Spirits of the Earth

When it was nearing midnight and the estate was fast asleep, Einin--or Owl, as she would be known tonight--lifted a floorboard beneath her bed, traded her nightgown for breeches, boots, and a tunic, and donned her cloak and mask. She fetched her sword from her wardrobe and buckled her sheath to her belt, and then she was ready. Once she was finished tying her hair back into a messy tail, just one final touch remained.

Glancing in her mirror, she passed her hand over her face and worked her magic, pink hair and eyes darkening to a mousy brown. She smiled at her handiwork and flicked one of the feathered "horns" of her owl mask so it stood up properly.

Ready to go! Oh, just one final final touch.

She stuffed her sheets with pillows until it looked like a proper body that was her shape, more or less. Then, opening her window quietly, she began the process of climbing down.

Good thing her room was only on the second floor, and the building was old and made of stone with plenty of handholds.

As she had done many nights before, she sneaked off her parents' property and into the city proper. Not much was open this time of night, which was a shame, because it was the only time she could get away with something like this. Her parents didn't let her leave the estate without supervision during the day, much less come to the more "colorful" parts of the city. Talking to commoners? Visiting taverns? Utterly absurd and definitely not! And this? Well, they'd likely skin her alive if they knew. And never mind her dreams of acting. That was a definite no.

She wouldn't have time to entertain the notion anyway, they said, once she was married and had an estate of her own to run.

Never mind the children.

Ugh. Well, that was a problem for later.

Empty streets or not, she'd take what she could get. Some taverns were open this late and she'd come to find out she was somewhat decent at games of chance.

But what she was even better at was knocking heads.

She was heading down an alley toward a tavern she'd taken to visiting now and then, a muffled cry rang out, and then the sounds of hushed voices. Hand on her sword, Owl picked up her pace and turned a corner--to find a group of men surrounding a figure she couldn't make out, knives out and postures threatening.

"Aww, for me? How'd ya know I needed the coin?" one man jeered, coin purse in hand. "Now let's see...what else ya give us?"

Owl had seen enough.

She stepped out into the open and drew her sword with a hiss of steel and a dramatic flourish of her cloak.

"Unhand them at once!" she demanded in a strong, booming voice that had taken her much time practicing before a mirror to master. It helped that the alley provided a nice echo effect.

Thank you, alley!

((ooc:  I am the terror that flaps in the night, I am a special news bulletin that interrupts your favorite show. I am Darkwing Duck!))

Rufus, The Red Wolf, leader of this small band calling themselves the Soot Wolves, stopped jostling the coin sack and turned to look at this newcomer. As with all the filthy, unwashed wolves, he wore patchwork leather armor of varying shades of dark brown, grey, and black. Distinct from the others was the red wolf head stamped on the heat pressed leather guard on his chest. His messy dark red hair was clearly covered in soot, and other grime, that concealed the bits of grey slipping in from age. His left eye was covered in a black leather eye patch decorated with a red wolf eye. One hand on the pummel of his long knife the other holding his new sack of coins, he looked over the girl standing before him. A girl it surely was. Sleight build, and though she stood like a man, it was just a bit too feminine for him to miss. And those lips. Those were lips he'd definitely enjoy kissing, not the lips of a man. He let out a raucous laugh.

"Pants don't fool this seasoned rogue, girl," he laughed again. "It seems a little kitten has come to play with the Wolves, boys," he said to his mates. "Dirus, handle the girl, we have a robbery to complete." He turned back to the two that they had thrown to the ground, paying no more attention to the masked crusader.

"Yes Canis Rufus." A large man stepped toward Owl then. He must have been nearly 7' tall, and was built like a bull. Maybe he was part ogre or giant. He cracked the knuckles of his ham fists and then pulled his cudgel from the loop at his waist.

"Little kitty want to play?"

OOC: Hooray for Darkwing duck XD
Also, it's totally time for Jarrett to stalk this party |8*
---------------

Ah, Arca, city of the nobility and wealth of Serendipity, loaded with a plethora of people just waiting to be killed. It seemed a lot of activity has been going on as of lately, and a few well to do men were rather pissed, willing to pay a lot of coin to find a certain lot of men punished- and to put it simply, punished by death.

The list was ever going, new men's faces and names coming in every week. There was even a certain cloaked figure looming at night- something that resembled an owl. Though the bounty on it wasn't nearly as steep as a few rogues he'd over heard who had been prowling around the city for some time. Either way, the lists were endless and tonight was a night like any other. Jarrett L'isson hadn't really any sort of game plan. He normally never did. He was surprised at how luck seemed to find him, so when he heard a cry for help, he would have simply just ignored it, had he not heard such a ridiculous bellowed call coming out in an echoing shadow of heroism.

Well, he supposed he could at least watch in amusement. He had been roof hopping after all, which was a lot more thrilling than simply prowling the streets at night. Luckily, he had found himself perched just a few roof tops down and was picking at the meat stuck between his teeth when a knife when all of this occurred. Slipping the knife away and running his tongue over his teeth, he smirked, satisfied he got the damn meat out from between his teeth and stood up, stretching out before making his way to where he heard the noise.

Once perched against the chimney of the roof top over looking the alley, Jarret found, with much elation, it sounded like the party was just getting started. Slipping down the side of the roof in silence, he remained perched in the shadow and sat there near the edge of the roof, glancing down to the world below. And who knew, maybe a face or two might be on his list. But at least his blades were freshly sharpened. Tonight felt like a night where he'd finally get to kill.

[ooc: Bahaha! xD He had the best one-liners! (http://darkwingterror.ytmnd.com/)]

----

Okay, correction.

She was good at knocking heads when there was like one or two of them.

And when they didn't look like they uprooted trees with their bare hands for fun.

As in, mostly scrawny, petty thieves and drunkards.

She supposed from behind they didn't look quite so large...

Biting back some rather unladylike curses, Owl scrambled backwards, sword held in a defensive stance. "Uh. No?" she said, and winced when her voice came out a squeak. She cleared her throat loudly and tried again, rolling her shoulders and putting some steel back in her spine.

"No! Because I'm not a kitten. See the mask? And the feathers? And the very obvious owl motif I've got going? And if that word's too large for you, it means it's an owl theme. Have you never seen an owl? They hunt filthy rats like you and leave nothing but their fur and bones behind! Which they vomit. They're quite fierce!"

Oh, Kia, she was in way over her head here. But she couldn't keep retreating forever; she'd eventually hit a wall. Besides, she didn't retreat! Or Owl didn't, anyway. She had to be decisive!

Rushing forward, she thrust for the man's middle in a feint, trying to goad him into action first.

He was chosen as Canis Dirus, The Dire Wolf, not for his brains, or his speed, but purely for his size and strength. With no attempt at dodging the feint, the thug brought his rough club down in a fierce overhead swing. The much quicker and smarter Owl wasn't where the behemoth of a man thought she was, and he smashed his cudgel into the stone, pulverizing it into splinters.

"You made me break it! Hold still little bird. PLAY FAIR!" The oaf bellowed out a roar and barreled forward in a clumsy charge.

---

Rufus returned to the two victims lying on the ground. One was clutching a bloody nose, the other trembled and clutched at cut and torn clothes. Under the garments, Rufus caught sight of a jeweled hilt.

"It seems you've been holding out on me," he said to the trembler, "give me that jeweled blade without a struggle, or I'll strip you naked, beat you, and suspend you from an easily viewed balcony, for all to gawk at when the sun rises."

Well this was certainly interesting, some masked boy (or perhaps woman), was decked out in cloak and mask, was parading herself as a defiant owl.  It was definitely not an animal Jarrett would have chosen to represent himself, infact, he had more similar interests to the bandits raiding the poor blokes trembling on the ground. After all, they all had some sort of association with the wolf.

It seemed, or so he thought, this owl was attempting to take on this band of bandits all by themself. Naturally, the out come was obvious, but he had to wonder what would happen if another animal came out to play?

There was some broken pieces of shingle he gathered within his hands, clicking them together as the tested their weight by bouncing them idly in the palm of his hand, Jarrett continued to bide his time, contemplating toying with the men below, or simply watching them pulverize this owl person to a pulp. Then again...
He paused tossing the shingle bits in his hand as they clinked together when they settled within his fist.
There was a warrant out for a higher price to bring this owl-cloaked person in... alive.

Though he was a killer by nature, it might be interesting to change his tune. But then again.. as his eyes scanned the bandits...
These men also looked very familiar. He wondered how familiar they might be as corpses if he tried to collect a bounty off of them. No doubt the large fellow and the leader would at least have some sort of price on their head.

The giant of a man swung his cudgel overhead, and Owl ducked down low. The cudgel splintered against the stone, and that was just the spark of confidence she needed. He charged and, with a laugh, Owl slipped nimbly around him and delivered a sharp blow to his left kidney with the pommel of her sword.

"You're not nearly as quick as a rat, though," she pondered with a grin, feeling cocky again. Alright! She could deal with this! This was something she could handle. The fool looked big and scary, but he was an idiot! Excellent! And if this brute was anything to go off of, the other thieves should be easy as pie!

"Wolves, indeed! I'd consider running now, mutts! After I've trussed up this giant, I'm swooping down on you!" she called to the others, keeping just behind the large man. "So give those people back their money so I don't have to!"

The trembling man drew out the blade, which Rufus was pleased to see happened to be a long knife. As he reached for the blade he was knocked aside quite unexpectedly.

The strike to the kidney was quite unpleasant, and the buffoon stumbled as Owl so easily slipped from his grasp. He turned and charged back in the direction he came, not even checking to make sure she was in his path. He tumbled right into the circle of his allies, knocked over the crouching Rufus, and crashed onto the trembling man holding the long knife. There was a collective intake of breathe at the loud crunch the impact created. Canis Dirus flailed for a moment, tried to lift himself, and then slumped dead on top of the man. The other victim began to scream hysterically, and was quickly knocked unconscious by a nearby wolf. With a sigh, Rufus stepped forward and with some effort, rolled the big man over. His blunder had broken the neck of the man under him and both were dead now. He pulled the knife from the big mans throat and wiped it on the smaller mans torn clothes. After inspecting the blade for quality, he drew his own long knife and replaced it with this new jeweled one. He tossed the sack of coins to a little wolf, The Little Wolf, and his old long knife as well.

"Run straight to the den, Canis Lepo. Gold goes in the stash, minus your cut of course. The knife is yours if you want it." He looked at the two dead men and shook his head. "Such a waste," he said, turning to the other wolves, "strip all three of them of anything of value, and toss the two corpses down into the sewers. Drop the other fool in the next district over." He then began to walk away from the group, toward Owl. "It seems I need to clip this birds wings myself."

Owl held her breath, and for a moment she thought her heart actually stopped.

That crunch did...not sound good...

Owl froze and stared, sword still held at the ready. That was a consequence she'd neither anticipated nor intended, and as the leader rolled the big man over and pulled a blade from his throat, her eyes widened. He was really dead? And...the man beneath him, too?

Beneath the mask, her face went ghost white. She hadn't meant anyone to die, not even the big one. She'd been trying to save those people! Did...did this count as her having killed them, since she delivered the blow that sent the large man tumbling? Had she just killed them?

She'd never killed anyone.

For a long moment she could only stare in uncomprehending shock, too stunned to even register to the horror of the situation, but it didn't last long. The red-head was heading toward her.

She raised her blade. "I'd rethink this!" she snapped, and jerked her head toward the dead men. "You saw what I'm capable of! If you value your life, I'd tuck tail and run!"

Kia, but she was proud her voice was steady in a way she didn't feel!

Rufus let out another raucous laugh. This child amused him greatly. He wondered if she was truly ignorant of what she was getting herself into.

"That was blind luck. That huge brute only lasted in his role for a day, and I didn't even know his name yet," Rufus spit at the mention of the deaths. "Such a waste," he said again, shaking his head once more.

"When did you take your first human life," he asked Owl, "I was six. You see, I was born in Zantaric, to a whore mother. She barely cared for me, but the fool pup I was, I loved her. One day I came home to find her pimp leaned over her bloody form, strangling her. I pulled the mans knife from his belt and began stabbing him over and over." His face was smooth as he continued his story, "My mother was screaming madly as I saved her life. And how did she repay me? She hit me and told me that I was worthless. Without her pimp nobody would come to give her money and she was better off dead anyway," at that he grimaced. "I never saw her again after that day."

Without even a pause after his story, he toed a rock into the air at Owl, followed it with a dagger from his sleeve, and was dashing forward as he drew both his new jeweled long knife, and his short sword from their sheaths at his hip.

Owl swallowed hard at his question, and though her voice had been steady, the same couldn't be said for her hands. She didn't want to know the answer to that question, because the possible answer was, "Just now." She took a deep breath and steadied her sword as he spoke, and the horror she'd managed to keep at bay started to creep in around the edges.

Six years old?

She knew bad stuff happened, of course, but she hadn't fully grasped how bad--and what was worse, she didn't know whether to feel sorry for the man for having lived through that, or to feel terrified of him for what he was implying with that story. Either way, she didn't have much time to process it.

Without warning, he sent a rock flying her way and she reacted out of pure reflex, blade flashing as she deflected it.

Unfortunately, she deflected the wrong object.

The dagger hit her bicep, and though it didn't stick in her flesh, it wasn't a shallow graze and blood quickly soaked her sleeve. Owl yelped and turned just in time to parry the next blow, but the force of his blades striking hers sent a powerful shock through her arms that was all the more jarring with her injury, and she had to grit her teeth to keep from crying out--and keep her grip on her weapon.

It was right about then that she realized she was actually, truly in trouble.

Two strikes in and he was surprised he hadn't gutted the girl. She was a bit better than he expected. Despite her bleeding, she would be able to keep up with him for a little while longer, if he fought fair.

A backhand to her mouth, bloodying her lip, combined with a swipe from his leg, taking her feet out from under her, put her on her back quickly. A foot on her wrist and a quick kick sent her sword spinning away. He used the tip of his sword to flip off her mask and looked in her eyes. Those beautiful eyes, that cute nose, and those lips. Lips he still wanted to kiss. He was sure he recognized that face, but he just couldn't place her. And the distraction of her lips was not helping.

"Such a pretty face you have. I don't prefer to mar a pretty face."

He sheathed his weapons, bent and picked her up by her front. The quick hard kiss he planted on her mouth would surely surprise her as well as the fresh cinnamon flavor of his breath. He contemplated pushing his tongue into her mouth, but she would probably bite it. He released her and flashed her a brilliant white smile, made more so by the grime that covered his face. At this range Owl would be able to see that it was actors makeup, and not truly grime at all. A false nose, fake scars, he was wearing a very good disguise.

"Perhaps find smaller prey to start with little bird," he said to her, "my pack will steer clear of you if you steer clear of them." He stepped toward the two wolves that had remained to watch his back. "Shadow her tonight," he told them quietly, "be sure no larger predators take her in her shaken state."

He called back to Owl, "I'll have my eye on you pretty bird. Perhaps when you're a bit more seasoned, our blades will cross again." And he dashed off into the darkness, quickly joined by three wolves that had been hidden in the shadows. They howled as they ran, warning the night of their passing.

---

A shadowed figure watched from high above. It watched the wolves, it watched the owl, and it even watched the other dark predator that the others did not see as it perched in the shadows like a bat. An intriguing turn of events. Unexpected deaths, unexpected mercy, and the unexpected voyeur, that did not act. Things to consider, but there was much to be done this night, plots to plan and plans to plot. It was best to move on for now. The figure vanished like smoke into the night.

Owl was left standing where he left her, too stiff and shaken to move. She felt like if she tried to walk yet, her knees might buckle, and heroes did not faint. Not that she had been very heroic; she hadn't saved anyone tonight, not even herself, though she was very aware that it could have turned out much worse. When he'd knocked her down and pinned her wrist she had thought, for a terrifying moment and for the first time in her life, that she might die.

Letting out a trembling breath, Owl forced herself to move. Her body ached, most of all her face and her arm, and she had no idea how she was going to explain either injury. She gathered her sword and sheathed it, and collected her mask, which aside from a few bent feathers was no worse for wear. She tied it back on, though she felt silly to be wearing it now with her pride wounded, and then took stock of her injuries.

The gash on her arm was still bleeding, but it was the thicker blood of a clotting wound. Gingerly, she poked her split lip with her tongue, and felt her face heat when she remembered what else had happened to her mouth: his lips on hers, the taste of cinnamon, and that despite his grime, the man smelled far too clean. She hadn't been able to do anything at the time but freeze up completely.

What the...yeah. She absolutely could not wrap her mind around that. Of all the things she'd been expecting (like a knife in the ribs and bloody death in general), getting her first kiss from a dirty thug was nowhere near that list, and it left her feeling vulnerable in a very different, unsettling way.

A noise in the alley made her jump and, looking about, she decided it was time to go, and took off around a corner. There were certain parts of this night she didn't want to think about--like the dead men and what it meant--so instead she latched onto the fact that despite it all, he'd let her live and even issued a challenge. Come to think of it, wasn't that a common trope in the stories?

Her lips twitched into a smile, stretching the cut. Perhaps she'd just made her first rival or arch-nemesis!

He was a man of stealth, though enjoyed the spectacle the band of 'wolves' had made. Though it was obvious the masked woman was injured, and more in pride than blood, he figured the show was over so there was no reason to remain on the roof top. He had played with the broken shingles for too long, and as he watched the man suddenly kiss the owl girl, he was surprised to  find his fist closing tightly around the pieces, so that when his hand opened, only dust fell into the wind.

His lips twitched. Definitely something clever, and something he certainly wouldn't have entertained, well, at least not in the first meeting (though most marks he had only got one meeting). Kiss and kills were normally reserved for whores and courtesans (though he found too, those types of women tended to use the same tactics towards him).

Though a man in his position had little need for play, today he felt like making an exception. He preferred the silent approach, so when Owl rounded the bend, he remained aloof, perched just at the edge of the rooftop, crouching.
He had since lit up a cigar, using a shard of shingle to cut a finger and call up blood, before conjuring a small flame by simply whispering the words 'flame'. And from the bubbling blood on his thumb came a light, a tiny flame that flickered and danced. Leaning forward, he put the end of his cigar into the flame as he puckered and waited for it to take light, then sat back, extinguishing the flame by pressing his thumb to his hand and took in a long drag from the cigar.
The smoke wafted just above his face, lingering there before fading into nothing at all.

So when she walked by, he simply watched her, one eye hidden behind a long, side bang of black hair while the other simple stared in nonchalance. He took in her outfit now that she was much closer and commented, "Nice feathers," as he flicked some of the collecting cigar ash aside.

Wound up as she was, Owl just about leaped from her skin when a voice spoke from the shadows. With a gasp, she had her sword half out before she'd even finished turning toward that man, though she relaxed when she saw it wasn't one of the thieves. Her hand stayed on her sword, though, just in case.

Though sore and ruffled and eager to get home and nurse her wounds, both physical and not, appearances were everything! Even though her appearance was currently "just got owned", with her sleeve damp with blood, though she hid that beneath the cloak, and her lip puffy and crusted.

With her free hand, she gave her cloak a little flare and snapped off a playful salute. "Good evening to you, too, and thank you very much, good sir! I like them very much my--ehrm--my--"

She cut off with a fit of coughing, having gotten a good whiff of the cigar smoke. Waving her hand through the smoke, she straightened up again and cleared her throat. "Ahem. I like them, too."

A grin split across Jarrett's lips at her reaction, his eyes glowing with mirth as he took another drag from his cigar, the end of it glowing orange. He then exhaled the smoke towards her face, pursing his lips a bit through a subtle smile.

"Well I would hope someone like yourself would like that sort of get up, you know," he chewed at the end of his cigar. "Since you're the one brave enough to wear it." His eyes took her in with more scrutiny, especially over the details of her wounds, before his green eyes flickered to her mask.

"So you got some hideous scar behind that mask?" he asked without skipping a beat, more smoke puffing in through his lips as he spoke. "Though that other gentleman didn't seem to think so."
He then jumped down from the roof, cigar still pressed between his lips as he shoved his hands into his pockets, studying her more closely now as he dared to land near her, just a few mere feet away. It was then he realized (and confirmed) what the other man saw. Yeah, this little cloaked figure was too pretty to be a boy. Then again, some men could just be... pretty.

Then without so much as another word, he simply turned from her and began to walk away, leaving a trail of smoke in his wake.
"You might want to get that wound looked at," he mentioned. "Before you bleed all over the city. The guards tend to like following trails of blood. They like to think blood means death, and for you.." he paused to peer over at him from over his shoulder. "I'm sure they could find a reason or two for your hanging."

The Shadow Wolves slunk into the darkness around them and followed quietly behind Owl. The two of them watched her as she went around the bend. They saw the man with his cigar, before he spoke to her, and they watched him with keen eyes, hands ready to draw steel should he threaten Owl. If she died tonight, The Red Wolf would surely gut them for their failure. He was quite brutal at times.

This man seemed confident, and the wolves were sure he was dangerous. They paid especially close attention, taking in as many details about him as possible. It would be smart to report this man back to the Gold Jackal. For now, they would simply observe. As the man began to head off, the two Shadow Wolves prepared to split up if necessary. One for Owl, one for this newcomer.

Owl turned her face away and waved at the smoke, trying not to breathe it so she didn't have another embarrassing coughing fit. She wanted to tell him he was being very rude, but a little smoke didn't seem the sort of thing that would bother a masked fighter. So instead she faced him again and weathered it as best she could, clearing her throat to keep from coughing again.

She opened her mouth and raised a finger, about ready to answer him with her usual answer, but then he mentioned the "other gentleman" and she almost choked. Uh. Wow. So he'd seen that...she was certainly glad for the mask.

"Er. Well, that doesn't necessarily mean anything," she said when he hopped down to ground level. She followed after him, adjusting her cloak to better cover her arm, which was really starting to hurt now that the adrenaline had worn off.

"People like different things, after all, and mind some things less than others. So it could be a hideous scar, earned in a tragic sword fight and only serving to make me more dashing. Or perhaps a burn from saving elders from a burning home, or maybe some ugly deformity! If you saw him, you'd see he wasn't much to look at, either, so perhaps he wasn't picky, or perhaps the fight just moved him so," she said, and grinned.

"Or it could be I'm just too damned gorgeous to stand. I would say, but it's more fun to wonder, no?"

She was so wrapped up in her story that it took a moment for the rest of the man's words to sink in. And for another very important chunk of information to click. Like the fact that he'd seen this. Seen the kiss. And if he'd seen that much...

Brow furrowing, she paused. "Wait. What do you mean, about the guards?" she asked, and barked a laugh. "That's ridiculous. They wouldn't hang a hero. I've been helping them an awful lot, you know."

Except for tonight. Her mind flashed to the dead men she'd tried hard to block out, tried hard to deny, and a sickening knot of guilt and panic twisted in her gut. A reason or two, he'd said. Two men dead...

"How much did you see?"

Jarrett gave a nonchalant shrug before speaking through his cigar, "All of it." Though he was smiling, subtly. Her rambling story amused him greatly, which was why he hadn't tried to shoo her away... well, yet. He wasn't one for companions. One night stands, run ins, and brief rendez-vous fit the bill for him quite nicely. He never was much of a social creature. Again, he honestly just liked to observe.

Owl grimaced, the blood draining from her face. "Everything? Oh. Uh...wow."

Moving her good arm, she rubbed the back of her neck. "That's awkward," she said, and gave a sheepish grin. "I'd hoped my first defeat would go without witness."

On the inside, she was panicking. That had really, actually happened. Two men were actually dead--because of her. She hadn't meant for anyone to die--and that still felt too surreal. She'd never seen anyone die and her mind was only just beginning to process everything that meant, that actual real people with lives and families and friends were now just...

Gone.

Her throat tightened, and she blinked stubbornly against a prickling sensation in her eyes. "I hope it was entertaining, at least!"

Jarrett kept on walking, kept on puffing on his cigar.
"That's your first kill wasn't it?" he asked, pausing only in time to peer over at her from over his shoulder, that same subtle smile creasing into his cheek and met also subtly within his eyes.

Once again, Owl followed. She wasn't sure why, except for the burning need to correct him, to deny it.

"I didn't kill them."

Jarrett said nothing, simply shrugged and continued puffing on his cigar as he walked along again.
"First time killing, first time seeing a kill, I've seen that expression before," he said. Again he shrugged. "Sort of like a deer in torch lights." Or in her case, maybe an owl.

"So you prowl the streets often alone at these hours?" he asked, because, "Well, you'd better get used to what you just saw. There's a lot of talk about some band of killers and thieves on the loose that sound like a group of wild animals. Wolves to be exact." He pulled out the cigar and tapped the ashes aside and peered over at her.

"You got a name to go with that crazy out fit?" Because that, he'd like to know.

Owl shuddered at his observation and shoved the images from her mind. She was not about to lose it here.

She reached up to rub her eye, but acted like she was brushing a feather away from the eye hole so it didn't poke her. Then, with a deep breath and a cheerful smile, she answered his question with a courtly bow, cape fluttering. "Name's Owl," she said. "A crazy and obvious name to fit the crazy and obvious disguise! But if it fits, why not? Sometimes simple is better and easier to remember!"

Glancing over her shoulder, she looked back down the alley. It was empty, of course, but she was still rather jumpy. "Those 'Wolves', though. I'm pretty sure that's who I just met..."

Looking back to the stranger, she forced a laugh. "If they're the same 'Wolves', they weren't so bad! I hope to encounter them again, in fact. I've got some unfinished business with 'Eyepatch', anyway, and next time you can bet I'll finish it. Hopefully you'll be around to see that, too, mister...uh...what's your name?"

"Jarrett L'isson," he said through a breath of smoke. He didn't know why he even bothered giving her his real name. Probably because he figured the cape wearing, owl masked adorning 'hero' was as harmless as a flea, though perhaps as pesky as one. If she was smart and had resources (especially in the slums and the black market), she might come across his other alias's too, and what job description he fit under. But she wouldn't have to look into it as he informed her, "And I'm a wolf too, but I hardly roam in a pack." He smirked and looked over at her, the wind rustling through the wolf fur on his clothes. "If Jarrett L'isson is hard to remember, you could always look on the black market for The Lone Wolf. Cause that's how I like it." And he smiled. "Being alone." And he continued to simply walk away, eyes ever wary of those watching him from the shadows.
"Though it seems you and I are being watched," he said, pausing as he gave a thoughtful rub to his chin.

The two Shadow Wolves listened intently. There were others nearby, but they were the ones put on babysitting duty. So her moniker was 'Owl', that would be useful. 'Eyepatch'? The wolves looked at each other and smirked simultaneously at that. Canis Rufus would get a kick out of that when he heard it. Jarrett L'isson? The Lone Wolf? Interesting, and important. Another Canis in the city that's not part of the pack. Important indeed. Another shared look, a nod, and one of the two dashed off, being joined by two others from the shadows nearby. This was information to be sent back right away, and the running wolf shared it with his two new shadows, who each then split off on their own. One could never be to safe with important information.

Owl eyed him, wondering if he was counted among those "wild animals" he spoke of. But she didn't get a chance to ask, because that was when he mentioned they were being watched.

Hand moving to her sword, she looked uneasily about. She didn't see anyone or hear anyone, but it set her on edge and she drifted closer to Jarrett.

"I don't see anyone..." she said, and then startled, glancing skyward. But the moon was out of sight, hidden by the high, narrow walls of the buildings around them.

"What time is it?"

"Probably well past your bedtime, " Jarrett replied, blowing smoke towards the moon. He paused as he walked, studying her. "Why don't you go head home now. I'm sure there's only a few more hours left of twilight before you have to awaken into your real life."
Since it was obvious this wasn't her day job- or else this woman would be too poor, even for this routine. "Though you might want to be careful. Even if you can't see their eyes," he said, watching the fleeting shadows disappear. "They're always watching." And he took the end of the cigar and chewed, keeping eyes coasting across the shadows.

The sky did seem to be lightening, though it could have been her imagination. But it was best not to take a chance. As much as she was dreading returning home and doing damage control, it would be worse if anyone woke to find her missing.

And she might be a night owl, but she had to sleep eventually.

And she had a lot to process from this night.

Despite all that, Owl grinned at the man and drew up her cape with her uninjured arm, mysterious-like. "A double-life is indeed a difficult life," she said with a rueful sigh. "But it's also better than a single life! With that, I bit you good night and happy hunting, good sir! This owl must return to its roost."

With a wink his way, she darted on ahead of him, keeping his warning firmly in mind. The problem was, how could you avoid a watcher you couldn't see?

It was usual procedure to melt away as the sun began to rise. Shadow Wolves are to remain in the shadows, the day was ruled by the Scavengers and the Blood Wolves, but he had his orders. He was to keep the little bird safe. Hopefully she didn't live far. It would be good to get back to The Wolves Den and have a nice warm cider at the bar. He kept a safe distance from the would be hero, no need to spook the caped crusader. What was with masked vigilantes and capes anyway. Is there a rule in handbook somewhere that says they all need capes? Seemed to him it would just get in the way, like it was getting in the way of his view. He caught a peek at the shape of that ass when she did her flourish. He'd like another look. Chances were he wouldn't get it. Maybe though, she sure did like her flourishes after all.

If his eyes weren't so sharp, his own distracting thoughts would have made him miss the two figures that were now shadowing the girl. They weren't wolves, and he didn't recognize the garb from any of the other crews in the city. They had weapons drawn. 'They're after the girl!' He threw his small axe at one and three daggers at the other and dashed toward them, short sword drawn. They were caught by surprise, the axe taking the first in the head, but the other was fast, and he swung his cape up to catch the daggers. 'So that's what they're for,' he thought. But as fast as he was, blocking the daggers took too much time, and the short sword found his heart. As he lowered the dying man to the roof top, he noticed he was smiling widely. 'A smile? A TRAP!'

He spun around as a dart caught him in the neck. The poison was acting fast, he'd be dead in a moment. Shot from the shadows, he couldn't see his killer. They never wanted the girl. Thank goodness. It was him they were after, and they sacrificed two, just for him. Why? As life faded from his eyes, a cloaked figure stepped from the shadows, and spoke in a gravely voice.

"Thanks for the face little pup."

Jarrett smirked as she left.
"Interesting," he commented through is cigar, before tossing it out, not bothering to step on it beneath his boots as he slowly made after her. Not only was she a mark (though he was hardly a bounty hunter, someone wanted her alive for prosecution); but the wolves chasing her were. So he kept his hands in his pockets and made his way towards the direction she had gone, keeping quiet, to the shadows and ever alert. She was making her way towards the nicer end of town, and he gave a silent whistle under his breath, but then noticed her down the way and kept back. He didn't want to reveal he had been following her. Silence was key. And Jarrett was very good at making himself seem to disappear.

It wasn't far to home, now, though the closer Owl got, the more wary she grew.

If she was being watched like Jarrett said, the last thing she wanted was a bunch of thugs knowing where she really lived.

So she didn't take the direct way home. She ducked through extra alleys and wound her way back in a sort of zig-zag fashion, cutting corners where she could and going under and over obstacles where possible. She kept her eyes and ears open and kept moving, only pausing when she reached the final stretch to take stock of her surroundings. She still saw no one, so she moved out from between the two homes and headed for the wall surrounding her estate, heading for the back entrance.

There was a hole in the wall nearest her room that had gone without repair for some time, covered by creeping plants. She slipped through it and paused in the shadow of the wall, searching for signs of any workers that might have gotten an early start to their day.

She was weaving so much even he was having trouble following her, but he wanted to deter the pesky shadows from following them- so he made a leap of faith, or rather a climb, and kept the roof top, even slunk inside a few buildings before taking a careful note to which place was hers. She sure made him go through the run around, but at least she was being smart.

Too bad she wasn't being smart enough, for by the time she'd get to her room, he had already made himself comfortable upon her bed as he stretched out, one boot crossed over the other, hands resting behind his head as he stared up at the ceiling, one of her frilly lace pillows laying on his chest.

"Nice place you got here," he would say, you know, when she'd eventually get into her room. He stared idly at his finger nails. Damn. There was some dirt in them, and probably dirt on his boots as well. Though those he normally kept clean, so perhaps her bedding would be spared.

With her wounded arm and a new set of bruises, it was a miserable climb back up into her room, and by the time she got there, she was beat. She pushed the window open and practically flopped over the edge, landing in a graceless heap on her floor. With a grunt, she picked herself up.

And that was when she heard his voice.

She jumped, her back thumping against the wall, and clapped a hand over her mouth to keep from shouting and waking the estate. She hadn't noticed him at first with her room all dark, but there he was, the "Lone Wolf" from earlier, lounging on her bed.

Heart beating wildly, she grabbed for her sword. "What're you doing?!" she snapped, voice a little higher than intended in rising panic. Dear sweet Kia, there was so much that was wrong with this picture! "Get. Out."

He rolled over onto his side and gave her a smirk.
"What, so the wolves can find you?" he asked, then sat up, the lacy pillow falling onto his lap as his green eyes began to roam about her room.
"I expected more... birds," he said, a thumb brushing against the side of his chin in thought.

Owl shook her head vigorously and began to pace in front of the window. "No, no, no, oh no, you really gotta go. You have to go like...now. Like yesterday. Like...now now! And talk quieter!"

She shot a panicked look toward her door, then at the sky outside, and then back to him. "Seriously, leave. Or...or, uh...I'll scream. And, uh, I'll say you attacked me." Which left the problem of her outfit, but her brain hadn't quite caught up to that issue yet.

"And put that back!" she hissed, pointing to the pillow.

Jarrett blinked. But when he glanced down, the lace pillow fell off of his lap, landing with a soft thump on the ground.
He bent over to pick it up, dusted it off then set it back onto the bed before glancing over at her, staring at her expectantly, but saying nothing as he gave a curious tilt of his head.
"Your mask is uneven," he said, pointing to his own face to show her where. "It's hanging a bit more left than right."

Owl had been about to say more, but Jarrett threw her off. She sucked in a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Oh. Uh, thanks." Blinking, she reached up to feel at her mask, then lightly adjusted it. Then she frowned at him, eyes narrowing.

"Don't change the subject."

Jarrett continued to look at her, saying nothing before he tilted his head.
"I think your feather is crooked, too." And he gestured to one that was slightly bent on the right side of it.

Owl grit her teeth and made a muffled, frustrated sound. She started toward him. "If you don't leave, so help me, I'll throw you out the window."

Jarrett smirked at her threat. "So that the wolves who followed you can get to you?" He gave a shrug and stood up. "If that's what you wish," and slunk his hands into his pocket and moved towards the window.

"Wait!" Owl moved again, but this time it was to block the window with her body. "What are you talking about? So far, the only one I see that's followed me is you. You're a 'wolf', right?"

Jarrett paused by the window frame, glancing down at Owl with a curious tilt of his head.
"A single wolf," he told her gruffly. "Not a pack." And he plucked her hand away from the frame and moved one long leg over the sill as he moved to step out. "And I told you before to be careful and wary of the shadows. Wolves are dogged creatures."

Owl grimaced and stepped aside, now nervous for a new reason. Great. If he'd found his way here, who else? This was so bad...and she'd thought she had been careful.

And he'd tracked dirt on her floor.

And she didn't even know why she cared about that right that moment, but she did, because of all the crazy things that had happened this night, it was the last little straw on the camel's back.

She worried at her cape; he couldn't leave quick enough, and yet his words left her with a bad feeling that made her wish he wouldn't.

"Hey, uh...please don't tell anyone about this?" she said, and glanced around him, peering at the landscape below. "And be careful. The groundskeepers will be getting up soon--or now--and...it'll be awkward. And the 'Wolves' didn't follow you, did they?"

Jarrett paused in mid descent to look up at her, hands gripping into the lattice work on the side of hte building, and the vines, then glanced over at his shoulder.
"Guess we'll find out soon enough. But it looks like the sun is rising. Good night, Owl," he said with a smirk, then continued his climb down into the garden. But he too, was wondering if they had followed either of them. His path was less traceable. But he knew wolves were smart. And if anything, they'd be good on their mark. Either way, it would become a question of who was hunting who.

As soon as Jarrett was gone, Owl wasted no time in shuttering the window and leaping to work, cleaning up the dirt and changing her clothes. Her sword got returned to her closet and the outfit got stuffed back beneath the floor, though she'd have to discard the tunic when she could; the blood had ruined it.

Wincing, she pulled her nightgown back over her head and then darted to her washbasin. Drawing on her magic, she returned her hair and eyes to their proper color, and then she worked on cleaning her wounds.

Her arm looked a lot worse than she remembered (and felt it, too), but she bandaged it in a clean cloth and hid it beneath her gown's sleeve. Her lip was trickier; it was always more difficult to alter her own appearance than that of anything else, like her body and mind rejected the changes because she knew it wasn't actually her. It was hard to make a split lip look normal when she could feel it throbbing, and when every little movement reopened it. Illusions worked best when there was a degree of separation.

Time was wasting, though, and as light began to show, she had to abandon the effort. She decided instead to say she'd slipped and bashed her face on the headboard or something. Or, she thought as she slipped into bed, pretend to be sick and bedridden all day.

All things considered, that wouldn't be a difficult role to pull off.

(ooc: WOOT! for this 8eing my 88th post! Love that num8er 8! It's the GR8EST!!!!!!!! }8-P)

Canis Rufus went into his private room in the Wolves Den, and closed the door behind him. He slipped behind his changing screen and sat at the desk there. He pulled off his eye patch and placed it on the mannequin head, pealed off his nose, and began washing off the makeup in his hand basin. Tonight had not really gone as he had expected. Dirus was dead after such a short time, but these things happen. He'd have to find another muscle bound oaf to fill the spot. Didn't need to give power to a big man with a brain.

He looked at his face in the large mirror that was mounted behind the desk, the face of Theodore Wrenthis. It was the face of a pickpocket, of a conman, of a common thug. In Zantaric he was born nothing, and as an urchin of the streets he had to struggle to stay alive. But he was smart, and he was ruthless, and that had brought him far. The children of Zantarin whores, normally died in Zantaric with little to nothing to their name. Not him, he got out as soon as he realized he didn't want that slum to be his grave.

Here in Arca, he had been nobody. He came without a name without a face. All he had was a lot of gold and jewels that he had backstabbed and double crossed to get. That face in the mirror wasn't Theodore Wrenthis any longer. That was the face of Ryk Handelaar, wealthy merchant, and backroom politician, who frequented balls and parties of the rich and powerful. But he still craved the danger of the streets, and so when he learned of the Wolves, he donned his costume, and took to the streets. It took little time for someone like him, raised in Zantaric, to oust the leader and become the new Red Wolf. Rufus, the name he took, the name he truly was inside.

He read the reports on Jerrett and Owl, he left orders for the day time activities of the wolves, and then he slipped through his secret exit and headed home to get some rest. It would be best if he woke in his manor house. Best not to make it a habit of sleeping in the Den. That's where he had slain the last Red Wolf after all.

[ooc: Awwww, bye-bye 88! And can I just say how much I love that Rufus is basically doing the same thing as Owl in reverse. 8D Epic.]

---

Owl stayed awake until the household came alive, surprised by how much the night's events had actually shaken her--and she couldn't shake the dead men from her mind, or the worry that she'd be outed, or that maybe someone else was trying to get in through her window. And when she'd worried herself to exhaustion, her throbbing arm kept her awake.

She didn't sleep until it was bright in her room and the household was alive.

Somehow, she managed to get through the day unnoticed, burrowed in the covers of her bed. Her parents were busy people, so when they learned she was sick, they left her alone--they couldn't afford to get sick themselves, after all! Only servants came to her room to bring her food, change her chamberpot, and make sure she was well, and she feigned a hacking cough whenever they lingered too long to send them scurrying.

Owl hadn't planned on going out that night. She figured laying low for a bit would be wise, but she encountered a new problem that changed everything: an angry redness began to form on the edges of her wound. Her choices were either go out and seek services, or fess up, and the latter was not an option. Adventure was addicting and they would skin her if they knew.

Donning a fresh tunic and her usual disguise, she hit the streets again that night, though her wandering was rather aimless as she didn't exactly know what she was looking for. A healer, obviously, but where? Surely in these parts, there were enough tavern brawls to warrant someone being open to patch the fools up.

Arms crossed over her chest, she paused at an intersection and frowned. She'd been walking for a while without any luck; maybe she was in the wrong district for that? With a sigh, she chose right and kept walking, spotting an open tavern down the road. With any luck, someone there would have an idea.

The tavern was far too easy of a place for him to get his next mark (and a mark that had nothing to do with either wolves or owls). His name was Jessi Morrison, and well, he had dabbled a bit too far on his game of luck with wine, women and money. Someone wanted him dead, and fast. Someone knew he knew too much. And Jessi Morrison was easy enough to find, and he didn't even have to leave the city. And he was even easier to kill. The man had a red storm about his face, and his laughter was loud and obnoxious, and he took easily to his beer. Thankfully, the entire tavern faired the same, it being loud and busy, so no one would notice their conversation in the back corner of the room- a conversation that, after a few rounds of drinks in, turned lethal.

Jessi Morrison would hardly see it coming, as the blade sunk into the back f his head, his face, going long, his eyes, wideneing in surprise as he muttered out one last puff of breath, before his eyes glossed over with the first remenants of death, and blood lightly dribbled from his mouth. Thankfully, the cut was clean, and he helped lean Jessi Morrison in his chair, keeping him sitting up right as if he were still alive, but Jarrett took care to lower his face down so it was cast upon the table. And also took care to wipe off the dribble of blood. Adjusting a few drinks upon the table so it appeared as if he were simply lowered forward, Jessi having grown ill over his drink, he cast his eyes around the place in hopes no one had seen. But of course, no one had noticed two gruff men in a corner enjoying a drink.

Then again, most of the other patrons here were gruff men as well.. except one familiar person who entered wearing a mask and cape, and he couldn't help but let his eyes wander over to her, staring her down and tensing. Shit. He'd have to get out before she noticed him, sitting at a table with a corpse.

OOC: After I wrote this I realized Owl is outside the tavern still, so yeah, I can fix this if you want, just let me know when you get back online 8D
Just had a silly idea that if he were to run into her again (or any one.. really) that it would be very awkward, considering he has a dead man sitting next to him XD

(OOC: Naw, she's stuck with this. Its golden! Too good to pass up. ;))

A burly fellow entered the tavern right on Owls heels and wasted no time in knocking her roughly to the side as he barged in. When a man his size plows through you, there is no shame in falling to the ground. Before she could voice a protest, the man was shouting over the noise at the top of his lungs.

"WHERE IS HE? I KNOW HE'S HERE! Jessi Morrison! Where is that rat?! I have it from a reliable source that that shill is here tonight! He owes his bookie a hefty sum! And that bookie is a wolf! If he has money to spend on booze, he has money to pay the Wolves! AND I'M HERE TO COLLECT!"

An entrance that big received a quick response, and it was not long before he was pointed toward the table Jessi Morrison was slumped at. He was clearly drunk, and it appeared he also had a guest. The large man headed that way.

As the large man approached the table, Jarrett swore beneath his breath. He had heard enough to realize this man was also in bad with those wolves, and hid his frown behind a dark smile as the man approached. But he leaned back casually in his chair, he rested his boots up on the table, an arm going around the slumped and deceptively dead form of Jessi Morrison as he quirked a brow at the man and kept the dead body steady.

"Can I help you?" he asked, keeping that hand behind Jessi with a firm grip, though no one could be the wiser who stood in front. Well, at least the man was large enough, maybe Owl wouldn't notice him back there, too (though the man's mouth was large enough, and people were already beginning to stare..) But Jarrett seemed indifferent, and waited for the man to speak.

OOC: Woo, this is my 5,000 post 8D

((Ooc: MaGiCaL JoInInG!!!!))

Torak had been sat peacefully in the tavern bar virtually all night, enjoying the spoils of his targets. As long as his targets died, his employers cared not what he did. People died, employers paid, he drunk and was promiscuous. He liked that sort of life. But lately he had run into trouble with a gang calling themselves wolves. They were irritating. They dogged him, and thought he was a threat. Plus he had killed someone in their early rank structure, from what he knew, or a valuable ally. And they had killed a girl who he had been fond of in retaliation.

This new variable claimed to work for the wolves. As he shouted for a Jessi Morrison, Torak made an approach, donning his helmet, and his hood. Silently, he prepped a knife, seeing that the man was being a pain. Torak put one hand on the man's shoulder. The other kept firmly on the knife under his cloak. If the man went to make a move he would simply stick the man in the ribs. "Leave these patrons in peace." The helmet made his voice sound raspy, like a respirator, through a magical enchantment. He paused, letting out a long, loud, slow breath, sounding like a respirator sigh. "Please." Torak added sarcasm into the mix. "Go back to your masters, and give them, this." He held out the prized necklace of his kill. The man was supposedly identifiable by this necklace. Inseparable from it. Being given the necklace was his way of warning the wolves not to cross him. He waited for the response.

He had already surveyed the situation. He could teleport into the alley to his left if needed, or up into a patrons room, or the roof. Teleporting back would take him onto the street, and likely into the view of people, or possibly wolves. The roof was his safest option, as wolves would likely be in the alley too. If any were around. And Torak would not risk getting caught between them. The roof or attic. He could escape from the roof. The attic likely had no windows, thus no way of knowing where he could teleport. That was his escape plan, the roof.

As for people. There was a whole crowd of the average bar, drunkards, workers, the usual. There was this man, burly, didn't look very agile. But as the man had entered, he had seen a young girl. She looked like a climber. Quite possibly a quick one. And to teleport up, the only way was to jump. There was also the drunken man on the table, accompanied by someone who looked confident, therefore likely armed, or well allied. Possibly both. This would be a tough one to get out of.

But he had a message he needed to send to the wolves.

And he was going to send it to them. Even if it crawled there with a knife between it's ribs.

[ooc: HAAAAAH! xDDD Yes, WAY too good to pass up! xDDDD Pah, I'm easy, the answer is always yes, especially if there's lulz and awkwardness involved! >8D]

---

The tavern was packed that night, and Owl paused by the entrance and scanned the crowd for an empty seat, and failing that since it looked pretty full, a person that didn't look completely shitfaced. (Ah, the words she'd picked up on her adventures!) It was on that second sweep that she had to do a double take, blinking and looking over at the back corner where a familiar man was lounging next to a passed out drunk.

Jarrett?

That was when a brute of a man knocked right into her, and she toppled over and landed on her rear with a grunt and a wince. Scrambling back to her feet, mask askew, she started to dust herself off and fix it when the man started howling about some Jessi bloke--and mentioned "Wolves". And he was heading straight toward Jarrett's table. Her heart leaped and she froze, considered booking it, but then steeled herself against the impulse. "Owl" didn't run, after all, and she wasn't about to let anyone think she was scared, especially after the big things she'd said.

So she followed after the man. She needed to speak to Jarrett, anyway, and as another masked man stood and intercepted the Wolf (and left her feeling a under-dressed, because his outfit was so much fancier than hers, jeez) she slipped nimbly around them and sidled up to Jarrett's table.

"I see I have an adoring fan," she said as she grabbed a chair across from him, turned it around, and straddled it. She rested her arms on the back of it, bad arm atop her good arm, and stared at him. "I don't know whether to find that flattering or creepy, but at least you're not in my bed."

She nodded to the passed out man. "Who's your friend? You look pretty...cozy."

Jarrett simply stared at Torak when he appeared, and nothing more. It seemed there were many men after Jessi. Too bad Jarrett had already killed him, and he was fully prepared to fight for his kill if necessary. After all, it was his blade that had sunk into his back. But it was Owl that had actually drawn his attention, piqued his interests, as he peered over at her when she sat down at his table, the cigar smoke wafting up between them lethargically from where he had long since abandoned it upon the table.

And at her words... he smirked.
"Just a.. friend." And he patted him on the shoulder. "And you could say that." And he paused to consider telling her before the words just seemed to come out, "because he's dead." And his hand and since slipped into the back of the man's sleeve and he lifted it up, much like a puppet as he had the dead man wave limply to the girl before putting his arm down back upon the table.
"But.." he said, leaning forward, pressing one finger to his lips. "Don't tell anyone."
And he leaned back, picking up his glass of rum and took a long swig. But his green eyes never left hers.

A dirty little fellow crawled out from under a table near the double-wide big mouth and tugged at the huge oafs sleeve. The big man didn't take kindly and began to shout until his eyes landed on the little guy.

"WHAT IN TH-!" At the little mans beckoning finger, the large man bent to allow the short one easy access to his ear. A murmured whisper, and a few nods later and the big man was once again standing erect. He snatched the necklace from the stranger in his way and handed it to the little man who quickly dashed out of the tavern.

"Thanks to you stranger it seems I've been promoted. I am now The Dirus! Hahahahahahahaha," his bellowing laughter most assuredly annoyed all the patrons of the bar. "I'm told my boss has transferred the debt of Jessi Morrison over to a Jarrett L'isson. 500 gold L'isson!" the oaf bellowed, "That's what you owe me and I'm told you're 'im," he pointed to the relaxed fellow that was sitting across from the skinny boy in the odd costume.

He placed a hand on Torak's chest in preparation of a shove and had every intention of heading to Jarrett and Owl.

(ooc: is it horrible that I keep setting up random NPC's to get killed? lulz)

Owl's eyes grew wide and it took every ounce of willpower not to jerk right out of her chair when she realized she was facing a corpse. Instead, her hands gripped the chair's backing until her knuckles whitened and she flashed Jarrett a too-wide grin.

And then she lifted a hand, wiggling her fingers in a weak wave.

"I'm...not even gonna ask," she said through her stiff smile, trying to act all casual. She was getting the feeling that she'd come at a very bad time.

A bellowing laugh made her turn in her seat, and then she sighed and looked back at Jarrett, propping her chin up on her hand, keeping her posture relaxed even though she'd gone tense and alert. She slid good arm off the chair and under her cloak to rest her hand on the pommel of her sword. Yuuup. Definitely chose a bad time. And Dirus? Like the dead man the other night? Uh...

She jerked her head toward the burly man. "Another 'friend'?" she asked Jarrett cheerfully. "You're popular tonight."

---

[ooc: I'm getting the feeling Canis Dirus is a cursed rank. xDD]

The man was now this 'Dirus'. And he had promoted someone, had he? Wonderful. If this man was a wolf, he was on a hit list. And he was bothering the patrons. Torak looked around. Was it worth it? Yes. Was it sensible? No. But he had a plan.

"Who, in this tavern, believes our friend, here, is ruining a good night?" A fair few people cheered in response to Torak's question. Good enough for him.

In a blur of movement, Torak drew his dagger, and in a swift, clean motion, cut the man's throat. The crowd would be in shock. So he needed something to stop his imminent death. What did they want, he wondered. Drinks.

"Two rounds of drinks for everyone, courtesy of me, your host and benefactor, Torak!" He made a bow, and flourished his dagger. More cheers and happy people. Now to help out the sorry man who had an unwanted debt. A 20,000 coin reward for one target, stolen from the very client, was more than enough to keep Torak going for a while.

"Now..." Torak pulled a chair up to the table, remembering to pick the necklace back up from the body, and kicking it out into the street. "Would you three care to explain what just happened? Torak poured out a bag of coins, beginning to count 500 coins to give the man.

Jarrett stared up at the man making a scene, and the man threatening right next to him. But he never lost his cool, simply staring at them as he lounged back in his chair, keeping one hand on the dead man and the other idly twirling a ring on his finger. It was only at Owl's posed question that he replied and began to pick at the skin on the side of a finger nail.
"Can't say I recognize him," he said, flicking the skin he picked off aside in nonchalance, then rose his eyes over as Torak tore a blade across the large man's throat. Another assassin? Though this one hardly had the sense of secrecy. He never knew why men had to always boast over their jobs. He found his art of killing more of an artwork, and if there was an indication of that, it was in the dead man still sitting beside him, looking slumped over and drunk rather than dead.

"Suppose that's one way to get him to shut up," Jarrett commented just once about the dead man,then turned back to Owl, ignorant of anything else going on around him as he asked. "Looks like we get free drinks." ANd he smiled over at Owl and patted dead Jessi on the shoulder, making the dead man bob his head. "And it looks like our friend Jessi is happy about this two." And he leaned over, picked up his discarded cigar and placed it back into his lips, taking in a long, steady drag before blowing smoke towards the ceiling. "So what brings you out on a night like this? Shouldn't you be keeping low?"

[OOC: BRACE THYSELF, NOOB ABOOOOARD.]


     The air was moist yet clear of any clouds or possibility of rain. The moon hung high in the air, its proud radiance bathing Faelwyn in a spot light as she walked through the forests of Serendipity. Her eyes wandered, taking in the lush underbrush and bright colors of the vegetation around her. Serendipity seems nice, she enthused, smiling at its vicinity regarding all things natural. The only minor annoyance was that it seemed the trails and roads seemed uncharacteristically long, without many taverns or inns close by for rest. Every other night Faelwyn has found herself sleeping in trees and washing up momentarily in rivers and streams, only to later find an inn to wash up in that day after traveling.
     Her feet were sore from all of her walking; each step seemed to be another dull ache she knew nothing of before. It pained her to walk any longer and she found that arguing with herself on whether to stop and look for a tree.
     No, she ventured, Absolutely not. No more trees or lying on the ground for sleep. There has to be some sort of inn or tavern around here somewhere.
     She arched her back, determination now in her stride, and strolled on, easing into a rhythmic step. Every ending to a path seemed to be plain and barren, nearly without a single person. Faelwyn sighed, pain throbbing her feet as she walked on aimlessly, or so it seemed.


     Half an hour later, she wandered into a bustling square - complete with suspicious markets, alleyways, and best of all, buildings. Each building was designed specifically for a purpose but Faelwyn had no desire to explore the new finding just yet. Her exhaustion was evident and she made it a purposeful gesture to wander into the nearest tavern.
     The murmuring of hushed conversation and loud drinking echoed in the room. Animated discussion was filling up the room: drunken men throwing their hands up, several minor arguments heating up, and the frustrated yelling of the server behind the bar.
     Clutching her flute case to her chest, Faelwyn made her way over to the bar and sat down. She had no idea if this tavern had an rooms for lodging.
     "Excuse me, sir," Faelwyn tried in a tired voice, "do you have a room available?"
     As she waited for the server's answer, she listened to the conversations around her. At a table in the back, she noted the quickly escalating exchange between two men. Beside them was a female in costume, who she regarded as odd to be here.
     You're one to talk, you know. You're quite the oddball here as well.
     The man sitting down next to the costumed girl blatantly ignored the other, speaking to her like an old friend. She watched, clearly spotting their familiarity with each other, the ease of conversation.
     Faelwyn caught herself staring and turned back around to the bar, mumbling as she watched the server do his job: perhaps he had not heard her question.
     It really is rude to stare.
     

[ooc: WELCOME! 8D]

---

She was surrounded by madness.

Owl hadn't seen the throat-slitting, but she'd heard shocked noises around her and had turned to look, just in time to to see the body crumpling to the floor. With a gasp, she jerked back around and stared at Jarrett, body rigid. Madness. Wow. Yeah. Something had shifted last night and she didn't know why or how. Her earlier outings had been far tamer compared to this--and no one had died.

But if one was to be a hero, wasn't that the point? That things got harder, scarier, and more challenging?

She laughed, more of a forced "ha ha" than a real one, and kicked Jarrett under the table when he made "Jessi" bob his head. "Don't be grotesque." As the rounds were passed about, she grabbed a drink for herself and took a large gulp, because the way this night was going, she was going to need it.

She was also going to need to stop acting like prey, though it was hard not to when there were dead bodies everywhere. With couple more gulps for good measure, not stopping until she'd drained half the cup, she slammed the mug down onto the table and leaned her arms back on the chair's back. "I probably should," she said at last. "But I'm not going to, just because of some posturing mutts. Owls hunt mice, they don't act like them."

It made sense in her head. She took another sip. "Anyway, maybe I just really wanted a drink. Or decided to come spy. Or was planning on an epic showdown with the new Dirus before some other gaudy bastard stole my quarry--"

That was when she noticed Torak, sitting at their table, and she froze with her mug raised to her lips. When had he gotten there?!

---

The barkeep, Abel, was an older man with the long-suffering look of someone who had been in this business for a while, and was used to dealing with the rowdiness of his particular patrons. For the most part, he pretended not to notice what they did and focused instead on his job. Willful ignorance was the best defense here. He didn't ask questions and kept the drink flowing? They paid and didn't harass him.

However, as things escalated to murder, he found himself watching while pretending to polish a mug that he'd been polishing for the last five minutes. Where did they put the body? Gods, he hoped not in front of the door. That wasn't good for business at all. But then the masked man was calling for two rounds for everyone, and he bustled off to work again.

He'd just completed the order and gone back to his polishing, watching and hoping no furniture would be broken this time, when he turned and noticed a girl sitting at the bar.

He grunted in acknowledgment. "Ya lost or somethin', girlie?"

"Gaudy bastard am I? Hmmm, well, I believe, no-one in the tavern is complaining about two free rounds of drinks, and, neither are you, or am I mistaken?" Torak grinned smugly and slid a purse of 500 coins to the man named Jarrett.

"A gift from a gaudy bastard to a man who is very good at making this dead man seem drunk. I am intelligent. And it is yours to spend how you wish, although I would start with that debt. And end with it. No strings, just 500 gold that I don't need. Ever." Torak could have spent 500 coins in a whorehouse if he really wanted. But it would have been a waste. Besides, the girl in the costume had more appeal to him than the old tarts in the whorehouse. Boring, extortionate. Highway robbery for sex, which was achievable through the relatively fun activity of wooing. Money can't buy love.

"So, I pose the question again, why are you both here? And why is the man here dead?" Torak leaned back. These two seemed harmless enough towards him anyway. But that was all the reason to ask them why. 

Jarrett kept his smile, even after Owl kicked him. And when she tried scolding him, he shrugged.
"Why not?" he asked her casually, moving his cigar between his fingers, the question obviously posed towards her telling him to stop being grotesque. Then as the other man was finally recognized by Owl, he smiled a little more, though it was forced as his eyes flashed to the other man who made his comment about the dead one. He supposed it was his time to leave, and he wasn't a man to refuse money. Though he certainly wasn't going to use it towards a debt that really wasn't his. After all, he didn't know Jessi, and if he was going to be pin pointed as an associate, he'd hunt every one of those wolves down and kill them. Little did he know how wide spread and organized they could be. So he took the money and pocketed it and nodded towards Torak. Then he rose from his chair after not even taking a drink and patted Jessi upon the shoulder.

"Well, I think Jessi and I have had enough to drink. I'll leave him here with you to sober up." and slipping his hands into his pockets, he simply walked away.

     Oh.
     Faelwyn edged forward in her seat, curiosity in her blue eyes. "Yes, I was-" she paused, contemplating over the action. Suddenly images of the drunkards, everyone's loud and destructive nature, and all of the obvious crime going on rushed through her head. She frowned, making her decision with quickness.
     "No, I am not lost," she finally replied, standing up from the bar, a small smile tugged at her lips. "But thank you regardless for your concern, sir." Faelwyn gently laid a a gold piece down in front of the man and stood up.
     She crossed the room with ease, coming to a stop at the door. She faced a man with an acute broadness; his black hair was the most noticeable thing - yet again it was rude to stare.
     "Excuse me," Faelwyn murmured, walking past him and out the door as quickly as she had walked in. Outside was a realm of mystery, the streets and alleys were coated with darkness, as was its inhabitants.
     Faelwyn wished deeply she had not come to this particular setting; the overwhelming sense of being watched and the lack of security made her spine tingle. The night held its many beauties, but its many horrors would fall quickly behind.

Yeah, that was pretty much the last thing Owl wanted, being left behind with a body and an assassin that had no issues killing someone for being annoying. Another criminal, yes, but murder was murder, even if it was a criminal killing another criminal who had probably killed others, in which case...was that an act of justice or not? She didn't even know anymore. She was getting into a lot of murky, uncomfortable, scary territory here where her world before had been very black and white, saving poor people from getting mugged by petty thieves.

And as much as she didn't want to admit it, it scared the shit out of her.

She shot the assassin a nervous glance and gave another laugh. She rose to her feet and started to back toward the door. "Well, like I was telling him, I just wanted a drink. Can't a person just want a drink anymore? I do my best work with a bit of ale in my system. Now, I was planning on handling the Dirus, but you got to it first, so, great! Now if you'll excuse me, sir, I bid you good night!"

And with a little salute, she spun on her heel, cape fanning out, and booked it out the door, following on the heels of another woman she hadn't noticed before.

She caught up to Jarrett quickly; wasn't hard, just follow the awful smell of smoke. Yet despite that, now that she was out of that place, she felt like she could breathe again. "Hold up! I wasn't done with you," she said, falling into step beside him.

She hadn't yet made the connection that he was himself an assassin.

Or that he'd killed Jessi.

As far as she knew (and naively believed), the man had been dead before either of them got there.

Jarrett continued down the street, hands still in his pockets, cigar still jutting out of his lips. He didn't seem to pay much mind to Faelwyn, or even Torak, whom he had simply left behind (Well, and Jessi- though Jessi was dead. Thankfully he didn't nee the corpse to prove he had killed him. Reputation alone leant Jarrett an edge in his field of business). Though when he heard Owl's familiar voice from around him, he paused and turned around, raising one dark brow at her but said nothing as his cigar smoke drifted out from his lips and wafted to a fade about his face.

"I thought you were sticking around for a drink? Now poor Jessi is all alone." Then he spun away, and continued to walk on again.

     Faelwyn .}

       A wave of unease washed over Faelwyn as the man known as Jarrett passed by her. She felt every sick feeling under the sun: violence - not just any violence, death. She felt and smelled death on this man as if he had bathed in it. It pained her to sense so much of it coming from one person.

       Before long, she felt another presence: a different sense. It was made up of both light and dark; the light overwhelmed the dark with intensity. It was then that Faelwyn caught sight of the owner of the aura - a woman disguised, brandishing a rather peculiar cloak. Who..?

      "Hold up! I wasn't done with you," she called to the man, quickly trailing him. Both of their presences seemed odd in one place. Both were different - each had more of one side than the other: the girl with her light and the man with his darkness. It was a strange concept they were both interacting.

      Before she could stop herself, Faelwyn grabbed the girl's arm, urging her back from the man. No good could come out of these two interacting, she fought with herself on her instinct, he could easily hurt her.

Owl made a face and started after Jarrett again. "I really don't think Jessi minds too--ah!"

Someone grabbed her arm--the injured one--and pulled, and Owl reacted out of reflex. With a squeal of alarm and pain, she swung around and her fist followed at face level, smacking into the woman. Heart in her throat, she wrenched herself free and scrambled back in panic, clutching at her arm. The night had put her on edge, with its dead men and assassins, and that was all she could think of in that moment.

It was only after she'd punched the girl that she realized the mistake she'd made.

The brief interaction had left Torak unsatisfied. And now the man and his friend had left. Best leave the apparent corpse for others to deal with. "One more round of drinks for all." He mumbled, passing the bar keep the necessary amount of coin to pay for it. Then he left.

Putting his helmet voice enchantment on, simply thinking to work it, he stalked the newly formed trio down the street. Then something rather amusing happened. The girl in costume punched the new girl straight in the face! Torak chuckled as he watched the incident unfold. But he felt bored as it went on, then he moved in. He would kill them if they tried to run.

"Hello again young lady. Now answer my previously posed question. Or die..." The newest girl gave off an aweful aura that made Torak recoil slightly from the girl. He remembered this from when he was taught some mordecai fighting styles, and how to detect magic. He hated this feeling.

It was an odd series of events, though it seemed this Owl girl tended to draw a crowd that created.. those odd series of events, and before he knew it, reflexes kicked in, his cigar falling from his lips as he suddenly caught Faewlyn when she was knocked over from the punch. He choked on the remains of his cigar smoke and turned to Owl.

"Nice punch," he said, then sputtered out one more cough of smoke. "Though I didn't realize you came all the way out here to start a cat fight." He tossed his head back with a smirk, but failed to knock his black hair out from his eyes as he stared over at her. It only clicked then as to why she reacted that way- Her injury. But he hadn't time to swallow it when the other loud mouthed man returned. It seemed Owl attracted an,... interesting variety of people. Nonchalant as he was, he simply helped Faewlyn by handing her over to Owl in a way, before he bent over, picked up his cigar, and flicked the ash onto Torak's boot. Then he planted the cigar between his lips and took in a nice long drag, exhaling around the cigar so that more white puffs of smoke plumed around his face as he looked right at Torak, indifference glowing within his eyes.

"If you're asking about Jessi Morrison, you could say he sort of fell on my knife." Then with a shrug, Jarrett moved to walk away again.

       Faelwyn .}
       
       A yelp barely escaped her when Owl's fist connected home. Faelwyn stumbled backwards, stunned. Fortunately, she was caught by someone kind enough not to see her own humiliation. She glanced up into the face of her savior and froze. Him?!

       "Nice punch," Jarrett said with a cough before continuing, "Though I didn't realize you came all the way out here to start a cat fight." Neither did Faelwyn.

       Just as quickly had he spoke, the man eased her over to Owl. She stood up on her feet in just enough time to see the Jarrett fellow flick part of his ash on another man's boot who had previously bounded up, demanding some nonsense she could not make out. The man that joined them earlier seemed the kind to be quite persistent.

       Jarrett began to walk away, taking his aura with him. Yet he saved me. Faelwyn shivered at the dark aura surrounding him, biting her lip nervously. In defense, she held onto her magic, but lost some of it to his dark aura— something that had never happened to someone with more evil and good that Faelwyn herself had done. Surely nothing drastic will happen, she prayed.

       The young lightress turned to the girl adorned in costume and sighed to her. "I'm sorry," she said gently, "I thought you were in danger."

Owl watched on in mortification as Jarrett caught the girl she'd punched before setting her back on her feet. She was about to apologize, red clear up to her ears and hoping she hadn't hurt her badly (luckily, her strength lied in climbing and swordplay, not physical fights), but that was when the murderer from before headed right up to them. And threatened them. Owl went stiff.

...Damnation.

And once again, Jarrett was leaving, abandoning them to the masked murderer.

Double damnation.

Tossing her cloak back over her shoulder to free up her sword arm, Owl drew her weapon and moved to stand before the other girl, other arm out to try and back the girl up. "I believe I already answered your questions, sir," she said, sword crossed in front of her body in a defensive stance, rather than an offensive one.

"It's not my fault if you didn't like the answers. They won't change no matter how much you ask. Now if you'll excuse us..."

Torak shoved off his cloak, and aimed the wrist mounted crossbow at the girl. "Well make one up. I have every capability of sending a bolt flying at each one of you right now. And you will die if it lands." A bluff, but a good one, one he could call. He had several poisoned darts in a pouch on his belt, but they weren't to know.

"You, the girl in the costume, you can come with me." He pointed it at her, training the sights on her head. "And you, the other girl. You can die."

He pressed the release, and the bolt flew forward the sight trained just to one side of her head. If he got her in the head, she would no doubt die, with the speed of the metal bolt. If not, the cracking of metal and stone would attract her attention. Long enough for him to pull a throwing knife or a sword on her. If either of the other two got in the way, they would feel a blade in their back from a teleport. If his plan worked. Which it probably wouldn't.

He took a second to take in his escape routes. He could teleport onto the roof of the buildings either side, although the right side led to an alley that he could use to double back and trick them. It would look as though he was going south, but he could stop, activate an enchantment on his boots which would muffle the sound of his footsteps to all but the untrained ear, then he could double back, making quick time with a teleport.

There was a reason he walked slow. No one would have suspected him to be so swift, most importantly, himself. His ears were always open, despite always seeming aloof, so when the loud mouth man continued to badger the other ladies, Jarrett had barely made it a casual few steps before he was slinking right back around- and at the most inopportune moment to become a one shot, unintentional hero.

The bolt snapped from Torak's bow, hissing through the air and slamming into Jarrett's arm the moment he raised his hand up to take another puff of his cigar as he stepped in between the two ladies. It was a really peculiar moment, a peculiar series of circumstances that had him staring at his forearm, that now had a bolt sticking out of it and was dripping red with blood. Blinking, he looked down at the wound, then to his still burning cigar, then over at Torak with seeming indifference (though there might have been some mild sense of him being impressed, though it was hard to tell if it was because he was impressed on the circumstances and his luck, or that the other man would be stupid enough to attack a blood mage (no that he could know).)

But instead of reacting how one might expect, Jarrett just raised his injured arm up and placed the cigar to his lips and took in a long drag. After exhaling, white wisps blowing towards the winds from his pursed lips, he looked back down at his bloodied arm again and stated simply, "Owe."

Then he tilted his head curiously at Torak, merely staring at him as the end of his cigar glowed orange. "Nice shot."
Yeah, that one was intentionally left to kick the man's ego in the balls. Then again, the way Jarrett was standing, there wasn't much room for teleportation, as he stood, with Faewlyn at his back and Owl to this right, and Torak directly in front of him. And all he could think of at this close of an angle was...

"Your costume needs more feathers." ANd moved to take in another drag. "Now, state your business before I find a way to shove that crossbow up your ass. It's obviously me you want to talk to." He blew smoke towards the other man's face. "The women are harmless." Since as far as he could see... they were.

Crouched on the roof, looking down at the little group, Rufus nearly leaped in to defend Owl. What was he thinking? Why would he defend her. He didn't understand it, but he would. After Lepo had brought him word that Jessi was dead and the debt transferred to Jarrett, he had come to oversee collection. Perhaps Jarrett would be an exception to the usual rule, you don't kill people that owe the wolves money without assuming that debt, but he was dangerous, and he was simply plying his craft. Digging up his client wouldn't be hard. That was who the debt would go to instead. The Sirens had been unusually silent lately, letting other assassins muscle in on their territory. He would try and leave Jarrett to them. No reason to get between the Sirens and anyone that upset them.

A Shadow Wolf came and brought him news that the big man was the one that had killed the new Dirus in record time. He really needed to find someone better for the position. His wolves watched from all the alleys and rooftops, waiting for his signal. For now they would simply shadow the group, but in an instant they could pincushion anyone marked with the crossbows they carried. When the big fellow shot at the girl Owl had punched, Rufus raised a hand. He would signal to take the shot as he leaped in to guard the little bird, but Jarrett's actions prevented this. Had he not chosen that moment to break the bubble of tension that was growing and redirecting it to himself, Rufus would be in that street now, fighting because of some mysterious buzzing in the back of his skull.

For now they would continue to watch.

The man loosed the bolt, and Owl gave a shout of alarm, but it was too late and too fast--too fast to warn the girl, too fast to have any hope of deflecting it, and as she spun to look, she dreaded what she might see.

Instead, she saw Jarrett, his arm up--and a bolt sticking out of it, while he stared at it not in pain, but more like it was some puzzling new development. And went back to smoking his cigar.

What the...?

Was he even human?

But cool as ever, he faced the man, and while he did, Owl angled her stance. This guy was persistent, and she had a feeling things were going to get nasty, and--wait, what?

"Harmless?" she huffed, shooting Jarrett an indignant look. "Speak for yourself!" However, she could at least appreciate his feather comment. It was so very true! "You seem to have forgotten I took out the last Dirus! Single-handedly!"

She fixed her eyes on the masked man. "And I didn't take him from behind in a tavern while he was off collecting money. It was an actual fight. We faced each other head on, wolf to owl, brawn to brain. It wasn't whatever cheap, cowardly nonsense you pulled, and he was a grown giant, not a drunken oaf or a harmless girl. So whatever you're trying to do, I'd not do it!"

Now the costumed girl had angered him. A backstabbing coward was an insult of the highest form to him. Now she would die.

"Fight me then, girl, prove your strength in a one on one fight, no friends, just swords. You and me." But then he thought of the girl and the man beside her.

"Jarrett, I believe? You may go, you are strong, and clearly have a deserving life, and plenty of strength to carry you. I respect strength in it's utmost. As such, I leave you in peace, my apologies for shooting you, and may you live prosperously. As for you though girl, you can run and hide like a rat for now. Owl here has taken my attention." He recognised her now. An owl had killed the last dirus apparently.

No common garden bird but a girl in a costume being a vigilante. An "Owl" had killed the last Dirus. Now he understood. And it made it fun. She had no abilities like his, not that he had heard of. Merely a girl getting lucky while flailing a sword.

Jarrett picked at his ear with his pinky from the arm that wasn't bleeding. These two sure had a lot of hot air they were spewing. He stared down at the bolt in his arm, still dripping blood as the man went to address him, and continued to casually puff away at his cigar. The tip of it glowed orange as he took in a deep throated drag, teeth digging into it, then stared back at the masked, armored man and exhaled the potent white smoke in his face.

He honestly didn't care what this man thought of him. Didn't he just say the women were harmless? He didn't like people that didn't listen. Then again, he was just about to ignore everything both of them were huffing out.

"I'm going to count to three. By the time I yank this bolt out of my arm, I want you out of my face and out of this street. It's hard to enjoy a cigar with you blowing so much hot air out of your mouth." He flicked some ash onto Torak, it fluttering towards the chest piece of his armor.

"Now," he reached forward, gripping the end of the bolt still locked into his arm and dug his teeth again into the fat cigar. "We can do this one of two ways, and the third way will end with you as a corpse on the ground." He smiled, his eyes sparkling subtly. "One..." he said, and snapped one end of the bolt, letting the bloodied piece of wood drop to the ground. "Two.." he grabbed onto the remaining half of the thing, now with an open end ready to be yanked out from his flesh and he tensed, eyes narrowing darkly upon the man. "Three." and the last word was breathed out through white wisps of smoke while quick as lighting, he yanked the bolt out from his flesh, standing there, pointing the bloodied broken bolt piece menacingly at Torak.
But nothing happened.

Jarrett's lips sagged around his cigar, the darkness to him seeming to deflate along with his ego. He blinked and peered through his the long, black bang of hair that slicked over one of his eyes, staring at the bolt.
It was covered in blood... he was holding it.. he had whispered some sort of mutterings of the ancient magic spell his mistress had taught him to conjure up a flame from hell to turn this menace into ash...

So it should have worked. He should have been able to conjure the fire's from hell and incinerate him to ash within mere seconds...
Yeah...last time he checked, when he was covered in blood and conjured his magic it just... you know... worked.

So he held the bolt forward, examining, all the while his arm was bubbling out hot blood that was gushing down his arm. Then he moved to press his thumb into the wound, dipping it in enough to coat it thoroughly with blood. Maybe the blood had to be... fresher? So he used his bloodied thumb to smear more onto the broken, pointed end of the bolt.  He had intended to light it  into a roaring, deadly flame from his blood powers magics...

But when he tried again, pointing the thing back into Torak's face with a quick snap...
No powers came out... in fact, he couldn't even feel that usual, deep burning itch that came along with his blood magic. The only thing that sputtered off from the piece of bolt was the extra blood, that splattered straight onto Torak's armor.

What.
The.
Fuck.


Jarrett looked at the bolt again, chewing on his cigar and switching it from one side of his mouth to the other.
"Well that was anti climatic."

Canis Rufus, the man once known as Theodore Wrenthis, felt his magic canceling eye patch tingle against his face. Someone was trying to use some magic, and by the feel of the sensation the patch gave him, it would have been a decent spectacle. Judging by his random response to something unknown, it must have been Jarrett. Well no magic would be able to be activated with him near, and if that was something any of them relied on to fight, things could get interesting. The eye patch was a great accessory. He did have to remember that constantly active magic enchantments on items would still work, but if they required an activation of any kind, the user would be unable to do so. But his favorite thing was when someone cast a spell at him it would fizzle as it hit the boundary. That didn't prevent them from throwing things at him they picked up with magic of course, but he was just as quick on his feet as he was with his hands.

The big man had just threatened Owl, and that was not something that made Rufus happy. Jarrett may have been able to handle the situation, even without his magic, an assassin had to be able to fight under any conditions. Rufus would be ready just in case that wasn't true. He signaled The Wolves to be ready, and crept just a bit closer, to make sure his anti-magic field encompassed all the people in the street.

Owl was about to up the stakes and suggest he fight without armor, too, because it seemed she might have a better shot that way. And as much as she didn't want to fight him because he so wasn't the petty thief sort, she wasn't going to take back her words; she had a reputation at stake here! And she certainly couldn't back down from him if she wanted to take on a certain Wolf one day--whose presence she was currently unaware of. But before she could open her mouth, Jarrett cut in in his cool, casual manner.

Despite having a bolt embedded in his arm.

What followed next was...rather squick-inducing, and Owl wasn't normally disturbed by the sight of blood, having grown up rather active and being a woman besides. But when he counted down so ominously, building up to something, and then ripped the bolt out, blood gushing from the fresh hole, she had to admit the sight made her own wound ache in sympathy.

What he did next was so utterly bizarre it stamped said sympathy pains right out of the equation.

Owl stared at him as he pointed the bolt at the assassin with such confidence and authority, and watched as his face fell. It grew even more perplexing when he rubbed some blood onto the bolt and did it again.

Very slowly, she blinked at him. He had been building up to something, all right, but that...was not what she expected. She had expected him to do something fancy and exciting, like throw the pointy end of the bolt at the assassin or...something. Instead, he was flicking it around like a child waved a magic wand.

Her cheeks warmed with secondhand embarrassment.

Owl cupped a hand to her mouth and leaned in close. "Was...something supposed to happen?" she asked with a raised brow, and followed the line of his arm down to the end of the bolt, and finally to Torak, who had gotten splattered. Um.

"Because, ah, just between you and me, I don't think it's working." Then, to be helpful, she added, still whispering, "You could throw it at him, though. It might hit."

       Faelwyn .}


       "Well, that was anticlimatic."
       Faelwyn had watched this man, Jarrett, do a series of oddities: first, he jerked the bolt out of his arm, aimed it at the attacker, expecting something to happen. But it had not.

       "Oh," the light mage said at last, realizing what had happened in regards to Jarrett's apparent failure at magic. His confusion caught her attention. "You use magic?" she asked him, smiling sheepishly. The touch, she remembered when he had caught her, flashed back into her mind. She was rather defensive and was sure she was going to need to protect herself against darkness..

       "You don't use blood magic or sacrificial primal magic, do you? Because I can, uhm.."

The mans magic was not working. Shit. Not good. His original tactic was fucked, but his armour still felt light. The voice enchantment was still active. He wouldn't be able to activate his boots if someone was blocking the magic.

Conventional weaponry it was then.

"Look, I can see that you don't like my presence, but this girl is challenging me, insulting me. I will not stand and receive this. I have a right to defend my corner. So please, with all due respect, may you let her choose whether she is a coward, like she claims I am, or whether she will stand and fight." Torak was nurturing a hidden smile at the man, who didn't appear armed, and who's blood magic just fell into a deep dark hole. If necessary he would fight this Jarrett man too.

"And, as I saw it earlier, you were eager to leave these two girls, so why not carry on about your business, I have no quarrel with her. And her blasted emotion-" He stopped mid sentence. Perhaps she was a very powerful mordecai of some kind. Or some anti-sin angel or some silly thing like that. Torak came to the conclusion that she was blocking the magic.

"You're blocking the magic, aren't you? I could sense your damn magic when I first interacted with you, and now you are using something to block our magic!" Torak was very, very angry now. Torak had been stopped when the man was about to cast magic on his enchanted armour. He direly wanted to show the immunity to magic offense off.

Rufus smirked to himself at the big mans outburst. Apparently he used magic too, and from what he was saying, so did the other little mouse of a woman. Wrapped up in her cloak with that bow across her back, she probably wouldn't fare well if the big man decided she was his target. But Rufus didn't care about her. He was only here for Owl. It was an odd experience to feel protective of a potential adversary. He knew that with time and experience even the smallest animal could grow into a fearsome predator, as he had. He wanted to witness her ascension to greater heights, he would nurture her as best he could from the shadows.

This was dragging on a bit more than he expected though. By now he thought there would be fighting or fleeing. He didn't have all night. There was a ball the next evening, and he needed to be rested, if he was to attend as Ryk Handelaar, wealthy merchant. He may have to intervene soon, draw things to a close and be sure his little bird made it home safely. He still didn't know who she was. The tail assigned to her the previous night had turned up dead, and by the looks of it, poison was to blame. Her eyes had burned into his mind, and he could still feel the softness of her lips as he had crushed his against them. And she sure had smelled lovely, an expensive soap he was sure he recognized. He shook his head to clear it, 'Stop distracting yourself,' he thought. A woman hadn't had an effect on him like since his younger days in Zantaric. Was he growing soft? No. He simply had an interesting pet project. That was it. Surely.

A thought occurred to him and using an assassin hand language he had made sure all his wolves were learning, he called a Shadow Wolf to him. He signaled that he wanted a few more men with crossbows on the surrounding roof tops, and at least two with saps in each nearby alley. He didn't want the two newcomers escape without interrogation. Then he sent someone off to the tavern to learn all they could of the two new comers. He wanted to be prepared. It was best to always know who you were dealing with.

"If you're not a coward, why don't you remove your armor?" Owl said, and smiled a smile far more confident than what she felt. This was not a small fry and she knew it, and she knew it was a little silly to expect fairness, but he seemed the proud sort, so maybe it would bother him enough.

Either way, it looked like she was committed, and at this point she wouldn't feel good knowing he was wandering around, not after the senseless murdering, and not after he'd tried to kill the other girl for no reason at all.

"As you can see, I've got none. So if you want a fight, take it like a man! Unless you're too scared, of course." Her smile widened and she tossed her cape back. "I'll even let you keep the mask."

Her arm was going to be a problem, she realized. But one couldn't always decide to be in perfect health when they needed to act, now could they?

Jarrett frowned again through his cigar, but said nothing, simply letting the bloodied broken crossbow bolt drop to the ground. He chewed on the end of the cigar, mulling something over, not really paying much attention to anyone around him, before shoving his hands back into his pockets and walking straight back into the bar. He needed a drink.

But he wasn't gone that long, before returning..
though with a friend, and a bit more whisky on his breath than before. For Jessi Morrison was slung over his shoulder, and it appeared as if Jarrett were walking the dead drunk home. But instead of heading off in a more predictable direction, which would be away from the fight that was brewing in the alleyway, he walked straight back towards the group.

Shuffling the weight of the dead corpse's arm that was slung over his shoulder, he paused before the group and handed a bottle of whisky to Owl.
"Here, hold this."
Then didn't bother looking at Torak and moved to hand him Jessi's corpse.
"Here, hold this." Though if neither obliged, he'd simply let the objects drop to the ground, corpse included.

"Stay here. I have to tell the guards there's a dead body. I think I saw a group of them down the way." And he nonchalantly was making his way down the corner, hands in his pockets, the assassin not having a care in the world...

and if the other's would observe, there were, in fact, a few guards at the end of the road. (This was a seedy side of town to begin with, so they knew where to patrol) The guards were large and menacing looking, with sharp spears at the ready, swords at their sides. And for now, they hadn't noticed Jarrett approaching, still puffing away at his cigar.

In a bout of confusion, Torak looked at the body blankly. What was Jarrett up to? Surely he wasn't...

The bastard was as well. Heading straight for the guards.

"I think your friend might be inciting violence against us. Convincing the guards we killed this man..." Torak dropped the body on the floor, put a knife of his own in it, then left. Instead of leaving via conventional walking, he climbed the building with ease.

Until he reached the top. And saw all the wolves. "Shiiiiitt....."

Jarrett paused in mid-stride the moment he heard the assassin run away, and grinned against his cigar. Though he hadn't heard his claim about the wolves upon the roof top, Jarrett halted in his strides to lean casually against a building and just remained there, enjoying his cigar in piece. The guards hadn't noticed him yet, as he purposely kept to the shadows, eyes upon them, ears upon the girls. He just hoped the women were smart enough to take this time to find their escape. He could deal with Jessi later.

Torak was quick to book it, and Owl stared first at the body, then at Jarrett's back, whiskey bottle in hand and horror creeping up her spine. He wasn't. "Jarrett! What do you think you're doing?!" she shouted at him.

And that was when she actually looked past him and noticed the guards.

Who hadn't noticed either of them until she'd shouted.

They turned toward the sound then, facing them: Owl with her sword out and a prone figure at her feet, Faelwyn all cloaked and mysterious, Torak making his way up a building, and Jarrett puffing at his cigar. Owl went stiff.

Shiiiiit, indeed.

The guards shouted something she couldn't hear, and Owl quickly sheathed her sword, turned, and ran, nudging Faelwyn as she went.  "Go!"

She didn't wait for her, though, as she tore off down the street, still clutching the whiskey.

Never one to waste an opportunity, Rufus signaled his wolves to take Torak, alive of course, and with twelve crossbows aimed at him it was unlikely he'd be going far. Just as they were carrying out his orders however, Owl shouted at Jarrett. Bloody hell, the night was a time of silence, that was an early lesson for a predator. The guards would be here quickly, and he wasn't ready to strain the so far symbiotic relationship he had with the law enforcement of the city. He signaled two men to grab the cloaked woman in the street, he had questions for her. Another two were sent to grab Jessi, no reason to be wasteful after all. Jarrett could fend for himself.

Three wolves falling in line as he went, Rufus himself quickly took off across the rooftops to shadow Owl. He was not going to let her out of his sight. Last nights tail died, but he would not. With him moving away from the magic users, they would all find they could use their abilities once again, if they thought to try, but that didn't matter to him much. He left three magic users of his own behind to head off the guards if it was needed. Owl was his priority now.

"Hey, who's over there?" Called one of the guards.
Well, shit. Looks like his bluff was coming to fruition, and before he had a chance to tell Owl to lay low, he could handle it...
She was booking it off down the alley.

"Hey you! Get back here!" the guard shouted.
Jarrett frowned again, his cigar almost falling out of his mouth. But he grit his teeth into it and spun around, dashing after the midnight caped crusader. Though his long legs carried him quickly past her, and when a few soot wolves appeared out of no where to grab Jessi's corpse, Jarrett smashed a hand against their face and pushed them away.

"Sorry, I need him." And with a grunt, he scooped up Jessi into his arms, turning around just in time for the guards to catch up to him, but before they had a chance to shout any more commands, Jarrett hurled the dead corpse at the pair of guards, sending them both to the ground with the corpse on top, one of it's armed bent up awkwardly and crooked.
"What the hell?" one of the guards stammered when he realized.. "Hey, this man is dead! After them!"

Jarrett took in a quick drag from his cigar before biting down into it and turned tail to run, since by now he could hear the foot steps of other approaching guards, and the ones he had down were already scrambling to get to his feet. At least it bought them sometime to make an escape. Though as he ran, he noticed the wolves running against the shadow, as a few puffs of smoke trailed out through his nose as he ran.

With the amount crossbows in his face, Torak wasn't resisting. There were so many wolves. So, he marched, walking with them. It was rather weird, feeling like you were under arrest. Not fun. Just weird. And the crossbows were a good model. Quick reload, nice accuracy and firepower. He had used one before. And they were lethal, especially on armour at close range. Their metal bolts could punch through armour like Torak's. So he didn't dare fight.

They walked for a bit, and he hadn't notice his armour get lighter. Until he tripped and fell. Loose rope came off and he felt his armour get light. He turned to face the wolves, who had his sword and weapons. He could teleport. His voice enchantment was on, he could hear it in his groans of pain.

"Time to die, wolf scum." And in a flash he was gone. Taking his sword from one wolf, and killing him. Before they could react he had teleported again, killing one and stealing the crossbow, shooting his ally. Then he teleported again. Stabbing two foes, and shooting yet another. Six down, four to go, he thought, as he teleported and killed two more, throwing a knife into a third, and shooting the last one with their own crossbow.

Tiring, but effective. With that, he rounded up his weapons, and left to find an inn. He had been on a big enough adventure tonight.

---------------

OOC: Torak is gone now. Say buhbye.

Owl heard a commotion behind her, but didn't stop to look back, and certainly didn't stop to wait for Jarrett, the massive traitor, because in addition to there being guards back there, there were also apparently Wolves. Balls!

She needed to get out of here fast, and she'd just have to suck up her injury for now and make the best of it. Again.

Unaware of her pursuer on the roofs above and focused only on ones at ground level, she cut through an alley and attempted to call the illusion of smoke, to create an opaque screen between the guards and her so they wouldn't know whether she went left or right when she reached the end. Usually, it worked.

So when it didn't, she cursed aloud and went right, for no other reason than because it was darker. There was no time to figure out the whys; she had to keep going. Sticking close to the wall, and keeping her dark cape tight around her, she kept moving, and like the night before did not choose a direct path home. It took longer that way, but when she could no longer hear the sounds of guards, she headed home, through the hidden gap in the wall, and climbed back into her room.

---

[ooc: if I did too much here, let me know and I'll edit! xD Seemed like that party got broken up by the popo and all the kids are fleeing home. ;D Also, should we keep the ball in this thread, or do it in a fresh one?]

There was a bit of commotion back there, but he had a target and he planned on keeping up with her. That wasn't very hard at all. She needed more practice at the art of evasion. She was fast though, and she eventually left the guards far behind her. She wound through the streets, taking a very odd route that seemed to lead to nowhere. When she turned toward the wealthier district his interest was peaked. They passed the estate of Ryk Handelaar, wealthy merchant, his other persona, as they followed Owl through the streets. The heart of the Wolves Den was under their feet as they ran along, and he could see newly chalked marks on some of the walls denoting caches, dead drops, and temporary escape routes. Where was she leading them. Then they came to the Beirne Estate. Owl slipped through a hidden gap in the wall, and climbed up to a room. A room he had looked out from when he was given a tour of the entire estate a few years before. The young Einin Beirne, only thirteen then, was not impressed with his pomp and swagger, but she had shown interest in the blades he carried. A peculiar girl, her parents didn't seem to know what to do to control her adventurous side. He knew he had recognized those eyes, they were the wrong color though. The girl must have a bit of magic to her then. It seemed that that adventurous side of her had grown in the years since that first meeting. He had seen her at many balls since then, though she never really seemed up to participating in them. She was a lovely young creature now. Her apparent disinterest in the wealth and flagrant debauchery of those in her social range spared her from his womanizing ways, but he had stolen a few glances at that peachy skin, and those kissable lips. Now he knew her secret. It was time he turned in. He had two meetings and a ball to prepare for. Chances were he'd see her there.

---

The armored man took a spill, and in the next moment he was flshing all over the place slicing wolves to ribbons. There was not much chance of pursuit, but the senior Night Wolf sent a man to try and keep up. Luckily everyone carried potions tonight at orders from Rufus, and they even had a healer nearby. Losing that many wolves to one man would have been dreadful. There was no helping three of the wolves, so they were stripped as all weak fools were.

In the commotion below, after the initial blunders, the guards had ignored the corpse and the small cloaked woman to chase after Owl and Jarrett. Good luck for the wolves, but not for Faelwyn. Wolves grabbed the corpse and the woman and melted into the shadows of the closest alley. After stripping Jessi of everything of value, his body was tossed back into the street. The knife Torak had left in him was kept aside. Perhaps it could be used to track him, or divine some information about the big man. But what to do with the woman?

---

( OOC: I'm thinking another thread. That way things that are happening here, now can still be wrapped up. Spirit has Faelwyns reaction to happen. Jarrett is running off but hasn't drawn a curtain yet. Only Torak, Owl, and Rufus are gone from the scene. I may have to respond to responses with actions taken by NPC wolves. But these things won't impact the ball really. I can't wait to see Jarrett there. Only Rfus/Ryk will know the identities of the other two. :P )

((OOC: I would love to do another thread with these characters! Perhaps resolve the conflict between Rufus and Torak?))

((ooc would i be able to join into that thread sounds like tonns of fun :P))

This thread has concluded and split into several further encounters. Rufus, Owl, and Jarrett got into some trouble here (http://www.spiritsoftheearth.net/smf/index.php?topic=14771.0). Torak and Rufus can be found in the Soot Wolves guild threads.