[Various] Boxes and chains

by **Fallon** on March 18th, 2014, 8:46 am

26th Spring 514AV

Daybreak had barely dipped over the city. A multitude of dulled hues cast themselves over the ramshackle rooftops, a morning mist scattering the rays into the gloom. Dampness hung there; the oppressive weight stuck to the skin, slowly seeping its way into the limbs of the living and sapping the warmth from them. But for the moment it was calm. The remains of the drunken were sprawled in the alleyways, dwelling in their own filth and a haze of some strong beverage – but lost completely in some world of dreams.

It was only a few days ago that Fallon had stumbled across this job purely by chance. And it was by following that single chance that lead her to today’s work. It was an escort of goods from the Castle commons to the docks for some merchant, a simple straight forward task good for easing one into the role of a mercenary. Or at least that was what Fallon kept telling herself. The wood of the building gave a groan, a gentle creak upon its structure before falling silent. Stamping her feet, the mercenary looked down the twisted streets of the compound and then up to the allotted meeting point - warehouse nine. There was nothing overly distinctive about it, the weathered wood caked in a layer of grime made it match the other buildings with ease and if it was not for the rusted number left upon the door.

Kukri, check. Tulwars, check. Armour, check. Client? Nearly.

It was with those gloved fingertips that Fallon massaged her brow, the blinks pushing away a tired mind. She needed her focus, to be able to concentrate at what was necessary for her to do. Guard, protect, it was a simple A to B task – obviously due to the size and nature of it the article required guarding. And how it was kept relatively hushed lead her to believe the client in question was rather protective over it. Sucking in the air, she rapped her knuckle upon the door the dull tones vibrating through to the world beyond and leaving her to wait.

Questionable, worrying, she had the list of things she needed to know beforehand. Routes, the cargo, the nature of it, how many people would be there to assist or simply get in the way. Her lips pursed into a line, a gentle rocking on her heels as she waited. Behind the door there was a scrabbling, a flurry of hands picking at the latch and allowing a slit of darkness to peer back. Beady eyes narrowed down, the scruffy chin of a man almost prickling as he stared, ”Who the petch are you?”
“Bitzer the mercenary. I’m here to escort and be a drain on your gold resources,” she gave a curl of the lips, her gaze meeting his. She watched him pause, then turn his head in to look back inside. Another voice spoke, ”Let her in lad, she speaks truth.”

With the chasm of the warehouse opening up before her, Fallon turned her gaze to the small picking of others. Rough, nervous, the energy betrayed them – an anticipation almost for something to happen. The man who answered the door had a crutch, she could see that now, his gaze staring menacingly at her. But that was not the only thing she noticed. Eyes looked upon the merchant – a lanky, greasy looking man with a chain coming down from his wrist and linking itself to a solid looking crate. There was a frown, her eyes flickering between the faces, ”So, what do you need me to do?”
”Steady on lass, got another coming first. Then we’ll talk business.”

proposed travel route :

by **Kaie** on March 19th, 2014, 9:00 pm

The break of Syna over Sunberth's unflattering skyline had not been a very welcomed sight. For most of the drunken idiots still slouched like corpses against the grotesque collection of buildings and street corners, the event was more like a vicious assault than a peaceful dawn. To them the brilliant arrival of the Sun Goddess in all her radiance was none other than a rude awakening. No one needed to experience the City of Anarchy through daylight to know what kind of world it was. Its stench was always potent enough for one to infer its rich history. A single day of experiencing its usual suffering and nefarious inhabitants should've been enough to drive any visitor into the hills screaming. Unfortunately not everyone had the luxury of escape. Some simply had no choice but to weather its sinister storm.

One jungle or another. It makes no difference, Kaie thought bitterly to herself as she navigated through the uninviting streets as clumsily as a deyhan traversing Falyndar. Her head had been pounding like a hammer upon an anvil since she dragged herself out of her place of stay. Apparently the consequences of a merciless hangover coming after a long night of drinking had never occurred to her. Considering her numerous experiences with alcohol since her arrival in Syliras, she should've known better. Still she had remembered the significance of the day and the place she was expected to be.

A warehouse, they had told her to go. One marked with the number seven. The exchange had been shady as most mercenary employers tended to prefer it, and the young Myrian woman didn't ask more questions than necessary. From what she gathered it was a rather "elementary" (as they had described it) job moving goods from one place to another. All she needed to do was provide some support if anyone decided to intervene. None of the concept was new, and remembering the absolute nightmare she had experienced with Senghor and Crypt in the caves outside Ravok, this contract would be a breeze. Though a whisper did warm her of the most obvious fact she'd discovered upon her arrival: nothing comes easy in Sunberth.

Several chimes later and she was staring at the rusty old door marked with what she had previously been told was the number "seven." Kaie gave it a solid couple of knocks before stepping back distrustfully. That's when the door was cracked open and a pair of beady eyes glared at her from the space.

"The petch you looking for, savage?"

"Someone asked this savage for an extra sword," She shot back coolly with fiery amber eyes that bore into his with a hint of mild indignation. "My name is Kaie. Did I come to the right place?" This time her tone was far less challenging if not more respectful. All the while her expression remained curiously neutral. The scruffy man found himself eyeing the gladius at her hip and the pair of kukri peeking out from behind her back when a voice called from within.

"That's the Myrian I mentioned. Let her through and we'll begin."

The door swung open and with a polite nod the bronzed woman slipped past the first man. Immediately she found herself scanning the faces within, more notably the ones she could only assume were her new comrades. Kaie did her best to maintain her facade of indifference. They weren't there to shake hands and make nice. It was all about business and reputation. In her small wealth of experience, there wasn't a single sellsword she'd ever met that wasn't in it purely for the money. Most didn't give a damn who they left behind. Best to keep to yourself, do the job right, and watch your own back before one of their swords accidentally finds itself embedded in it.

by **Fallon** on March 20th, 2014, 9:54 am

Fallon folded her arms, her eyes blinking away the tired feeling. Words swirled throughout her mind, the drawn conclusions from yesterday’s meeting whilst she willed focus onto the task at hand. If there was one other, it meant that their numbers were at least five – she was not about to include the cripple in the numbers, he did not look exactly in any form for defending anything. Her tongue clicked, a gentle puffing of cheeks as she drew her attention onto the task. There was the dulled knock, the sharp words of peg leg as he addressed whoever it was.

Savage? Oh, Myrian. Please, for the love of the gods, don’t be Razkar.

It was perhaps fortunate for Fallon that a bronze skinned woman came in as a posed to some piercing covered tattooed man; a low whistle escaped her lips to smother that sigh of relief and for a tick. Her hand rested on the hilt of the tulwar, her eyes quickly skipping over to the rest of the men and finally the chained merchant. There was a pause, an incline of the head as she met his gaze, ”Gonna start now chainer?”
The merchant gave a rattle of the chain followed by a sneer, ”Real smart Mercenary aren’t ya? So, this is what you need to do.”

His finger gave a tap to the chest he was shackled to, ”You horrible lot are going escort me, my brother-” there was a point at the cripple at that point, ”-and this to the docks in one piece. Anyone who comes near, looks funny, and tries to make a grab you slit ‘em a second smile.” Fallon narrowed her eyes down to the chest, her brow creased into a line with careful thought. It sounded straight forward enough, but still the questions buzzed and her mind ticked over with thought, until finally she asked, ”Why are you chained to it?”
“Insurance,” was his response, ”Don’t trust any of you lot to carry it. You lot are like thieves. Blood sucking and ruthless. But you get the job done for the right price.”

One of the other mercenaries, a bald man, gave a snort and shook his head. His eyes gave a burn at the merchant, a craggily voice erupting from behind a beard, ”Just remember, for the right price we can also turn our heads away or better yet gut you good. See if you squeal like a little piggy.”
“Calm it petcher,” the lad at the door spoke up. There was a responsive grunt, a sign for a man itching for fight by the way he cracked his knuckles. It was Fallon’s lids however that pinched at him and then to the merchant. So, they were a group seemingly built on nothing but coin. Good, to have any other ties with them would only provide room for exploitation. Clearing her throat she spoke again, ”Taking of prices. What you paying us?”
“So she shows her true colours at last!” He gave a point at her, ”Fifty. Each. Once I’m delivered of course. Reasonable?”

Pausing she rocked on her heels, eyes darting between them all again- the merchant, the cripple, the bald man and finally the Myrian – before finally giving a nod. It was not often that someone could throw about money like that. More so in Sunberth, thieves often jumped at the opportunity to lighten pockets where possible, ”Of course, but… What’s in the box? I want to know what I’m defending and the risk with it. Judging by what you’re pa-”
“Nothing you need to worry about,” was the snap response. His eyes turned to the Myrian at that point an almost patronising tone erupting out, ”You understanding me enough savage? Gonna bite if things get too close? Like a good dog?”

by **Kaie** on March 28th, 2014, 1:29 am

With the word "Myrian" spoken, several heads snapped in her direction to observe the savage now in their midst. No doubt the old bedtime tales of murderous cannibals from a world so far away were briefly imagined before the woman truly entered their view. Their eyes were distrustful, some hardening with unspoken hostility as if to defend themselves from her presence. Without another word Kaie casually passed through the door and made her way closer to the gathering. It wasn't long before the only other woman in the room reminded their employer of the task at hand.

His directions had proved very straight forward and easy to follow. It was a common escort job. All they had to do was get two men and their valuable from point A to B, and run their swords through any suspicious faces that come too close. Simple. Yet the savage woman had not forgotten where she was. In Sunberth, nothing was ever "simple" in any definition of the word. She had learned that the hard way, and with a job like this, Kaie had come to understand there was usually some kind of catch. Goddess bless them all if these men proved her otherwise. At least there was a valid explanation for one of them being chained to a chest.

As the short haired woman mercenary was thoroughly discussing business, Kaie couldn't help but let her eyes wander back to her new comrades. A couple pairs of eyes constantly flickered toward her uneasily up until there was talk of money. Overall they seemed to be a mediocre lot at best. One seemed to think himself quite the joker, but his statement only reinforced the Myrian's distrust for the city and its denizens. Like rabid dogs they'd turn on anyone even without coin in the equation. All it depended on was how long you proved yourself a valuable asset, or someone decided to pay well enough for a change in loyalty.

Suddenly a familiar, masculine voice thundered in her direction that was met with the steely amber glare of the jungle-born. Her lips parted but at first nothing was said. Her tongue pressed against the inside of her cheek and a bitter curl came to her lips for but a tick. Only when she had managed to restrain the aggressive, defiant reply that danced to tantalizingly upon her lips did she answer.

"Sure. Just as long as you keep your end of the deal. Wouldn't want me biting the wrong hand would we?"

OOC:Sorry about this! I had thought I replied to this ages ago!

by **Fallon** on April 2nd, 2014, 10:09 pm

Eyes winced slightly, her brow meeting into a line to the merchant spoke. Tact was obviously not his strong point and the way the energy seemed to pass between the two for a few ticks did nothing to prove otherwise. There was a slight cock of the brow, her eyes narrowing into focus as she stared between the pair. It was perhaps for a moment she was unnerved by what exact the response would be. The last Myrian she met was rather forceful, blunt, rude and straight to the point. Not that manners could truly be asked for in Sunberth.

Lips broke into a curl, a flicker of amusement to the quick witted response – but no words were spoken. The Merchant the rest of the ragtag collection were starting to make a move. For a moment Fallon stood aside, the gentle pat of equipment as she checked it was all there. That subtle reassurance that things were at hand. With a nod, she pivoted round to listen to the orders. He gave a point to both of them, the finger darting between the pair, ”The Myrian and Bitzer are at the back. I want your eyes watching what’s behind.”
“If that’s what you want,” came the nonchalant mumble in response, ”What is the route?”
“Like I’m gonna petching tell you that.”

It was never straight forward with work, more so in the general area of the mercenary trade. There was always a catch, something that was missed out – like the contents for one. Wrapped up behind words and securities, to seek and smother the trail where possible. A giant secret that sent her blood bubbling with curiosity. Eyes blinked from face to face, a final flicker as she took them in and weighed them up in her mind. If there was anything she knew about Sunberthians it was that they knew how to scrap – to a degree at least. And none seemed to be afraid of a bit of blood. Shrugging she took up the position at the back, giving only a quick nod in acknowledgement.

Feet crunched, wood groaned the nervous heads of men as they poked out of the doorway. For a tick Fallon held back, a low sigh of annoyance escaping. If they were going to be frightened at every turn or at every groan and creak, then this was going to be a very long journey. And in return it only amplified the growing feeling that there was something not quite right. Cocking her thumb she spoke to the Myrian, ”Men like this where you come from?” she raised her voice at that point an obvious jab towards the leading half, ”Staring out like frightened children!”

A glare was shot back, followed by a snort. Put out by the other side of the species, the men filed out and the mercenary promptly trailed behind. She needed to keep a level head, she knew that. So the two brothers were jumpy, what of it? Paranoid, watching out for their own skin – that was the case for most people though. This however seemed to be a bit much. Ears twitched, the hands resting upon the hilt of the tulwar ready, the faint drum of digits on steel in the air of the alleyways. And in the moment of that silent march, her eyes continued to drift to the Myrian and the copper sheen. Fallon gave a cough in an attempt to break the entire noiselessness of it all, and promptly spoke to the partner in the back guard.

”What’s your name again?” she was straight to the point, ”Don’t want to keep referring to you as Myrian. Bit ridiculous to refer to your entire race just to pick you out among this rag tag.” There was a pause, the cocking of the head to one side as she spoke once more, ”Aren’t you uh… kind of small for a Myrian?”

Sooner this job is over, the sooner I can stop this awkward questioning.

by **Kaie** on April 10th, 2014, 2:37 am

He was rather elusive, this employer of theirs. He was so curiously dodgy when it came to questions and details but he was a man who obviously knew exactly what he wanted. It was clever, really, keeping the lot of them in the dark like that. The last few big jobs she had worked were with quite a different sort of leaders. Razkar had been the type to lay a map carefully across a table and take his crew through the ploy every step of the way, smoking a fat wad of Taloba Grey carelessly while he was at it. Sevris liked to welcome his guests into a prestigious office in Ravok, sharing intel to complete strangers he trusted to declare loyalty to the mission if only for the coin. Unfortunately Kaie was no longer in Syliras or Ravok where such assumptions were safer. Men like these did not survive as long as they had by operating openly like fools. Uncertainty was sometimes the best defense against a knife in the dark.

A sharp nod of agreement from the Myrian was enough to satisfy questions of her cooperation. Her amber eyes shifted toward Bitzer, scanning her frame and visible weaponry for a couple ticks before finding the man in charge once more. Despite how often trouble found her, Kaie had never been too keen about the idea of having her back exposed to a potentially hostile crowd. The fact they might be transporting something of greater value (which is usually an incentive for "interruptions" along the way) didn't help much. Absently, her hand went to her sword hilt.

Hope whatever's in this damned box is worth it, She thought as she watched the skittish pair peek out into the streets like a pair of ground rodents from a hole. Pink lips twisted at the sight unimpressed but the emotion didn't exactly reach her face. To her new comrade's comment the Myrian exhaled a bitter laugh.

"Taloba isn't exactly known for breeding cowards," Kaie answered bluntly, a gleam of amusement appearing in her eyes in light of the indignant glares. Before long the two women had fallen into their prospective roles behind the merry band. Her slender fingers were wrapped tightly around the hilt of her sword, tapping silently against the wood as they moved. Every now and then her head would ease to one side or the other to scan their backs.

"They say few of my people comes this far anyways so Myrian is what I usually get, but my name is Kaie. I'd tell you my clan name too but I've found your kind has little use of it here." She peered down an alley way as they passed. For a moment the common sight was undeniable even in the shadows between stumpy, damaged buildings. A girl no older than ten slumped unceremoniously against one of the walls, her blonde hair matted and obscuring the features of her face. The arm that had flopped to her side into Syna's rays was rigid and pale. Had anyone tried to carry her off, Kaie was sure the girl would've shattered in their arms. A few steps later she was gone. Out of sight and out of mind.

"I'm not that short." Kaie blinked at the woman (whom she only then realized was just barely taller) in bewilderment for a moment, brow knit as if deciding whether she should feel offended. "Besides, it just means I can be quicker," She added after a tick of silence with a passive shrug. Another long pause was filled with the sound of the deliberate steps of those ahead and the obnoxious clinking of the chains. Subtlety apparently wasn't really this crew's strong suit.

"You're the first women mercenary I've worked with, Bitzer. What is that anyways? Bitzer some sort of nickname?"

by **Fallon** on April 18th, 2014, 6:48 pm

"Kaie, right, right... I'll try to remember that," she gave a nod and focused on keeping in step with the woman, "You're right on the clan thing, out here with us filth savage humans we have very little use for them. So, we'll work on what merit you can bring based upon how much you can carve up instead. And as for the women mercenaries... well, I guess we're a rare species. And congratulations!" her hand reached out to give a pat upon the back, "You're the first to actually ask, so I will enlighten you. Bitzer is my working name, and means..." her lips pursed together with thought, "Well something made of unrelated bits. Like a mongrel dog."

Her eyes gave a turn, a full pivot round as she took in the world behind her, eyes darting down the narrowing alleyway and checked for those who may have been following, before once more returning to the front. Somewhere beneath the dirt and grime, hidden in the shadows of the alley was ones who fancied themselves on a lucky break. On looking for that opportunity to strike out and attack this little group for whatever they were transporting. Her skin prickled, her nostrils twitching as it took in the distinct bitter scent of the city.

It would be a lie to say Fallon was not nervous. The walls of the alley way was closing in leaving them barely able to stand two aside - a choke point should someone decide to come out of one of the adjacent shadows or turns. Lacking space to draw and provide big powerful swings - more so when there was others all around her. Steps clicked, chains rattled and the steel hummed as the men ahead bickered. Fallon's hand gave a flick from the tulwar and then turned to the kukri, "Yes you are short. Then again, they say all good things come in small packages."

Clearing her throat, the mercenary broke a grin her brow rising to the shrug to the comeback of the myrian. It was with the shake of a head she returned her attention solely to the task at hand, "A snail is small, but it does not mean it is fast. A mouse is fast, but a cat is bigger and quicker. Size is not everything. Just like brute force." Shoulders rolled, her hands rising to create a set of scales, "After all, what use is being quick if you can do nothing with the sp-."

There was a thud, followed by the vibrating twang of metal. With a foot off the ground, the mercenary paused, her form having frozen by the sudden noise. Her peripheral revealed the quivering dagger, her eyes sliding towards the vibrating weapon stuck within the wood of one of the warehouse walls. The other men had frozen in place themselves, the chained one having lifted the box to use as a make shift shield with its own protruding weapon. Eyes did not take long to glance between the faces, and her head quickly snapped around to the distinctly angry shout; "Petching arsehole! You missed! Get 'em!"

The two contractors at that point began to shriek, surprised that they were quickly being set upon. Feet trampled, a pair of thugs darting out of the alley way in the middle of the group - daggers bare, and their eyes looking wide. With the crippled brother on the side of Kaie and Fallon, and the others opposite the group was split. Both were looking for an opportunity, their daggers keen as they

"Lets save this conversation for later!" Fallon blinked, her hand slapping down onto the hilt of the kukri and drew it. It was a narrow space, it made sense to use a smaller weapon. With the left hand reaching up and firmly pulling the brother back behind them. The kukri came clean, a step forward to barge into the closer one. And all the while the chained merchant let out a fearful cry, "It's the Hound! The Hound and his little gang! He wants our chest!"

by **Kaie** on April 29th, 2014, 4:26 pm

There was an amused tug at the corners of her lips when the other woman mentioned "filthy savage humans." It was strange and somewhat refreshing to hear the phrase used more objectively, rather than reserved solely for her people. Just the way Bitzer spoke had the Myrian's attention. It wasn't saturated so obviously in greed and ambition she found in most conversations in Sunberth. Hers had more thought to it, and with the explanation of the strange alias, Kaie was already beginning to find her clever. For a tick the question of why such a name was chosen in the first place did loom in her mind. It was not voiced. They were comrades for the time being but still strangers, and sellswords at that. Such inquiries were not hers to make. No one enjoyed a mercenary that was all too curious and sharp tongued. Not here.

Her fiery gaze wandered forward at the sound of rattling chains. It was a minor disturbance but a notable one that would draw any curious bystander's attention. She supposed that's why they were hired in the first place though, to strike down any foolish enough to approach or question. The clamber was an unnecessary risk, perhaps, but Kaie couldn't wholly blame the man. Sellswords were known for being anything but honorable. Characters taken out of Sunberth proved only to be worse. Anyone could be bought and sold for one cause or another for nothing more than some circular pieces of metal. There was merit to his paranoia, even if his measures were queer.

It wasn't long before the group had slipped through the jaws of an alley, whose walls raced downward with dribbles of mottled filth. It seemed to be squeezing them down its throat as it narrowed. The hairs upon the Myrian's arms seemed to stand on end, her eyes sweeping upward every so often. Once there came the skitter of claws toward them, but before Kaie had the rashness to gut whatever it was, a tattered, flea-bitten mutt scampered along the walls and back into the shadows. A few savage curses were uttered silently before Bitzer broke the tension.

"True," She offered back, considering the worth of the statement. A fat stone was roughly kicked from her path. "In the end both short and tall fall just the same when a sword is shoved through their hearts." Finally she allowed her eyes to break from the path ahead to study Bitzer. A single brow arched curiously, closely following her words of reason. That is until it was brutally cut off in the fiercest of ways.

Kaie stomped her leading foot into the dirt, leaning backward to ensure not another step was taken forward. The pyres in her eyes were wide, flashing between her companion and the vicious blade wedged into the wood like a hatchet to a tree. Both called for the same thing: war. The gladius at her side shrieked its battle cry as it left its sheath. A murderous curl came upon her lips and not a tick was wasted before she was crouched defensively. Already

"It's the Hound! The Hound and his little gang! He wants our chest!"

Petch the hound, The Myrian thought bitterly a mere moment before she lurched forward before the cripple. Whoever he is...

"Goddess Queen, cast your eyes upon your daughter and hear my words. It is their blood I shall claim for you..."

by **Fallon** on May 8th, 2014, 6:27 pm

The shoulder crashed into the forward most one, a crunch as she felt the muscle collide with the surface. Somewhere behind the crippled brother was complaining, a scrabble as he tried to escape the feet of the Myrian, the low gutural tongue of her people rumbling out. Fallon was not really paying attention to what was being said by that point, her immediate concern was on the task before her. Disable and eliminate the foe. She gave a blink, a turn round upon the foot as she continued the throwing of weight against the attacker. A rebound, she staggered onto her back foot in recoil, a rock of movement.

The merchant and the other mercenary seemed to have one of their own to deal with, though there was only a stolen flicker as to what was going on. Somewhere there was a gurgle of noise, but that right now did not grasp her immediate attention. She brought the kukri across, recoiling it back and then throwing her weight into it. A firm forward thrust towards her foe. There was a crunch of flesh once more, the hiss as steel sliced across, teeth gritting as the adrenal to fight throbbed within her ears. Teeth snapped, left hand swinging round in a broad arc - weak and predictable at best - into the jaw of her chosen target.

Another press, she felt her leading shoulder press into the man. A second rebound, she heard the scrabbling behind her, the eyes darting back and forth to what was going on around her. Blood, she heard blood, and the crunch and the song of steel. There was a rhythm there, it was just finding it. A glance down to the nick within the clothing, before once more she went forward, a firm press as she watched the man take a dive at the chest and a firm yank upon it.

"No you petching don't!" came the objecting shout. Leaping at him from the small space there was a thrust down upon him, teeth gritting as the pair were knocked off their feet. If there was anything Fallon knew she was not good at it was fighting in smalls spaces, weapons were limited, swings had to be replaced with thrusts, tackles and punches. The fist recoiled again, pressing down onto the hilt as she let instinct guide it forward. A gurgle, a cry, followed by a crunch as she met the ground. For a moment there was a pause, eyes following down to where she had impaled the man with the blade. A stagger up to her feet, it was her gaze that looked down and focused upon him - if only for a beat.

Hands grasped around the kurki hilt, shoulders rolling and arms tensing as she worked on shimmying it free. Somewhere else there was another grunt, a ring of metal and the yelp of a retreat, to pull back. Somewhere behind her she heard the snivelling brother. Disorganised as a group, it became clear now. There was no structure, no understanding of work as a group. Teeth gritted, a squelch as she brought herself up a lean back as one of them pushed past to make their escape. Numbers, she needed to count, how many attacked? She wiped her eyes, a quick deflect of a blade as it came her way, one? No. More, two or three?

"How many where there?" she muttered. There was a glance down, then up and around. Her toe gave the bleeding corpse a nudge, "We all in one piec-"
"You should be doing your job better!" She heard the merchant snapping. Fallon grinded her teeth, eyes glaring down upon him as he continued his hollering, "Petching, stupid, mercenaries! You're supposed to p Can't even get an attack from the Houn-"
"That's not the Hound," Fallon growled and then pointed the kurki to him, "Now, you done yammering? Or do you want to stand around here waiting for round two?" She cocked her head forwards and in the direction they were heading, a firm tone escaping. They wanted a mercenary, they were getting one alright, "Get the cripple up, and let's get moving. Come on! You want to live? Then get your arse in gear Chainer!"

by **Kaie** on May 16th, 2014, 8:46 pm

With the crippled brother at her back and well out of the way, the Myrian had the luxury of focusing solely on the bloody task at hand. Like spiders from the dark, a pair of cutthroats crept into view and interrupted the continuation of their shoddy organization. Greedy sneers played across their dusty faces, beady eyes settling upon their prize every so often. An ambitious lot for certain, and no different than the rest lurking about the city's streets. If the savage and intruders had anything in common, it was their understanding of one golden rule: shiny prizes were always paid first in crimson blood.

Kaie hadn't realized she was making a cautious, swift advance until one of the pair's eyes found hers. The grubby man grunted and made for her with what looked to be a half rusted butcher's knife. The savage fell back into a defensive crouch. Copper fingers fidgeted around the ancient wooden grooves of her father's last gift, her free hand's fingers curling toward claws as if she couldn't decide between open palm and fist. There was a grunt and the sound of bodies colliding, but the foreigner was too consumed to glance for the sound. Within a tick she had let out a furious cry and launched her sword arm forward in a thrust. Their lethal dance had begun.

Her gladius butchered only empty space. The commoner had slipped from her aim and out of the way, jerking his knife down toward her arm. The Myrian reeled back from the attempt and swung her blade in a wide arch meant to split his middle. The steel shrieked and thudded miserably against the side of one of the wooden buildings. The sword actually bit through and wedged itself into the establishment, forcing the Myrian to desperately tug it free before the cutthroat succeeded in his try at running her through. She began to edge backward, teeth grit and right knuckles white in a flustered grip.

The space is too narrow...He has the advantage.

"Oh, petch this," Kaie cursed bitterly and shoved the godsforsaken weapon back into its sheath where it belonged. Her foe all but guffawed at her folly. The woman took a deep breath and relaxed her fingers. Rather than childish, frustrated balled up fists, calm and opened palms lifted into a guard before her. This time she let the butcher make the first move.

The knife moved wildly before her, a false thrust that she almost fell for, and then a vicious diagonal wipe downward toward where her neck met her shoulder. That's when she moved. Feet shuffled quickly into the attack and her left arm lifted to bar the swipe at the man's wrist. The right palm turned rapidly into a fist that struck right into the bridge of his nose. A snap resounded and a sharp cry followed, but before the man could process the blood spurting from his nostrils, a sharp kick was sent to his groin. As he doubled over in agony, the woman clasped both hands around the wrist and awkwardly jerked the weapon inward toward his body. The knife was relinquished to her grasp.

"Petching bitch!" He gurgled out at her, lips painted red with the fountain that washed down the lower half of his face. Yet before he could sway upright once more, Kaie drove the butcher's knife into his middle once...then again...and again. The third time he dropped like a heavy sack into the filth. That's when she finally dropped to a knee beside him, weapon hand bloodied and lungs heaving, and stared down at him. It was not the time for theatrics. No overzealous mockery or praise for her sacrifice of the dying man. There was merely no place for it and Kaie hadn't the patience. He was moaning loudly, and she silence him with a juvenile prod to the throat. The rusted makeshift melee tool was left to rot where she placed it.

Bitzer's voice brought the Myrian back to attention. She rose and flicked the stray blood from her hand with a rapid extension of her fingers from her fist. Tensed, amber eyes scanned over the bodies of those that remained. Shockingly, injuries were minimal...but when did she get that long dice across the back of her tricep? The bronzed woman shook her head curiously, but was quickly distracted by the verbal argument between her new comrade and their employer. Ungrateful bastard. Lucky we don't carve him up and pry that petching chest from his dead hands.

Rather than add more fuel to the fire, Kaie did a rare thing and held her tongue. Without so much as a nod of agreement, the jungle-born stormed back to the crippled brother and tugged him up by his elbow with as much grace as she could stomach. The man seemed to quiver at the suddenness of her aid, or perhaps that was the sight of the blood caked about the hand that gripped him. It didn't matter. He was on his feet and they needed to move.

"Let's get the petch out of this petching alley...before anymore idiots get wise," Kaie growled as she eased back in her position. Her fingers clenched and released at her sides twice like they were physically ridding themselves of tension. Then her right hand rested permanently back upon her sword handle. Her next utterance was quieter and offhand, directly solely toward Bitzer. "So...how'd you know it wasn't this Hound character?"

Closed [Various] Boxes and chains