Rush Hour Risks and Rewards (Jaron)

[Avari]

At the same time that Jaron was charging after the cutpurse who had unexpectedly interrupted their exchange, Avari also started chasing after him, shaking her fist at the thief furiously. How dare he get in the way like this? The Konti had been looking forward to giving the tall, mercenary swordsman a fortune-telling reading that would scare him out of his shoes and make him weep like a child. What's more, she had been looking even more forward to getting closer to Jaron while she read his "fortune," reaching out for his pouch while the man was distracted, and lifting his money pouch from his pocket for good this time. All Avari needed was a chance, a second's worth of opportunity, and she would grab the pouch, dump the journal on the ground, and run for dear life.

And now this new thief had ruined her plan! The nerve!

Giving no thought to whatever Jaron was shouting at her about rewards, Avari swore at the fleeing cutpurse as she went after him. "You son of a slaver! That was my money, you fool!"

Aghast at her slip, Avari stopped dead in her tracks and glanced hastily at Jaron, who had just swerved around the corner in hot pursuit of the cutpurse. "I mean, that was his money! You ought to give it back!" she shouted, attempting to amend her slip, and resumed running after the cutpurse.

Turning the corner herself, she found herself only a few steps behind Jaron as they both pelted down the narrow alleyway that the cutpurse had chosen. She held tight to her wide-brimmed hat and pulled her cloak tightly around her as she ran, trying to keep both from flapping free and slowing her down. The cutpurse glanced briefly back at them, looking a little wide-eyed that he was facing two pursuers instead of just the man he had robbed, and abruptly dove into an even smaller, more twisty alleyway. Avari's and Jaron's footsteps pounded on the ancient cobbles of the Old Quarter as they nearly piled into each other while changing course to chase after the elusive cutpurse.

We're never going to catch this fellow as long as he doesn't slow down, Avari realized. The cutpurse evidently knew the streets and alleys of the city at least as well as she did, if not better, and only he knew where he was going and when he was going to turn, hide, or continue running. As long as he was able to evade them by ducking into different alleys and taking ever more circuitous routes to trip them up and confuse them, the cutpurse would be able to outrun them with little trouble unless he ran into a wall or perhaps another person who was quick with a knife and interested in a money pouch.

Avari wasn't about to count on stray obstacles or unknown strangers to help her catch this cutpurse, though, not when she had two things strapped to her waist that she knew could slow him down. She had never shown much aptitude with the whalebone suvai so beloved of her Konti sisters, let alone a sword, but she had rather enjoyed learning the art of using throwing weapons at the Suvai Pavilion. Now, in a single fluid motion, she let go of her cloak with her right hand, drew the throwing dagger sheathed at her hip, and measured the distance between her and the cutpurse. He was perhaps ten feet away, no more. Squinting closely, she aimed the dagger to strike his right leg and threw.

The dagger flew through the air as straight and quick as an arrow. Unfortunately, it flew about three feet above the cutpurse's head, missing him entirely and clattering against the wall. Avari wanted to weep or curse at her awful aim. Panting a little with exertion and frustration, she reached for her second dagger to make another throw.

Before she had drawn the blade, however, the first dagger tumbled down from where it had struck the wall and fell, end over end, jolting against small bumps and cracks in the wall, squarely on top of the cutpurse's unprotected head. The dagger landed hilt first, so the man was only momentarily stunned rather than cut or slashed, but the surprise of being struck from above caught the cutpurse completely unawares. Without even realizing it, he decelerated and looked around in bewilderment.

Aha! Avari mentally crowed in triumph. Here was her chance! Now that the man wasn't moving quite so fast, it would be much easier to hit him in a way that actually hurt.

She took aim with her second dagger and flung it forward. It grazed the cutpurse's right shoulder, instead of his leg, but a most satisfactory line of blood slowly streamed down his grimy shirt from the small wound. Crying out briefly in pain, the cutpurse glared at her and tried desperately to turn and run. In the next instant, though, the swordsman had caught up to the man, leaping at him before he could get away. It looked as though it would be a very bad day for the would-be cutpurse.

[Jaron Grunn]

The thief was fast, and Jaron wasn't any faster. His skills in running didn't give the ability to do a marathon session with the man that was running ahead of him; Jaron was usually toe to toe with an adversary, he never had to worry about chasing them down. They were usually more than happy to run to Jaron in order to try and finish him off. But this, this was different - Jaron had to find a way to catch up with the man that sliced the coin purse from his side ever so easily. Once Jaron caught up with the man, he would regret ever thinking about stealing from Jaron. The maze of the alleys was enough for Jaron to growl out and yell at the man, his frustration at navigating the alleys made him feel like a child lost in the market back in Lhavit. The woman - the Konti - was running, too, and running too damn close to Jaron for comfort. She stumbled into him and was nothing more than a nuisance at his side, why did he bother even asking for her help? The Konti had admitted that she wasn't much of a runner, and here was that proof. He was tempted to pick her up by the scruff of her neck and throw her to the side, take her out of the race so that he could focus all his attention on the man that got away with the coin purse. As Jaron accelerated past the Konti, he took a turn down an alley that was not the one that the thief ran down and thus lost track of him. Jaron didn't bother backtracking as he hoped that the alleys would eventually all meet up in the end, so he kept running. Solo in the alley, Jaron unsheathed his sword and grit his teeth in anger as he came to a dead stop and a fork in the alleys. He couldn't hear the thief or the Konti woman, just the white noise of the city. Then he heard the grunt of a man and was that the sound of a dagger hitting the pavement? He bolted for that direction with his sword swinging dangerously in front of him as he caught sight of the thief, stunned - momentarily - at the end of an alley. Before Jaron could slow himself down he used his momentum instead to leap on the man, his arms around his body to prevent him from running as the edge of his sword pressed up against his neck. "Drop. It." Jaron said, panting, and struggling to get his breath back as he rolled onto his back with the thief over his body, pinned, with nowhere to go. He saw the Konti show up but knew that she would take the purse and in turn run away from Jaron; she couldn't be trusted with a single copper coin. With a growl Jaron pressed the blade up against his throat and the thief let out an inaudible sound as the purse fell into Jaron's free hand. With some awkward movements, Jaron managed to stuff the large purse into the not-so-large pocket of his pants. Satisfied that his possession was secure, Jaron shoved the thief against the wall and quickly got up to his feet. The wall was only half the height of the man and Jaron pushed his body against the thief's to pin him against it, his waist pressing up against the stone ledge as Jaron still had his sword in his dominant hand and he reached out for the thief's hand, the one that had deposited the purse in Jaron's just a few seconds ago. "Hand. Out. You're not stealing from anyone again."

[Avari]

Once the swordsman leapt upon the cutpurse with sword in hand and fire in his eyes, Avari averted her face from the scuffle that would surely follow and bent down to retrieve her fallen throwing daggers. She found both daggers lying on the ground a few feet from each other and gratefully retrieved them, wiping the blades clean on her cloak and sheathing them at her hips again. She would have been sorry to lose them, especially in the pursuit of a coin pouch that she apparently wasn't going to get her sticky hands on after all, judging from the way the angry swordsman had crashed into the cutpurse and pinned him against the wall. Behind her, the Konti heard the quiet sounds of panting and subdued struggling and, she sighed to herself.

On one hand, she was pleased to see the cutpurse getting his comeuppance for interfering with her steal. After he'd given her such an unpleasant surprise when he darted in out of nowhere and snatched the purse from the swordsman's pocket, it was only fair that he got a surprise or two of his own. On the other hand, Avari gradually realized that her unrighteous indignation toward the man was undeniably mingled with a faint sense of kinship with him and even a feeling of admiration. They did share the same profession, after all, and the way he'd effortlessly swept past the swordsman and cut free his purse in an eye-blink made Avari marvel at his skill and speed. To be sure, the cutpurse's grab-and-run technique was quite different from her own method of sneak-and-filch, but she had to admit it had its merits. For one thing, the swordsman hadn't been able to wrap him up in a ridiculous false lover's embrace and embarrass him in front of an entire street full of merchants and shoppers. Perhaps, after all this was over, she ought to have a chat with this cutpurse, compare notes, and see what she could learn from him.

Smiling to herself, Avari straightened and turned around to observe the progress of the scuffle between the enraged swordsman and the cutpurse. Her smile abruptly turned into an expression of drop-jawed horror as she watched the swordsman grab the cutpurse's hand and announce from between clenched teeth, "Hand. Out. You're not stealing from anyone again."

What the petch is he doing? Avari wondered, appalled. Was he…could he be…had he been serious when he talked about being determined for revenge if his precious journal was stolen? Would he really cut off the hand of a man who couldn't possibly have known what else was in his money pouch besides his money? What else could he have meant by that ominous, "You're not stealing from anyone again"?

That monster! she thought, shuddering all over with revulsion. Putting both hands on her hilts of her throwing daggers, small and flimsy though they were, Avari backed away slowly from the scene. If this was how the swordsman punished people who tried stealing his journal, she couldn't even begin to imagine how he must have punished whoever had killed his beloved, ruggedly handsome man she had seen when he'd grabbed her wrist. Had he tortured them? Torn open their bellies and forced them to eat their own entrails? A man who would cut off a thief's hand for an understandable mistake would be capable of anything.

Avari trembled, and so did the cutpurse as he stared at the swordsman with wide, fearful eyes. Before she could restrain herself, Avari cried out, "Stop it! Stop!"Her words, however, were drowned out by the cutpurse's howl of sheer, unadulterated terror as the swordsman seized his hand in a strong grip.

His scream brought Avari running forward without even thinking about it, rushing forth to try and step between the two men. It also brought the sound of doors slamming and footsteps approaching. The cutpurse's head swiveled toward the other end of the alleyway as the footsteps grew louder, and Avari couldn't help glancing that way as well.

A group of three men appeared around the corner. As lean and harsh as winter in Zeltiva, they moved with the assurance of men who spent their lives in narrow alleyways and dark underpasses, constantly on the watch for ambushes and surprises. Each was holding the hilt of a short sword and looked ready to use them.

"Narbo!" the tallest one called out. "Why were you shrieking like th-"

The man blinked and appeared to notice the swordsman pinning him against the wall and the Konti for the first time. His expression hardened, and his grip noticeably tightened on his short sword. The other two did the same. An audible sigh of relief escaped from the cutpurse as they stepped further into the alley.

"What," said the tallest man, slowly and ominously, "are you doing to my friend Narbo?"

[Jaron Grunn]

Jaron couldn't believe the ethics of the thief; she had no problem stealing from people but when it came to Jaron dishing out his revenge, his ideal of justice she sought to intervene? This one injustice in the world, this one correction was where she decided to step up and make a difference as opposed to disappearing in the shadows? Jaron regretted his decision in not throwing her into a wall earlier - it would have resulted in a different reality in which the thief's hand was severed from his arm, and any thief that had ever thought of stealing from him in Zeltiva thinking twice about even making eye contact with Jaron. The issue of morals was something that would have to be discussed at a later date, as Jaron was able to communicate to the woman was an angered glare in which his yellow eyes appeared to narrow to slits out of pure anger. She was, now, the least of his problems as he heard the distinct foot falls of three trained men approach from the open door before he turned around to see them. Of course the thief would have friends hiding in such a convenient location. The thief pinned under Jaron didn't put up any form of resistance as the man called out his name and asked what was going to happen - even the thief knew that Jaron was outgunned in this situation. Jaron got up to his feet, his sword still firmly in his hand as he grabbed the thief by the scruff of his neck and threw him towards the three men that stepped forward into the now eerily quiet alley. "Behaviour correction; it seems he believes pilfering is an acceptable way to make a living. But now that his three caregivers have arrived, I assume they will punish him correctly." Jaron stood there, his stance ready for a fight at the slightest hint of further aggression from the men standing opposite of him. Jaron eyed one of the bigger men who seemed - somehow - to have had a more hedonist lifestyle than the other two judging by the circumference of his waist. "Oh - apologizes," Jaron said in the man's direction, "I see you're the one whose teat the man has firmly latched himself to. I apologize for implying all three were involved in rearing this ... Narbo." The words, while odd, were the only remark that Jaron could slide off his tongue in order to elicit the appropriate response from the three men - anger. He wanted to anger these ragamuffins so they would strike first, strike out of anger, and be blinded by the emotion that Jaron lit inside of them. In those few seconds before they reacted as they processed just what Jaron said to them, he looked over to the Konti and wondered why she hadn't summoned some White Witch Wind Power and flown away by now. There was no chance of her getting any money or valuables and if anything the situation was getting more tense with the very huge possibility that both of them could end up bloody and gutted on the street like a fish. Jaron was unable to read her facial expressions to see if she was truly going to fight with him or spin around and wish him the best of luck, so he gave her a hard look that he hoped conveyed the impression that he would need to depend on her for more than just her quick daggers and Witch Hand Power. Jaron's attention was focused back onto the larger man as he lunged forward with a growl, sword out and stomping to the man that insulted him. It was just as Jaron wanted as the man's clumsy attack left him open to a quick retaliatory deflection with Jaron's own blade, deflecting the sword high and away from causing Jaron any immediate danger. With that fleeting window of opportunity with the man's momentum carrying him further than he intended, Jaron swept his foot out at the man's legs, causing him to lose his balance as he flew forward, face first, to the grimy ground of the alley. The threat that he once imposed was lessened, but still viable, and Jaron quickly looked for the hand that was around the hilt of his sword and stomped his foot down on those fingers, hard, again and again until he heard the satisfying clink! of metal against the stones on the ground. Jaron kicked it to the side of the alley, the blade getting lodged under two rotting crates that the Narbo's friend on the ground wouldn't be able to reach without getting up to his feet. That left two opponents, two men that were leaner and probably faster than the one that Jaron downed. He growled out as he focused back onto those two men, his eyes picking out the man that was closer to him and they glared at each other. They were smarter than the groaning man on the floor, who was cursing in some foreign tongue that Jaron couldn't understand. There was some Common mixed in there - was he cursing the day that Jaron was born? Or maybe it was the day he ate corn. "Konti," He said with his eyes still directed on the men in front of him. The two smarter men that didn't succumb to his trick so easily. "Fight or flight?" While Jaron's attention was on the man in front of him, he wondered where the thief had disappeared to - from his peripheral vision he didn't see little Narbo anywhere.

[Avari]

As Avari studied the scene before her, her expression betrayed apprehension but also regret, regret that she had ended up here and not at the docks, the fish market, or just about any other place in Zeltiva. The entire morning had contained nothing but lapses in judgment on her part, from making that snap decision to pickpocket a swordsman she hadn't properly scouted beforehand, to chasing the cutpurse out of misguided anger, to trapping herself in this alleyway between a swordsman who loathed thieves and the cutpurses' three -- well, two now, she supposed -- angry friends. Now, she spared a glance at the swordsman, who had just neatly disabled the tallest of Narbo the cutpurse's friends and was now glaring at the entire world with a killer's yellow eyes. Then she touched the hilts of the throwing daggers at her hips, mentally comparing their slight weight and dull edges to the well-used, workmanlike blades of the two approaching thugs.

If only I had rolled the dice before I'd gotten up this morning, the Konti thought ruefully, perhaps I would known better than to end up here.

"Flight!" she called out loudly in response to the swordsman's question. Three pairs of eyes snapped toward her. "I choose flight. This is your fight, not mine. You held a dagger to my ribs and threatened to snap my neck. I've got no reason to care whether you live or die."

Moving quickly, hoping that both thugs were too startled by her announcement to react in time, Avari took her hands from the hilts of her daggers and took off at a run, heading right between the two men. They looked startled as she darted past them, and one of them slashed in her direction, but she had already made it past them and was sprinting down the alley as fast as she could. Glancing back behind her, Avari saw the two thugs looking back at her and shrugging indifferently. She couldn't see the swordsman's face, but she was sure he had probably gone cold with icy, towering rage by now. She remembered how he'd looked when he talked about what would happen if someone stole ever his precious journal, and she was sure he must be wearing much the same expression now.

Panting with the exertion of her furious sprint past the two men, Avari managed to round the corner of the alley before she bent over double, huffing and wheezing. Her heart pounded fiercely in her chest from both fear and exertion. Once she had caught her breath, the Konti slowly straightened and peeked cautiously around the corner.

An impish grin curved her lips as she watched the scene in the alley. The two thugs, probably deciding that Avari hadn't been worth chasing, considering she hadn't been the one shoving their friend Narbo against the wall and preparing to slice his hand off, had closed in on the swordsman and were circling him warily. They moved with the assurance of fighters who knew they had the advantage of numbers, slowly backing the swordsman further into the alley and boxing him into a corner.

Thank Avalis, Avari thought, they've forgotten all about me. For a moment, she was tempted to simply and truly run, as she had feigned doing, and leave the rude, patronizing, and frankly barbaric swordsman to his fate.

But the man had spared her life in the street, not to mention her hands, and hadn't thrown her at the thugs when they showed up after hearing Narbo the cutpurse's scream. He'd listened to her story and let her go, even if he had smirked at it. It had been a small favor, and he deserved a small favor in return.

Slowly, to keep the blades from ringing as they left their sheaths, she drew both daggers and carefully tiptoed back around the corner, centering herself in the middle of the alley. Nervously, she looked back at the three men, but they were all eyeing each other and not paying the least attention to anything behind them. Avari squinted, measuring the distance to the nearest thug with her eyes, and judged it to be about twelve or thirteen feet. She gripped her throwing dagger between her thumb and forefinger and lined up her feet to rest her weight on her right foot in the back, trying to envision how the dagger would rotate in the air when thrown.

Then she shook her head. This wasn't the time to make leisurely calculations about distances and spins. She was fortunate enough that there were no other distractions to affect her concentration and she had time enough to get into the correct stance and aim properly. Avari took a deep breath.

She raised her right arm and swung it forward with a sharp, slashing motion, while shifting her weight onto her left foot in the front. When the dagger was pointed exactly at the closest thug to her, she let it go. The dagger flew toward the thug's unprotected back, flashing end over end through the air exactly one-and-a-half times, just as Mistress Lenn had taught her. The narrow, needle-pointed blade sank into his left buttock, and the thug hollered in pain and surprise, stopping in his tracks to flail blindly behind him.

By the time he whirled around to see where the dagger had come from, Avari was already preparing to throw her second dagger. The wounded thug shouted and pointed in her direction as she gripped the handle, swung her arm back, and then jerked it toward her target. It wasn't as clean a throw as the first, though, as the thug's yell had rattled her, and he had moved as well, throwing off her aim. The dagger wobbled visibly in the air, and this time it only half-buried itself in the thug's right shoulder, rather than in his stomach as she had planned. Still, the thug bellowed like a bull as five inches of the ten-inch blade penetrated his flesh and stuck there, like a great steel thorn.

Maddened by his wounds, the thug she had attacked spouted curses at her and charged, hobbling slightly because of the dagger in his arse. He didn't even stop to pull the blades free, but simply ran at her with his short sword held high.

For a moment, Avari beamed, pleased to have thrown well and to have detached at least one thug from the swordsman. He should have much fewer problems one-on-one with the remaining thug, who was still looking a little agape at the Konti and at his companion's now-bleeding wounds. Then, as she looked back at the wounded thug shambling toward her, Avari realized she was in deep trouble and turned even paler than she already was by nature. She had no weapons left, and the man was coming at her with bloodthirsty eyes. Abruptly, she spun on her heel and ran full-tilt around the corner again, with the wounded thug in hobbling pursuit.

[Jaron Grunn]

If looks could kill... Jaron's eyes clouded over with that extreme version of tunnel vision; he had one goal in mind - survive. With the fleeing form of the Konti disappearing between the two men and down the alley, he was now faced with two men that were clearly well trained and knew how to work together in order to take down an adversary. His eyes narrowed as he focused on the one man on his left - the one with the cocky grin on his face. The way he held the sword in his hand made Jaron think that the man had been professionally trained, perhaps he was a guard before he turned to a life of crime. The hilt was too firm in his hand, his swooping action with the blade was too practised to be someone that learned those skills on the streets. The origin of their training was useless for Jaron right at that moment; it wouldn't matter how he was trained if Jaron was to take both of the men down. With the Konti gone as a distraction or possible ally, it was up to Jaron to take them on. His hand hand gripped tight around the hilt of his sword as the man that was grinning at him gave a little laugh. "Cute. The little witch left you to us," He said as the two men, swords outstretched, cornered Jaron so there was no escape. Even if he had a stronger climbing skill, they'd be able to skewer him with their swords before he could even grip the edge of the roof over his head. "She looked about as threatening as a calm breeze," The other man growled out, trying to distract Jaron's concentration on the one man. While his vision allowed him to see both men easily, he was wanting to focus on taking one down first before he finished the other off. Without a word of reply to their goading remarks, Jaron lunged forward with his sword high, slashing down to the man's own sword. The two weapons clashed with a loud metal-against-metal sound as Jaron's strength overcame that of the thug, causing him to pull his sword arm back long enough for Jaron's elbow to ram into his face. The thug staggered back as Jaron heard the yelp of the other man and his hand flailing behind him helplessly. Did he let out something from behind - something unmentionable? Jaron's eyes momentarily got a glint of white from down the alley - That Damn Witch. As he watched the other blade twirl in the air and land in the man's shoulder, Jaron's adversary (after seeing what happened to his buddy) focused his attention back on the swordsman. He took that open chance to rush at Jaron, tackling him up against the wall and using his lean body to pin Jaron there. Jaron let out a yell as his foot found purchase against the wall and with a little push gave him enough clearance so he could land his other boot into the man's stomach. As his body reacted from that blow, Jaron peeled himself out of the man's grip and brought his sword down in a clean and swift stroke to the man's arm. There wasn't enough force behind the action, nor was his sword Isurian Steel, so the sword cut through the cloth, flesh and muscle clean to the bone. Jaron pulled his sword back, curling it slightly to the side as he could see just the smallest chunk of flesh lightly lifting up from the man's arm as his blade retracted back. The sound that the man made was deafening - a howl of pain and desperation that would surely attract attention. The man had no choice but to lose his sword to the ground which Jaron scooped up as he left him to his own devices. A quick scan of the area showed Jaron's first adversary still on the ground, mumbling something as he looked up to see his friend's arm gushing blood. The yell of the man with the dagger in his butt caught his attention as he hobbled over to the Konti, who was now without any weapon to defend herself. Jaron pushed off the ground with a sword in each hand, yelling out at the man to try and distract him long enough so he could catch up with him. He had almost made his way to the Konti - who somehow appeared paler than white itself - and he turned to see Jaron charging at him. Before he could put his sword up in any defensive position, Jaron crisscrossed the blades across his stomach and chest, each sharpened blade cutting through the cloth and flesh of his torso. The wounds wouldn't be fatal, but if left unattended... Jaron said nothing to the Konti as the man in front of him crumpled to the ground on his side, the sword that was in his hand under the mess of his body. He sheathed his own sword and hooked the other in his belt for the time being as he bent down to the man with the open chest. Jaron reached down and plucked out the two daggers that were deep in his body, using the grimy clothing of his sleeve to wipe most of the blood off. In a show of his appreciation of the Konti's help, Jaron gripped the blades of both daggers by the blades and held out the handles to the Konti in a display of peace. "Name's Jaron," He said gruffly, the swordsman - now that he was out of mortal danger - was able to try and catch his breath. Jaron smirked at her as she took the blades from his hand and he quickly glanced over his shoulder to make sure the two men that were on the ground would remain on the ground. "Thanks for your help, Konti."

[Avari]

"Ari," she replied shortly, accepting her daggers back and examining them minutely to make sure the blood had indeed been cleaned thoroughly. She inclined her head gravely to him in a brief display of thanks. "You are...welcome. Thank you for returning these."

She opened her mouth as if to say more, but then minutely shook her head to herself and stayed silent as she slipped the daggers back into their sheaths. Slowly, the blood flowed back to her face, the color as visible as red wine poured in an alabaster cup, returning her to her normal levels of pallor. She leaned against the wall and sighed. It had been a long morning, much longer than she had ever anticipated, and the adrenaline of the life-or-death encounter had worn away into a feeling of weariness, dragging at her limbs and creasing her features into a haggard expression.

For a moment, her eyes flicked to the barely-breathing body of the thug lying on the ground, but then she glanced at the swordsman's still-dripping blades and quickly looked away. Fighting side by side with Jaron -- or, more correctly, backstabbing their opponents while he fought them straight on -- seemed to have forged a fragile truce between them, and she was reluctant to disturb it, especially now that she had seen what he could do with a sword. When Jaron had appeared behind the thug chasing after her and cut him down, Avari thought she had never been so happy to see someone else in her entire life. She would much rather remember these moments with gratitude than with anguish for a severed hand for trying to loot a body while he was still around to see it.

Just as Avari thought about losing a hand, both of them heard at the same time the sound of someone running back into the alleyway around the corner and gasping loudly in horror. In the silence, the sounds of his disbelief seemed to echo off the walls of the alley, underscored by the quiet groaning of the thugs that the swordsman had defeated all on his own. "Noooooo! Who did this to you? How could it be?"

They had never heard the cutpurse who had started this whole mess utter anything except a scream, yet Avari's eyes met Jaron's and the same thought flashed instantly between them in that shared glance.

Narbo.

They both whirled around and ran back around the corner into the alleyway. Having reacted slower and moved with less speed, Avari was a few steps behind Jaron again. But this time, it seemed that being a little behind proved to be a good thing after all, for she heard a soft click and a crossbow bolt shot at Jaron almost immediately after he rounded the corner. The bolt struck him in the calf, and Narbo the cutpurse jeered triumphantly at the swordsman and took one hand off the crossbow to make a rude gesture at him.

Quickly, Avari flattened herself against the wall to make a smaller target of herself and peered over her shoulder at the cutpurse's weapon. It looked to be a fine, well-made weapon, and she had no doubt that Narbo had stolen it from somewhere. Still, it could only fire one bolt at a time, and his first shot hadn't counted for much. Judging from the loose way he was holding the weapon, the cutpurse wasn't very good with the bow at all. The swordsman was hobbling now, but he would be able to hobble over and slice Narbo up quite impressively while the cutpurse was still trying to reload his crossbow, likely as not.

Watching them, Avari frowned. She might have felt sympathy for the cutpurse when Jaron had been about to slice off his hand, but now he was not only shooting at them but also obstructing the only way that Avari knew led out of the alleyways and back into the main streets. She wasn't terribly familiar with the Old Quarter and had no desire to try weaving her way out of here for hours. With a disgruntled mutter, the Konti pulled one of her throwing daggers free of its sheath for the third time that day and aimed close to the cutpurse's head but not directly at it, as a warning throw, hoping to scare him into running away again and leaving the way free for her to go home.

She lifted her arm and swung it forward sharply, snapping the dagger forward in a quick throw. The dagger whistled as it spun through the air, and Narbo's eyes widened as he realized the source of the sound and turned to see the dagger coming toward him. Avari was too far away, of course, and the dagger flew four feet right of his head and bounced against the wall to rest behind him on the ground. Still, the alarmed cutpurse redoubled his efforts in reloading his crossbow quickly and swung toward her to shoot a second bolt, while she was still in the middle of reaching for her second dagger for another throw.

[Jaron Grunn]

It was nice to know the woman's name, well, at least three letters of her name. Jaron wasn't exactly sure about witch naming conventions, but since she gave it to him he would use it to refer to her, as opposed to Konti. Witch. And other colourful names that he had in mind. Jaron didn't get a chance to say anything back to Ari as the sound of that damned thief rang out in the alley; Jaron's job wasn't finished just yet. Once him and Ari exchanged glances, Jaron started to sprint down the alley once more to catch that damn thief, barrelling around that corner without much thought as to what could lay on the other side. His rashness bit him in the behind as Jaron wasn't prepared for the thief to have a crossbow in his hands and have some skill behind that weapon as the arrow went halfway through his calf muscle. Jaron crumpled forward and let out a low growl as he looked to the arrow and watched as the thief struggled to reload the crossbow - enough time for Jaron to pull the damn shaft of wood from out of his calf and decapitate the bastard. With both hands free, since his sword was safely in his hilt for the time being, Jaron looked to the arrow and knew that it would have to continue pulling it through the wound and not back the way it entered, thanks to the arrowhead. He snapped off as much of the end of the shaft as he could tolerate and gripped the other end under the sharp head and gave it a swift, hard tug. He let out a yell as the wood was pulled from his calf muscle and threw it to the ground as a spurt of blood shot out from the exit wound. Jaron pushed himself up to his feet long enough to see a dagger go flying to the thief, a repeat of the scene that had happened before when Jaron was trying to chase him with two good legs. Now with his leg bleeding and his calf muscle punctured, Jaron watched as the dagger sailed far away from the target but acted as a distraction just as it did before. During these few seconds, Jaron managed to make a painful hobble over to the thief who, upon seeing Jaron in front of him as he pulled the thug's sword from his belt and gripped it in his strong arm. Jaron snarled at the man as Narbo let out a cry; Jaron grabbed the damn weapon in the thief's hands and tossed it to the side as he didn't waste any time grabbing the hand that he tried to remove earlier. Before Narbo could protest more than just letting out yet another annoying yell, Jaron drove the tip of the sword into the man's wrist at the point between his hand and arm, severing the strong cartilage and veins that made a hand so dextrous. Jaron sneered at the man as the sword went through the arm and into the wood of the door behind him with a satisfying thrust. Jaron took a step back from the thief as he watched him try to remove his hand from the sword that was impaled on it; the digits of his nearly severed hand barely moving, Jaron's revenge was complete. "Should have taken that off soon, eh Ari?" He looked over his shoulder and saw nothing. Not a damn thing or a person was standing there. Jaron hobbled to the corner to see if the Konti was merely braiding her hair or something where he had just saved her life. Nothing. Not a damn person. Jaron was thankful he wasn't near Narbo anymore as he let out another scream for help, the man's throat would have been the next thing that Jaron took care so he wouldn't have to listen to that whine anymore. He let out an annoyed grunt as he took a step with his bad leg, the leg folding under him and Jaron collapsed on his knee as he caught his balance moments before possibly crashing down to the ground. Of course the witch would have vanished. Her "debt" to Jaron was repaid - they owed each other nothing. Though it would have been nice to have at least helped the poor swordsman to someone that could patch his leg up. "Damn you, Konti Witch!" Jaron yelled out at the cold walls of the alley. She better not show her face again, Jaron thought. He'd have more than just a silly fake-hug to give her the next time they would meet.

[Oracle]

Name: Avari

XP Award:

• Larceny +1
• Rhetoric +2
• Storytelling +2
• Negotiation +1
• Persuasion +2
• Running +2
• Weapon: Throwing Dagger +4
• Observation +1

Lore:

• Getting Caught in the Act
• Jaron Grunn - Deepest Desire
• Story : The Little Thief and the Man with the Big Sword
• Jaron's most Prized Possesion
• Losing your Mark to Another Theif
• Poor Aim
• Poor Aim Working in your Favor
• Fight or Flight...Flight.
• Returning Small Favors

Name: Jaron Grunn

XP Award:

• Rhetoric +3
• Unarmed Combat +1
• Intimidation +2
• Storytelling +2
• Negotiation +1
• Persuasion +1
• Running +1
• Weapon: Sword +4
• Duel Wield +1

Lore:

• Getting Lost in Zeltiva
• Story : The Little Thief and the Man with the Big Sword
• Threatening a Lady
• Avari's Life Story
• Having your Purse Stolen
• Your Own Brand of Justice
• Unrealistic Idea of Konti's Powers
• Giving Small Favors
• First time Duel Wielding
• Impaling Someone's Hand

Notes: Wow guys! Great thread All I can say is more, give me more. I love the way you two played off each other as well as the superb writing on both sides. Bravo.

By the way:

Jaron's wound will take 2 weeks to heal completely and the limp will completely vanish after the season.

Last thing: This was a loooong thread, so I may have missed some things. If you feel I have do not hesitate to bring it to my attention and let me know. I do not want to short anyone on well deserved points.

If you have any concerns with this please PM me and let me know.

A.S. Oracle