Open The Rising Dawn (CITY WIDE QUEST)

[Volinir Orchid]

The smell of cheese was making the Sym's empty stomach ache. He hadn't eaten anything for three days in preparation for the fun, and though it meant a nasty surprise for the Black Sun, it also meant he was starving. Fortunately, or unfortunately, depending on how one wished to view it, Renalee's voice broke his focus on food, "Volinir...?" So much for a plan. The Symenestra swallowed nervously and offered a petrified smile that was hid behind his scarf, "Hi." To make matters worse, Crossbow Man started talking. "Volinir? Who's Volinir?" How they recognized him, he didn't know. Perhaps they just assumed any Symenestra was him. Perhaps he was just that obvious. At any rate, it was time to go soon. Casting a furtive glance back towards the crowd, he saw the shifting figures. It was time to go now. Grabbing for Ren's wrist, he said in a brisk and worried tone, "I need to talk to you in private." before attempting to drag her away from the cheese stall and out towards a street where there was no festival. A tick later, "Down with Rhysol! Down with the Voice! We shall purify Ravok! A new dawn has risen!" Volinir had been passing by a guard at the perimeter, and as the first cloaks began to fall, he turned and tried to sink his teeth into the most accessible part of the man's body that wasn't armored. The paltry cloth covering his mouth wouldn't stop his fangs. The instant after his attack, he pulled back into the scrambling crowd, hopefully with Renalee in tow. If the soldier had fallen, he'd grab anything of his worth throwing and hurl it at any Ebonstryfe in sight. Craning his neck to see a little over the already bloodstained battleground, he tried to locate Valerius and see what state of security he was in. By coincidence, he also caught sight of Velvet scrambling between two food stalls. Volinir scowled. He could try to get Ren and Velvet away from the fighting, or take a shot at striking a blow against one of the mightiest families in Ravok. A blow that would likely end in his own death. After a couple ticks of thought, unless Valerius was very poorly guarded indeed, he'd weave through the crowd towards the slave, ducking down and tapping the girl on the arm, "Hey! It's time to move!" The others would have to fight without his aid.

[Aislin]

Flickering flames licked the coiled folds of elongated dress, cloak that would billow had there only been a breeze. Orange emblazons crawled up the length of cotton fabric, filling the air with relentless heat. Tendrils of smoke too, rose from the charred remains, ashen furls fallen to marble floor, trampled underfoot in man's haste to to retard the continuation of fiery stream. As darkened vapor's coupling tickled the underside of the nose. Causing the edges to flare a mirrored red, as the steam ascended, beseeching the gods watch over, pouring favor onto the marked bodies of their children. The silent armies which rose to meet one another as the templed battlefield grew stained with more than body's excess. Huddled masses gave way to the clamor of blades, metal screeching as the chains which bound clinked. Dragging across the floor alongside men turned to suckling babes, and high born women reduced to rabble. Blood speckled the floor behind thinly veiled screen of smoke; wading down from the rafters, and loftier airs from whence it was supposed they could meet the gods. The whore's iced eyes burned as the first of it fogged her vision. Greying edges tickling shards grown molten with the heat. Pupil's dilation being ignored as she lowered her head towards paling skin, coughing violently as she bent her legs at the knees. Crouching uneasily as she threw her right hand up, and tried to choke down a breath to calm as the rising dawn's stirrings coerced tension and frantic nature into the hearts of fleeing many. As fingers furled against mouth and pouted lip, the whore could begin to breath a bit more easily, as the palm cut through the air. Hand curved lightly, to form a crescent as she roused the magic held within the very core of her being. She could feel her djed rattling against her stomach's confines. A boiling liquid seething above adrenaline's flame. She could sense the vaporous tendrils dancing upwards. Winding about her organs as she fought to breath. Lungs stinging as the magic filled each void the smoke had left. Filling her with a tingling sensation that trickled through each of her veins. Neon blue and green rivers which pulsed unpleasantly beneath soot stained skin. So slowly, it seemed to run through. Like a snail crawling across earthen bed. But finally, it came to the end. Finally, it had stretched far enough for the woman to release. As swiftly as she could having had to bare the weight of thundering heart and body grown weak with the heat, Aislin forced her djed through the tips of her fingers, and away. She imagined it gathering no more than a few feet behind where she now stood, slowly stepping away with the rest of the crowd. Towards the temple's outer reaches. She could picture it forming an orb no larger than the size of an orange, just as she had practiced, so many times before. Inwardly, she envisioned it rotating, slowly. As would a globe on its metal axis. Now grow, she thought, as the orb darkened. Growing black as night, devoid of the stars. In her heart, she could sense its pull, as it began to pull the curtain back. Drawing several spires of smoke away. Clearing the air as she continued to walk. Her body jostling several others, as she made way for the crumbling archway where the door had once stood. For now, to her, it seemed little more than burning wood, beside a bed of soot and charred remains. Beams curdling beneath the weight of that which refused to go out. Aislin coughed once more as the crowed guided her along. Easing her closer and closer to what watery eyes sought. Just a little further, she urged her feet. The subtle click of her heels against the floor. And then there will be naught to fear, her mind added as her right hand fell to her side. A final clap, which displayed the cessation of her magic's flow. Bringing the rift she had created in the world to an end. Despite as much, Aislin knew, somewhere in her heart of hearts, that it would not be long before she birthed another. OOCNot sure what we said about the door, so I tried to leave it open.

[Inoadar]

Inoadar's eye for opportunity stopped his jaw from dropping in shock. Even as he returned to the perimeter of the celebration, he had noticed exchanged glances among several people. These people all suspiciously spaced equidistant from each other. Patterns of nods and looks and hands darting beneath cloaks, muscles tightening beneath shirts. Legs locked in preparation, not loose to indulge in celebratory dancing.

He was fortunate to be on the outside of the crowd, for he would have been unlikely to notice from within the mass of celebrants. 'But what good is a perimeter ambush on a crowd of civilians?' he thought to himself. He was, of course, aware of guards, plainly visible throughout the crowd. But any ambush staged from without, would give the guards more than sufficient warning to...

Smoke began to rise from windows of the temple. Dark smoke, typical of destruction, not the white smoke of ritual. The screams of revelry changed subtly to screams of alarm. Even as the guards noticed and turned towards the temple, Inoadar looked back to the where the ambushers had been.

He was impressed with how smoothly they integrated with the crowd, now milling in confusion. He didn't want to miss this. He ran to a building and jumped onto a window ledge giving him just enough height to witness the coordinated attacks.

People burst from the temple, screaming, some aflame, all afraid. Voices boomed, not the unnatural sound of The Voice, but a pure, commanding chorus of retribution.

"Down with Rhysol! Down with the Voice! We shall purify Ravok! A new dawn has risen!"

And as the Ebonstryfe guards converged on the rebel speakers, the agents working their way through the crowd converged on THEM, from behind. And as they spun to face the surprise attack, the speakers beset them as well. Many of the plain folk, however, pulled weapons and lent aid to the suddenly besieged Ebonstryfe guards. The rebels had anticipated this and quickly returned blades, their training plainly giving them a gruesome edge.

The pandemonium itself was the greatest contributor to the carnage, though, as panicked townsfolk ran pellmell to find themselves impaled on points not intended for them, or finding their throats laid open by slashes gone awry in the confusion.

Inoadar's purpose was neither carnage nor aid as he slid from the ledge back into the crowd, looking for citizens dressed in attire indicating fat purses. But, over and above the coins, he was looking for any man sharing similar features.

The bounty on his head was still active. And though his efforts to fake his death appeared to have succeeded, the bounty remained. Someone was not convinced. He knew the folly of trying to register for citizenship. He would have to falsify everything, and any checking on anything would likely lead to imprisonment and death.

He knew that there was a probationary period before citizenship was achieved if you were not Ravokian-born. What he did NOT know was if you got a card or some such to carry with you upon receiving citizenship.

After looting a few dead or near-dead bodies and administering a few merciful endings of suffering, he saw a man of similar face and build, trying to aid an Ebonstryfer against a rebel. He figured this man to be a citizen. He slipped his knuckleduster on his right hand and gripped his razor in his left and approached from behind.

"REBEL SCUM!" he shouted, diving clumsily between the two assailants, his hand cocked as though he was going to swing on the Rising Dawn soldier. Spinning suddenly, he punched the citizen in the face with his brass enhanced fist and swung the razor at the Ebonstryfer to his left as the citizen slumped back, his nose crushed sideways and spouting blood.

He missed, but his distraction gave the Dawn rebel the opening he needed to drive his sword to the hilt in the Ebonstryfers gut. Inoadar got a quick nod of recognition before the rebel turned and dove to attack someone else. He wasted no time pushing the stunned man's head back and slitting his throat with the razor.

He started rifling through his pockets until he found the wallet. He took a moment to pocket the few gold mizas the dead man had and was starting to look through the wallet when he heard footsteps come to a stop behind him.

[Renalee]

“It’s true. I did leave Ravok for more than a Season. Coming back however, wasn’t part of my plans.” Ren shrugged noncommittally, fingers passing over the merchandised arranged neatly on the stall. She tried not to dwell on the reasons for her departure or those for her return, focussing instead on her short companion. He sounded annoyed with her and was keeping a close eye on his piece of cheese which was still held in her other hand, as if he thought she’d suddenly turn around and run away with it. She tossed it back with a small smile before responding to his latest remark. “I suppose you’re right. You could have improved since last time I saw you.”

The girl found discussing what he did for a living somewhat amusing, considering that it was the reason for them starting off on a bad note. Perhaps that was an understatement. Ren was particularly good at forgiving people who had wronged her however, or at least people who hadn’t been particularly or at all close to her beforehand. She settled for a quick, painful revenge and moved on, sometimes skipping straight to the latter. On the other hand, when it came to people she had trusted, it was a whole different set of rules...

Rules, it seemed, she wasn’t familiar with herself as would suggest her utter confusion at the appearance of the one man she had both hoped to meet and to never see again. ”Hi. That was it? A ‘Hi’? Surely he had seen her by the stand when he had approached it. Didn’t he have anything more to say? Ren would have given him a piece of her mind, if a click that sounded suspiciously like a bolt being loaded on a crossbow didn’t draw her attention and made her turn to glance around. There was a certain shift to the crowd, barely noticeable really, and not something the Kelvic could be sure about, but she was still suddenly put on edge. “Do you feel that,” she enquired of the two men, forgetting for a second that she didn’t really know what to do with one of them.

Before she could even take another look at the crowd and try to locate the thing responsible for her anxiety Volinir’s hand locked around her wrist and tugged at her to follow him. It wasn’t a particularly strong pull, but having taken her by surprise Ren stumbled awkwardly after him. “Wait!” Her exclamation seemed to be ignored and all she could do was cast a furtive glance back at the little thief.

“Let go of me!” she pulled at the hand holding hers, trying to avoid colliding with people as she was dragged unceremoniously though the crowd. “Volinir!” Finally she managed to tear free, but didn’t even have a moment to focus on her righteous anger. First there was the sinking feeling, the warning sent by her instincts that always rang true. She caught the scent of smoke then, eyes quickly seeking out the source. The Temple! But how was it possible?

In the next moment things suddenly took a turn for the worse. All throughout the crowd men and women tore off cloaks and pulled out weapons, spreading quickly and seemingly targeting at random. Ren couldn’t understand what was going on until she heard the cry. Could this be a rebellion? She cursed as she whirled around and found herself separated by Volinir by the crowd which swayed like the sea during a storm. She hurried to try and catch up with the Symenestra suddenly worried about what all of this could bring.

The smell of fear was suffocating her, bringing a certain nauseous feeling instead of the usual rush of adrenaline. Renalee crashed into people, struggling to keep up with Volinir’s progress, being unceremoniously pushed aside as her small frame didn’t allow her to struggle against the general direction of movement. People were screaming and running blindly and fights seemed to be breaking out every which way. Ren managed to dodge a few men she recognized as Ebonstryfe and appeared to be making good progress until a man wearing one of those black on white sun symbols on his cloak came at her out of nowhere.

What saved her from ending up impaled on his short sword was a combination of luck and her feline reflexes. Her dagger was pulled out immediately and the girl didn’t even pause to wonder if the rebel had truly been attacking her or had just happened to cross her path. Either way, seeing the weapon in her hand he didn’t hesitate to swing his sword in a wide arc towards her. Ren feigned dodging to the left before she duck under the blade and tried going for his throat, dagger held tightly in her hand. The man reacted quickly however, and the blonde only got the bicep of his right arm. Luckily the cut was deep and bright red blood spilled violently as the injured member of the Rising Dawn dropped his weapon.

Ren didn’t stay too long to evaluate the damage she had done, slinking back into the pushing and pulling mass of people. She had lost Volinir in the chime or so it took her to deal with the short sword wielder. Not really certain what to do in the chaos that had taken over the celebration Renalee let herself be swept by the crowd. At least it was much easier to avoid being pushed over or trampled with her dagger out in the open and the occasional use of its sharp tip.

[Valerius Nitrozian]

After several chimes of silent prayer Valerius finally decided to leave the temple and take part in the festivities. He didn’t laugh, he didn’t sing or dance – in his opinion such behaviour just didn’t have style. Neither did he eat anything out of fear that his precious suit would get dirty. He got himself a glass full of some kind of alcoholic beverage though, a little stronger than what he usually preferred because this was a celebration in Rhysol’s name. For a while he was much too busy thinking of his love for Rhysol and the Voice and how blessed he was to be able to live in Ravok, but eventually he noticed that there was a shift in the mood. There were people who didn’t look happy at all, and since they weren’t him – he rarely looked happy – their behaviour was at least slightly questionable. He also thought he saw somebody draw a weapon, but maybe he was just imagining things. Valerius Nitrozian was a rather paranoid man after all. The fire and the smoke that came out of the temple where he had been praying just chimes before definitely worried him though. He could hear screams as well. Frowning – he didn’t appreciate anybody disturbing the festival – he put his glass away and took a look around to find out what exactly had happened. Several people next to him threw off their cloaks. Just as he realized which symbol it was, a man came towards him, sword in hand, but before he could reach him, another man put a sword in his back. Valerius made a step back so that the blood wouldn’t get on his suit, and then he bent down to pick the fallen man’s weapon up. He didn’t like getting in contact with bloody, dirty things, but he liked being unarmed even less. Once he had secured himself a weapon, he grabbed one of the slaves that had accompagnied him and pushed him in front of him so that he would have a shield in case one of those traitors decided to attack him again. The other slave was ordered to guard his back (and threatened with death if he even thought of running) while he tried to escape the chaos.

[Aislin]

Icy shards grew molten; drunk as smoldering coal's heat relayed off transparent remnants. Beads lent to dry as parched mouth overcame. Ashen grey coupling with raven's black forcing the iris to surrender as the pupil widened. Pulsating towards the whites where rivers reddened by rising blood's warmth trickled through. Undulating softly against the surface as the lens was forced into its role. Sweeping over billowing fabrics as capes circled their masters, obscuring the lower reaches of their forms as bucklers and belts tried to keep everything pinned down; stuck in place. Completing a severed mask as the whore wove herself through path narrowed by broken body, and those who had yet to full. Succumbing to the smoke which billowed through the open door, man's magic, his hate wrought in the metal of a blade. At times, she could see the metallic sheen, glimmering in light cast by both flickering flame, and sun's rays, which caressed the flats as lovingly as a mother would her suckling babe. At others, all she saw was the misty veil cast by the smoke, and the silhouette of bodies strewn across the floor; her way. As fire's givings continued to choke, Aislin could feel her heart thundering at an even faster rate. Like a horse's hooves over cobbled path. She could feel it rattling the bars of her bony rib cage. Rustling the folds of silk linings as her neck grew as parched as the soil after an elongated period spent without rain. Almost certain she would keel over soon if the air didn't clear, the voider forced herself to keep on going. Following the throng towards the door as though she were a mere droplet of water within a vast ocean. Guided by the rocking of the world's plates, the undulating motion of the waves. Finally, after perhaps another chime or two, the woman reached the door, and followed many through into the massacre. Her heels slid against faces, falling into gaping maws. Mouths without teeth. Into hands that could no longer furl, and ensnare. Considering the dead no longer had the capacity to capture, Aislin managed to make it through several bloodied forms without issue, before reaching another section where the fighting was running rampant. The 'stryfe trying to quell the flames the rising dawn had started in more ways than a simple one. A short sword dove towards her shoulder, as its mistress dipped it in shallow sweep. Artfully, the woman stepped aside as she raised her right hand once more, and the djed that was concealed just beneath the surface was released. It floated on the air as silently as its container, trickling through as unnoticed as poison in a goblet to naught but an aurist. As unnoticed as the wind's passing, should it not be pressed. Blown across earthen wear as thoughtlessly by god's mouth, as the opulent who cast aside weaker man. Lesser beings. Another tick passed as the woman pulled her weapon back, readying it for another attempted strike. But by then it was too late, her blade had swung directly into the rift Aislin had created in the world. That which connected it to the other side. The dark orb, no larger than a melon, swirled silently in the dense air. Cool with pre winter's crisplings. It was dark as the woman's raven colored hair, and perhaps a tad darker in that it seemed to swallow any hint of light that surrounded. That tried to run through. For it was an entity of insatiable nature. Desiring more than any should want, simply to fill its belly, despite all evidence to the contrary of its ability to have supped so much that it could no longer hold that contented. The void seemed to ripple as metallic edge sank into its surface. Allowing its sides to lick the supple sheen, pulling it inwards. Aislin watched without making a sound as the woman's hands were guided forward. Towards the hole in the world. She could just make out the sight of her fingers trembling as she began to brace herself, not truly realizing yet that the weapon was lost to her. Another tick was all it took for the woman to let go, releasing her weapon into the void. Feeling now as though the rebel was rendered defenseless, Aislin narrowed the void with a subtle flick of her wrist, and then forced it to slam shut in mirror of a door as she slapped her thigh. Another instant, and her legs had bent at the knees and she was striding forward. Both arms rising, cocked at the elbows. Hands balled into tight fists. Come at me bitch, her hypnotic djed suggested as she snapped her right hand forward, jabbing towards the woman's left shoulder, and missing by just a breath as she pulled her head back, arching her core in slight. Fight, to the death, the magic insisted as the prostitute reeled her hand in, and took another step towards the receding insurgent. A being whose body was just beginning to straighten to face its opponent as iced eyes narrowed to hardened slit. Fight. Fight. Fight, the magic insisted, as Aislin jabbed at the woman with her left hand, aiming high, for perhaps the head, or even, the other shoulder. But again, she struck neither, as the woman took a step back, before extending her leg to strike. But Aislin would have none of it. She moved aside with ease before falling into opened space, and rocking on her hips. Rotating her upper half as she swung her left leg around, and brought heeled foot against the woman's hip. Figuring she had struck hard, the whore staggered back, just as two more bodies jostled. Bringing she and her opponent together. Inwardly she cringed at the taste of rebel skin, at the way her mark tingled as they pushed themselves apart and the two interceding forms were lost to the crowd. Keep on going, her mind whispered, she is growing weak, and she knows little of fighting without a sword. You can take her, and void the rest before leaving, and for that, you will be greatly rewarded. Just as you have always wanted. Just as you have planned since the moment you betrayed him. Here is your chance Aislin, to become one of them... The woman smiled wickedly as the rebel tried to land another kick, but missed by but a breadth. Allowing her to dance forward, lowering both of her fists, before sweeping the right up under the woman's chin. For a second, Aislin thought it would be enough to make the woman's bones snap. Crackling against tanned skin, had she not also missed. Gritting her teeth in frustration, the whore rounded, sending her remaining fist to the same spot as she pulled the other back. Again she missed, as the woman jabbed at her shoulder, hitting her lightly, considering how the whore pulled away, just enough. Her eyes blazing with murderous intent. Darkened by the dilation of her pupils. The hatred and power which coursed through her veins, creating a sort of high, coupled with an exhilarating dizzy. Rise up and seize it...

[Sevris]

For the first time in many weeks, it was quite easy for him to feel completely relaxed. Sevris had always harbored some sort of reaction to people, when they recognized who he was and what he stood for. No type of disrespect of course but immediate stares was a consistent thing. But no one was worried about status, or what organization you belonged in, even though there was a good number of Ebonstryfe standing guard including himself. People were rejoicing, the Voice had returned, this was a cause to actually enjoy themselves. So Sevris merely blended in the with the crowd, not necessarily joining hands in joy but soaking in the relaxing tone of everyone else was sufficient. Until a certain someone caught his eyes. His servant had indeed made an appearance to his great surprise. The Lazarin slipped in with the dancing crowd which had enveloped the young woman. She had been dancing carefree and oblivious to him; it looked as if she was in all actuality enjoying her time. It would not last long. Sevris began to notice suspicious things in the time span of a few minutes. He couldn't quite figure it out, until the fire threatened temple itself. Almost instantly there were hooded figures racing through the crowd. But Sevris was not looking for them, more importantly trying to find Velvet again because the place had gone crazy. Someone close to him who had not been hooded before, now brandished a short sword. And these words rang out loudly, "Down with Rhysol! Down with the Voice! We shall purify Ravok! A new dawn has risen!" The man had as quickly as the attack had started, tried to end Sevri's. He turned around swiftly and ran towards the Lazarin who had only just seen him in time. His Double-Bladed sword came out in unison with noticing the attack. He threw it upwards and blocked the mans downward slash, and without a thought used the other side of his blade to impale the man. He was on guard duty, but now he was apart of the Ebonstryfe army, for this was no isolated event. He kicked the Rising Dawn member off his sword. Then he looked up into the frenzy crowd that was now bustling with fighting and bodies. Searching he finally found a lock on her as she was picking up a weapon of some sort, she was still a short distance away but the fighting had created a gap between them. So Sevris scowled and began to make his way to her, yelling "Velvet, to me!"

[Giph]

Giph rolled his eyes. “You say that like I needed improvement in the first place.” He said back in a begrudging tone. She had a point, a real theif wouldn't have gotten caught in the first place, but how should he have known that she was a kelvic and had hearing of an animal? He wasn't a mind reader for gods sake! “Didn't really feel anything what are you talking...” giph started but was cut of when the sym suddenly grabbed ren and tried to drag her away from him. “Hey leave her alone you freak.” Giph spat out as he moved to help the kelvic, and maybe bash in the freaks head in if he had the chance. Before he could do that though he noticed a hint of smoke out of the corner of his eye. And turned his head for a quick look what it was all about. Then everything happened all at once and saying giph was overwhelmed by the confusion would be understating it. One moment he was talking with two people and munching on a nice piece of cheese, while in the next moment there where a bunch of rebels attacking the ebonstryfe, the newly build temple was burning brightly. The yells of both wounded and the ones still fighting mixed with the sounds of ringing steel and the screams of panicked civilians. When he finally managed to regain his senses neither the creepy man called volinir nor the kelvic where lost in the crowd. He quickly made his decision, he knew that at least ren wasn't part of those heretics, she just entered ravok again a few day's ago. And who knows, if she survived that long in the wilderniss she just might help keep him alive during this chaos and if not. At least she was a disposable meat shield. He quickly began moving through the panicked crowd, hoping to find her quickly, while hoping the rebels had more pressing targets to target then a young boy. “Kelvic!” Giph yelled out, hoping that she would recognize his voice at the very least, making a mental note to ask for her name once. “Kelvic, where the petch are you!”

[Cassidy Finch]

After a few ticks spent huddling in the small space between two stalls, Velvet began to actually pay attention to the bloodbath around her. Her first impression of the sudden turn of events was that the combatants around her had been aiming to kill everyone in the crowd, but upon closer inspection that was revealed to be incorrect. There seemed to be two main parties fighting, one wearing the symbol of the Ebonstryfe and the other with the foreign mark emblazoned upon their chests. Occasionally, one of the invaders would cut down an innocent man or woman, but otherwise they kept their attention on those in the opposing uniform. Velvet was horrified; she had never seen so much violence and death. The slave had witnessed and been the victim of much brutality, but she had never actually seen anyone die. Now it was happening all around her. She felt overwhelmed and had to struggle to breath. Or she was breathing too much. The woman was hyperventilating now, and she found that she was trembling uncontrollably. The indecision Velvet faced was daunting; should she make a break through the crowd in a bid for escape, or to remain where she was and hope no one paid her any mind? Either choice was very risky, and the slave felt absolutely bewildered as she struggled to force herself into some kind of action, any kind of action. In her frozen state, the woman felt someone tap her arm and a familiar voice said, "Hey! It's time to move!" Instinctively she whirled around and came face to face with a face she hadn't seen in some time. Relief coursed through her as he tried to draw her away; she was grateful that she had some obvious path to follow. As she turned to come with the Symenestra, Velvet heard another, much more familiar voice call to her, "Velvet, to me!" The woman glanced over her shoulder and saw her master calling to her, bloodied sword in hand. Again, the slave froze up as she faced one of the few important choices she had ever had. For the first time, Velvet had to decide something important under pressure. It brought her face to face with the knowledge of how ill-prepared her life as a slave had left her. Independent choices were easy, but she was so used to other people deciding them for her that it took her several seconds to even start considering her options, much longer than it should have. On the one hand, Volinir would obviously avoid turning her in to the Ebonstryfe, and the city was surely going to be in havoc. She could escape notice long enough to find a way out of Ravok! Then again, Volinir was unarmed and she had no idea how to use the little knife she'd filched off a corpse(the thought made her faintly nauseous). She would probably die in the escape attempt, but... On and on the mental battle went, leaving her with no difinitive answer. Velvet knew freedom--and life--awaited if she went to Sevris, as she was reasonably sure he would free her as per his word, but the slave had no idea how long it would be until that day. Escaping in the chaos promised immediate, tantalizing freedom from her chains, but came with a great risk of death, or worse. She had no idea which way to go, and so she stood stock-still, feeling helpless and lost. Velvet hated herself for it, but there was nothing she could do.

[Inoadar]

Inoadar cursed himself that he had brought no more weapons than his garrotte and the blades in the toes of his boots. No whip, no blowgun, no tamo daggers. It was only fact of his backpack that he retained his razor. But that betrayed him now as he instinctively dove from the halting steps behind him. The bulk of his backpack stymied his roll and left him off-balance staring in to the vicious grin of an Ebonstryfe soldier, sword poised for a thrust to his chest.

Clearly, an injured hand was preferable to an impaled chest. He swung his hand up to deflect the thrust, determined to show no pain as his palm met the blade to parry it. His surprise mirrored the soldier's own as there was, instead of pain, a rasping of metal on metal and the dull thunk of the swordpoint gouging the cobblestone beside him.

It dawned on him, with grateful suddenness, that he still wore the brass knuckleduster. The band of brass knobs that rode over the wearer's knuckles connected to a metal coil that added weight and stability to the wearer's hold. This metal coil still rested in his palm and had met the steel of the attacking blade, preventing his hand from being seriously maimed.

He knew he could not count on this happening a second time and rolled away from the man, trying to slide the strap off as he rolled. The soldier took a low swing from his street-gouging position to slice a trench into Inoadar's arm, vulnerably accessible as he tried to worm it free. The leather armor absorbed a portion of the damage, but a spray of blood followed the blade into the air as the soldier lifted it high in preparation to strike.

Inoadar triggered the blade in his left boot and spun on his elbow to sink the blade into the man's leg. He missed, the toe of his boot passing just beyond the leg to end as a ineffective kick at the side of the man's calf. His life flashed before his eyes as desperation gave him a surge of adrenalin.

His backpack came free, the sword having severed the strap at the same time that it slashed his arm. Inoadar roared with frenzy as he swung the pack to intercept the blade. What mattered more, though, was the simultaneous kick with his other leg. Though the pack did cause the plunging blade to veer into his shoulder rather than his chest, the kick drove his heel straight into the man's knee, locked straight, bearing most of his weight, and held from sliding back by Inoadar's errant first kick.

There was an ugly muffled snap and the man's face blanched white as a trembling gurgle built into a shrieking howl. He fell back, trying to clutch at his knee, but it was bent the wrong way, and buckled under him as he fell. Not out of kindness, Inoadar switched hands with the razor and opened his throat to end his screaming and his life.