"Ruros' balls, boy!"
When Razkar asked for a distraction, he was expecting a certain amount of youthful enthusiasm in its accomplishment. A lot of noise, crashing, banging... perhaps he'd even pick a fight with a few Dragoons, draw them away like that way. Or playing drunk? Playing wasted? Certainly that would attract attention.
But he was no expecting the boy to rain fire on them.
His jaw dropped as he saw the blazing hay bales go bouncing around beyond the gate, but only briefly, for a second later-
WHOMP!
-another hay cart burst onto the gate itself. A pair of screaming Dragoons covered their faces, as if that would ward away the inferno-on-wheel, but it did not. The gate groaned and shuddered, but was strongly made and didn't even come close to buckling. Not that it helped the two men outside: they were crushed in a blink, and either dead or unconscious, the fire began to consume them.
Bells started ringing. Civilians screamed. Dragoons bellowed and shouted and soon all was running feet and pandemonium.
Your cue.
"My horse!" Razkar said abruptly, dashing from the store and sparing Cossette but one backward glance. "I need to see to my horse, I'll be right back!"
The Myrian's panicked expression faded as soon as he was out of sight of the Silvertongue. He followed the flow of the crowd for half a street, until he was near the alley that ran behind the short row of stores and enterprises that called the Gated Community Home. Trash and garbage were arrayed behind it, along with one heavy, hulking, stinking pile of compost-
-and that was what Razkar dashed towards, confident that all eyes would be on the gate, the bodies, the masterful and macabre street theater that Jax had created. No-one saw him duck into the gloom of the alley, and those that did discarded the sight instantly.
They had bigger problems.
Hidden behind the piles, Razkar moved quickly. He undid his rucksack and swiftly pulled the chainmail dress that Edward had worn over his head, tugging it down until it was almost at his knees. Then the tunic went on, and finally the helmet, the whole process taking little more than a chime.
Already he could hear the initial chaos dying down. The sizzle and slosh of water being brought up and thrown at the flames; voices lowered from hysteria to mere annoyance and awe. Dragoons restoring order... but no voice querying as to a Myrian.
Razkar looked at his home for a few hours and swallowed hard. Even flies avoided some sections of that garbage tip, but Edward had said it would still be a few days before it was collected. And until then... it was a good enough burrow.
"The things I do," he muttered darkly, climbing into the nearest, widest pail, and twisting himself deep into the garbage, settling a thick layer of it over him, "To fulfill my vows..."
When Razkar asked for a distraction, he was expecting a certain amount of youthful enthusiasm in its accomplishment. A lot of noise, crashing, banging... perhaps he'd even pick a fight with a few Dragoons, draw them away like that way. Or playing drunk? Playing wasted? Certainly that would attract attention.
But he was no expecting the boy to rain fire on them.
His jaw dropped as he saw the blazing hay bales go bouncing around beyond the gate, but only briefly, for a second later-
WHOMP!
-another hay cart burst onto the gate itself. A pair of screaming Dragoons covered their faces, as if that would ward away the inferno-on-wheel, but it did not. The gate groaned and shuddered, but was strongly made and didn't even come close to buckling. Not that it helped the two men outside: they were crushed in a blink, and either dead or unconscious, the fire began to consume them.
Bells started ringing. Civilians screamed. Dragoons bellowed and shouted and soon all was running feet and pandemonium.
Your cue.
"My horse!" Razkar said abruptly, dashing from the store and sparing Cossette but one backward glance. "I need to see to my horse, I'll be right back!"
The Myrian's panicked expression faded as soon as he was out of sight of the Silvertongue. He followed the flow of the crowd for half a street, until he was near the alley that ran behind the short row of stores and enterprises that called the Gated Community Home. Trash and garbage were arrayed behind it, along with one heavy, hulking, stinking pile of compost-
-and that was what Razkar dashed towards, confident that all eyes would be on the gate, the bodies, the masterful and macabre street theater that Jax had created. No-one saw him duck into the gloom of the alley, and those that did discarded the sight instantly.
They had bigger problems.
Hidden behind the piles, Razkar moved quickly. He undid his rucksack and swiftly pulled the chainmail dress that Edward had worn over his head, tugging it down until it was almost at his knees. Then the tunic went on, and finally the helmet, the whole process taking little more than a chime.
Already he could hear the initial chaos dying down. The sizzle and slosh of water being brought up and thrown at the flames; voices lowered from hysteria to mere annoyance and awe. Dragoons restoring order... but no voice querying as to a Myrian.
Razkar looked at his home for a few hours and swallowed hard. Even flies avoided some sections of that garbage tip, but Edward had said it would still be a few days before it was collected. And until then... it was a good enough burrow.
"The things I do," he muttered darkly, climbing into the nearest, widest pail, and twisting himself deep into the garbage, settling a thick layer of it over him, "To fulfill my vows..."
