The night seemed just like any other: the slag heap burned and people went about their nocturnal activities, none-the-wiser of what the Daggerhand had in store.
Orakan - like many of his fellow Brothers and Sisters - had made the trip west across the Mudway from Robern's Reaches. The group he was with splintered off and tracked southward along the western banks of the Mudway, keeping to the eastern gate of the Community. The collection of motley soldiers slowed as they passed the halfway point, some rising up onto tiptoes as they did their best to peer over the gate towards the Scarlet Sanctum. Orakan couldn't help thinking that a good number of those in his company would rather be in a place like Ruby's as opposed to out here, milling about with masks in hand as they waited for their signal to strike.
Unlike them, Orakan was ready, keen for the fight the Daggerhand was poised to deliver. Focusing on it helped keep his mind off that gods awful Slag ship and he absently toyed with the hilt of his kopis as if doing so might stay his discomfort. And while others looked longingly towards the pleasure den, Orakan found himself unable to keep his attention away, focus turning back towards the Bay.
As much as he hated it, he couldn't help the pull that ship had, the terrifying - and yet bewitching - allure of the unknown. His good eye squinted to try and make out what the night sky and Leth's weak light tried to hide from him and he felt the stirrings of his unease - the tightness of his chest and shoulders. The thought of what was on it made him even more uncomfortable. But he didn't have to like it - that foul taste of the unknown.. of possible magic - he just had to be present. Be a soldier. Do as he was instructed. The Daggerhand was using it for a reason - it wasn't his place to ask or know why.
The flash caught him - and many others - off guard, that wave of light and energy illuminating the saique before plunging it into darkness once more as it spread out and away. A hush fell upon the group as shrieks and screams rose in the distance.
The city descended into panic. This was their cue.
"Masks on, let's go!"
The call rang out and the group around him did as told before brandishing their weapons. Orakan gave the ship one last look before dropping his gaze to the mask in his hand. He hesitated, a very real fear of magic and what could be possessing this thing in his hand gripping him before a Brother knocked into him while rushing past, the man spinning around long enough to yell out.
"Don't just stand there ya shyke cunt!!"
A scowl. The scarred Daggerhand's mood shifted from unease to frustration and then, with a hard smack given to his own chest, rage - the emotion he needed to be feeling - and he finally secured the thing to his face and took off, running to catch up with the others.
The group rushed eastward towards the Western Heights and the more heavily protected Sun's Refuge, reuniting with the main collection of Daggerhand soldiers. The first wave had reached the area just after the flash hit, managing to catch the Sun's Birth off guard. They beat them back, overwhelming the unsuspecting soldiers and Dragoons.
Tonight they'd take the Western Heights. Tonight they'd cut the Sun's Birth deep.
Orakan drew his kopis just as the wave he was moving in slammed - quite literally - into the fray. The fighting within the Western Heights was messy and disorganised as many of the more seasoned Dragoons had cut their losses and retreated to defend their home turf from these masked marauders. This left the less skilled Raiders and Guardians to do what they could to try and maintain what little hold they still had on the Heights. It was futile.
The young Daggerhand thug grunted as his kopis clanged hard against a Raider's tulwar, both straining against the others might before the blades slide free of one another. Momentarily caught off guard, Orakan did his best to try and spin away - stumbling in the process - before quickly swinging his kopis up into a defensive guard position. But there was no need. He watched through the mask with his one good eye as the Raider ducked at seemingly nothing, hands shooting up above him as he cowered. Sensing an opportunity, Orakan did not let it go to waste and charged forward, blade coming down on the Raiders exposed head.
The sound was barely audible above the clanging of steel and wails of wounded and dying men.
The Raider dropped and the Daggerhand advanced forward, trotting briskly before quickening his pace to a run as he moved with his fellows, advancing further and further into the Western Heights. Here men grew desperate, half mad from fear of the ghosts that terrorised them, ghosts that ignored the swarming masked marauders. It was almost too easy.
He ducked just in time to miss his face being cleaved in two by a hefty battleaxe, breath heaving as he lost his balance and tumbled forward. His hands instinctively shot forward to the ground, kopis still held in his white-hot grip, and he used them to help himself regain his balance. Scurrying awkwardly forward, he lifted his sights to look for any threats in front of him and then slowly righted himself and spun. The Dragoon was on him, mighty axe drawn back and ready to swing, and the young Daggerhand knew his kopis would be of no use to him. He fumbled for his dagger, seized it, and then ducked, propelling himself forward and into the advancing Dragoon and was clocked upside the head with the handle.. but it was better than the curved blade of the axe.
Hugging the Dragoon around the middle, he stabbed at the man's side with a frenzy - over and over - until he felt the man become dead weight in his arms. Looking up, he caught the sight of a fellow Daggerhand's blood-red blade just as it was being drawn back through the Dragoon's throat and instantly released the body in his arms, letting it slump to the ground.
The tide was turning, the mass moving northward towards the Sun's Refuge. Chest heaving from exertion and adrenaline, he moved a shaky hand to sheath his dagger before he joined the surging current of Daggerhand brutes, heart hammering away in his ears and kopis held low at his side.
This was living.
Orakan - like many of his fellow Brothers and Sisters - had made the trip west across the Mudway from Robern's Reaches. The group he was with splintered off and tracked southward along the western banks of the Mudway, keeping to the eastern gate of the Community. The collection of motley soldiers slowed as they passed the halfway point, some rising up onto tiptoes as they did their best to peer over the gate towards the Scarlet Sanctum. Orakan couldn't help thinking that a good number of those in his company would rather be in a place like Ruby's as opposed to out here, milling about with masks in hand as they waited for their signal to strike.
Unlike them, Orakan was ready, keen for the fight the Daggerhand was poised to deliver. Focusing on it helped keep his mind off that gods awful Slag ship and he absently toyed with the hilt of his kopis as if doing so might stay his discomfort. And while others looked longingly towards the pleasure den, Orakan found himself unable to keep his attention away, focus turning back towards the Bay.
As much as he hated it, he couldn't help the pull that ship had, the terrifying - and yet bewitching - allure of the unknown. His good eye squinted to try and make out what the night sky and Leth's weak light tried to hide from him and he felt the stirrings of his unease - the tightness of his chest and shoulders. The thought of what was on it made him even more uncomfortable. But he didn't have to like it - that foul taste of the unknown.. of possible magic - he just had to be present. Be a soldier. Do as he was instructed. The Daggerhand was using it for a reason - it wasn't his place to ask or know why.
The flash caught him - and many others - off guard, that wave of light and energy illuminating the saique before plunging it into darkness once more as it spread out and away. A hush fell upon the group as shrieks and screams rose in the distance.
The city descended into panic. This was their cue.
"Masks on, let's go!"
The call rang out and the group around him did as told before brandishing their weapons. Orakan gave the ship one last look before dropping his gaze to the mask in his hand. He hesitated, a very real fear of magic and what could be possessing this thing in his hand gripping him before a Brother knocked into him while rushing past, the man spinning around long enough to yell out.
"Don't just stand there ya shyke cunt!!"
A scowl. The scarred Daggerhand's mood shifted from unease to frustration and then, with a hard smack given to his own chest, rage - the emotion he needed to be feeling - and he finally secured the thing to his face and took off, running to catch up with the others.
The group rushed eastward towards the Western Heights and the more heavily protected Sun's Refuge, reuniting with the main collection of Daggerhand soldiers. The first wave had reached the area just after the flash hit, managing to catch the Sun's Birth off guard. They beat them back, overwhelming the unsuspecting soldiers and Dragoons.
Tonight they'd take the Western Heights. Tonight they'd cut the Sun's Birth deep.
Orakan drew his kopis just as the wave he was moving in slammed - quite literally - into the fray. The fighting within the Western Heights was messy and disorganised as many of the more seasoned Dragoons had cut their losses and retreated to defend their home turf from these masked marauders. This left the less skilled Raiders and Guardians to do what they could to try and maintain what little hold they still had on the Heights. It was futile.
The young Daggerhand thug grunted as his kopis clanged hard against a Raider's tulwar, both straining against the others might before the blades slide free of one another. Momentarily caught off guard, Orakan did his best to try and spin away - stumbling in the process - before quickly swinging his kopis up into a defensive guard position. But there was no need. He watched through the mask with his one good eye as the Raider ducked at seemingly nothing, hands shooting up above him as he cowered. Sensing an opportunity, Orakan did not let it go to waste and charged forward, blade coming down on the Raiders exposed head.
The sound was barely audible above the clanging of steel and wails of wounded and dying men.
The Raider dropped and the Daggerhand advanced forward, trotting briskly before quickening his pace to a run as he moved with his fellows, advancing further and further into the Western Heights. Here men grew desperate, half mad from fear of the ghosts that terrorised them, ghosts that ignored the swarming masked marauders. It was almost too easy.
He ducked just in time to miss his face being cleaved in two by a hefty battleaxe, breath heaving as he lost his balance and tumbled forward. His hands instinctively shot forward to the ground, kopis still held in his white-hot grip, and he used them to help himself regain his balance. Scurrying awkwardly forward, he lifted his sights to look for any threats in front of him and then slowly righted himself and spun. The Dragoon was on him, mighty axe drawn back and ready to swing, and the young Daggerhand knew his kopis would be of no use to him. He fumbled for his dagger, seized it, and then ducked, propelling himself forward and into the advancing Dragoon and was clocked upside the head with the handle.. but it was better than the curved blade of the axe.
Hugging the Dragoon around the middle, he stabbed at the man's side with a frenzy - over and over - until he felt the man become dead weight in his arms. Looking up, he caught the sight of a fellow Daggerhand's blood-red blade just as it was being drawn back through the Dragoon's throat and instantly released the body in his arms, letting it slump to the ground.
The tide was turning, the mass moving northward towards the Sun's Refuge. Chest heaving from exertion and adrenaline, he moved a shaky hand to sheath his dagger before he joined the surging current of Daggerhand brutes, heart hammering away in his ears and kopis held low at his side.
This was living.