Closed Fishing Daggers I: A Beginning

[Zandelia]

Spring 39th, 514 AV - A Street Corner Near You


As she leant against the for once firm wooden wall of a building, dark night leather covered by the rippling, sinuous cloak upon the breeze, she reflected that it would always have started this way if left up to her - which it had for the most part. Not with the clashing of blades and the drum beat of foot soldiers upon packed dirt. With the watching, waiting and quietly brutal workings of cunning and efficiency. If the Scars were to rise, to become something that Sunberth sorely required them to be, then they would have to be bloodied and she held the right means to make it so. Daggerhand had been shattered by the death of Robern but far from eliminated in the daily little skirmishes for supremacy. Some leaders were emerging, new and filled with far more vitriol than Robern had ever possessed. They were arrogant, sadistic and foolish. They were suspicious of each other despite past loyalties and she suspected that until a true leader to unite them all appeared from the corpses then their weakness would become the Scar’s strength.

There is no turning back now, not for Fallon or myself. The others…well they have nothing to keep them to us. No promises, or oaths. Their time is given freely, if such a thing can exist in this city. But with what I offer there must be a few at least who will respond she told herself, the idea of going about the task set alone was irksome but not impossible.

Three Daggerhand, three sources of information and thus three opportunities to reach out and grasp something. It wasn’t as much about what they knew precisely as it was about learning something, anything about the inner-thoughts of their enemies. Forewarned was forearmed after all and information was the best way of defending one’s self at the first barrier. To take what they knew, twist it and sell it back to them to make them think something else entirely and thus be manipulated. They didn’t have the numbers to crush the Daggerhand and so they would reduce them in increments with hamstringing and confusion.

“My kind of fighting dirty,” she smiled to herself as she pulled the cloak more tightly about herself, the evening was beginning to make itself known as Syna started to fade and slip from the heavens with night in pursuit, “I wonder how far any of them are willing to go to see it done? Would they beat someone just for words? Cut them for the lies?” the questions were pointless, she would learn by watching and then report to her leader - to Fallon.

Unless Fallon turned up, she had been hazy about what she was doing this evening and so there was a chance she would. Zandelia shrugged, it would be all to the good. She wasn’t much of a leader herself. She waited.

The messages had been sent, by word of mouth rather than by parchment this time. Noven, Gad, Matthew, Senghor, Kaie and the rest. It had been a message laced with the promise of a dance with daggers and a showing of how the Scars would operate on some level. The interested parties had been told to meet her, just where she stood, upon the corner and a little jaunt down from Brega’s. She was going to take them to a whorehouse and they would hopefully love her for it. Once the scheme was placed before them that was. People could be fickle abut danger but there was little dangerous about half-drunk individuals whom were small prey. It was a means to an end, they would get their toes a little wet and then see whether they wanted to jump in with her.

Of course, Lhex was a fickle bastard and as such she expected anything. She had had them watched - this trio. Her eyes and ears had spied, reported and followed. Had felt out their habits and even managed to garner some more specific details that had been interesting but not ultimately overly useful. Still, it proved to her that what she was building was getting better, if only marginally. It was better than nothing. She had spoken to Fallon about the situation briefly of course, explained the plan as it developed and was helpfully refined within their conversations. Matthew, of course, had been informed beforehand - he worked at the brothels and thus was a useful insider. She had given him descriptions and names as best she could but knew not if he had managed to follow up on them.

She waited, toying with the handles of her tonfa as she did so, metal gauntlet scratching upon metal weapon. Peering into the night, head turning to keep her peripheral vision as complete as was possible with only one working eye. The thieves and thugs would be out soon and she wasn’t going to be jumped by either if she had her way of it.

[Kaie]

There was something in the very core of the savage that seemed to stir as the bells approached those of Akajia's reign. Like some Falyndar beast it was rabid, wild, and insatiable...yet it did not feed on blood, gore and glory. No, that was the realm of another goddess. It feasted upon the thrill that came with falling from one shadow to another and discovering the darkest secrets harbored in the hearts of those wandering the blackness. The craving was for all the promise that came in night's descent. Rather than retiring to several rounds of alcohol at the nearest tavern or standing guard within the Sanctum, tonight Kaie would feed into it.

The Myrian's bladed boots stepped softly along the worn Sunberth streets. As always she was dressed all too formally in her loincloth and leather vest, a somewhat weathered brown cloak billowing in her wake. This time she had neglected to bring her backpack and supplies for the sake of practicality. Her father's gladius, however, thumped against the side of her hip like a loyal companion. Upon her lower back rested the looted leather harness and pair of kukri she'd so quickly become accustomed to. All in all, she'd packed light and for a reason. When the young boy had stopped her just before she entered the Pig's Foot to relay the message, Kaie wasn't quite sure what to expect. One thing was for sure: when a Bitzer called, she answered. Besides, one never knew what to expect when gangs were involved.

Just as Syna departed from the sky in a final stand of bursting color the Myrian had reached the specified location. Rounding a corner, she peered at the nonchalant figure propped against one of the buildings several yards away. The silhouette was one Kaie did not recognize. Other than Matthew and Bitzer, the rest of the emerging group in Sunberth were nothing more than ghosts. Still, the chances the darkly dressed, loitering woman was there for another purpose was slim. Surely this was her contact. And if not...

"Your weapon's new to me. With luck maybe we'll find a head you can demonstrate on, no?" She approached with a mirthful curl to the right corner of her lips. Her right hand instinctively rested upon the hilt of her own sword. "I don't think we've met. My name's Kaie," The bronzed woman added, her Common naturally harsh due to her strong accent. There was a single casual glance back over her shoulder before her attention was returned to the woman in her presence. "But...we can get to the small talk later."

Despite her easy-going entrance, the jungle-born was wary of the stranger. Even before her short time in Sunberth, Kaie had become naturally distrustful of any individual outside that of her own people. Though she had assimilated rather nicely over the years she was stuck in Syliras, everyone around her was still exactly the same. Deyhan. Yet the Myrian female had grown to gradually trust Bitzer, and if Bitzer trusted this woman, cooperation at the very least was necessary.

[Noven]

If there was one thing he'd learned all these years of fueling bottomless hate and scraping by and breaking noses for gold, it sure as fuck wasn't subtlety.

Nov squeezed his eyes shut. Hard enough to see stars. He pressed them with the palms of his hands, counted sheep out loud, rolled over and buried his face into his musty pillow until he could hold his breath no longer. Hell, he even attempted fruitless commands. "Fucking sleep!" he shouted.

No luck.

Was it morning yet? Or still dark? With mammoth effort, the part-cook part-merc turned one bleary, blood shot eye toward his rumpled coat on the ground and mulled. Dark promises of interrogating Daggerhands--a small taste of what operating as a Scar meant--still swirled about in his head like a noxious, ever-present cloud.

Honestly, everything about it all appealed to his vicious, vengeful senses. Not to mention the task itself was made a hundred times simpler with his curse. There was no real reason to turn the invitation down. With the exception, maybe, of one, small problem.

To Nov, most of the Scars were strangers. And he hated working with strangers.

Every time he'd worked a job with unfamiliars--or, as he preferred to call them, unreliable prats--shyke went screwy. Fondly, Noven recalled the time he almost got peppered by arrows and had to sink his hand into a barrel of festering rubbish. Or that time they'd gotten hailed on shortly before being ambushed by a bunch of amateur thieves. That had been more of an irritating waste of his time more than anything else. Or how about that other time when...And the list went on and on.

The young man heaved a sigh as he swung his legs over the rickety bed and rubbed his tired face in his hands. True, this could all be one giant, disastrous mess he was voluntarily stepping into. But at least at the end of that disaster, there would be some dead Daggerhands to show for and possibly a bit of useful information as well. What else did he really have to live for anyway?

Mind more or less decided, Nov got up stiffly to throw on his coat, boots, and gloves before ducking out of his room and locking his door. The message had mentioned something about meeting the blonde haired woman at a corner not far from Brega's. So, to there he trudged.

Jillene raised an eyebrow at his sullen exit, but said nothing. What he did on his time off was none of her business so long as he showed up the next day, relatively on time, to cook for her army of runts.

By the time he had reached the predetermined meeting place, with a blunt stab of stormy feelings arising as he passed by the notorious whorehouse, Nov was rather unsurprised to see he wasn't the first. Timeliness wasn't much his thing, just as mercy for Daggerhands and finer points of socialization weren't either. What did surprise him, though, was the familiar sight of a certain lean, mean-eyed Myrian lass tough enough to give the Isur a run for her money.

"Myrian..." the cook noted with narrowed gaze, more to himself than as an actual greeting. Though, given he offered no further explanation afterward, it might as well served as one anyway. A curt nod in Zandelia's direction covered the rest of his tactless hello's.

Then Nov rested his back against the wall as well and crossed his arms, knowing he had no skill for small talk and making no attempt at it. Instead, he chose to spend his time doing something more useful, like watching for signs of any other members showing up for the fun. Or perhaps some way to initiate said fun a bit early. The city was, after all, always ripe with such opportunities.

[Matthew]

Intelligence was almost painfully easy to gather when it came to a brothel. Granted, half of the time it wasn't anything useful. If Web and Bitzer wanted to know the kinks of about every member of the Daggerhand, well, Matthew could help out with that. When it came to anything different, though? Sadly, it was hard to manipulate the flow of conversation in a brothel. Everyone came here for one thing and it wasn't all that often that the men came for him. There were one or two of course. Sunberth wasn't exactly close-minded. There were only those two though, and they weren't at all useful. So he had turned to buttering up his coworkers. He was liked, or at least he thought he was. From his limited understanding of how it all worked (a wonder, since apparently he was quite talented at socializing, though he never would have guessed it) he was very easy to get along with and had something of a natural charisma. Apparently he was an enigma, and apparently that drew people in. He didn't think he was mysterious at all, and he certainly didn't know that he drew people in. If that was the case though, he would more than happily take advantage of it. He had dropped a few whispers here, a few rumors there. He had found the people that Web had wanted and he had studied them. He had studied them in the House and outside of it, though he hadn't been too concerned with tailing them outside of the area that he was comfortable in. He wasn't the stealthy sort at all and he was very aware of it. There was no need to pretend to be something he wasn't. Eventually though, he had managed to work something out. He had found a particularly habit that was particularly interesting. It was a habit that could be encouraged and then taken advantage of. It also happened to work quite well with where Web had asked them to meet. Hopefully they could capitalize on the moment. Or perhaps the moment would pass and no harm would be done. He had no idea. *** Eyes followed the Harlot but he never really seemed to be aware of it. He was painfully transparent. Web would learn that he had a very strict schedule that he painstakingly followed. He worked a ton, and when he wasn't working he was volunteering at the only Clinic in town. An odd choice for a whore, but he had probably mentioned to her than he did have some medical experience. Interestingly enough, he had a morning ritual. Almost every morning was a bath or a scrub in cold water. There were soaps, shampoos, hair products, lotions, and all sorts of other little details here and there. He paid attention to every little detail or he was incredibly OCD. Perhaps both. He wasn't actually the definition of OCD though, and he would even find that as a bit insulting to those who were OCD. It wasn't a handicap in his case. It wasn't even a burden to bare. It was just Matthew, proper and polite, simple and methodical in the life of a overly-clean whore. Information was information, though. *** There had been the matter of where they were going to meet. It was perfect for the idea he had in mind, which he would share with Web if he ever got the chance. Looking back on their meeting, he was unsure if he knew how to get ahold of her if he really needed to. If he wasn't able to let her know though, he had the idea that it would still be okay. His plan was just an extra touch to make things a little easier, really. It wouldn't put any of them at immediate risk. However, if one of them did mess something up, Matthew wanted to make sure he was in a place where he had the advantage. He had taken some time to glance around their meeting spot. It was a corner, an alleyway nearby, then a random assortment of Sunberthian structures to follow. There wasn't anything of much use in the alleyway, though he had found a series of rotting wooden crates that made for something of a difficult climb. He had made the climb, slow and steady. He had to put a hand here, tug himself up there, step lightly over this particularly black wooden board. There was been a spot where he had to make a small hop, the probably simple journey combining acrobatic and climbing skills that Matthew didn't have. Therefor, the little journey had gone and taken almost an entire bell. He had ended up practicing just out of annoyance at his own capabilities. Hand here, tug up there, step lightly over this, then the little hop. After a few bells of practice he was still no better than how he had started. In the end, it had only led to the roof. There was an abandoned makeshift shelter nearby that smelled of something horrid. Perhaps a private hideway for some beggar? Really though, if he thought about it, it would work. *** He had clambered up early. He had brought some pieces of cloth with him that he could drape out over the wooden roof so that he wouldn't get any kind of muck on himself. He had dressed in simple black clothes that he could get dirty and hopefully wash out easily, just in case. He was still as stylish as ever though, having an eye for clothing that seemed to fit him in such a way that it showed off all of his more pleasing assets. He was still up on the roof shadowing the corner when he realized that it was probably about time to meet. Peering over the edge, he had been met with the sight of Web, Noven, and Kaie. Tilting his head he settled down with comfortably-crossed legs and sat his arms on the edge of the roof, leaning a bit over it and looking down. Any misconceptions that he was trying to be stealthy or clever in his choice of positioning was instantly dispelled by the fact that he immediately gave away his location with that firm and polite voice of his, just loud enough to be heard. A small trick was to talk into the alleyway so it echoed a bit, but only from the alleyway. Only the people in the small area and right out the outside, the corner, would be able to hear his words. "Apologies if I startle any of you. I am up on the roof. Hello, Noven. Are the children doing well? Hello, Kaie. You look as beautifully deadly as always. Hello, Web. You appear very mysterious and dangerous. Are any others supposed to be here?" He didn't really offer a reason to why he was where he was, just greeted them in his own unique way. It would sound sarcastic if he didn't do it in that deadpan tone with just a hint of softness, as if he was really trying hard to make it sound like he warmly meant every word he said.

[Senghor Vilhjalmr]

It was utterly stupid to think that Senghor would be early, having spent last couple of bells in the Pig's Foot tavern's walls stewing methodically on his next course of action. A conversation with nobody but the caving walls of candlelit darkness put a couple of things into perspective for the warrior - he knew where he had to be and knew who amongst them was mostly likely to show up, a few scrapes and bruises from days former wasn't settling well with him anyway and a tankard in the cleavage of nothingness was all he needed at the moment. With men like Seng or better yet - men of his profession, it always seemed that the creeping walls of death was what made them, it was a stench that they'd become so accustomed too that it fermented off them all. Noven, Garret and whoever the hell could pop into his head at that moment were a common breed of a life that curves for the worst but for him, for Seng it wasn't unknowingly an opportunity. It wasn't often that the desert borne mercenary was called ambitious but in the past seasons, stars be hailed, the bastard was the epitome of the word. And know here he was once again, overthinking something, overthinking his position in all this and where he was in all of it. "Looks like I'm a Vilhjalmr after all..." he referred to the Lost Journal of his ancestry as his index finger trailed slowly around the rim of his somewhat empty tankard, "Let's go see if I don't join the rest tonight..." As he shifted his position and took one final gulp of the rich Sunberthian beer, miza's fell from him as he rewarded the establishment for numbing his pain for the next few bells - off to die than. Stepping out the tavern, Senghor was met by the sight of the stars and the chill of anxiety as it seemed that an epitaph dotted the howling heavens with a vigor nontraditionally comprehended by them. It'd seemed that days sat contemplating, plotting and working had soothed the beast that lingered within the deepest abyss of his soul, yet once again he'd call onto it once more and allow it to flow through his veins if need be, he hoped that the drink calmed him for what was to come... As warrior strode down towards the brothel it seemed that Sunberth sometimes slept at night minus the howls for help from death, rape and assault of course. It was quite enough for him to finally reach the group so 'unconspicuously' hidden in the shadows, Noven, his friend, Web, the blonde, and... Kaie!? "Damn kid...", a sigh seemed to leave his lips as murmured momentarily before he looked up to see what they were all gawking at. It was the male whore, Ma... Mat... Math... Matthew, that's the one. Luckily Senghor caught the last words of the man slip from his lips and decided to add in his own, "I'm here, finally" As sombre as his words were they were true, his golden brown eyes shifted between Kaie and Noven as he bit down on his jaw displeasedly. He wanted to say something but his conscious kept him at bay for a moment, he inclined his head to the side to gather his senses. "So, are we going to stand out here the whole night and let these guys just stroll outta there?..." he questioned as a grim picture of unsettling thoughts painted his visage, "Or are we going to fuck up some Daggerhand scum and call it a night?"

[Gad]

"I don't suppose you'd be willing to not, and just say we did, eh?" Gad called to Senghor as he crawled his way out of the alley. "No? I guess that'd defeat the purpose." His grin wasn't devious or one to be mistrusted, though there seemed to be a little pain in the lips that were pulled tight from ear to ear. "You all got here before me this time." Gad noted, dispassionately. He'd seen Matty up on the roof first, which let him know just where to head. Then Senghor, and as he approached, he let his eyes roll over each of them, from one to the next. That girl. The one he'd met on the first of the season, over at the Fishbowl. Gad didn't expect to see her there. His grin disappeared, dissolved into an expression of slight puzzlement, with raised eyebrows and slightly pursed lips. "Didn't expect to see you here Sweet Cheeks. Still got that perky- ...smile, I see." He ground out a low chuckle as his grin rematerialized. His eyes shifted now, again, to each of the crew. Matty up on the roof, which was weird, but whatever. Noven and Seng wore their signature expressions of malcontent, though Sennghor's was lit with the glow of deviant fantasies, and of course, Web sitting there with this look on her face like she knew a secret that she wasn't telling. She probably did, from what Gad knew about her. "Well, don't worry, now that the Great Gad has arrived, you may proceed." He said it in a way that you could tell he only kind of meant it. "Really though, have we got a plan about how to do this or is everyone going to just pick a dancing partner and try not to step on any toes?" Gad wasn't being glib, or wasn't trying to, at least. The slick talk was just a way to smooth over how rough he was feeling about all this. He wasn't afraid to defend himself, and he'd killed people before, but only when he thought his life depended on it. This... this whole concept was something far and away from the kind of work he was used to. The thought of courting this kind of danger, the very physical kind of violence he'd be drawn into, it set him on edge. None of them would know it, but he'd spent the bells preceding this tipping back Sunberth Shanties at the Seacow, tossing his dice across the table, and hoping to diving some kind of omen from the random numbers two through twelve. In the end, he'd resolved he'd just go to see what it turned into. At least, that's what he told himself. He remembered, about a year ago, when he was getting in over his head snooping around old Daggerhand haunts. What he'd been searching for, he didn't find. Now, he was getting closer than he'd anticipated. The part of him that trembled was drowned by that part that would stretch his arm out and grabbed what it desired. That's why he was really here, he guessed. So, all the pieces to the puzzle assembled, he supposed it was time to see the picture for what it was. The man-whore, the savage girl, the warrior cook, the blood-letter, the spider, and the grifter. These volatile characters each had their own reason to hang in this organization, the Scars. Gad wondered, what kind of scar each of them were. Cuts, scraps, gashes, burns? None of them looked as gruesome as all that, but there was a reason they'd chosen to do this. Something underneath those pretty faces, a different kind of scar maybe. But, Gad didn't long to wax philosophical, so it was that he pushed these thoughts out of his mind and readied it for the task ahead. The gruesome job of cutting truth out of a Daggerhand, bleeding the blades themselves and searching the crimson for flecks of truth they could use to draw more blood. Gad leaned his should against the wall and crossed his arms. He turned his ear towards Web, and his eyes darted across the distance, looking for anyone who might get curious about the gathering on the corner.

[Zandelia]

The gathering took some time to assemble but then she was patient and there was no true rush to the fore, no need to initiate plans in haste. The task was a simple one and she could have done it alone, isolated and off of her own abilities and so would not prove to be overly taxing. She had chosen to share the burden for two simple reasons – it kept people involved with events and the group they were trying to form and it also meant she could personally test skills and abilities, temperaments and attitudes. Such things were important now more than ever, what they decided to use to build with would one day be the legacy that was left – if she had her way, if Fallon had her way. But Fallon was otherwise indisposed and so it fell to her to try to lead them as best she could, to direct and instruct if required.

In truth I mean to sit this one out for the most part, unless required. Let them get their hands dirty and see what they are capable of. If they can work together or not she noted to herself as she leant against the wall and nodded to them each in turn.

“Welcome Kaie, you can call me Web. Bitzer has spoken well of you. She sends her regrets she could not be here this evening, but I do not intend on needing my weapon tonight. I have you and that will be enough. If you wish to see them work, however, I’ll be happy to show you privately should you desire. Or upon some other…targets, there are many to choose from” she stated simply, the greeting was warm and inviting, she wished to know the Myrian woman further.

Noven was next, silent and brooding seemed to be his way though there was a note for Kaie that told her they had met before. She was not surprised and in some ways it aided things. Bonds already forged were easier to use and more effective in operation. They were not at each other’s throats and so she assumed it was not a hostile knowing, though she resolved to watch them both closely. Next came Matthew, the voice trickling down from above in its usual way – cutting through the world and she wondered how long he had been above them. She did not allow surprise to flicker across her face, let the others think she knew. She tilted her head upwards to better talk.

“Hello Matthew, did you manage to track the targets well enough? They’ve spent a lot of time in your building after all. Tell me if you think anything needs to be stated before me begin this evening please, I don’t want to find out we will be fighting a squadron of Daggerhands without knowing about it. Any friend in the area that you know of?” she left it at that, he knew the situation and what was required information and what was not – she suspected he practised her own craft himself, for his own ends.

“Yes, good evening all of you, yes we are safe here for now Gad, Sunberth has many corner gatherings of an evening and nothing sets us apart from a minor gang of little note,” she stated, the observation too close to truth for comfort for now, “and we will begin when we know the facts. Patience is wise when dealing with our enemies, even if they are weaker now than before”

“One mission, three men. Each has been tracked and observed by myself, my own sources and out darling Matthew here,” she pointed her finger upwards, “the information suggests that they know of a safe house of sorts where their friend sleep and relax in between harassing the general populace. They are currently in the brothel, correct Matthew?” she asked pointedly for the confirmation for the other’s sake more than hers.

“We will get our hands on them, our grubby little hands, and then we will punch, kick, slice and bite as much out of them as possible before slitting their throats and dumping them in the river. The warriors amongst you will be happy to know that finesse is not required – sending a message to the Daggers is required so if others see then all the better. Let them taste fear for once. That said, no civilian deaths and no damage to property if you can help it. We need a good reputation within the city if we are to do better than the other syndicates” she spoke as her gaze flickered past them all and her hand came up as her words ended, gaze piercing and watching, noting.

“And here’s one of them is now…two actually, providence smiles upon us,” she grinned darkly as a second target walked out but was less drunk and this one armed, “drunk as Hai one and about to…yes,” she pointed as the still uniformed Daggerhand target began the search for a nice corner, “wait…it’s just the two. For now decide if you wish to stay or to leave. If stay then Kaie and Noven…take those two. Be careful”

“Gad, Seng…if the other doesn’t come out within the next few chimes enter the Brothel and find the third, ginger man with a bushy moustache is he only one left now. Goes by the name of Bertrand and is a bit of a brawler. I’ve seen him and he is arrogant too, trick him, hit him, use whatever abilities you can and drag him out of the building quickly”

“I’d like to leave before any other Daggerhands arrive and we end up having to fight them too. Matthew, keep your eyes open from the roof there and if any others look to be approaching from other streets send the word out so we are prepared at the very least. How many, which direction, you get the idea”

She relaxed back into the wall and kept watch herself, her gaze taking in the ground position as Matthew's would take in the higher vantage point. With both looking it would be easy enough to visually cover the others as they embarked upon their escapades. She was interested to see how effective they would all prove to be.

[Kaie]

Ah, finally a name to go with the new face, The foreigner thought curiously. Web. Another strange title. A chosen alias like Bitzer's perhaps? A polite nod was offered in return to the shady woman's words, though there was a queer look that reached her eyes when Web admitted she didn't plan on using the strange combat tools. The Myrian did not linger on that thought long. Noven's familiar voice soon broke the darkness with a tone that made her lips curl in amusement.

"Cook," She returned with an easy greeting of her own. An employee from the orphanage wasn't one of the people she had expected to run into that evening, but it was a welcomed one all the same. Still, not even his appearance was as surprising as the next nor as unique. The call from above had sent the Falyndar savage into a spin, her hand already starting to ease the gladius from its sheath by the time she found him.

"Goddess damn you, Matthew!" She cursed in her native tongue beneath her breath and released her hold on her weapon. Kaie shook her head at him yet his compliment earned him a broad grin. It was a challenge enough not to mockingly berate him right then and there for scaring the shyke out of her. After Bitzer and the rest of her mercenary party were jumped in that alley, the bronzed woman had become increasingly wary of rooftop assailants. Apparently since Syliras, Kaie was beginning to gather Matthew had proven to be quite an asset within his places of employment. Was that what he was hinting to when he mentioned how proficient he had learned to become in his trade, and about being willing to become a part of the city? Perhaps he'd humor her suspicions later. There were more oddly familiar faces emerging from the shadows.

The desert skinned mercenary, Senghor, was next to make his presence known. Their last meeting had been under morose and unpleasant circumstances, yet she was thankful there was someone other than the harlot she felt she could genuinely trust. Then there was that quirky guy she'd met in a tavern earlier on...what was his name again? Gad was it? Apparently he was just as witty and rambunctious when he was sober. If the gods were good, all that energy would transfer into whatever violent action they were about to take. It could only be assumed that's what they were in for, violent action. Why else might someone call upon a Myrian?

Though she had become acquainted with the woman for but a few chimes at best, there was an air about this Web that Kaie was immediately drawn to. She was a leader, and by what she had to say, the woman was anything but clueless. Her speech was direct and to the point, and from what Kaie knew about those around her, she knew how to pick her soldiers and where to find her informants. If Bitzer was actually the woman behind the curtain of this chosen gathering, it could only be assumed Web had been carefully hand-picked for her position as well. In either case the task was something the Myrian was eager to take on. Amber eyes wandered to the verbally highlighted targets exiting the tavern, then to Noven.

"Guess we should move our asses then. I'll take the second, Nov," Kaie affirmed and gestured toward the armed Daggerhand with her chin. Then without so much as a moment of hesitation, she pulled the hood back over her features and ventured back into the streets.

Never taken someone alive before. This should be very interesting...

It didn't take the Myrian long to approach their corner. The rather blunt path she took seemed to immediately set an alarm off in the sober man's head. Within a tick he had drawn his short sword from his hip and growled out some dry threat the savage didn't care to hear. Instead Kaie procured her own gladius and answered with a foreseeable, horizontal swing with her blade. The man narrowly avoided the attack, and answered with a counter that nearly earned her a second smile as well as it turned her toward the wall. Trapped. Recognizing his advantage, the gang member made a deft forward thrust toward her middle. Yet it was not her scream of agony that followed. The bronzed female had stepped off center and inflicted a vicious, desperate hack upon her opponent's weapon handle.

The short sword fell with a clatter. The man clutched at his wounded hand (which was now missing two fingers) futilely, blood leaking down from the ends and onto the street. Kaie sheathed her sword then and lurched at the now howling man. Her right arm constricted across his throat while the left folded back across the opposite wrist to form a vice. He gagged and clawed at his constraint, blood from the missing fingers dashing across her forearms. It wasn't long until his consciousness faded away into nothingness, and when he was out, Kaie turned to see how Noven had made out on his end.

[Noven]

A tiny grin cracked his otherwise indifferent features. If there was anyone in this city who could snub and greet him in the same breath, it was Kaie.

"Doing well?" he snorted when the harlot, in his typical, eccentric, and completely oblivious way, popped into view above their heads. "Give those runts a couple more seasons and they'll have me out on the streets."

Sad part was, he was telling the truth. Ever since the Myrian lass gave them fighting lessons, the bruises, cuts, and black eyes had tripled in count. The cook himself sported no fewer than five or six minor injuries just from prying those wild animals apart. On more than one occasion, he'd even considered slipping drugs in their soups to put them to sleep, just so he could have a single, quiet day.

Too bad Jillene would kill him for it.

Not long after, two more familiar faces arrived. The first being Senghor, his oldest and most trusted friend to date, and the second that odd fellow named Gad. A real talker, this one was, but at least he asked the right questions. How were they going to go about taking down Daggerhands? It wasn't a difficult task, subduing these drunkards, to be sure, but there were after all six Scars present and only three targets to be caught. Even the likes of him could do the math.

Fortunately, the blonde woman named Web was quick to provide answers. Nov liked the way their operation was unfolding already. No fuss, no strings. Just do your part, beat some answers out of these rats, and slit their throats. Hell, I could get used to this, he confessed to himself.

Kaie was first to act and matched their one eyed leader in brevity. Gods above, the day only got better. She took the second, armed thug and left Nov with the first, who was decidedly more drunk. Fine by him. He preferred his fists and sported enough cuts for one season; more would just be a nuisance. Following the Myrian's lead, he pulled up his own hood to cover more recognizable features as he made his way toward his victim. Making a show of beating the shyke out of these Daggerhands was one thing. Endangering the small, vulnerable targets he fed almost on a daily basis was another entirely.

While his unexpected partner turned one way to deal with the more sober of walking deadmen, Nov swiveled to face the other. The poor, stupid sod had his back turned and pants down, emitting a groggy moan as he relieved himself into a corner. Not even bothering to announce his presence, the cook grabbed his objective by its greasy, matted hair and slammed it against the wooden wall.

Krysus, he's still standing. Nov cursed himself for having held back. He hadn't wanted to accidentally crack open the target's head and send his drunken ass into a wakeless sleep, so he'd used less force. Now the bloody knob had one hand against the wall and the other on his breeches, tugging it up as he let loose a stream of confused profanity.

Well, no point in holding back now.

Nov spun the dazed Daggerhand around and socked him once to the side of his head. Gotta get those puny brains flopping around nice and good before a man will go down cold. And down he went indeed, with less than certain chances of waking again. All well and good; the cook had a sackful of methods he could employ reserved specially for passed out drunks.

He looked up just in time to meet the steady gaze of the Myrian. From the looks of things, Kaie had handled her end just as smoothly. Though, Nov had to admit, her guy was bleeding a bit more.

"So, what do we do with these maggots?"

[Matthew]

Kaie recieved a slightly longer stare than the rest, Matthew briefly noting the broad grin that she gave him. He filed the expression away, noting something of a pattern that he would have to explore later. Her presence comforted him.

A nod and a polite smile was given to greet the rest of the newcomers, some of them people that Matthew knew at first sight. Most of them, actually. He was fairly sure that most of the faces were ones that he had seen at the Tent Meet. Web had asked a question though, so his attention was quickly returned to her and his voice was softly offered. "I did. I actually came to find that one of the targets has a habit of drinking. He is in there drinking today, as you might expect. I also found out that he can handle exactly seven pints of the house ale before he reaches his limit. Upon finishing about half of the eighth pint, the man will soon find himself struggling to hold his beverage in his stomach. Upon ignoring the warning that his body gives him and attempting to take another swallow, the man will find himself staggering down to this very street corner to unleash both the ale and anything he may have eaten earlier in the day. I have made sure that he was supplied with enough ale to reach this point. I have no doubt they will pay us a visit." Matthew tilted his head, blue eyes catching moonlight in such a way that the color of his stare managed to gleam for a moment. "In fact, they should be here very soon." He offered his knowledge and then opted to just watch as Web addressed the others and gave a small speech.

Then, as predicted, the two Daggerhands made their appearance. He watched as both Kaie and Noven moved, then obediently lifted his eyes to keep watch from his vantage point. The third had not yet showed, which Matthew considered a blessing. Depending on how fast the rest of the group was to react, Noven and Kaie had done their business in a place where they could theoretically be spotted from an oncoming Daggerhand. He hummed to himself, eyes sweeping the streets below as he continued to keep watch.

"Should I help?" The shadowed figure of a small boy whispered from the darkness on the roof, hidden out of sight. Matthew shook his head, his own voice extremely soft. "No. They have it handled."

Noven's voice drew his attention for a moment, Matthew glancing down to observe. He was somewhat skilled in interrogation and would be happy to offer his services if required. "If no one else feels up to the task, I am happy to try and extract any required information." He would step aside if any other member of the group wanted to try though, or had any other ideas. He was much like Web, opting to take the position of an observer. He wasn't much when it came to fighting. While others might think he had taken the roof for tactical reasons, that couldn't have been farther from the truth. He had taken the roof because he had predicted it would get messy on the ground.

Movement caught the corner of his eye as the third Daggerhand exited the building up ahead, apparently deciding to come check on his fellow gang members. Matthew quietly hissed a warning, leaving Senghor and Gad to decide how to handle the sudden complication. If the third member drew close enough to spot what had been done to his fellows, then he might very well be able to run away with a firm description of their attackers in mind. Would Senghor and Gad be able to react quickly enough to find some way to silence him?