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[Pulren Marsh]

What was she doing? It was definitely a thing that Bitz was doing. What was it? Her concentration was invariably linked to the invisible forces that were manipulating one of the beasts. The more time he spent around criminals, it was clear that many, if not all, had some kind of magical resource. Some hidden, like hers. Some not so hidden, like cheeky Keene. Pulren had tricks too, though they were undeveloped. Something to rectify in the future, surely.

It was at times like these that the vigilant spirit of malice and violence which sat on Pulren's shoulder took its cue. It was when his mind would become distracted by some scholarly topic. Ever since that damned mushroom, it was as if the thing had taken residence in the base of his spine, sitting and resting, waiting patiently for a moment for Pulren's attention to waver and let loose the psychotic prisoner. In this particular case, some part of his eyes saw the man reach for a weapon, though he knew the little Wolf had it covered. Without hesitation, the tines of his trident drove deep into the man's ankle, an ale curdling scream coming forth as the Zeltivan put his weight on the weapon and twisted and shifted the metal in the flesh and sinew.

"She said to hold the petch still." The voice from Pulren's lips was a rattling whisper. The breath came from his lungs, the words formed over his vocal cords and by his tongue and lips. However, it was the fungal voice calling forth. Any resistance, pull or push to escape the damage brought more, the whisper coming again like a ghostly tide. "Do it again." Another stab, his own foot pressing against the ankle as if he might pry the other man's foot free with the right angle. A grin of serenity was painted on Pulren's features.

[Noven]

Noven was, he hoped, almost to the top of the stairs. And just when he thought he might actually manage to escape this nightmare of a mission, bounding the steps as he was in reckless pairs, he was rudely and forcefully reminded that there had been not one, but two tormentors in his former cell.

He looked back from where he'd came through his one good eye, then forward again. He was trapped. Bruised, winded, and utterly, undeniably trapped. A fight was inevitable, the Scar knew, but whether he would win this one...

There was no time left. The other guard had just rounded a corner and they were now staring face to face. For a moment, Nov simply stared up at his second tormentor with his unblackened eye. And the goon stared back, not quite able to believe what he was seeing, what he would undoubtedly find if he looked inside the dank, currently prisoner-less cell. It seemed like the stunned silence might never end, though Nov could feel that familiar, impending violence long before it actually happened.

The guard swore something unintelligible and reached for the small club swinging from his belt. But his former captive lunged first, plowing into the man's midsection and knocking them both down against the stairs. There was a furious struggle of fists and feet, Noven kicking and shoving as best he could to tear himself free.

There was no way of knowing whether the 'wealthy prat' stupid enough to be toting around a wagon full of Sunberth's finest was in fact his cue to be expecting swift rescue, but it was the first sign he'd gotten all day. He was willing to take this chance, if for no other reason than just to use the merchant as a distraction. Which meant he had to get past this second Claw one way or another. If he wasn't in much shape to fight, then the only option left was to run like hell and hope nothing else would stop him.

Unfortunately, the surviving guard wasn't as prone to fits of logic-voiding anger. He spared no time for more curses and instead grabbed Noven's left boot just as the Scar succeeded in breaking himself free. Nov tried to give the guard a good kick to the face, but the man's grip was like a brawny anchor and prevented any real harm from being done.

At some point, Nov could actually feel himself being dragged backwards. He wasn't able to see much in the dim light and puffy condition of his right eye, but the feeling of jagged steps digging into his bruised ribs as he slid lower and lower was proof enough. The Scar tried desperately to find purchase. Something to use in his advantage, anything. He let out a shout of pain as he clung to the edge of the wall the guard had first rounded, his battered torso stretching in agony he pulled one way and the guard pulled the other.

He could almost see the exit if he squinted hard enough. Just a small square of light...if only he could get rid of this petcher...

But the former had every advantage of being less winded and worn out. Eventually, he won the tug-of-war, and Nov hit the stone steps hard enough to see stars. The guard continued to reel him in boot first until he could try and pin the captive down. Using every last ounce of strength he possessed, Nov shoved himself to one side just as a fist came crash down for his face. There was a brief tick of satisfaction as he heard the man swear in pain as knuckles met stone. But the feeling was shortlived, as Nov tried to ram his elbow into the side of the guard's skull, only to have his weakened efforts thwarted as he was shoved violently against the wall.

One of Noven's arms was then locked behind him, while his neck was slowly but surely being crushed to nothing by the grimy brawn of the second guard. He fought as hard as he could, but he knew he must've outlived his uses, as his captor was now hellbent on killing him without mercy.

He had just one thought as his vision started to swim with black spots: If you bastards are planning on rescuing me anytime this year, now would be good.

[Fallon]

Fallon tightened the hold of the projected limb, "I'll ask again, how do I get in there?"

The tulwar point drifted, drawing the faint outline of a circle upon his chest, his hands twitching as he moved them to his belt. She could hear the cracking croak of the other as she continued to press, "I got a key. Got a key-"
"Quiet," She snapped, eyes burning at him and sapped of warmth, "Take them out slowly, and hold them before you. Hear me?" He gave a furious nod in response while the other clawed at the tendril that was around his throat. She released a sigh, "I don't want more mess than necessary, sure you can gather that much."

She continued to let the wisps of djed feed in to the limb, the faint rattle of keys as the thug dragged them forth upon their iron ring. He held it up in presentation to her and it was with a quick flick of the tulwar that she slid the tip through the loop and recoiled it back to her. The keys rattled, a firm shake as she brought the loop down across her fingers. Wrapping one around the cast iron she slipped the tulwar back to its scabbard and began to pass through the keys. Time was running against them, and so she turned the keys into the lock. Within she heard what could only be described as shouting, the struggling of within that pricked at her ears. The one whom was grasped by the astral was firmly shoved to one side. With a snarling snort she began to pull it back to her, fingers of the right grasping the kukri as she barged the door open.

Wood rattled on its hinges, a clatter as she drew the kukri forth. The strings within the left limb began to thread together, the weaving back in to the joint and lacing into the nerves. Teeth gave a grit, the limp state prickling as she took the quick steps. Scuffling, struggling, she could hear it now the shout out of pain. She quickened her steps, the kukri pulled back within the gauntlet grip, the numbed arm shaking into life. She saw only one goal now and she would act upon it - get Noven out. Swearing, her fangs were bared as she stepped around it and looked upon the struggle.

The Red Wolf let out a snarl that picked up into a roar, kukri reeling back as the left shoulder lead her into a barge. A declaration of a howling war cry as she found herself upon him. He gave her a look back, eyes momentarily wide, the lips opening as if to shout - only to be releasing a bellow as metal coated knuckles struck against flesh. The blade came crashing round, cold iron sweeping to meet the brawny flesh of the back. A hand peeled away and swung at her, a meaty back hand cracking across the side of her face. Grime, grit, a metallic taste upon her lips. The hand slapped against the wall, a heavy exhale as she braced and pushed back this time. She leapt at the thug, form clinging onto his back, wiry arms around his throat as she pulled back and looked to wrestle against him. Teeth gnashed wildly at his ear and pulled, "You little bi-"
Another clout to the head, Fallon felt the flicker of stars as the pressing of some wild rage brushed against her consciousness. Barely clinging on, she pulled the kukri back to hack into him her own shout rumbling up from within, "Noven! Move your goddamn arse!"

[Pulren Marsh]

The delight of violence had to step aside for the business of the day. It was clear that Uncle's victim was not going to be doing much when it came to being in their way, though the other had a clear eye. He watched as Bitzer continued to interrogate the guard before her with sword and whatever else she was using. Maybe she had used some kind of choking poison on him. Whatever it was, it was very effective.He gave her the keys, her use of her weapon to gain them a clear indicator of her skills with the twin blades.

Saris was behind him somewhere and only an ally of the living shadow would prefer such a thing. It was time to rescue their compatriot as access had been granted to the building. The movement that the choking man made without being touched was not poison. It was an odd thing, a thing that Pulren would keep in his memory for another time.As she was moving inside, he knew that he would have to follow and if he could not, he would make sure that when they emerged from the building that they were not facing off against the guards once more.

A stern strike from the edge of Pulren's shield caught his skewered victim in the head, sending him to the ground. This brought the other guard to attention, but Pulren began running past him, hoping to instead capitalize on the fallen man. He was coughing and reeling, making it easier for the guard to kneel, striking him several times in the head with his shield. He was done coughing, though he was still breathing, albeit shallow.The two men down, it left a very active third, though he hoped his roguish friend would dispatch him. He instead took the move toward the door of the building, his shield up and the trident at the ready. If any outside attempted reinforcement, they would meet him. The same fate for those who tried to give his allies chase on the way out.

[Noven]

The strength was draining from his limbs, faster than grain through a sieve. He could see in the Claw's eyes that no mercy would be shown. Just cold, hard intent to kill. Maybe the corpse now stiffening in that dank old cell had been this man's brother. Maybe not. Noven couldn't give less of a fuck either way. All he could feel was that much despised helplessness when pinned beneath a murderous vagik twice your weight and size. That, and a sudden, all consuming will to live. A last surge of desire to live for one more day so he could beat the bleeding shyke out of anyone who stood between him and leaving this wretched place.

And then a war cry roared from somewhere above them, reverberating all the way down until it crashed against both of the struggling men's ears. It gave the guard just enough pause to release a smidgen of pressure against Noven's throat, allowing the cook to choke down whatever air he could manage, as they stared up in almost comical synchrony.

It should have been absurd, seeing someone Bitzer's size rush a creature more bear than man. But at that moment, it had to be one of the single most beautiful sights Nov had ever laid eyes on.

There was a flicker of alarm as the force of a brutal backhand snapped Wolf Girl's head to one side. But then she was back, twice as fierce, arms grappling beneath the guard's neck as Claw and Wolf wrestled. She shouted at the cook and he promptly scrambled to right his limbs, lurching drunkenly to his feet. Nov didn't need to be told twice to get the petch out of this den of bears. Though how he managed to get up all those stairs in his battered condition was something the man's mind had evidently chose to omit. Because the next thing he knew he was stumbling out into the night air, face to face with what appeared to be a shield, a trident, and a familiar looking compatriot holding both.

"You clever, bloody bastards..." Nov coughed as he caught sight of the fallen guards and wagon full of barrels.

He wanted nothing more than just to lay down on the ground and be very, very still. To stop moving altogether and let the pain of his injuries run their course for the night. Krysus knew he deserved at least that much after what he'd endured for the past dozen or so bells.

But there was no rest to be had. Bitzer was still somewhere behind him--alive, he hoped--and he was in no condition to help. He'd barely managed to make it up the stairs let alone turn around and lend her a hand with the burly guard. It felt cowardly, and irritatingly so. Yet even someone as mule headed as he understood the concept of odds.

Not to mention that when a blade wielding, teeth baring lass more capable of killing than most grown of the Berth yelled at you to get your arse moving, you got your arse moving. Period. No questions asked.

"I think...the boss is still somewhere back there..." he wheezed, leaning against a wall as he held a hand to his smarting ribs. "Gotta help her..."

[Fallon]

It was more of a battle of brute force verses a seeker of opportunity. Raw muscle verses the quick and lithe of form as both continued to fight and struggle against the other. Her teeth continued to gnash at him, claws digging in and dragging as the meatier hand looked to pry her off. Her grip tightened, the kukri cleaving down onto the giant of a man. He continued to thrash, throwing himself into the wall behind them, a forceful press that drove the air out of her lungs. Noven however had seemingly done as she had instructed, her eyes caught a mere blur of his shape as he crawled out of sight up the stairs. Her hand twisted the kukri in her grip, the press between the man and the hard wall pushing her to act. She brought the kukri driving down into the tender muscle, the howl of pain giving her slack as the brute Claw stumbled forward.

Grabbed by the scruff, she felt the brute of the Claw dragged her forward and over. Right clung to the kukri, the left slipping and flailing wildly as everything turned into little more than a feral blood lust within the small confines. The brute's right came swinging round once more, slamming against the gut. Released, her body sprawled into the steps behind her. Chest heaving, the mind trembling as the internal chains shifted. Control, kill, deal with. She winced, the side of her face growing numb in sensation, an internal push to keep her eye from squinting in the pain. Lungs burned, the grunting snarls echoing out between the pair of them.

Fallon clambered up to her feet, left arm raised defensively as the clubbing hand came swinging at her again. A push back, up the stairs, feet backing off a step at the time as the relentless assault came. Her eyes flickered about the narrow confines, the long reach clipping and clapping as she tripped over the top step and onto the level ground behind her. The feet came next, the kukri left swinging wildly at his legs as he inched ever closer. It really was little more than a struggle, she realised as the mind kicked and struggled. The Claw grabbed, hauling her up to her feet and slamming once more into the wall behind her, the pain flaring and twisting as she felt the grind of the surface behind her.

Air was driven from her once more, teeth pulling back to snarl, left gripping onto the arm as tightly as she could muster, the kukri hacking at the forearm. A howl, she felt the clipping hand crack at her once more, the mind spurred to get out and into the open - more space, more numbers, more chance to eliminate the foe. She could hear the angered roar as she dashed out of the doors, kukri clacking into the sheath, the snarling shout coming from her own lungs, "Bastard is coming!"

Thundering, the man seemed to have fallen into a frenzy, driven by blood and lust. Spitting out a mouthful of salvia and blood, the Red Wolf found purchase upon the tulwar blades, drawing them and staring as the muscle brawn brute burst through the doors.

[Pulren Marsh]

He could hear what sounded like a titanic clash of wills below in the belly of the building. That or a horrendous arsekicking. He couldn't tell who was winning or losing. Many times he wanted to run blindly down the stairs to help, but his discipline told him that he could very well charge an ally or aid the foes with such useless bravado. His answers and fate came in the form of the ragged and bloody form of their charge, Noven, as he erupted from below. Looking worse for the wear, he more crawled than ran from his bonds, calling back that Fallon was in trouble.

Shield up front, trident at the ready, Palaren crouched down, hearing the cacophony of attack and a grim sound of air rapidly escaping his leader's lungs. She was hurt. Something hurt her. Something was charging up the stairs. Remember your bravado. He jumped back and to the side of the doors as the Red Wolf lunged through the opening, the doors slammed behind her. "Bastard is coming!" , she cried, her own body thrashed as Noven was. Here stood Uncle without so much as a mar. It was despciable and just wouldn't do. He was a fresh body and they needed the rest. Would they get it? Probably not, but he could give them a few free puf...

KRA-BOOM!

The doors nearly flew like birds from their hinges, the great bloody beast of a man leaping from below through them as if they might be a veil of fine silk. The shield came up instinctively, blocking the shards of wood and iron that flew from the explosion.The creature was in the throes of a blood rage, its focus on the two that were also feral and ready for blood. A lesser man would feel inadequate, shrinking from the fight like a dog among wolves. The shiver of Uncle rattled through Palaren's lungs and each breath and heartbeat became extremely clear and focused.

The Beast is Blind. Slow it Down.

Shield up, his leading foot planted to bring the force of the leading arm down, the trident's sharpened tines sliding into the back of the Beast's knee. A guttural bellow was loosed and it spun, the meaty metal of its fist coming down hard on him. The shield was there to greet the gauntlet, though it clearly cracked under the pressure of the slam. The view was clear and the tines found their target again, this time bringing another crack, though this one was of sinew as the tines worked into the side of the same knee.The other fist came down, grabbing the shield and tossing it aside, the vulnerable man beneath being tossed aside the other direction, his body bouncing off of the street.

Winded and scraped, he looked up to grin. The trident was scraping against the ground, firmly planted. The Beast grabbed for it as if to pull a splinter but the hooked tines didn't want to be pulled free in such a straight manner. He had to limp and try to find purchase in order to pull it from the right angle. Palaren went into a kind of limping trot, taking the widest path possible to flank the Beast and recover his shield. Looking at his bloodied compatriots, he knew they would capitalize on the clear weakness the Beast had as he went for protection.

[Noven]

There was relief when Bitzer's harried form rushed out of the doors and into the open air, but it was fleeting. For right behind her bellowed the surviving, battle enraged guard, murder written plainly in his eyes.

Nov stayed where he was, propped against a grimy wall, unable to do much more than watch the frenzied beast pit himself against Palaren. Out of his one good eye, he could see that wicked looking trident spear the guard in the back of the knee. It slowed the hulking man down but still left his arms free, which he used to toss the Scar's shield one way and person another, before focusing his efforts on yanking the trident free.

Now was their chance.

Wincing, Noven unsheathed one of his Tamos and slowly peeled himself away from the wall. He wasn't sure if he was capable of doing much more combat that night, but better that he be prepared, rather than sit at the fringes of the fray like the truly infirm. Like wolves encircling their wounded prey, one by one the Scars set themselves in motion. Nov watched from his side as Palaren moved to retrieve his shield, thereby positioning himself at the Beast's flank. The cook himself had maneuvered to cover whatever gap was left between Bitzer and Palaren.

He could sense the guards impending death as well as he could smell the blood and piss in the rank, Berthian air. It was only a matter of time, now.

The guard seemed to sense it, too, though much too late. By the time he reared his ugly, hate filled face, he was and had been full surrounded. "You little shits!" he snarled, whirling around to face each Scar haphazardly. He seemed too panicked to make a decision. Who would he go for, first, if any at all? "We'll kill you, every last fucking one of you!"

Nov stared at the babbling man without expression. "Who's really behind this? You Claws alone would never have made it this far. I mean, just look what three Scars were able to do to your entire petching den."

A sadistic sort of smile stretched across the cook's lips. "Last Claw standing. I wonder how you expect this 'we' to kill us, when we've done you cubs the favor first."

"Fuck you!" the Beast spat. Then it was his turn to smile a ghastly little smile. "You're all dead. Every last one of you. Filthy Scars..."

The amusement was wiped clean from Noven's face, replaced instead with deadly conviction. He took a step forward, hand moving away from his throbbing ribs, back straightening. It was painful as ever, but he forced himself not to wince. "Which is going to be, you miserable sod. Would you rather the Red Wolf cut you to little pieces? Or maybe our Uncle here bleed you dry from a hundred holes." Nov raised his left, ungloved hand, closing his fingers into a fist as the crimson veins webbed across his dark skin glowed and throbbed. "Or maybe you prefer to feel first hand what it's like to be Vexed. I'm sure you know what that is by now."

The guard cowered, but only for a moment. And then that telltale look entered his eyes. The kind dead men wore when they knew they had no more ground to retreat to. Nov steeled himself then, readying for what was sure to be a final, desperate attempt to take at least one of the Scars down.

"You're all dead." That was the last thing the Beast said before he plucked a small dagger from somewhere on his person and slashed his own throat.

Noven watched, a mixture of disappointment and confusion, as the burly guard sank to the ground in a gurgling pool of his own blood. And all the way down, he wore a look of perfect contentment on his face.

The cook turned to glance at each of his companions, all bravado abandoned. His shoulders sagged and hunched and his hand returned to press against his wounded ribs. "Bleeding hell...what a petching mess. I don't know about you two, but I'm ready for a bed. Any bed. Interrogate another batch of suicidal thugs some other day."

As he sheathed his Tamo and turned to face both Bitzer and Palaren, Nov added, "And uh, thanks, by the way...for coming to get me. Didn't think you would for a good while down in that cell."

[Fallon]

Fallon's chest heaved, the taste of copper and iron in her mouth, her teeth bared as she felt the throbbing sensation in her skull. She felt nauseaus with the adrenal, the limbs quivering in anticipation. The cold night air entered her lungs, and was exhaled hot. Think, react, destroy. Pulren was already moving into action, an element of trained precision coming over him as he took the defensive line forward. Another suck in of the air, the Red Wolf took on the defensive as her eyes looked over to Noven. How was he? Was he holding up? It seemed that way in the way he winced and moved in a stiff fashion. Just a little longer, it would be over soon.

The shield was ripped away with a clatter, the leader of this group moving in and around. Circling and trapping in, a pack of wolves ensnaring injured prey between their fangs of steel. And so they continued to rotate around, the loud, reverberating growl stuck in her throat, the fingers curling and wrapping around the hilts of the tulwars. Desperation oozed, the verbal attacks being thrown at them as the giant of a man, growled and snapped at them. Bitter and fake promises that he would not be able to keep. She could hear the purr of Noven, the threats being placed down firmly.

Skin prickled, the press against her consciousness to spring into action when she saw the dagger be plucked from his waist. The right tulwar was pulled back, prepping to be used to strike and slash in reaction. The voice let out a snarling growl in protest, "Don't you petching dare!"

But he did not attack, instead she watched the form slump. Air driven, she felt her feet step away as she simply stared. Fingers grew limper, all the energy sapping from her form as the situation crumbled and fell, defused and left to lie in the wake. It took her a moment to gather her thoughts, arms releasing another judder before she slipped the blades away. Her lips parted, skin feeling the chill of the winter, the frozen sting as blood hissed against ice. A slowed blink, she turned her head away shaking.

"I don't leave family behind," she snorted, voice quiet and bitter, "Bed?"Sorry Noven. Can't do the bed bit yet." Her voice tightened up into a croak then, a forced firm step away around the scene. No more of this madness, she her stomach could not take it, "We have to move Little Red. We have to leave." Fingers flexed, gingerly stepping as she made her way around the corpses left. People would come to investigate soon, and with them attention would be snatched and drawn their way. The eyes turned, hand gesturing to follow her forwards, "We can't stay. They're coming. They're coming and they will not stop. That was just the beginning. The Scars? We are no more. I..."

The Red Wolf shook her head again, "We're leaving Sunberth, less they will paint the city with our blood. And I will make sure that all of my family gets out alive. No one will be left behind." Her gaze turned to look at Noven then, "Do I make myself clear? No more interrogating suicidal thugs. Just getting out now. We'll work out the other details once we're on the water." With a poor attempt at a brave face she inclined her head forward, "Let's move out."

[Royal]

 

Noven

Skills
Acting +1
Rhetoric +2
Endurance +5
Logic +2
Philosophy +1
Tactics +1
Acrobatics +3
Bodybuilding +2
Escape Artist +2
Unarmed Combat +2
Weapon: tamos +1
Weapon: Tamos
Intimidation +1
Investigation +1

Lores
The Scars: In danger
The Bear Claws: Rival Gang
Awaiting rescue & release
Philosophy: loyalty is a tricky thing
Tactics: Doing what you can with what you’ve got
Escape Artist: evading chains
Tactics: Patience versus the need to escape
Vexation: A quick, but sweet, revenge
Endurance: Fighting extreme exhaustion
Fallon ‘Bitzer’: A beautiful, welcoming sight.

Other
Bruised & swollen right eye: will heal in 5 days
Various bruises from being beaten: will heal within 7 days
Mild concussion that will last for 24 bells.
Extreme exhaustion: For the next few days Noven will be physically and mentally fatigued. Sleep, sleep, and more sleep!

 

Fallon

Skills
Philosophy +1
Stealth +1
Planning +2
Logic +1
Tactics +3
Projection +3
Intimidation +3
Leadership +4
Weapon: Kukri +2
Weapon: Tulwar +1
Running +1
Interrogation +1
Unarmed combat +2
Endurance +1
Dual Wield +1

Lores
A world shadowed
Noven: Held hostage
Planning: Always dynamic
Projection: Choking with an invisible force

Other
Various bruises and scars from the battle. Will heal in 5 days.

 

Pulren Marsh

Skills
Tactics +3
Logic +3
Stealth +1
Acting +2
Disguise +1
Intimidation +3
Weapon: Trident +2
Weapon: Sheild +2
Running +1
Endurance +1

Lores
Noven: Held hostage
Shai: Lethal in the darkness
Tactics: Distract & conquer
Stealth: Hiding oneself & ones belongings
Palaran Marshall: The final act
Fallon: User of an invisible, mystery force
Fallon: A magic user

Other
Please deduct 14gm 5sm 5cm from your ledger.
My workings:

14GM 4 SM (1 barrel = 36 gallons. 1 gallon of ale = 2 SM. .2 * 36 = 7.2 * 2 = 14.4 = 14GM, 4 SM)
1SM 5CM (1 cloak, second hand & poor quality)

 

Shai

If you return to Mizahar, please PM me and I’ll upload your grade.

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