now, there was a scheming piece of scum to exterminate and a dire secret to be kept.

Nov advanced with his Tamo in hand. Reeves readied himself, clearly expecting the merc to stop at some point for a proper knife fight. But he didn't. Instead he just kept on advancing, forcing Knife Boy to take a step back to readjust. And then, without warning, Nov swung his arm forward in an attempt to slice his opponent's face. Reeves countered easily enough, bring up his own blade to stop that of the cook's. For a moment, they stood in deadlock, each pressing his weight against the other, each weakened from their previous brawls. In that rare span of relative stillness, Nov could see a curious, green tint to the edge of Reeves's blade. He understood then why the others had stayed back. Why Knife Boy had bent his head as if in ritualistic prayer.

So Nov decided to end this for good. He released one of his hands to grab Reeves's right wrist. The thug panicked and tried to twist away instead of doing what he should have done: taken the advantage of Noven's diminished hold on his dagger and pressed in for the kill. Unfortunately for him, he was still too traumatized by the first Vexation to think of anything other than getting away. Nov, as usual, made no hesitations. But, rather than break Reeves remaining good wrist, he twisted it inward so that the blade rested against its user's own neck.

"Here's one last message to your precious Mister Silver."

Reeves was still struggling with all his might when Nov pushed his wrist forward and dragged it across. The blade parted his skin as easily as a lover's lips. Dropping the man's wrist with disdain, Noven stepped back and watched the poison do his work for him. It sizzled a little along the two inch cut as Knife Boy gurgled and gasped, no doubt feeling just as much if not more pain than being Vexed. Then he sank to the ground, clutching his throat, before his uncaring killer turned away to take stock of the others.

by **Zandelia** on February 28th, 2015, 4:23 pm

The fight turned its tide far more abruptly than she had expected, one moment she was on the offensive and had done some damage to her opponent – enough to shatter her hand at least – and yet within moments she was being forced back. Sheer force of brutality soon meant that her arms her jarred, muscles complaining as they contorted into ever more difficult positions to bring her tonfa around to block and parry. The Myrian was quicker than most, her arms were a blur and Zandelia's own almost clashed into each other several times in their whirling. Distantly her mind told her she knew that mark from somewhere, that it did something to those that wore it, something Revy had said so long ago. She was too focused upon shifting her footing and bringing her weapons to bare – right up until her guard was parted and she saw stars, feet lifting from the ground and momentary weightlessness before she came crashing back into the dirt with a crumpled groan.

Get up...get...up... her minds creamed at her through its pained haze and she shook her head, words echoing within her skull as the expected deathblow didn't materialize.

Fingers reached for her tonfa, wrapping around the handles as she twisted and came to her knees. She dabbed at her lip, warm blood dripped from her nose. The sudden throb told her enough to know that it was broken. She shouted out her anger as nausea lashed its waves at her. She let her weapons go for now, fingers probing the broken bridge as she grit her teeth against the pain. It didn't seem too serious, only slightly out of place from the feel of things. She took a deep breath and tensed her muscles, pressing it back into its usual place with a sickening crunch of a sound. Almost vomiting she shouted again and picked up her tonfa, gaze flashing and looking for the Myrian vagik who had left her to fight an already injured warrior. She saw them both sparing – Kaie and the giant. Noven was still alive too and seemed to be winning his own battles. Darting her eye found Fallon and saw she was dealing death in her fashion too. The numbers of their enemies were falling. Then, out of her peripherals she caught a shifting, turning she sought it out and cursed as she pushed herself up to her feet.

“Archers! Top of the building! Watch yourselves!” she shouted at the embattled Scars as she sought out a way to neutralize the threat.

It wasn't an overly high building, just enough to get good spotting positions, she could have thrown a stone far higher than they were standing. Sadly, after a brief look, she saw no stones at hand to throw. She was not a good enough archer to hit them either. She slipped her tonfa back into their holder and growled. She cast about as quickly as she could, pushing the few civilians that still remained out of the way where required. She found the base wall of the building and followed it at a random direction. Feet pounded the ground as she skid across the dirt and found a crate she leapt upon. From there she levered herself up onto a lower side roof and rolled over its lip to come to her feet once more. She took a moment to get her bearings as she saw a few arrows fly but hit dirt instead of flesh and frowned at the second roof, just out of reach of a standing jump. She growled in the back of her throat and took a run at the wall. Jumping at it her foot braced, pushed and fingers grasped the edge of her target just before her footing slipped. Arms strained as she pulled herself up and over, panting from her position behind her ranged friends.

She dove at them as they were reloading, taking them out of the fight below just as she currently was at the very least. Two against one and she was tired and injured but still by far the better fighter. Blocking their kicks with the balls of her feet she ducked under their swung bows to avoid the clubbing. She blocked one after that with a hiss as her forearm took the blow but her other hand came up to yank it across to block the second bowman's attack with the click-clack of wooden impacts. She pulled the bow from the one's fingers, her foot planted on his abdomen for leverage, and she pulled away and hit the ground before rolling to avoid a blow. Foot lashed out at ankle and knee to bring the one down to the floor, taking his legs out. She came to her feet and smacked down at the lad's throat with the bow. She was up quick enough but took a solid hit to her shoulder and she stumbled towards the edge, vertigo rippling as she got a glimpse of the fall. With a shout the other boy ran at her, a stupid mistake given their position. She stepped aside and the wood in her hands flicked down to crack his shins.

I'll remember that scream for the rest of my bloody life I swear she told herself as the thud from below signalled the death of her enemies.

She breathed deeply and hissed at the myriad small pains that covered her before beginning to lever herself down and back the way she had come. She took the longbow with her just in case, she was never one to give up advantage – however small it was.

by **Fallon** on February 28th, 2015, 6:51 pm

They came at her alright, hard, fast and furious. The knight was the leading barrage, longsword swooping round in the attack while the other looked to expose the openings that came. The form was forced into contorting, taking on a side forward stance, the tulwar barely pausing as she deflected the first blow, steel quivering in the air as she once more brought it forward and round the inner curve this time catching and dragging the thrusting blade away. That rumbling shout ripped up from the man's throat, a war cry in retaliation - she knew the tactic herself well enough. Make the enemy flinch, instil fear into the target and they shall crumble. Another blow, her reach forced into pulling back, the arm bending as she had to once more take those steps away. Keep them out of reach just long enough - if that was even possible now - to grant her that pull upon her djed. But this was quickly beginning to prove taxing, moves became jerky, her leg rising to kick the recruit back out of reach.

The knight came at her again then, pushing the defence, that flinch as she nearly found herself curling inwards in an attempt to protect herself. She could not, she reasoned as she gave a broad swipe, to do so would only spell her demise and right now she could not afford that. A hiss escaped as she felt cold steel slice across, a sharp snap away as the heat hissed out across her exposed side in a slash - through studded leather and across her arm. Her concentration faltered, gaze rearing round angrily into a burn at the recruit in retaliation - but caught the gaze of the downward cleave that the knight looked to achieve. The only thing she could do when such a move came her way was dodge. Muscles were forced into action, burning and hissing as they were pushed into animation. It hurtled down, slicing the air as Fallon stepped away - longsword now between her and the recruit that attempted to follow. Another break, another pause that allowed her to surge the djed forward just that bit more - that numbing sensation crawling up through her finger tips of her left, in through the palm and onwards. More, she needed more time.

The cry of archer gave a snap of attention around, eyes lifting and a partial turn before the knight brought his own blade back. There was no time, she reasoned as she took those steps back once more. Running out, she felt herself trying to feed the weave of her astral as much as she could muster, hurrying it along in the process until there was nothing more than to do than pull the layer free from the elbow downwards in a hurried dislodging. Unlacing she felt it shed, the sting of discomfort flaring up in her mind at the more rushed than preferred procedure, burning at the joint as the ethereal peeled free.

Lips pulled, curling back to reveal a flash of teeth. The trade mark wolfish grin, the eyes flickered up into a burn as the world around her continued, crashing and killing with roars and blood. It was the projected limb she lunged forward then at the knight - one thought and one thought only. For the throat it went, rippling as it closed in around the tender flesh with one intention only, crush until dead. For the other, less experienced she moved upon him quick steps around the knight as the defensive turned onto the offensive and the simple want to end it all as quickly as possible. The wrist gave a flick, knocking the blade away of the thug, tulwar arching back then thrusting forward with the clinical precision she had been trained in to his core. It was the knight however who now began to struggle with the invisible force, his free hand trying to claw at whatever was proceeding to squeeze the life out of him. And Fallon, did not grant him his freedom.

It was slowly and firmly then that she spoke, eyes flickering around the scene for the next potential source of danger, "Do not come near my family ever again."

by **Shai** on February 28th, 2015, 8:09 pm

Shai curled against the frigid roof thatch. Inhuman, lavender, eyes followed the scene on the docks. Bells earlier she would have jumped down, weapons drawn, to protect them. Now the fiery rage was all but frozen. The linger scent of death invaded her senses. The specter braced her muscles, still trembling with exertion.

Over her years, death had been no stranger. In all the time, through the terror-filled gazes, Shai had a rationalize ready at hand. It was for survival, for safety, for food… all of the reasons were gone now. The spider had taken the last step, had crossed the bloody line in the sand. There had been no reason for the sticky, cloying, scarlet film drying on her fingers. It had been premeditated, intentional, and unnecessary murder. Not for herself, but at the word of another Shai had taken the gang leader’s son’s life. Vengeance stalked her shadow tonight, not justice.

Her thoughts were far away betrayed by glassy mien. The struggle of the Scars was far beneath her roof top and yet still yards off down the dock. The little shadow couldn’t feel the cold, a numbness to be paid for later. Everything would exact it’s price on her, this death would have done so much sooner had her tiny ice-bound savior not dragged her from the precipice of madness and desire. Chell, her familiar, the mate contracted to her soul, had brought back the hyper-clarity she now possessed. Another thing to pay for later when her muscles failed beneath her from the fighter’s spirit urging her to action.

Her frame jittered ready to run or fight anew, but Shai saw her exhaustion looming on the horizon. The Scars would need to fend for herself, the night had been long beyond comprehension there might be only one battle left in her carcass and the thief had no choice but to use it judiciously.

Nearly a dozen man-made weapons clung to the spider’s body, some still warm from her palm. Her armor none-the-worse for wearing it, held her blend amongst the shadows where she so often made her home. One before another, she crept along the rooftop to the edge. Her booted feet offered no assistance tonight, but on her belly the cilia along her hands were enough to stabilize. Sliding her body down the side of the single-store building took little effort after so many other more technically difficult descents she had made, still she braced her landing with her knees more for the dampened noise than to abate the chance her bones would fractured.

Even alone in the alleyway she felt hunted, and Shai knew after tonight that would always been the case. Because the monster that stalked her lived in her own mind, only Chell was proven prison to hold it back. The Symenestra would learn how to handle it, but not tonight. Instead on carefully placed feet the thief of goods and lives slipped towards the docks.

All of her possessions were cloistered on the boat, it had to set sail and she would seek a way to make that certain. In the shade she prowled, where her eyes meant advantage. No avenue beneath the planked pier would do, the icy water would be deadly. Perhaps without her boots she could skirt the surface if she was delicate about it, but it would hold no element of stealth and be little more than a mad dash. That option would be a final resort, only if the fighting stalled and there were no other roads of ingress. Pausing against a stout upright timber, lithe and certain she kept her body hidden from the main commotion. Watching for her opening to pass the struggle and leave this city behind.

Receipt :

by **Pulren Marsh** on March 1st, 2015, 3:27 am

Secret :

Fifty mizas had come begrudgingly for the sale of his nearly pristine rowboat. Sure, pristine in Sunberth meant weathered in Zeltiva, but he had paid a hundred for it and for all that he had gone through to get it back, the weight of the gold rimmed stones in his bag hardly made it worth the effort. Pulren's furniture and trappings were safely secured on the ship, however, leaving the day for a simple regards to Red the Elder and the attempt to break through ice and a smooth departure from rotten Sunberth. The town had painted the Zeltivan red with blood rage and a thirst for the life giving substance. He had spilled much of it and it ran through the sewers and cisterns of the wretched place. It throbbed in his veins nearly audibly with the pressures of the many traumas and transgressions that he had witnessed.

"You wanted adventures, kid. You got em in heaps." Talking to himself with the occasional chuckle was not so far fetched for the shaken Guard, though the air of the Commons and the city itself seemed steeped in the same red prints that had brought him there. Before he could make it to Stumble Alley, he swore he could hear something that he did not want to hear. Stopping and turning his head in the direction of the Castle Commons, a kind of chant echoed through the streets from there. His head nodded in time to it, though his mind avoided working out the specifics. He was pretty sure he knew what they were saying, this being the reason why his feet turned toward the Bay and his pace picked up.

He didn't start running. Running in Sunberth without anyone chasing you would soon have you being chased. Just a measured and determined gait in the direction of his allies.Shield up, trident at the ready should he be met with opposition. His mind was already working the mantra as it echoed somewhere behind him.

"Death to the Scars."

Ledger :

by **Monarch** on March 1st, 2015, 4:54 am

Monarch

There was blood in the water, and everyone in Sunberth knew it.

No matter the time of day, the Castle Commons at the heart of the city was always filled with activity. At noon the market stalls buzzed with merchants and petty thieves and foraging customers, gold being channeled into the many-pronged, confusing river that was Sunberth trade. At dusk, the market stalls closed up for the night and the district became flooded with men and women of an entirely different sort; armed toughs patrolled the streets searching for work, fun, and a raucous evening. And at midnight, the streets of the Commons were abandoned by all but the unwary, and the nightlife of the city migrated into the many businesses that littered the neighbourhood. The Commons sheltered activity of all sorts in Sunberth, and on any given day, it was possible to find something new and entirely unexpected in the district, that would boggle the mind and shatter one's expectations of what was 'normal' for Sunberth. The Commons had a life unto itself, that moulded to match the demands of its populace. It could be as sweet as a long-lost lover or as cruel as a spurned slave master.

But on this day, on this early morning, the Commons growled like a shackled beast ready to break free of its chains. Violence was thick in the air, and everyone knew that blood would be shed before night would come.

The Establishment was at the centre of this whirlwind of menace, the ancient fountain playing host to a swiftly growing crowd of unruly Sunberthians. Usually mercenaries and thugs plied this location in search of work, but the group that was amassing itself before the fountain looked like anything but warriors. It was filled with farmers wielding pitchforks, dockhands waving rusty hatchets, seamstresses holding daggers and miners brandishing metal clubs. With dark eyes that clustered together at random, clearly in expectation of... something. It would be clear to all watching this scene that only a few members of the crowd seemed to have any idea of what was occurring... the rest congregated because they felt compelled to, because they saw their fellow citizens bearing arms and decided to do the same. They cast their gazes eagerly about the Establishment, searching for a sign of what they were gathering here, unaware of the vipers in their midst. For the crowd had been initially formed by a swift exchange of coin and a whisper placed in the right ear, planting the seeds for the venomous harvest that was taking root at the Establishment. This crowd was here because someone unknown had willed it here.

Like an actor stepping onto his stage, Tua Scully broke through the crowd and took up his position beside the ruined fountain that crowned the Establishment. The crier's hawkish eyes gazed through the amassed men and women, a slight grimace on his features... yet his displeasure did not last long, for soon he launched into a powerful speech. "Friends!" He cried, spreading his arms wide. "Neighbours! Family! Sunberth!" At "Sunberth", the crowd gave a thunderous howl and shot their fists up into the air. Tua Scully closed his eyes and basked in the cheering before waving the crowd silent, shaking his head slowly. "You have been gathered here because a THREAT has presented itself to our city. A THREAT that has gone unnoticed for too long! A THREAT that has passed among you as if it was one of us, as if it belonged here, all the while plotting the destruction of everything we hold dear! Woe, my friends, woe would have befallen us had we not grown aware of this threat when it presented itself... but now we have been given a chance to purge this menace from our streets! Now we have been given a chance to defend ourselves against our enemies!"

Confusion filled the crowd - who was it that Scully spoke of? What could he be referring to? The speaker waved his arms, promising to answer their question. "My friends, on this very morning, there is a ship at the Docks trying to leave the frozen Baroque. This ship is hoping to carry our enemies from the city and allow them to walk away, leaving only their crimes and poor victims behind. I have gathered you here... you have gathered here... because this cannot be allowed to stand. When someone wrongs you, you do not allow them to just walk away - you give them HELL!" With a wild scream, Scully pumped his fist into the air, getting the crowd to repeat the motion. "You give them your BLADES! You take from them every inch of blood that they've cost us! Will you just let these enemies of ours slip away into the night? Will you let them scurry away after taking so much from us! I would damn well hope not!"

"Tell us who these people are!" came an anonymous voice from the crowd, a planted voice that was meant to ask that question in order to rile the mob up.

Scully gave the voice a knowing nod. "My friends, I speak of... THE SCARS! A festering wound that have been allowed to plague Sunberth for too long!" Murmurs of discontent from the mob - what the hell was Tua getting at? Who were the Scars? And those who knew of the Scars, had dealings with before, didn't understand the declarations the crier made. But Tua was quick to silence their dissent. "And who are the Scars, my friends? Oh, they might be pretending to be one of us, as normal as you or I... but that is, and always has been, a lie. The Scars are a group of the most foul, the most abnormal tyrants the world can imagine, striking again and again at our poor benefactors of Slaver's Row. Dozens of lives had been lost to them, to the Red Bitch and her legion of followers, to their dark deeds and twisted magics!" Gasps ripped through the crowd, and Tua grimly smiled. "Yes my friends, magics... cruel and bizarre, evil and malingering, magic practised in the heart of our very city! Why, the Red Wolf herself, and her bitch lover Web, uses these foul arts to their advantage! Among their number is a bloodthirsty Myrian, a gods-be-damned Symenestra... their petching cook is a Vexer! And that is not all, my friends, that is not all."

"The Scars are an enemy to us, an enemy to you, an enemy to everyone in this city! They despise our way of life, strike at those they believe to be 'impure' or 'immoral'. Do you know how many of our dear friends of Slaver's Row have fallen before their blades? Do you know how many lives have perished at their hands? My friends, this day of vengeance has been a long time coming." By now the crowd was beginning to roil, their hands trembling and their tongues wet for blood, but Tua was not done urging them to action. "And worst of all, do you know who they consort with? Do you know who has been seen in their headquarters, who has been strutting about the city at their behest? A SYLIRAN KNIGHT!" These words were screamed at the top of Tua's lungs, and outrage was echoed by the mob with a thunderous cry. "Yes, a Syliran Knight numbers among their allies! He's no Dragoon, that is to be sure... yes, this 'Kvist' has come from Syliras itself, no doubt plotting to take over the city at the behest of his malicious Grandmaster! Will you let Syliras steal your freedom from you?! Will you let the Scars strip you of everything you hold dear?!"

A resounding "NO!" came from the crowd, and Scully grinned savagely. "Then I ask you, I BEG YOU, HEAD TO THE DOCKS AND TEAR THEM ALL APART! FOR SUNBERTH!" Even the crier's mighty voice was overpowered by the roar of the mob, as they held their weapons high and began storming down the streets towards Baroque Bay, calling all the while for the blood of their enemies. "Down with the Scars!" they chanted, and the city soon echoed all around with the mantra. "Down with the Scars! Down with the Scars!"

Tua himself did not follow suit. Instead, lingering for a while more at the Establishment, the crier's face grew dark and his expression wrinkling into disgust. Finally letting out a loud sigh, Tua abandoned the public area and head into the nearby alleyway, shaking his head as he entered the relatively dark street. "There you go. One big petching speech for you. I've held up my end of the bargain."

"That you have," whispered the cloaked figure waiting in the alley, drawing forth a sheet of parchment into view. "The Brotherhood thanks you for your efforts. As your reward, Lea Scully's deed of ownership." Seizing the parchment, Tua gave it a quick scan to make sure it was authentic, eventually melting with relief. The cloaked figure nodded once more, and then slipped deeper into the alleyway, leaving the Castle Commons behind.

- - -

Somehow, the Scars had managed to hold their own.

In the beginning, it had been three against twelve, tough odds even for the skilled warriors that had fought to defend their family. The Scars walked into that battle knowing that even if they fell, their comrades would be able to escape this hellish city that now cried for their blood. But the tides had turned, and now the Scars stood on the field of combat victorious. Of the ten opponents that stuck behind to battle them, nine were dead or dying, even the skilled knight falling under the wrath of the Red Wolf. Though he fought ferociously to free himself from Fallon's astral grasp, cursing her all the while for being a witch and a whore, eventually the knight succumbed to a clack of air and collapsed to the ground, dead long before his head struck the stones below. All around, there lay the twisted bodies of the men that had been sent against them, growing colder by the tick. But of Mr. Silver and his Eypharian bodyguard, there was no sign... even Zandelia from her elevated position could not spot the duo.

The last fighter standing against the Scars was the mighty Myrian woman that set herself against Kaie, and their terrific fight was unmatched in its intensity. When Kaie had the advantage, her opponent swiftly robbed her of it with a crushing blow or a cunning maneuver, that ended up setting them at equal ground. And whenever the Myrian had the upper ground, Kaie's more experienced fighting style was quick to level the playing field. They were matched, the nameless Myrian channeling the pure fury that beat at the jungle's heart, while Kaie exemplified the sleek predators that prowled through its shade. Kaie might have sworn that Myri herself was watching the scene, chanting the fighters on and making the ground shake with her approval... although that might have just been her heart, pounding in her ears.

And then, suddenly, there was a victory. The Myrian gaped as the cleaver shot out of her hands and flew uselessly into the frozen bay. Quickly the woman prowled back, snarling, her eyes darting to her sides and realizing that she was alone on the field. All of her allies were dead, and she was surrounded only by enemies. Gritting her teeth, Kaie could see the Myrian consider a swift retreat... then her sister pushed herself to her full height, flexing her fists. "If this is my day to die, then it is a good day. Damn you and damn your pack, they will all be sent to Dira." With a thunderous roar, the Myrian charged at Kaie, dropping low at the last moment to avoid an upwards weapon strike and tackling Kaie's knees...

sending them both plunging off the side of the dock. They punched through the icy surface of the frozen and drifted down, far down, into the black waters below.

As distressing as this scene would be to the other Scars, it would be overshadowed by the sight awaiting them in the bay itself. At first, nothing seemed unusual about the scene - they saw their ship, buckling under the chill weather, the sailors busily hurrying about the deck and making last minute preparations for departure. But a further examination revealed the oars poking out the side of the ship and already plunging through the thin ice, the sails gradually unfurling to take advantage of the brisk wind. Most distressingly, the gangplank that had been set just a few chimes ago had been withdrawn back onto the deck of the ship. Slowly, but surely, their ship - their way out of Sunberth - was taking off without them. From afar, they could see the captain's grim look as he stared back at their party, a sad smile creasing his features. And, as the Red Wolf saw the look, she knew it to be typical Sunberthian fare, typical of the gods to send this last dilemma their way, typical of the route her life had taken.

It was far easier to abandon morality then to take a stand and risk one's own life.

And as the Scars stood on the docks and watched their ship trying to depart without them, they could hear an ominous growling from the city itself...

"Down with the Scars, down with the Scars!"

Moderation Notice :

by **Markus Andres** on March 1st, 2015, 10:59 am

What in the name of Sylir was going on? Kvist had heard the muffled sounds through the hull of the ship or boat. He had been ensuring everything was safely stoved away. He had heard the initial spat between Fallon and their captain, but he had not thought anything of it – Fallon had been quite stressed lately and it seemed anything – everything – that didn't go her way left her angry. Kvist looked over his things and realized to his horror that something was missing. His beloved shield was not amongst the items laid out before him. He grumbled and made his way through the belly of the ship and emerged on the deck. He recalled having brought it to the ship itself. He shielded his eyes from Syna, but he could not shield his ears from the unmistaken sounds of combat. Two strides and he was by the railing and watching the Scars engaged in battle with an unknown enemy force. Barely considering what he was doing, Kvist reached out for the shield he saw propped against the railing and threw himself over the wooden obstacle.

The knight landed hard on the dock. Knees bend and gave away and he made an awkward roll to dissipate some of the impact. It didn't look graceful, but he had more important things to handle. Right foot touched the planks and he rose to his full height. Trying to get a sense of the situation. Who was he to engage first. Who needed his help the most. When he saw Fallon engaged with an armoured man, he instinctively knew that was where he was needed. Good armour and simple training in armour made men worth much more on a battlefield. Kvist reached for his sword.

”Well... Petch.”

And found nothing but air where his sword was usually strapped by his waist. Remembering now that he had stashed it with the rest of his things. Kvist took a deep breath before cursing himself. He checked for other weapons. He had the dagger that Fallon had gifted him so long ago. At least he had that and his battered and in places, broken chainmail. He looked to Fallon and he could not describe the scene. The man stood like he was battling some invisible force. Too stricken by the scene, Kvist couldn't move his eyes away from the woman he had once loved. What was going on? Was she a mage? The armoured man struggled, clawed at invisible powers. Kvist narrowed his eyes on Fallon. She was a mage and she had never told him...

It was not surprising that he often felt unable to trust the woman entirely, when she kept such vital things from him. He bit his teeth together as he drew the dagger and went beside the mage. They could discuss it later, for now they had a battle to win.

”Who are we missing?” He called out as he made it to her side. Kvist saw several figures he recognized. Noven and the Myrian was amongst them. But far more were missing than he could see. Web and Pulren he noticed was not with them either. Kvist took a deep breath as he eyed the ship behind him. He could not leave the ship to go hunting for the missing people. S'Essy was in there... But he could not abandon his newfound allies. They deserved his help... If Fallon said anything, he would act. She was the leader of the others - even if she had dissolved the Scars.
.

by **Kaie** on March 2nd, 2015, 6:44 am

The attacks were relentless and their dance of blades fatalistic. Gladius shrieked in rebellion against cleaver, sparks shooting with each kiss of metal. Kaie's feet were in a flurry of movement beneath her, pivoting, sliding, hastily stepping back while her fellow Child of Myri drove her back with cries of obscenity. She could feel the wetness from her arm oozing and dripping from her elbow to the salt ridden docks below. The fresh wound bandaged on her side throbbed and seared with each wild twist of her torso. All that kept her from crumpling to her knees was the unwavering presence of her Goddess Queen in the form of the blessing scorching her skin, the same one that fueled the power of her foe. She pressed on. If I am to die, I'll make sure I make my soul a prize in the eyes of Dira. An honor to reap, she thought as she struggled onward, teeth grit and a growl ripping from her throat each time she managed to thwart the woman's attempts on her life.

Then came opportunity. So eager to finish the battle, her compatriot had made a fatal error, and though Kaie hadn't the opportunity to run her through, a well-timed strike to her hand relinquished the cleaver from her opponent's hand. The unnamed Myrian woman fell back. She offered Kaie a vicious hiss and bore her sharpened teeth. Yet there was no hiding the obvious panic that existed within the tightness of her dilated eyes. "It's over!" Kaie snarled in her direction, jerked her blade about the battlefield. Recruits unluckily still alive to suffer toward death moaned in bloody heaps, and even the towering knight crumpled in defeat with no enemy within his range. "You have nothing! Look around!" She watched those eyes follow her gesture, assessing her dismal situation for herself like a tigress fallen into a pit. Only two ways out...make the right choice...make the right choice. If only the world worked in the way of happy endings.

With a final battle cry they crashed together one last time, the woman catching her by the knees beneath the swing of her ancestral gladius. There came a feeling of weightlessness. It was like the one she felt as a child loping through the trees, only to be knocked off balance and plunge through the canopy. This time there would be no one to catch her. With a cry, Kaie's back broke through the ice with her fellow Myrian. The water seeped up to receive her, the force of the fall dragging her downward through the cold depths of the harbor thanks to the leech-like weight of her opponent. Neither were all too quick to move. The cold seized their muscles, choked them at the lungs, and tightened their throats. Shock overwhelmed Kaie's system. Down and down she sunk into the darkness, the taste of victory in a hard earned battle for their escape fading quickly from her metaphorical palette.

Mind awoke when she felt the hands upon her father's gladius. Amber eyes shot open to spy the dark silhouette of the enemy upon her, bubbles shooting upward from either mouths as they wrestled, their scrapes and punches dulled by both the cold and the drag of water. The desire, no, the need for oxygen surged in either of their lungs. Their struggle moved upward. The other Myrian hand one hand tightly locked on one of her wrists clutching the sword, the other working along with her feet to break surface. Kaie followed suit, tugging her wrists down toward her chest while her own feet kicked upward. The other woman emerged first, gasping and cursing foully in Myrian as she grappled for purchase with the ice. Feeling Kaie at her heels, she sent a savage kick backward that both disarmed her underwater junior and forced her beneath the blackness once more.

"I get out. Then, mine!" the victorious Myrian bellowed through chattering teeth before plunging Kaie's sword through thicker ice at the edge of her range. Growling, she began to force herself with brute upper-arm strength out of the water. That's when Kaie broke surface again with a choking gasp, body numb but mind vengeful as she clambered for the one who stole her heirloom. The older of the two whipped around in surprise, but before she could condemn her back to a watery grave, the younger found leverage when she found the piercings that went through the other's arms. Myri's blessing scorched something fierce upon her neck despite the almost total loss of feeling in her limbs. The winter cloak had been discarded, and the kukri harness revealed with one blade missing...until it found its way into the woman's one good hand that dared to take her most prized possession.

The unnamed Myrian gave a shriek, but not before the hand that found the piercing to pull Kaie up instead chose to wrap tightly about her neck. Panic returned to her enemy, her free hand reaching to claw the hold away. Kaie released her hold on the kukri, which trapped the hand on the ice and her fellow Myrian there with it. She folded that newly freed arm behind the woman's neck and clasped the opposite bicep to create an effective chokehold. The woman thrashed, gagging, choking, clawing ferociously and trying in vain to find purchase with the mangled fingers. Then, slowly, the thrashing stopped and the chokehold was released. She clambered over the woman, using her to free herself from the water and escape onto the surface of thicker ice.

The tremors that wracked her body were fierce. Her teeth shattered violently. Lips trembled, and fingers curled involuntarily. The gladius was pried free and sheathed first. Yet when it came time to reclaim her kukri, the Myrian did a rather curious thing. The moment the hardly conscious of the two savages' hand was free, Kaie seized her by the wrist. She could hear the odd commotion vaguely above her, see the departing ship ahead of her. And yet she tugged to save her racial sister, carefully easing herself along the unbroken ice toward the docks. Her body quaked and her breaths were ragged. Yet she could almost get up there...her hand reaching up for the boards. No Myrian needs to die today. This time...I'll do it right.

by **Pulren Marsh** on March 2nd, 2015, 8:55 am

A measured gait became a kind of trot, soon followed by a healthy jog. That was five chimes ago. Now, with his heart thumping in his ears, Pulren was running as hard and fast as he could through the streets and alleys of Sunberth. Where once there was a look of cautious concern, now sat the look of frenzied determination. Tearing through the hovels of vagrants and knocking over boxes and vases, he pushed himself as hard as he could. He was running for his life and he knew it. The salty smell of the sea came bursting from the opening of the buildings as he came around the final corner that would reveal the Scars and their first battle.

"GET ON THE PETCHING SHIP!!!!"

It was his first and only real sentiment toward the others. He could see that there had been some epic battle, the kind they were known for. Blood and steel littered the grounds around him but his pace didn't slow. He could see the ship already making way, the sails unfurling, oars coming out. The ship had the right idea, ready to push off through the icy waters and leave the beast of Sunberth behind to eat its own entrails. His body was already wracked with the pain and sweat of the running but Pulren had no time to stop and explain. He jumped over the first of the bodies, oblivious of who or what was alive or dead. They would all be dead if they lingered. His vision shifted to the only fight which remained, the warrior queen Kaie in combat with another savage. The two of them went into the water with a frozen sploosh as the Zeltivan slowed himself, his breaths heaving and ragged.

Bending over on his knees, he worked to catch his breath, wiping the sweat from his eyes. He had no time. No time at all for this! Pushing through the pain and the fear that worked through his veins, he walked over to the dock where the two warriors had gone into the water. Still heaving, he pointed off in the direction of the city.

"Big---"
"Petching..."
"Mob..."
".....Kill.."
"The Scars."

That's all he could say about it. What else was there to say? He was already finding rope and tying it around his waist, securing himself to the wood of the pier. Leaning off and hanging slightly from the dock, he extended his hand out to the shivering Kaie as she climbed from the icy depths. He had little doubt that anyone else would be crawling from the ice, victorious. He believed in her ability and admired her for it. He would aid her in pulling herself and her combatant free, even if it left them as the last to get aboard. Leave no one behind.

Leave no one behind.

"Maybe... four chimes, so now maybe two. Get aboard or we're all petched vagiks, the lot of us!"