Not until we are lost... do we find ourselves again(Open)

[Elector Count of WAAAGH!]

*Gulp*

...

*slam*

It was the fourth shot he had that night. You wouldn't know just by looking at him, but Ostwin Jäger was a heavy drinker. Unlike his brother, Ostwin had a high tolerance of alcohol, so he tended to need more to forget about his problems.

Today in particular was somthing Ostwin had hoped to have forget. They had gotten into an argument with a General of the Connoloath they were suppose to be working with. But it seemed that his brother wasn't having it with the general, it was either work they're way or not work at all.

Ostwin, let out an amused huff, but his face still kept it's stoney poker face. It was funny to him that his brother called the general "stubborn" all the while he himself had been resisting the general's request.

Couldn't blame him, though, his brother has always been more of a free spirited, wasn't use to taking direct orders like Ostwin was. Yeah, the man in his youth was off adventuring, with a "band of merrymen" no doubt. Meanwhile where was Ostwin? Drilling, marching, training with a regiment of of former gang members and rival gang members to go off to war.

Now look at them, which one of them was better? No doubt about it, it was Gerwen. Where Ostwin fired one shot Gerwen could shoot off three; where Ostwin could run fast, Gerwen could run faster; and where he commanded the men to fall in line, it was Gerwen that lead them, rallied them into battle. Gerwen was the perfect one in this sibling relationship. It was he was the one that won third place at that archery competition, it was he that rally the contestants into fighting the giant, it was he that formed the Death Eagles, and it was he that...that had finally found him, his own brother Ostwin.

As much as Gerwen was better then him, Ostwin could never hate his own brother. Had it not been for him, he might as well be dead, or worse...

Ostwin poured himself another drink from the bottle he had ordered, a bottle in between the cheapest and the average. He was sitting alone at a table in one of the cities inns, somewhere in the corner. While the patrons around him buzzed, laughed, talked about their day's events, Ostwin sat their thinking to himself, the shot of alcohol still sitting on the table. He had dried off a bit after entering the city, the rain had stopped then, and when he had entered the inn he had taken off his clock and draped it over the chair he was sitting in. His hat, meanwhile, draped over one eye, the plume sticking sadly out in an upside down U shape. His red crossbow leaned against the table, restrung when he had a chance, along with it's bolts and Ostwin's pack.

He had been sitting there for a bit after the sun went down, he had wanted to visit an old friend, only to find that he was out-of-town at the moment. It was frustrating for him, he was back on Connoloath soil for the first time in about a year since he left the army, it was finally the chance to see the his old friends after all these years, but coincidentally he wasn't here.

Ostwin took another shot, before setting the wooden shot on the table. Nope, still not enough.

It was true, this entire ordeal was his doing. Ostwin had received a letter from this same old friend detailing the current war effort and how the general, the new general, was looking for help.

Gods, it wasn't just because his old friend asked. It was that name, he remembered it all too well. The general's name was a name he spent a good deal of time trying to forget for all the wrong reasons. He owed her a personal debt that not even she would know, hell, he wouldn't have been surprised if she didn't even know which regiment he had served in before. But either way, he'd hope to repay her after what she done to save his neck.

"...but in the end is it truly worth all the trouble?"

His brother's voice echoed his own, was it truly worth it? Ostwin was had offered to put the lives of men considered brothers on the line to repay his personal debt.

Ostwin began to pour himself another drink.

Nobody really wanted to come back. He knew that the bowmen were uncomfortable with getting into a foreign war, the crossbowmen, like him, didn't want to remember what was back here. The wizard was no happier about being restricted in the use of his magic, while the halfling was scared half to death. The orc as always didn't give much response other then a grunt, and the Great Eagle was skeptical about his motivation. But it was his brother that had been the firmest opponent in coming back.

Ostwin had told his brother that he was doing this as a favor for an old friend, but he knew his brother wasn't buying it. He knew deep down there was more to this job then a simple "favor for an old friend", this was about the war and Ostwin's time in the army.It took a great deal of insisting for him to relent, and he had only promised that he would hear what the job was about.

It took them days of marching, through the rain no doubt, to make it to the meeting point barely on time. Yet at this meeting, both his brother and the General's personalities clashed, Gerwen refusing to give the General what she wanted. Ostwin tried to defuse the situation, but in the end, they got no where, and had went their separate ways.

And Ostwin, he decided to leave his brothers-at-arms to get a drink.

*Gulp*

Yessir, Ostwin's priorities were as straight as an edge.

Gods, no wonder his brother was the perfect.

Observing his hands, Ostwin was starting to fee a bit of the alcohol's effect. But he was only on his first bottle. The night was still young.

[Valtxr]

   "I'm sorry?"
   Nisreen always apologized to her victims. Always with a strange sort of inflection. As if she were saying it, but also asking herself if she really meant it. Sincere or not, it hardly mattered. Her victims were deeply unconscious anyway. Or maybe it did. Maybe, in some far off way, they heard her. Her voice mingling with their dreams. Seeding into the darkened recesses of their mind.
   The small light of the campfire lit his face. Adam was his name—a big, strong, healthy young man. He looked peaceful, despite the blood oozing from the twin bite marks on his neck. A sanguine bliss.
   The night was quiet around them. Just Nisreen, Adam, Youssef, the horse and the wagon, the orange glow of the fire, the soft rustling of the leaves of the trees, and the stars above them. They were about two days out from Reajh.
   "Oh. Let me get that for you."
   More futile words. She knew it to be true, no matter how much she hoped his unconscious mind could hear her. Still, she said them. Some small amount of solace could be found in talking to her victims like this. After lying to their faces, she'd tell the truth to their deaf ears; she lacked the courage for it to be otherwise.
   Nisreen reached into her satchel. Pulled out her 'bite kit', as she called it. Opened the kit and took out a cloth bandage and a regenerative salve. She opened the salve's jar and dipped her index and middle fingers into the salve and pressed them against the bite marks on Adam's neck.
   "See. There you go. Not so bad."
   The salve did its work, accelerating the healing on his neck and stopping the bleeding. Was that...a smile of Adam's face? Or was she imagining it?
   Didn't matter. Her shyness got the better of her and she looked away. Blushed. Not a natural blush, given her condition. Just another hunter's tool, an artificial flushing of cheeks at the right moment, an automatic response to the appropriate stimuli. A predatory reflex.
   "I shouldn't have said I don't bite. That was a awful lie. And a terrible pun. If you could, you'd groan right now, wouldn't you Adam?"
   No response. The fire crackled. Youssef, Adam's father, turned slightly on his own bed roll. But nothing followed.
   "I think you would, Adam. You've got a keen ear. You're quick-witted. Cute."
   She blushed again. Unrolled a strip of the cloth bandage and tore it. Started to wipe the blood from his neck and from his bed roll.
   "Oh. Um. Forget I said that. I wouldn't want to make this any more awkward than it needs to be."
   Nisreen pulled her fingers back from his neck. Healed. No trace of the marks left by her fangs. But she still had some blood to clean up on him. On herself. She dabbed the cloth on her lips and on her chin.
   "You'd think my bedside manner would be pretty good by now. But...ah, I think I've got a long way to go. Ugh, just look at this mess. Well, what do you think, Adam?"
   No response.
   "Yeah. You're probably right. I could always be cleaner about this. More civilized. This doesn't always have to be a base and brutish thing, now does it? Practice, of course. It'll come with practice. And patience. Oh, and the will to change. Don't forget that, Adam. That one's definitely important."
   No response.
   "Well...hmm...I think...yup, looks good. You're all cleaned up now. Decent again. None of this uncouth blood business. Hey, Adam? Do something for me? Let's just keep this between us. Okay? Okay. Sounds good. I'll just...I'll just go back over here to my own bed roll now. Oh don't worry, Adam, you'll be fine. Might wake up a bit groggy, but fine. I promise. Okay. Good night, Adam. Sleep well."
   Nisreen didn't sleep. She watched the dying of the fire. The encroaching darkness.

* * * * *

   "You ever been to Reajh before?" Youssef asked.
   "No," Nisreen said. "First time out of Arca, really."
   Youssef scoffed. "Pfft, Arca. You ain't seen real craftsmanship until you've seen Connlaothian craftsmanship. Ain't that right, boy?"
   "Yes, dad." Adam said.
   The wagon rolled along. The gates of Reajh were in sight, and they approached at a steady pace. The sun had finally set, allowing Nisreen to lower her muffler and her hood without putting herself in danger.
   Nisreen sat across from Adam in the wagon. Youssef sat in the driver's seat, holding the reins.
   "Tell me about this 'Civil War' that Connlaoth is in. I've never heard of a war like it—a country fighting itself—and I know so very little," she said.
   Youssef just laughed. "Lady, all you need to do is pop your head into any fuckin' tavern around Reajh and you'll get an earful. Hell, you're bound to meet some some poor smuck who got drafted, wounded, and discharged. That's why I got me and my boy out when that draft shit started. Moved my business to Serendipity. I ain't fightin' no noble fuck's war." And after a moment's thought, he added, "Sorry for all the swearing, miss."
   "I don't mind."
   "Good, because..."
   Youssef continued with his rant. Nothing much of value to be heard; it was mostly him complaining about nobles, Dukes, and other wealthy elites. Nisreen glanced at Adam. He rolled his eyes and shrugged his shoulders. They shared a smile behind Youssef's back.
   As the wagon passed through the gates of Reajh and started down the darkened city streets, Nisreen gawked at her surroundings. She'd made it. This was it. Connlaoth. A country at war with itself. Home of Ansgarism, a prominent monotheism. Birthplace of the legendary Mordecai and Adharas. There was so much to learn here!
   But first things first. She wouldn't be able to do much scholarly work if she didn't make sure her baser needs were satisfied. Ingredients for her potions and solutions of choice would need to be procured; a hunter needed her tools, after all. And, to that end, Nisreen would need to get in contact with Reajh's criminal underground. Name drop a few choice names from Arca's own underworld. Establish relationships with the people who could always get her what she needed.
   Dirty business, that. But necessary.
   Youssef glanced back at his son and Nisreen. Her attention focused back in on him. Heard him talking again. He said, "...and do you know what I said to him? I looked him square in eyes, and I said—"
   A silent crossbow bolt slammed into Youssef's skull. And a second burst through the skin of his neck. Blood splattered on Nisreen's face. Her tunic.
   She threw her hands up in surprise, her body flinching hard. "Oh god!"
   The reins slipped from Youssef's hands and he tumbled down into the street. The wagon came to a halt in front of a tavern. Noise, from inside the tavern. But no one else on the street.
   The moonlight made Adam's horror clear as day. "Dad? Dad!"
   He started to get out of the wagon. A third crossbow bolt caught him in the chest as he vaulted over the side railing of the vehicle. Adam toppled roughly from the wagon. He hit the street hard.
   Nisreen threw herself flat in the wagon. There was no top covering for the wagon, and only small wooden side rails. Not much in the way of cover.
   Adam groaned. She crawled forward some on her elbows and poked her head out from the back of the wagon. She saw him. Writhing in the street beside the wagon.
   "Adam! Adam!" she hissed, trying to stay as quiet as possible while also catching his attention. "Stop moving! Play dead!"
   "I'm sorry..." he said.
   "What?"
   "You shouldn't have ridden with us..."
   "Adam, please, stop—"
   A fourth bolt struck him in the chest again. One final gargle escaped his throat. And he lay still.
   Her lips twitched. "—moving..."
   Nisreen crawled back into the wagon. She was actually breathing heavily, though she didn't need to. Another reflex. She curled up into a ball, covering her head with her arms.
   She had no idea where the shots had come from, or how many shooters there were.
   What to do? What to do? Stay? Run? Use a smoke bomb?
   Maybe someone heard the commotion. Her or Adam yelling. The guard. A wandering adventurer. Somebody.
   A quiet, lonely, deadly night. In the wagon, the sound of her breathing.

[AevumEternity]

" Matron's Root, if you would." A voice, oddly familiar called from the bar of the tavern, a cloaked figure settling against the bar with a slight sigh. The General kept her hood up, at the very least to relatively cover her quite substantially unique hair. Only a few would recognize her, but once they did, she knew some hell would break loose.

Taking a moment to look around the bar- she immediately focused upon Ostwin. God had a funny sense of irony, thats all she could really say. Alas, her attention was drawn from the man as the pint was placed before her. Immediately she focused solely upon this alcohol that held as much sentiment to her as any precious keepsake. It was a beverage she knocked back with her men and women, that they unwound from the harshest of battles and toasted their fallen comrades with. It reminded her of simpler times as she took the first swig, burning her throat. The bitter taste knocking away the sweet remnants of wine she had been forced to choke down these last months. It was utterly barbaric. And she loved it.

Slowly, the General relaxed against the bar, pondering her conundrum, she would now have to draft bowmen, Just to ensure there would be a decisive end to this war. With the mercenaries deciding themselves too good for war, she would have to dig deeper not only into the Dukes' pockets but also her own in order to ensure there would be willing members. Public relations were already strained, she ddi not want to push any more on the population then had already been demanded of them. But the end was near. She needed one last push.

[Wycliff]

Aven was patrolling the perimeter of Reahj, taking in the soothing music of the night. The night fowl cooed in the trees, while subtle shifts in the brush below gave hints to the scampering of forest rodents and other similarly sized mammals. He'd been by the gates, heading in to visit his favorite steeple, view the ocean of lights that Reahj metamorphosed into when dusk broke over the vicious town. Suddenly, however, the music of the night was joined by the thrum of crossbows, and an unsteady metronome of bolts thumping into wood. As welcome as the percussion was to the night's symphony, it was not a sound Aven could ignore. He melded into the darkness as cries rang out, the chorus of the night, darting toward the noise, where he found a wagon that had been ambushed in the street, a solitary figure huddled in fear in the wagon amidst splatters of crimson blood.

Aven materialized quickly in the shadow of the alleyway,  wearing his noblewear for additional mobility. He needed speed if he was going to get that person out of there alive. He burst from the alley and vaulted into the wagon with haste, scooping up the cowering figure into his arms, a woman, and leapt through the air onto the rooftops with her in tow, one arm under her arms and the other under the bend in her knees. In the air, his eyes darted around for enemies, landing with a light thump on the wood of the nearby rooftop. After scanning the surrounding area, he glanced down at the young woman, seemingly around his age. "Are you alright, miss?"


Sent from my iPhone using Tapatalk

[Elector Count of WAAAGH!]

Great, she was here.

The last person he wanted to see today and the very person he wanted to forget.

Pouring himself another shot, he wondered if he should apologize for his earlier conduct.

*Gulp*

Nope.

Not tonight at least, he was done with thinking about armies, thinking about war, thinking about trouble in general.

Putting on his pack, he threw his crossbow over his shoulder and grabbed a bottle. He was going to find another inn. Out of sight, out of mind.

He took a swig from the bottle as his back was turned to the General, he was facing the door.

No sir, trouble was the last thing he wanted. Ostwin pushed open the door with his shoulder. No sir, no more tro-

*swoosh*...*thunk*

A crossbow bolt stuck to the door, inches away from his face.

Aaaaaand Ostwin's night was officially ruined.

Taking another sip out of his bottle, he shoved into his belt. Grabbing a red bolt from his pouch, he loaded it into his crossbow. Ripping somthing out of the bolt, he pointed the crossbow into the air without looking with an expressionless face,and fired it. The bolt soared through the air leaving a trail of smoke, the bolt burning brightly, lighting up the skies above and streets below.

Ostwin didn't waste any time loading another bolt, so automatic, almost like a reflex. Ostwin' eyes began scanning, his brain racing to calculate what he saw.

Everything went into slow motion for Ostwin as his eyes darted around. What he saw was a cart, a dead man at the helm, a dead boy on the ground. The bolt in the man came from in front of him; same direction as the bolt that landed on the door.

Eyes now moved to his right.

Five men, all armed with one handed crossbows, they had been standing in some sort of intimidating formation, convinced that they were cloaked by darkness. It was clear though, that none of them were expecting the flare.

Brining down his crossbow to his right, still in slow-motion mode, he took aim. Holding his breath, he steadied himself even despite the slight dizzyness from the alcohol.

A pull of a trigger was all that was needed to put everything back into time.

Ostwin's bolt flew out of his crossbow with great speed, impaling itself in one of the attackers, killing him instantly.

The dead man's comrades were snapped out of their daze. One of the goons pointed at Ostwin, before the rest of them pointed their crossbow.

Ostwin didn't wait around for the men to shoot him, diving behind the cart as another volley went out.

Ostwin landed seated, he leaned himself back against the cart, loading another bolt. His breathing has increased a bit, but his facial expression never changed.

Who the hell were these people? Who the hell were they shooting? Why the hell was Ostwin getting in-

Wait, there was movement coming from the cart. Looking across his other shoulder, he observed a women breathing heavily.

"Are you alright miss?" A voice had come from above.

Ostwin looked up to see another stranger on the roof on the inn.

Great, wonderful.

First the general showed up to spoil his night with her presence, then he found a cart with two dead bodies and a live women socked in blood, after that a bunch of creepy strangers were shooting at him, and now there was the fiddler on the roof.

Ostwin leaned his head back against, closing eyes and sighed.

Yup, his night was at this point very ruined, and he barely downed half a bottle.

[Valtxr]

   The world shifted, and Nisreen yelped in surprise. Her body was moving. Going up. Someone had her. And then it all slowed to a stop once more on the rooftop.
   Nisreen got a good look at the man who had taken her. Silver hair. Gentle eyes. Young. Handsome. Wealthy attire. A vision of a knight, the stars and the moon overhead his shining armor.
   She nodded feverishly to his question. "Yeah. I'm alive. T-Thank..."
   Her voice trailed off.
   Something. Wet. On her face.
   She lifted a cautious hand up and touched her cheek and pulled her hand back. Blood on her fingers. Her palm. Youssef's blood. A tiny look of horror came over her. Her lips twitched again.
   Then the flare bolt went off. Brought the sun into the night. Lit up the entire area.
   All reflex. Nisreen closed her eyes and jerked her gaze away from the light and whipped her hood up over her head. As if hiding from a monster born from the brilliance of the flare.

   "Shit!"
   The four remaining men dashed for cover of their own. Two opened the wooden doors of adjacent buildings and hid behind them. The other two huddled close around a stack of four barrels on the right side of the street.
   "Hey, we got the two guys, didn't we?" said one of the men behind the barrels, the youngest of the hit squad. "Let's fucking book it. It's too hot."
   "Boss said everyone in the wagon. Won't get paid til then," said the other man as he reloaded.
   "Fuck that, I'm not dying for this." And the young man started at a dead sprint down the street.
   One of the men, older and bearded, hiding behind the doors finished reloading. Called out to Ostwin, Aven. "Hey, this ain't concern you, friend! Either of you. Stand down. I'll make it worth your while. Don't fuckin' die for dead men."
   The man at the other door peeked out just a bit. His crossbow at the ready.
   The light of the flare. The artificial sun gazing down at the standoff.

[Wycliff]

Aven gave the woman a reassuring smile. "That's good to hear." He was about to say something else, but the voice of one of the attackers cut him off, along with a bright flaring light rising into the sky. His eyes squinted, and he gritted his teeth as the light bit into his skin, causing his to feel woozy for a moment. He failed to see the young woman shield herself from the light, as his vision was momentarily impaired.

Aven recovered quickly, adopting a serious expression and raising an eyebrow to the man. "First off, I don't die for dead men: this is clearly a young woman, you should have your eyes checked." The flare sputtered out into the distance, allowing the darkness to rule once more. Sadly, Aven didn't think he could chase all of them down and still protect the young woman, so he would settle for the fool that tried to bribe him for the moment. He could track the rest at a later time. A shadow tendril sprang up behind the attacker who'd spoken and wrapped tightly around his waist, pinning him to the roof. "Secondly, under the authority of Ansgar's Hand, I'm placing you under arrest for two counts of murder."


Sent from my iPhone using Tapatalk

[Elector Count of WAAAGH!]

Great, the fiddler was apparent a cop or somthing. Hell, maybe one of those crazed vigilantes he heard about.

But frankly, Ostwin really couldn't give a damn at the moment. Not to sound too mercenary, but he wasn't getting paid to kill these men, if the government wanted to go after them, then that's their problem, all he wanted was a drink.

Taking out the bolt currently in his crossbow, he swapped it out with a bolt with a bag tied to the warhead.

This oughta scary them away.

Ostwin thought as he loosened the stretch; he was going to arc his shot so the bolt hit the ground.

He turned around into a crouch position still in cover, before taking aim at the sky again. He did a bit of caculating, adjusted his aim, and then pulled the trigger.

The bolt went flying, but not with as much speed as the first two. It arced, as Ostwin had thought, and landed in the middle of the streets with a frightening *Boom* that even shook the ground a little.

Yeah, Ostwin wasn't in the mood to clean up dead bodies.

[AevumEternity]

The commotion nearby and rushing out of the Captain certainly piqued the General's interest... But for now, she focused upon sipping her troubles away with a pint of Matron's root. Closing her eyes, she heard shouting, she could not make out the words. Not that she minded. Shifting back, the reassuring weight of the shield upon her back giving her the same sense of security a turtle's shell would. Perhaps others would deal with it, and she would have enough questions to answer should they find her in such a run-down place, let alone without an escort.

Truly, it was a burden being in such a place. But surely, whatever was happening outside couldn't be a threat to national security... Could it?

[Valtxr]

   Nisreen peeked out from under her hood when the light retreated. Pulled the hood down completely when it was the certain that the night had come back. Staying flat and low on the rooftop, she got a look at the situation from up high.
   The wagon and the horse still in the same spot; a remarkably well-trained beast, that horse. A crossbowman with a red-feathered hat hiding behind the wagon; a friendly, from the looks of it. Three other crossbowmen, rough-looking men, down the street all taking cover themselves. And the nobleman, standing on the roof next to her. Completely exposed. Was he mad?
   And he spoke. Ansgar's Hand? One of the many things of this strange land that she had no knowledge of. Perhaps they were a religious order? Oh, he was placing one of those men under arrest. A militant-religious order then. The wrathful arm of the Church. Enforcers of the doctrine. Surely a man with first hand knowledge of Connlaoth's national faith. How exciting!
   Nisreen saw something odd. She narrowed her eyes. Was...was the darkness itself attacking the man that was under arrest?
   "A mage?" yelled the man hiding behind the barrels upon seeing the shadow tendril. "Oh no, fuck this. Fuck! This!" He panicked, dropping his crossbow and bolting after the younger man who had fled earlier.
   The man with the readied crossbow glanced back. "Mage? What mage?"
   BOOM.
   The abnormal impact from Ostwin's special bolt rattled the man's teeth. Nearly deafened him. He stumbled, firing an inadvertent and haphazard shot from his crossbow at the wagon and Ostwin.
   "Watch out!" Nisreen shouted to Ostwin.
   Like the other man, he dropped his weapon and took off running down the street.
   Only the older man left. He cursed the cowardice of his former comrades. Lifted his leg and unsheathed his boot knife. Terrible leverage, with the shadow tendrils around his waist, but he tried sawing away at the tendrils anyway.

[Wycliff]

The knife sawed fruitlessly at the strange, pitch black material, which flexed under the knife almost like a hard rubber, refusing to be sliced even a fraction.

Aven set the young woman down gingerly, flashing a smile once again. "I'm be right back, miss." If she looked closely, the young woman would see his large muscles bulge almost unnaturally under his clothes, and with that, he leapt off the roof, sailing far through the air and landing in the middle of the street with an audible crack of bones, presumably his legs. However, he stood as if nothing had happened, and quickly closed the distance to the man he had pinned.

He frowns at the tendril, as though he didn't know what it was. "I'll catch that mage later, but for now, you're under arrest." It was a secret that he was a mage, and he intended to keep it that way, at least giving reasonable doubt to those watching. The few times he did use magic on the job, he kept it discreet and untraceable to him. He struck the man's temples forcefully with the bones in his palms, knocking him unconscious. After that, he seemingly ripped the tendril apart with a considerable amount of effort, causing it to burst into a small cloud of black particles, which floated off into the night, though he'd really just dissembled the dark matter himself after straining himself trying to break them. It took massive amount of force to break those creations apart, even those most skilled swordsmen couldn't cleave them without earth-shattering concentration. He hoisted the unconscious man onto his shoulder just as a pair of town guards rushed up from a side street.

"We saw a flare, what is going on here?" One of them demanded, but they halted their progress when they spied Aven, and saluted. The other spoke up. "Captain Alveron, sir!" Technically, Aven was not their superior officer, per say, as he was part of Ansgar's Hand, a different faction of the military than the town guard, but he'd had a good amount of experience conversing with and assisting the town guard, so they tended to address him as his rank in any case, as a sign of respect.

Aven sighed, striding over and shrugging the unconscious perpetrator over to the one that spoke. "This man, and four others, murdered those two travelers. I'm uncertain of the reason, but they talked as if they were hired. He'll be out for a good while, get him locked up and interrogated, and alert the rest of the guard to watch for suspicious characters fleeing the city. If we can trap them here, it'll be that much cleaner."

The two guards nodded. "Yes sir!"

Aven saluted back, and made his way back over to the roof he'd left the young woman. She'd had blood on her face, and he wasn't sure if it belonged to her or the man who'd been shot, he wanted to talk to her about a few things anyway, so getting her settled and a chance to clean up would be best. His leg muscles tensed powerfully as he neared the building, and leapt up onto the roof once more, brushing himself off after he landed, the muscles in his arms and legs visibly relaxed once more. "I apologize for the wait, allow me to introduce myself: I am Captain Aven Alveron of Ansgar's Hand," He bowed regally. "It is a pleasure to meet you, Miss...?" He straightened, raising his eyebrows expectantly.


Sent from my iPhone using Tapatalk

[Elector Count of WAAAGH!]

"Watch out!" was all Ostwin heard before he felt an impact near his chest. The impact made him stumble back onto his butt, the dizziness from the alcohol was minimal but did not help.

Looking down, he observed the region where he felt the impact and found a dent in his chest plate; apparently the bolt had bounced off of his chestplate. This was exactly why he wore armor.

Ostwin heard voices and looked up to see the fiddler on the roof had somehow managed to procure the lady and bring him up there. Ostwin then heard foot steps, peeking out, he saw the guards finally arriving. The fiddler was then off of the roof with a captive, seems like the guards knew who he was.

"Captain Alveron, sir!"

Ostwin snorted.

Captain, eh? What's a captain doing sneaky about on roof tops playing the nonexistent fiddle.

The former sergeant pushed himself back onto his feet, brushing himself off.

Truth be told, he could not bother himself to ask, nor did he care about it.

Grabbing his crossbow and throwing it back onto his shoulder, he figured now was a good time to leave.

They didn't seem to have realised someone else had fired that flare and made that explosion to cause the goons to flee. Nooo, it was the captain that saved the day, not the lowly mercenary.

Scoffing to himself, he grabbed the bottle from his belt and took another swig.

He had already wasted three bolts and it didn't seem to garner him any attention. That was fine, he didn't need anymore problems tonight, all he wanted was to drink himself to sleep and be done with this dreadful day.

Turning around in the opposite direction, Ostwin had hope to leave unnoticed.

[AevumEternity]

Alas, Ostwin was not the only one making his escape, the General had moved stealthily from the tavern and was mounting the great white warhorse tied in the shadows just around the corner. Alas, as the great beast moved from the shadows, its massive chest nearly slams into Ostwin, the beast making a loud snorting sound of surprise as it nearly bowls the man over. Quickly bringing the Theocog under control, Hakon inquires worriedly," Ah?? Are you alright?" her brow furrowed under the hood - that was just what she would need to bring more attention to herself, injuring a civilian accidentally. Immediately she began to dismount, not recognizing the man - the shadows concealing him from her.

[Elector Count of WAAAGH!]

He didn't know what happened to him

One minute he was taking a swig out of his bottle, the next thing somthing had sent him flying into a wall.

He felt the hard surface of the wall slam into his back, causing him to let go of his crossbow. He heard a sound that sounded glass shatter, no doubt his bottle.

Things just get better and better, don't it?

Ostwin propped himself up with his elbow and looked up to see a white hor-

Oh no, nononono, not her again.

Spitting to the side, he felt around for his crossbow...

[Valtxr]

   Nisreen gasped when she saw the bolt strike the mercenary in the chest. Both her hands shooting up to cover her mouth.
   He fell, but he was alright. Saved by his armor. Nisreen breathed a sigh of relief and let her hands slide back down to her sides. In that small moment, she had worried that he might end up like Youssef and Adam. Bad things just seemed to happen to the people around her, as if her awful luck was somehow contagious. But, thankfully, not this time.
   Then the nobleman excused himself and...oh. Well, that was peculiar. He apparently had fine control of his muscles. Such that he could leap incredible distances. Fascinating. She had mostly dealt with other humans for most of her life and undeath, to whom such a feat would be utterly impossible. But the world had other species on offer, exotic peoples and cultures from far away lands. Which did the nobleman happen to be?
   As the nobleman talked to the guards who had rushed up the scene, Nisreen glanced back down to the mercenary with the red-feathered hat. Watched him take a drink from the bottle. Hmm. Alcohol. A common vice. Easy to procure. Useful for initiating and maintaining a social environment. Lowered inhibition. The will to fight back. A useful tool.
   Nisreen shook her head, dispelling the thoughts. Said, "Thank you!" to the mercenary. Took in the moment to realize how strange it was to be talking to somebody down on the ground while standing on a rooftop. A bit embarrassing. She fidgeted with her hands some. Looked down at her feet.
   But the loud snorting from the—six legs, wow—horse caught her attention. She didn't see the collision with the mercenary, but she saw the aftermath. Seemed her bad luck was still quite contagious.
   And then came the nobleman once more, his dealing with the guard done and the last crossbowman in custody. As Nisreen eyed the nobleman leaping back up onto the roof, she missed the mercenary spitting and reaching for his crossbow down below.
   "Oh. Hello there." Nisreen hesitated, considering the appropriate return gesture. At a loss, she simply bowed back to the nobleman, trying to copy the regal motion of his own bow. "Is it Captain? Sir? Lord? Master? Forgive my ignorance, but how should I address you? Oh. Right. My name is Nisreen. Nisreen Amora. And thank you, for what you did."

[Wycliff]

Aven chuckled humorously at her question, waving the notion away. "Please, just Aven will be more than enough, I don't fancy titles. Nisreen Amora, huh? It's no trouble, I'm just doing my job is all."

Out of the corner of his eye, Aven spotted a familiar animal: was that Purgatorio? His eyes widened considerably. Oh shit, Hakon is here?! If she sees me, I'll get the earful of a lifetime! Aven ducks quickly behind the chimney of the roof, suddenly nervous. He glances back to Nisreen, noticing her deep red eyes. Red eyes? Interesting... "Are you a traveler, Miss Amora? I can't say I've ever seen such brilliantly red eyes before, perhaps you are from a visiting from somewhere?"


Sent from my iPhone using Tapatalk

[AevumEternity]

Immediately, she saw the unfamiliar man's hands scrabbling in his cloak. A Weapon?! In mere seconds after dropping from the large creature's side, her scimitar hissed from its sheathe, pointing directly toward the man," Don't move a muscle." Her voice rumbled akin to thunder. Thats when the smell of blood hit her. Her head whipped about as the great Charger loomed just behind. She could make out a wagon, blood, bodies, guards, a living girl. Her lips curved into a frown. Her sword remained just beneath Ostwin's chin, still unable to recognize him in the darkness.

"..." It would be so much easier if it was any other night. Or maybe elsewhere, but this is what happened when she slacked off.


Sent from my iPhone using Tapatalk

[Elector Count of WAAAGH!]

Ostwin would have grabbed his crossbow but he felt a tip on his chestplate.

"Don't move a muscle." he heard a familiar voice say.

Greaaat, fantastic. First she rammed into him, now she's threatening with a sword. What did he do to deserve this?

He moved his hands back to the ground to support himself, as he looked up at her, one eyed covered by his hat.

[Valtxr]

   "Okay. Aven."
   Almost as soon as she said his name, his demeanor changed. Some kind of anxiety had overcome him—plain to see. He even moved away a step, closer to the chimney now than her.
   Was it her eyes? It was probably her eyes. Her condition had brought an unnatural color to them. She didn't have much trouble with it in Serendipity, for obvious reasons. But as she traveled, she figured that the locals might not be as used to strange eye pigmentation. This appeared to be just such a case, now that Aven had gotten a good look. And his unease brought out her own. Nisreen brought her hand up and adjusted her spectacles some. Perhaps she could get them enchanted or something. Conceal her identity better.
   Oh yes. It was her eyes, as he words soon confirmed. Well, this could be awkward.
   Her lips twitched. And she tried to smile. "Yes. From Serendipity. I've come to study—"
   "Don't move a muscle."
   Nisreen froze. There were more? Of course there were more. Why wouldn't there be? And they had a female among their band? Interesting. Very few women were in 'the business', as the underground criminal types called it. Not that the gender of the shooter would make much difference if a crossbow bolt hit her.
   Nisreen hazarded a glance down at the voice. Saw a cloaked and hooded figure with a sword to the mercenary's neck. Did she know that Aven and Nisreen were up here on the roof? It appeared not. Maybe they could get the jump on her? Help out the man who had helped her against the first batch of attackers?
   But she wasn't much of a fighter. And the only items of actual combat use in her satchel were two smoke bombs.
   Nisreen brought her hands up to her chin in a timid and worried fashion. Took a few steps back from the edge of the rooftop.
   The poor mercenary. Her bad luck was about to claim the life of another soul unfortunate enough to cross her path. Unless Aven could do something.

[Wycliff]

Aven snuck a peek at the scene below, noticing with alarm that Nisreen had begun to move. So long as she didn't draw attention, he'd be fine, he just couldn't bear another one of Hakon's lectures. She didn't do them often, but they were usually accompanied by tens of sparring matches to prove her point, and after the hundreds they'd had, he'd still never beaten her. As far as Aven was concerned, shields were cheating in a duel. How the hell can a single sword beat a sword and tower shield? The answer, of course, is that it can't. Not even once out of one hundred and twenty-six spars.

Aven signals quietly to Nisreen. "Don't attract attention, if General Hakon finds me, I'm in deep shit. I'm supposed to be patrolling the outer wall right now, I snuck in for an unscheduled break." He glanced back at Hakon, who had her sword pointed at the man who'd drove the other murderers away. He waves a hand. "Don't worry about him, he'll be fine. The General is just exerting dominance, she won't hurt him." His eyes briefly become crescents as he sheepishly thinks, Not with her sword, anyway...

He takes a seat, cross legged. She was coming to study something, huh? She certainly had the attitude of a scholar, it made sense. The red eyes intrigued him, as well: had she white hair as well, it would be less so, as such would point to albinism, but Nisreen's hair was black, indicating her system produced more than enough melanin to supply her cells. Also, her skin looked shockingly similar to his own, pale, maybe even paler? "Serendipity, huh? You're more than a hop, skip, and a jump from there, let me tell you. What did you come to study? Perhaps I could help you find what you're looking for, I'm a scholar of sorts myself: think of it as an apology for Connloath's treatment of you thus far."


Sent from my iPhone using Tapatalk