The day was winding toward an end- only an hour or two of daylight left. Strynn Swiftblade walked the perimeter of the small village one last time, casually checking the waist-high wooden fence to make sure it was in decent repair. "Almost time for my relief." He mused, eagerly anticipating his favorite pub- the Wavering Arrow. The aged man's memories had been deep this day, and mercilessly vivid: memories of his days in the King's service, memories of the skirmishes, and especially of the war. 'More like a genocide.' He thought to himself with a shudder. He thumbed his cudgel before he realized what he was doing, snatching his hand away with a grimace. "That's not my life anymore." He muttered under his breath. "Gods help me, that's not my life."
Strynn liked it here in Woodhaven- it's location on the west coast of Adela in the midst of the Niahi forest ensured it was peaceful, first and foremost. One of the quietest jobs he'd ever had as a peacekeeper, and he was thankful for it every day. The man couldn't stand another war, one more skirmish, the occasional bandit raids on the fort were enough for him. Sometimes they sent him right back in his mind, into his olden days, on the killing field. He drank all the more heavily those days, drowning his sins and his memories in rum, ale, whatever spirits the tavern had on hand. He tried not to think of those things and instead thought of the other positives of the village. The people were friendly, for example, hardworking folk but the kind that know how to sit back and laugh.
The old soldier shook his head as he completed his circuit, coming in the western gate of the village and heading towards the center of town. His relief was nowhere to be seen, though he hoped the man was on his way- all these thoughts of the past made him want to drink his troubles away. Strynn decided to patrol the makeshift dirt roads of the village, looking for crimes to break up, disputes to settle, or citizens to assist. "A watchman's work is never done." He reminded himself as he kept an eye out.
She was on the move again. Ever restless, the change of venue would not soothe her nature for long. No job, no teacher, and no ties to keep her here, the assassin's intention had only been to pass through. Of course, though her plans never really managed to come to fruition the way she wanted them too if they were not work-related.
But, a spooked horse, a squawking noble, an overturned carriage, and several broken fingers later, here she was and for the night it seemed. Tiraris was far too tired to keep her guard up as she cut through the forest. Her head ached, her hand ached, her eyes stung and her ears were still ringing from the man's high-pitched incessant squeaking. 'What does not hurt? Anything?'
Looking ahead she groaned as she pushed open the door of The Wavering Arrow. 'Another watered-down drink in a "refined" pub in a "quaint" little town. Gods above, I need work! This really is ridiculous.' Another grimace displayed across her face as the very man she was trying to avoid, came waltzing in through the door.
He was loud and obnoxious, demanding accommodations simply because of his rank. Tiraris clenched her hand, forgetting too late of the pain that still lingered in it. 'Someone please silence him, before I do,' she thought, downing another man's drink before attempting to make her way as far away from the obese pig that reeked of perfume and money.
Upon turning the corner by the inn, Strynn grinned widely at a welcome sight- a slightly bored-looking guard in uniform. "Another quiet day, nothing to report." He said as he saluted his relief. The man made a slight face as he heard the news, complaining that for once, he wished he could see another raid. 'Sodding rook.' Strynn thought as he gave a small wry grin and patted the man on the shoulder, making his way toward the tavern. His memories had taken him back and he was in a bleak mood. 'I need a drink.'
He brushed aside the hanging cloth door to the pub, immediately accosted by the annoying sounds of a complaining nobleman. And by the look of him, foreign. Strynn sighed heavily as he hung his head for a moment. 'So close. I was so close to a quiet day and a much-needed drink.' "Here, now." He said aloud, putting a hand on the fat man's shoulder. "I don't know how it works where you're from, friend, but around here you pay for your drinks. And you ask for them, ask mind you, in a civilized manner." The fat man swiped Strynn's hand from his shoulder and sputtered indignantly about his lineage, his station, and a few other things the watchman didn't really listen to and didn't want to hear in the slightest. "That's all well and good, sir, but I must ask you one more time to-" his words were cut off with a small *slap* as the nobleman struck him across the face. "And mind your tongue when you speak to your betters, knave! The nerve..." Muscles built from years of military service corded as Strynn clenched a fist and drove it square into the noble's belly, the fat man's eyes growing wide as he doubled over and gasped for breath that would not come. A moment later, the man was flying through the doorway as Strynn bodily hurled him out. "And stay out!" He roared, booting the man's ass and sending him sprawling again as he struggled to stand.
"Bloody stupid heavy fat bastard." Strynn muttered, picking up his "usual" from the barkeep- a large squared bottle of dark rum. "On the house, that fat fool was asking for that one, mate." The man chuckled, earning a grin and grateful nod from the guard. His eyes scanned the crowd, seeking a table that was empty (for he wanted to drink alone), but the closest thing was one in the back corner with only a single occupant- and she also looked like she was a newcomer. "I haven't seen you around here, before- please, have a drink. Welcome to Woodhaven." He said courteously, pouring the strong dark rum into two glasses. Upon closer inspection he saw that the woman looked to be in a foul mood, and her hand seemed to be in pretty bad shape. "My name is Strynn Swiftblade, a local watch-keeper. Is something troubling you? Perhaps I could point you out to the local healer?"
Tiraris' eyes narrowed in suspicion once the newcomer drew attention to her. It had been hilarious to see the noble taken down several notches and not her being the one doing it but, then having her brought into the spotlight as it were ruined the amusement she felt completely. Who was this man to come over to her and bother her when she obviously wanted to be alone?
Blatant disdain reflected on her face as she moved her hand into her lap. She had planned to heal it herself but later. This new annoyance would only delay things and serve to worsen her mood. "Of course something troubles me; I would be a fool to think that my life is perfect. How you play into all that is beyond me though. As for a healer, that will not be necessary. Have a nice evening," Tiraris ended in a sickly sweet tone that was a clear dismissal.
Strynn grunted in response to the woman's acid tongue, tilting his head back as he drained his glass in one go. "Very well, I meant no offense." He said flatly. The run-in with the pompous man and all his dwelling had put him in an ill humor anyway. 'I really shouldn't...'
"It just so happens that you are sitting at my favorite table." He went on, sitting deliberately and calmly pouring himself another glass as he looked the woman over more carefully. 'Armor, and well-armed. And with an attitude like that... Best not to take chances.' "I'll just have you know," he added in an undertone, "That this village is my home and its well-being is my responsibility. And as you no doubt saw a moment ago, I am always on duty." Again his head went back as he gulped down his second glass. "I will not tolerate any threat to the peace." He continued. "So if anyone were to turn up dead, any fights were to break out, somebody were to be robbed, you can be certain that I will spare no effort to bring the one responsible to terms." He pushed his chair back as he stood, preparing to leave the table for a dice game that was in progress in the corner. "Have I made myself clear?"
She was unimpressed. His table-claiming, space-invading, and valiant threatening was hot air to her. Tiraris ignored him almost entirely as she took the glass he had left her and also downed it in one gulp before casually leaning back in her chair to stare up at him in challenge.
"And what would happen should it be your head that rolls? I ask purely out of curiosity, of course. I happen to be off-duty myself and as far as I can see the only threat to my peace is you." Her tone was light, but there was a dark fire that danced in her eyes. 'Gauntlet has been thrown, Sir Knight, whatever shall you do now?'
Throwing back his head and barking a laugh, the former soldier poured a third drink as he grinned. "Were it my head and not another citizen's, then I've done my duty as a guard and it's not my problem anymore. Gods know I could use a rest." He chuckled, shaking his head at the idea. "You know, were I twenty, or even fifteen years younger I'd say that was a challenge. As it is, I'm afraid it would be unfair to pit all my experience against such a dainty-looking young lady." He said with a mock bow.
"On the contrary, I believe that my fifteen to twenty years of youth means that you will not be able to keep up with me, old man. But, you can certainly try. I am game if you are; just know that I hit harder than my dainty posterior seems capable of.
"However," she sighed, maintaining her relaxed posture, "I can see that you are off to waste your time in other frivolous but safer pursuits." With a wave her hand Tiraris dismissed him as if he was nothing but a lowly servant. "I would wish you well, but frankly I just do not give a damn."
((I'm thinking the night will wind down and the attack will commence on my next post maybe, sound good to you?))
Strynn chuckled again, shaking his head. 'Ah, young blood.' He rather thought that despite their initial impressions of one another and Tiraris' file-tongued disposition, he might actually like this young lady under different circumstances. She reminded him a bit of a woman he had known in the King's army. 'Oh well.'
"Well, mayhaps one day we'll find out for certain." He mused as he noted her condescending gesture and casual insult with an amused grin. 'She seems hostile enough, but I'm getting the impression she has a specific agenda.' It didn't seem likely she would cause unnecessary trouble, if for no other reason, so as to maintain her peace and quiet. "It's been a long time since I've bantered with anyone that has a proper backbone," he said aloud, reaching over and filling her glass again. "Mind the law, citizen." And with that, the watchman turned and left the table, exchanging greetings and squatting alongside the group of patrons tossing dice against the wall as he drained his third glass. 'At least, I hope she won't cause trouble.'
(OOC: Sure sounds like a plan ^.^)
She huffed and rolled her eyes as if in exasperation, but any man who sparred with her and filled her cup after a grueling day was not an all bad fellow. He had alleviated some of the tension the noble had piled onto her earlier.
With a flick of her injured hand, Tiraris sent her magic racing down into it to mend the inflamed and broken bones. In a matter of minutes it was fully healed albeit rather tender. The assassin would be able to use it but, it would probably be best if she did not, not of course that Tiraris was accustomed to doing what was best. She was after all a woman and a fickle one at that.
For hours she sat there, watching and enjoying the atmosphere. As the smoke within the room became thick and the men dropped off into drunken stupors she at last allowed herself to relax enough to pay for a room. Along the way upstairs though, she did stop to check on the betting tables. "Losing a fortune as well as your sight old man?"
Many hours, dice rolls and three passed-about bottles of liquor later Strynn swayed slightly in his seat, eyes bloodshot and half-closed. He dug in his pocket, tossing coins on the table haphazardly as he lost another bet. "Thash, thash threedays wayshes, gonnagin." He slurred drunkenly, his forehead hitting the table with a "thump" he was not even aware of as the world continued to spin. "I'm out, enuffsh enough." In reality he had only lost one day's wages not counting the money he had won and spent on booze, but he tended to lose track of winnings and losings. The other men were all aware of his drinking problem, but they also knew he was always sober on duty so they just shook their heads and spoke half-hearted farewells.
Gathering the little winnings he had left, he scooped them up and slapped a couple onto the table. "Round on me." He managed to say without slurring, though his voice was unsteady. That was when he noticed the young woman from earlier. "S'not my night, lossa lottoff money." He mumbled, standing unsteadily. "Anan, and, I'm not, not loosing my, myshight." He declared, pointing a wavering finger at the woman that seemed to blur and move from side to side.
The next thing he heard was a crash, as of wood splintering, and a scream. "Goddamn treesh always fallingon housis." He muttered, stumbling toward the doorway before he heard an all-too-familiar sound that cut right through his drunken haze and left him wide-eyed. It was the sound of a roar coming from many throats, calling out in triumph and bloodlust. It was, unmistakeably, the crying out of soldiers before the charge. "No!" He shouted, running towards the doorway. What he saw drained the blood from his face and left him almost sober.
A mass of strange-looking men and lizardmen were surging through a smashed gate, some wielding torches that they tossed into brush and houses as they advanced, killing as they went. "To arms! Wake up, damn you! To arms!" He bellowed before ducking back into the bar, arrows 'thunk'ing into the wall where he was standing a moment ago.
"If you say so, gaffer," Tiraris replied softly, rolling her eyes at his pointing and slurs. Her head snapped up though at the sounds coming from out of doors. She heard them clearer than his muddled human brain and was instantly alert. On quick feet, she raced up the steps and kicked open one of the room's doors before proceeding to shimmy herself out the window to climb onto the roof.
Below she could see the raiders brutally slaughter all who resisted. Another eye roll was wasted on the soldier she had met before as he drunkenly called for soldiers that were no longer under his command. There was no pause, no consideration of morals and conscience as she watched. This was not her fight, she had no ties to these people or their plight. There was no reason for her to stay and truthfully she had every intention of leaving, of disappearing into the night and never returning.
That is of course until one of the men jumped straight from the ground onto the roof right beside her. Momentarily stunned by the feat alone, Tiraris was easily knocked back and pinned to the scratchy thatching. The creature stared down hungrily at her and even went so far to lick the pale column of her throat.
Disgusted, she fought to regain her hands again. It was only when she had managed to wrap her legs around him and sit up that she was finally free enough to break the beast's neck and get away. "Now, this is my fight," she growled, hopping down and cleaving the head of the first beast that passed too close to her.
Head still reeling slightly from the drink, the old soldier nevertheless found his cudgel in his hand before he knew he had drawn it, in a steady grip as he glanced around for the newcomer, only to find her gone. He watched as one of the creatures leaped to the rooftop and turned, sprinting to the backdoor and skidding to a halt as two of them stepped in, a human and a reptilian creature burying his spear in middle of a patron. Without hesitation he swung, smashing in the side of the lizardman's face before dodging a blow from the human. Strynn quickly stepped in close and slammed his cudgel down atop the man's head, cracking it open and knocking his corpse to the ground. Immediately he noticed the lizard wasn't done for yet, and he made a mental note of the strength of their scales as he finished it. 'Old habits die hard...' He thought, curiously detached as he looked down at the blood and grey matter clinging to his weapon. "And this is not a weapon of war," he said aloud, clipping it to his belt and taking up the spear from the fallen reptile. The watchman glanced back in time to see the woman from before split one of the creature's skulls. He grunted, pleased she would stick around to help and quickly turned, running as fast as he could to his house, but not before grabbing several liquor bottles and stuffing the ends with rags torn from the clothing of the dead. There was no time to don his armour, but what he needed was his shield, and his father's sword. 'A crossbow wouldn't hurt either.' He realized as he spitted a wild-looking man on his spear and left it, taking up a fallen sword.
She was grateful now that she had decided to heal her hand herself instead of letting time run its course. Tiraris needed her grip now more than ever as she danced with death on this battleground. The men were easy enough to kill, but it was their reptilian companions that she was having more of a challenge with. She had to hit them just right or they would come back at her more furious and deadly than before.
One had managed to catch her elbow and tear the flesh all the way done to the bone. That one she had not been merciful to, taking out her pain and vengeance tenfold on his hide. The assassin let out all of her aggression and frustrations of the day through the swing of her blade and the spilling of blood. She never considered herself helping the village. She did not care for the pitiful humans. No, this was purely done for herself and her own whims.
Looking up Tiraris did catch sight the man from before. He fought well in her opinion but, she was still better if only because she was still sober. She allowed herself to be driven closer to him, now fighting in the small village's center side by side with the man she had passed sparring words with earlier in the evening. "Is that the best you can do old man? No wonder you would not fight me!"
The scavenged sword had broken on a lizard's skull, but it had done the job- half the blade was still jutting out form the corpse's head. Now the soldier wielded an handaxe, smashing it into a human man's head and hurling it into an oncoming group of three adversaries. It lodged itself into the skull of a lizardman, and he quickly snatched up another axe. He risked a quick glance around the square he had been backed into- the guard was being overrun, and the citizens were either fleeing or being cut down where they stood. Strynn himself was bleeding freely from a gash on his thigh and a small cut on the forehead.
Looking behind him, Strynn noticed the woman from the tavern now fighting alongside him. "You're not bad, yourself," he said as a reply, sinking his axe deep into the neck of an opponent and blocking the other's sword with a battered, poorly made shield. "What I need is my shield, and sword." He suddenly stooped and caught a torn flour bag with the edge of his shield, flinging it into another reptile's face as it swooped in for the kill. The creature backpedaled, sputtering and trying to clear powder form its face as Strynn slammed his axe into its side, burying the blade in his ribcage to the haft. The creature fell, thrashing, until Strynn slammed his boot down on its throat, breaking its neck. "Then you would see what a Swiftblade can do!" He continued with a small chuckle.
"For a man who calls himself an always on-duty soldier, you certainly are unprepared. It is a wonder these people are live at all under your watch. Perhaps your family should have changed your name to Lostblade or Noblade for you are definitely no help in a crisis."
Grunting, she hacked away at another man, spraying blood all over herself as she hit a vital artery. Another lizard jumped on her back, briefly bringing her down to one knee as she struggled to throw him off. She dug her nails into its eye sockets, grateful the moment it loosened its grip on her and allowed her to flip it over her shoulder.
"If you plan to be useful at any point now is the time!"
"I've never needed weapons of war to keep peace. My cudgel has always sufficed until now." He protested, shaking his shield loose and hurling it edgewise with a grunt at the reptilian creature lying prone. Despite the damage to the rim of the shield from the creature's face, he doubted it would be enough to kill the thing but at least the blow left it stunned and easily dispatched. "Right, hold this position." He requested, scooping the shield up again as he dashed past and sprinted towards his house, flinging it a second time at a man about to put the torch to the hut. It sank into the back of his neck and stayed there, the human male dropping to the ground and twitching weirdly as his spinal cord was smashed.
Once inside his hut, the soldier threw open his armour cabinet and scrambled to strap on his shield, magically light. His alcohol-muddled brain strained to make sense of what was happening, needing no thought to instinctively secure his shield and sword belt in place. 'They look unorganized, this is no army... a band of raiders? Mercenaries? No, who would wish Woodhaven harm? They all seem to bear the same crest... Some sort of red claw?' He shook his thoughts aside as he secured the last strap of his sword belt and slung his crossbow over his shoulder, pausing on his way out to scoop up a torch in his shield hand. Strynn swept his father's broadsword from its sheath and through a man's neck, the enchanted blade severing his head completely. He dodged the resulting spray and ran back to the town square, planting his back against Tiraris'. "There are too many. We need to limit their pathways." He panted, gathering up the liquor bottles stuffed with rags he had gathered from the bar and handing one to Tiraris. He held the ragged wicks to the torch flame. Nearly the whole town was on fire, anyway. "Throw this somewhere strategic." He said hurriedly, hurling his at a narrow alley with five raiders at the mouth. The howls of agony and the sudden smell of burning skin brought a grim smirk to his face.
'Useless old man always trying to show me up,' the assassin's mind growled as she continued to whirl about the muddying ground made slick with blood and earth. She had become so focused on the rhythms that Strynn's sudden appearance at her back nearly got him beheaded. Twisting her blade away at the last moment, it took all her effort not to break the flaming bottle over his head.
"Are you trying to get yourself killed? Because you certainly are doing a fine job of it!" Tiraris yanked the fiery blend from his hand and with quick eyes judged where to toss it. When she tried to lift her left arm to throw it though she found that she could not. The bite from earlier had made it numb and sluggish. Growling, she switched hands and tossed it with all of her might towards a large alley. It smashed against a house's stonewall and rained down its contents on the attackers below.
"Aim high and you cover more ground," she called out, ducking under an attacker's swing as she struggled to raise her left arm in defense. 'Well this is bothersome. What the hell did it do to me?' There was not time to assess the damage, that could only be done once the fighting was over. Tiraris hoped though that the heavy numb feeling would not spread any further. She had bitten in the elbow and already she was useless from shoulder to fingertips. The assassin could only imagine how bad it all looked.
"If I got myself killed I wouldn't have to listen to your snide comments, that alone might well be worth it!" Strynn chuckled, lowering the shield he had raised instinctively and throwing another bottle. Whenever there was breathing room, he would snatch the crossbow dangling from his back, yank back the arm and send a bolt into the chest of an enemy. "All the streets to the square are burning now, save the west road." He said, looking over his shoulder at a momentary lull in combat. That was when he noticed her elbow.
Covered in blood as she was he had not noticed her elbow in his quick glances, being distracted by the heat of battle. Now he saw that the flesh was torn and ragged, Strynn could see bone in some places. He also noticed the woman seemed to be having trouble moving her left arm at all. Once again military instinct took over as he automatically took a position at her left flank, closing their ranks so as to prevent opponents from getting an opening as he thrust his blade through the chest of a lizardman. "We should take the west road. Maybe we can fight our way to a more defensible position." He suggested, pulling his sword from the corpse. With most of the roads sealed off, they had far less enemies to worry about, and all from one side. First, however, was to take care of the few that remained in the square.
Pointing with her head she tersely replied. "They approached from the east. While higher ground is better would that not leave your precious village open to attack without you here? Once the fires die down there is nothing to stop them from coming at our backs."
With a grunt she swung out at a man attempting to come at the pair from behind. Looking about she did not see anymore that were not already in the process of being handled. "If you wish to act, the time is now. You will not get another shot at this."
((LOL at your new title, by the way. I thought it said "Hobgoblin" at first. XD))
"The village is done for anyway." Strynn said bleakly as he caught a swing on his shield. He had seen villages raided, he had been the raider, and he knew the signs. "The guard has been overrun, and if any of the citizens aren't dead it's because they ran away. Listen- hardly any screams now." Still, the man felt it was his responsibility to see this fight through. "If we find a good spot we won't have to worry about our backs." The decision was suddenly made for them when a flaming arrow streaked by- apparently the raiders were wrapping their arrows with oil-soaked cloth and firing through the flames. "Damn it!" Strynn swore, plunging his sword into the heart of the last enemy in the square.
"We can hold up in the old stone church by the edge of town. It's on a hilltop, there's only one entrance and we can practically hold it against a small army." He decided. "Unless you have a better idea, let's move. As you said, we won't have another shot." He agreed, firing a bolt at random in the direction of the arrows.
(Thanks. It's actually a name from when I first joined. There was a mistake where someone wrote Globin instead of Goblin so I decided that I was the resident Hemoglobin. I love Hobgoblin though too ^.^ Feel free to claim it as yours for me)
"Then what is the point of fighting, you old codger? If there is nothing but our lives to defend then why do you stay? This is pointless! I am not wasting my life on martyrs like you!" Tiraris declared, pulling away from the man to try and forge her own path. The problem though was that there was only the path to the west and from there the stone church he had mentioned. There was nowhere else for her to safely run and even then her option was not a positive one.
'Men and their superior attitudes! Now is not the time Tiraris. Put him in his place later. Save your skin now!' The poison was spreading further and she knew it. Her breathing felt much more ragged and cold than it should have. This amount of physical activity was but a warmup in comparison to what the assassin was accustomed to. To be so out of breath so quickly was unheard of. She needed to get to that church and then assess the damage.
"You coming or not?" she finally growled as she took off at a job for the west gate and hopefully a shot at safety.
((lol nah, there can be only one Hobgoblin, thanks anyway. You are now "the Hobgoblin" in my eyes though :mrgreen: ))
"Nobody asked you to stay," Strynn grunted, deflecting an arrow with his shield. "Though I am grateful that you have." He had positioned himself between Tiraris and the direction of the flaming projectiles, waiting with the patience only age can bring as he watched her work out for herself that there was no other way to go, at the present. "Take the lead, I'll cover our asses." He said with a small smile as she ran towards the west. The man backtracked in her direction, keeping his shield up as he stooped to pick up the last two bottles and moving his shield to intercept the shot that occasionally came too close.
He drew back and smashed one of the bottles on the ground, lobbing another at the far wall after he sloshed some of the liquid on the one behind him. "This oughtta slow them down." He muttered, picking up his torch. Suddenly Strynn perked up and raised his shield too late, as an arrow lodged itself in his shoulder. "Fuck!" He hissed, groaning in pain as he quickly snatched the burning shaft from his body and slapped out the flame. At least the wound had cauterized itself, but that didn't change the fact that it hurt like hell. He threw down the torch and as the flames roared up, he turned and ran in the same direction as the fighting woman.
"You don't look so well." He noted as he caught up. It didn't look to be from blood loss, though she had lost a good amount it didn't seem that she should be so worn. He gritted his teeth at his injured shoulder as he drew back the arm of his crossbow, his sword being sheathed and his shield on his back. "What's the matter?"
(YAY I love new nicknames ^.^)
Tiraris did not speak until they both were within the confines of the stone establishment and the heavy metal door was firmly bolted shut. For a brief moment she allowed her weakness to show through as she leaned heavily against a wall, her knees feeling as if they would give at a moment's notice.
"Worry about yourself old man. I saw you take that arrow. You sure it will not be the death of you?" The assassin was wheezing now for each breath, her fingernails dug into the palms of her hands as she fought to stand up straight. 'Poison, should have known. Gods above!'
((Huzzah for nicknames! Also, sorry I'm late, been real down lately. Buuuuut I'm good now! :D ))
"It was only one arrow." Strynn said breathily, panting as he stooped over with his hands on his knees. 'I'm getting too old for this...' The retired soldier groaned in his mind, wiping sweat form his brow. He looked sidelong at Tiraris, seeming to struggle just to stand up with her breath coming even harder than while running. He had noticed her hand looked to be completely healed and wagered she had control of magic, or some herb or salve. Not that it seemed to be of much use to her at the moment. 'Lizards, snakes, frogs... All of which can be poisonous.' He concluded, mentally chagrined at not realizing this earlier. 'I really am getting old.'
"And it wasn't poisoned. Which I'm wagering whatever got hold of your arm, was. Unless you can work whatever magic fixed up your hand, you look to be in need of an anti-venom." Strynn blew a small sigh as he straightened, massaging his shoulder. "There should be some here in the church. Gods willing." He added with a small chuckle.
"I am...fine! Quit fu....fuss....fuzzing o'er...me" she growled out. The words were slow in coming forth as if her tongue had become a thick lead bar. In truth she was far from fine; her head spun like a child's top upon the floor. Around and around it went making her feel sick as a heavy numbness sunk deeper into her very bones.
With a weak grunt she collapsed to the floor against her will, her back sliding down the door as she went. For a moment she just sat there flummoxed that she was not in control of her own body. "Poishun," Tiraris slurred as her vision began to sport black dots. "Hardly. Jush a bite! Nutin' mo'e. Go a'ay."
"Yep. Poison." Strynn muttered half to himself, running a hand through his hair. "I'll wager you didn't make it this far to die on me though." He continued, quickly rummaging through the church's emergency supplies. Many public buildings had them due to the area's population of poisonous creatures and plants. "Here it is... Empty." He grunted, tossing the stone flask aside exasperatedly. There was, however, an herbal mixture used to slow the effect of poisons until a proper anti-venom could be acquired. "Drink this." He instructed, mixing the powder with fresh water in a small stone cup. "It'll taste like Hell and go down like swamp water but it should hold you over until we can find a proper anti-venom." He glanced over at the assassin- from the way she kept blinking and refocusing her eyes, he guessed her vision was starting to go. "None of your hard-headed stubbornness. I'll not bury a stranger." He teased, raising the cup up to her lips.
Despite the growing numbness and uncoordinated movements of her body, Tiraris still managed to shoot a nasty glare to where she assumed her unfortunate companion was standing. With the poison moving through her, the assassin's natural defenses to hide her suffering were quickly beginning to show.
Jerkily, she raised a hand to try and knock the cup away from herself. Her fingers grazed the cold stone surface but she no longer could determine her success as her vision left her fiery orbs. Tiraris breathed heavily, the effort alone having exhausted her.
"I will not...let you," she paused to catch her breath, each inhalation feeling as if a stone had lodged itself in her throat and closed off her airways, "poison me. Keep away!" The assassin growled out her disgust even as she forced her body into motion against its will. She was dying, but she would be damned if she was going to show weakness in front of this stranger who for all she knew could have also been the enemy.
"What did I tell you about being stubborn?" The old soldier steadied his grip on the cup, her hand was shaking it but didn't have enough power to knock it from his hand or really push it far. "If you don't drink this, you're going to die." Strynn said, pausing for a moment as inspiration struck. This woman was proud, to a fault. He could use this to his advantage. "In front of a complete stranger. I was just beginning to think you were a tough one, too." He said with a shrug. "Should have known you were delicate as a tender little flower. It only goes to show you the battlefield is no place for a woman." He knew this to be not exactly true, as he had known a woman in his old mercenary band that could outfight almost any man she had ever known, but hopefully it would hit Tiraris' nerve. "To die of poison. It's almost embarrassing, really."
Unable to control her emotions in her weakened state, Tiraris had no choice but to let her magic come to the surface. Blood-red eyes glared demonically towards the man from around heavily dilated pupils. The air around them crackled like harvest fields during a drought.
"I would not have said that...if I were you," she told him in clipped tones. She could feel the fire raging within her frail shell of a body. The heat seemed to be incinerating her from the inside out as it burned away the numb sensations that had begun to settle in. Shakily Tiraris regained some of her strength and stood once more under her own power.
Tentatively, the assassin tested the strength in her injured hand and found it stiff and sore but for now, usable. The wild magic within would only keep her functioning for so long. The poison was being kept at bay for now but it was not gone. As long as Tiraris' emotions ran high, the more dangerous her situation would become. Without the telltale symptoms there was no telling how far the poison was progressing.
"You were saying?"
"Well, you probably-" suddenly he noticed the energy in the air, the heat rolling off the woman, her glowing red eyes. Startled, he fell back from his heels and sat down hard, the cup dropping to the ground and spilling its contents. Strynn stared open-mouthed somewhere between awe and unease at the change in Tiraris. "The old blood runs thick after all..." He muttered to himself. His head tilted back as he followed her movement. Granted, it was unsteadily and her legs shook, but she was standing again. 'Not exactly what I had in mind, but only a fool questions results.'
"Did I say a flower? I meant more like a deadman's daisy. A tough desert flower that appears dead during the day but stands tall and blossoms in the night. She's a hardy plant, full of surprises." He shook his head, standing and eying her warily. "So how do you feel? Will you make it through the night?"
"I know what bloodwort is fool. I have been to the desert and survived its climate and its people. There is no need to lecture me on silly plants, or worse compare me to them," she sneered, wincing slightly as she moved her head too quickly to the side.
'Must you always be so stubborn? He was going to poison me. He was trying to help you. Hush. I told you so. He did a fine job of trapping us here. You followed. I told you to hush. You are arguing in your own mind; effectively you just told yourself to hush.'
Trying to shake off the dizziness, Tiraris began to wobble slightly about the room in hopes of finding something to distract herself with. She did not like feeling trapped and locked in here. The idea of being caged had always disturbed her even before her assassin days.
"Why so concerned, old man? You are the more likely candidate for dying anytime soon. Stop staring at me. I am not some fish you can try and price at a market. If anything you should be thinking of ways to defend this rotten pile of rocks or to escape it alive."
Strynn chuckled wryly at her once again acid tone. "Well, your sunny disposition is back. I take it this means you're not going to keel over on me." The old soldier relaxed slightly; if she was going to go berserk like old Bearskin used to she more than likely would have done it by now. He would not let his guard down completely, though. Watching the woman walk about, her words made Strynn think of his own injury. 'This is going to hurt when the drink wears off...' He thought, laying a hand to his shoulder. The other wounds were minor and would heal easily, but that shoulder was beginning to stiffen. "I'll be fine. Taken worse blows in my old days."
"As for defence, we should be fairly safe. This was not an organized troop, likely they were brigands or untrained mercenaries out for their blooding." Pausing a moment to think, he ran a hand over his salt-and-peppered hair, roughing it up as he mentally drew out defence plans. "Likely if they can't loot the church, they'll try to torch it. This building won't burn so we're safe. As for the looters, it's likely only a small group will come, the others will pillage elsewhere." The thought of these damnable thieves and murderers pillaging his village made Strynn scowl, but there was nothing he could do about it for now. "I need a drink..." He muttered, poking about the building in search of sacramental wine.
Tiraris snorted and shook her head while muttering under her breath about how he was younger then too. "You call yourself a man of the people, their defender. Why is then that in their time of need you cower here? You allow the people to die and the village to be ransacked because of your fear, your self-preservation. You are as bad as any other man. You are weak. Maybe you will not die from that wound, but your craven running will be your fall. How can you expect to show your face when you return? That is of course, if there is anyone to return to."
((Sorry I'm late- busy week. Real busy week...))
"There won't be." Strynn said bleakly. "I've seen this before... I've done this before," he murmured distantly. His eyes tightened at the memory, and he shuddered, wrenching the cork from the wine flask and draining a third of the bottle. If there was anyone left after this, they were hiding in the woods and chances were they'd be too frightened to return for two fortnight, at least. 'Maybe she's right... It's my duty to fight to my dying breath for these people's freedom.'
"Dying here in an impossible fight serves no purpose." He said aloud, half to himself and half to Tiraris. "I am not afraid to give my life fighting for the people, but only a fool seeks his death unnecessarily." He paused a moment as he hefted the end of a stone bench, considering blocking the windows. 'Only tells them there's someone in here,' he thought, instead plopping down and quaffing another mouthful of the drink. "My life would be better served seeking those responsible and bringing them to justice. That is my duty now." He decided. A cold comfort was better than none, he supposed. "As of now, though, survival is top priority. Any ideas as far as that, or are you too busy filing your tongue?"
(No need to apologize ever for having a life and being busy ^.^)
She disgustedly watched him shuffle about and make excuses for his choices. Tiraris had no patience or respect for men like him, men that proclaimed to know all and what was best, spent men who were much talk and drink with no actual strength in their swordarm anymore.
Fueled by his talk of duty and purpose she quickly strode over to him and snatched the bottle away from him before throwing it harshly at the wall above his head. "Your duty if you can even call it that is to your people! How dare you abandon them and leave them for dead. Vengeance serves no purpose, your purpose is to the living. Let the dead lie, there is nothing that can be done for them."
Her fists balled up tight, ready to take a swing at him that she forcefully was restraining herself from doing. "I hate men like you! You are a craven soldier. Dishonorable and unworthy of your supposed station and title of protector. If that is really your attitude then walk out of here and save me the trouble of having to fight as many of them to escape. At least your death would be good for something," she spat down at him.
"Oy! That's going to- I was-" He sputtered indignantly before wincing as the bottle sailed over his head, crashing to the wall behind him. "You just wasted all that booze!" He protested loudly, cut off by her tirade. His eyes narrowed as he listened to her rant before he surged to his feet, standing face-to-face with the black-clad assassin.
"Not 'vengeance'. Justice," Strynn hissed. "Vengeance is pointless, self-centered and hate-fueled foolishness that only continues the cycle of needless killing. A life for a life is no fair trade at all. I will bring justice to these bastards not because they wronged me personally, but because they destroyed the peace. They are a threat. They must be dealt with for the safety of all.
"As for the 'living', let me tell you something, my lady," he continued with sarcasm dripping from his tone, "If there are any living it's because they have already fled, or because they were raped and left for dead in the streets, and that's if someone didn't stick a spear in them just to watch them bleed. It is not 'craven' to know when to fight and when to withdraw and plan a counter-strike. Should my death have given the people a chance I would have gladly given my life. Losing it after it is apparent that we have been overrun is foolish and has no meaning besides maybe your so-called 'honor' or the empty quest for glory."
"Who are you to judge?" she hissed quietly, her voice echoing some in the cold stone structure they had chosen as refuge. Her eyes were turning colder, her head lowering in anger causing shadows to make the red orbs appear black. "It is craven to play judge and jury of the lives you claim to protect. Who are you to decide when it is hopeless? When to leave the rest to die and suffer? Although I guess I should be thanking you," she spat, "because man like you are the only reason I even have a job. You, sir are pathetic!"
Her breath came evenly through her flaring nostrils. Every muscle in her body was tensed for attack. Tiraris wanted nothing more than rip the life from the man's body with her bare hands. He was already close to provoking her further and she would not be opposed to the fight. There was no respect in her for him. In fact, she was sure she would enjoy this act of primal tussling. It was a rarity for her to desire such things. She did not kill meaninglessly or for the joy of it. But, then again not everyone incited such a rage and hatred in her as this man did.
"At least am not afraid of death like you are old man. But you see, people like you, old dogs like you that continue to serve past their time always end up the same. They die alone and forgotten, cowards in cold places as they let jaded views drive them away from the heat of battle that now scorches their very bones. I hope you like the silence you hear in here. It will be your only companion in the end, mark me words fool."
"I know it's hopeless because I've razed villages before!" Strynn shouted, finally losing his temper with the greenhorn. "I have marched, and fought, and murdered for money and fame and slaughtered every single man, woman and child that did not flee for their very lives! Everyone who is not dead is gone, the others are beyond my help. The only thing, the ONLY possible thing I can do to help them now is make their killers answer to the law! You are the one that's pathetic, little girl, with your high-and-mighty words and your presumptuous facade of understanding."
The old man narrowed his eyes as he sighed, gritting his teeth in aggravation. Damn the young blood! It was like talking to a wall, no matter what he said or how he reasoned with her Tiraris would not seem to understand. "I have told you time and again I do not fear death, only a foolish end for a pointless cause in the heat of passion. And you can not possibly know anything of 'serving past one's time', but maybe you'll have some idea when you dry out behind the ears!"
Strynn was furious, his alcohol-induced temper flaring at this woman's audacity. To come to his village, tell him how to do his duty! How to protect his people! His drunk was at the point where, with the adrenaline and exercise of combat, he was beginning to feel unpleasant- that wine would have warded off his spiraling come-down. Left alone there would soon only be nausea, dizziness, and the shakiness of withdrawal setting on to remind him of his pleasant drunken haze.
"And you wasted the booze!"
At first it started as a soft rumble deep within her chest, but soon crescendoed into a full-bodied laugh. Tiraris threw her head back, long crimson hair brushing past her shoulders as the pale column of her throat was exposed. On and on she laughed until there was no more breath left in her body to continue. The sound slowly tapered off into silence.
"Little girl am I? Last I knew little girls did not do the things I do," she commented darkly, with an almost maniacal gleam in her eyes. "Little girls sit at home with their needlepoint and darn socks. They certainly do not go around spilling the blood of their fellow little girls in the manner which I do. But, as you say it is a good thing I have not served past my prime. I would hate to become as crippled and useless as you. A man who is so desperate for drink that he would drink the dregs of the congregation's supposed sacramental wine, certainly too weak and pathetic to be worth the time to fight. Everyone knows the priests keep the good stuff to themselves. They would not dare waste it on poor unfortunate souls such as yourself and your people," she chuckled, mockingly.
The heat flowing within the assassin's veins was taking a new course. The angry was dissipating in the thrill for a fight. Her body practically hummed with the sheer raw power that was raring to escape. Part of her, the more wild nature of every human was beginning to yearn for the dance of sword and shadow. Her blood was singing in her ears, telling her to continue with her goading. Tiraris had on doubt that she could escape this hellhole when the time came, but that did not mean her companion had to join her. His cavalier attitude and superiority complex annoyed her, it only seemed fair to knock him down a notch, or two, or three.
'He has it coming,' she thinks even as her muscles tighten in preparation to spring. If he was going to attack, she would be ready.
Standing slack-jawed, anger giving way to surprise and an increasing sense of wariness, Strynn studied the mail-garbed woman before him as she roared with laughter and eyed him like a rabid dog eyes potential prey. 'Maybe she will go berserk after all...' He certainly did not like the way her eyes glinted and flared open, the way her pupils contracted with adrenaline-fueled aggression. But in his inebriated state caution and tact once again melted in the face of irritation as her words bit through.
"That's because little girls usually have better sense than to run off with poppa's sword in the name of some half-baked crusade, meddling in affairs they're too young and hot-blooded to understand," Strynn retorted dryly. He chose to ignore her comments on his alcoholic nature, he knew that he was a sodden drunk, as well as everyone in the town knew. And was she... Strynn had to stifle a laugh of his own, but one of incredulous disbelief- his trained military eye, despite the haze of drunkenness, recognized the beginnings of a fighting stance! "And if they would only take the trouble to listen to their elders, certain little girls would know better than to try and scrap with those they can't match up with, not to mention the only possible ally in the face of a hostile force of brigands and thugs."
"Crusade? Is that what they called running for you life in your day?" she replied mockingly, has her fingers played with the metal of her hilt. "Besides," Tiraris continued, drawing her sword and letting it rest in a downward angle of defense, "does this look like a man's sword to you? It is a woman's sword. Surely any man who calls himself a soldier would be able to recognize that."
There was a ringing in the assassin's ears that brought a slight upturn of her lips. The song of unleashing Isilotsë was a tune only she could here that sent roiling blood into a deadly calm. She had no intention of truly fighting the man. Tiraris was not one for needless bloodshed. But, if a spar would get him off her case, she was more than willing to put him in his place. She was no little girl. Others had made quite sure of that.
"Ally? Have you gone senile old man? Assassins work alone. I have no need of you. I tolerate you. As for elders, I see no one here who deserves my respect, just a drunken old fool who keeps trying to pick a fight by calling a well-known murderess a little girl. Is death what you seek old man? You are awfully keen on it. Is a fight what you want? Will that at last shut your gob and give me some piece of mind?"
Strynn readied his shield as soon as he saw the woman begin to draw her sword, his hand wrapping around his own hilt. He relaxed- ever so slightly, but it was there- when he saw her stance, readying herself to ward off an attack that, if he had his way, wouldn't come. 'If I had my way,' he thought to himself, 'I wouldn't be in a church, my home wouldn't be in flames and self-proclaimed assassins wouldn't be testing every grain of my patience.' He listened to her speak in silence, shaking his head slightly.
Why would this fool of a woman seek a fight with the only human being in the woods that didn't want her blood? Who was she, anyway? The former soldier sighed softly and readied his own weapon, steel rasping on leather as his father's sword left his scabbard. 'Young blood...' He mused wryly. It would appear the heat of youth would be cooled by no other way than a scrap.
But he'd be damned if he was to strike the first blow. Strynn had been insulted, mocked, and downright ridiculed by a whelp with a chip on her shoulder and he'd be damned if he was going to exert himself any more than he had to. Retaining his silence save for a "haaawk" in his chest, he launched a large glob of spittle straight towards the Tiraris' face. 'If that doesn't set her off, nothing will,' he thought as he readied his sword.
The assassin sneered in disgust as the glob hit her in the face. She slowly reached up and scraped the spittle off her cheek before wiping it on her pantleg. "Is that the best you can do, curmudgeon? Your aim is off; you missed my eye!" Despite her attempts to laugh it off, Tiraris was furious.
Her nostrils flared and her grip tightened before loosening on her sword. The fiery ball within her, raged like a tempest squall upon the high seas, twisting and turning on itself, all the while fueling itself into something larger and more volatile. If her temper and her anger had not been flaring so blindly, she would have been able to check herself and prevent the next chain of events that would occur. But, she felt nothing but contempt and disgust for this excuse of a soldier and let her hatred for him and things past to fester within her until it had not choice but to burst forth.
The mirth of just a moment before was lost in the power of her magic. The playful woman was gone and all that was left in her place was a killer of the highest degree. The air hummed for a moment as he eyes narrowed on her target and then as if a string had been cut, the sound silenced right before the high windows of the old church shattered, raining down shards of glass on them both. Isilotsë flashed in the, whistling as it was dragged through the air and down towards Strynn's meaty thigh.
The woman's cool tone belied the flush in her face, her overly calm motions. Strynn recognized the signs of anger, and knew how to use them. All he had to do was goad the assassin until she made a mistake, left an opening. He settled into a ready stance as he saw her shift her grip on the sword hilt- and then, a humming noise...
With an oath and a start, the aged man raised his shield above his head as the windows blew inward, glass rattling off the surface. He started to turn wildly about in search of the raiders, figuring it to be their doing before catching the flashing arc of a blade. Instinct alone saved him a split leg and an arterial wound as he twisted his leg at the hip, the point of her sword scoring along his leather greaves as he flicked his blade downward to angle Tiraris' away from the rest of his leg. His wounded shoulder groaned with the effort of swinging his shield up so suddenly. "Fool girl! Now they know we're here!" He hissed, swinging his sword back up at an angle as he brought his shield before his body again.
So the assassin's magic went beyond the healing of wounds and poisons. Strynn quickly resolved to change his strategy- stoking a magic-user's rage often led to drastically different results than a warrior's. Looks like he would have to end this as quickly as he could.
"As if they did not know that already as they chased us in here," she spat back, eyes wild with the fire that had been unleashed from within. Her blade swung out again, this time aiming for his injured shoulder even as her attuned ears picked up the sounds of the creatures screeching from afar as they closed in, the thrill of the hunt guiding them brazenly forward.
A dark laugh bubbled forth from her lips as she stared down her companion. "Are you friend or foe, fool? Should it be the latter I would rather kill you now before they get here if it is all the same to you. Fighting two breeds of enemy is more hassle than its worth. While amusing to watch them struggle with you, I have no interest in doing so as well."
Again, Tiraris swung out at him, moving on light and steady feet. "Well old man, what will it be? Death by the little girl or by your people's murderers?"
"We were out of their range!" Strynn shouted, hiking his shield up to cover his shoulder. He grunted as the shock of contact made his wound ache all the more, and again as he heard the screeches and whoops of the scaly invaders. "Can you really be serious? It was YOU who started this, you who chose to remain." He countered, wincing again as his abused shoulder bore the shock of another blow to his shield. He had to jerk his head back as Tiraris' blade skimmed off the top, were his shield not magically light that one would have scored a telling hit. As it was her sword drew a searing line across his cheek. The woman was fast, no doubt, and well-seasoned.
"I have better things to do than die, especially at the hands of rabble soldiers and a hot-head youth!" Suddenly he darted forward, moving in close and lashing out with a headbutt, hoping to catch her off-guard. Since she was taller then he was it was easy to aim it right, the trick was to land the brow and forehead into the nose area of the target. Not exactly the knight's way, but rules and rites were for naught in the heat of battle
Pain exploded across her face, temporarily blinding Tiraris and forcing her back a few steps in order to protect herself from any further attacks. Her sword came up in a defensive posture even as her body braced against an attack she could not see.
The pain though was a good thing, it focused her, allowing her to reign in both her anger and the magic that fed upon it. She was still angry with Strynn but it was dulled enough for her to concentrate on the bigger picture at hand. The creatures were still ramming themselves at the rotting wooden door and attempting to climb the very walls to slink through the shattered windows.
"Enough," she growled, the stars in her vision clearing enough to see blurrily while leaving behind a disconcerting red haze on her injured side. Tiraris rolled her jaw, trying to alleviate some of the pain and come up with a plan of action. "We can settle this when we are both dead," she finally relented before adding, "or they are."
Shaking her head, the assassin tried to clear more of her vision but it did nothing except worsen the pain behind her afflicted eye. 'Starstruck. Perfect. Just what I needed right now. You are a dead man when this is over old fool!'
She moved to stand with her literal blind side facing one of the stone walls. It was the only defense she was going to get given that her pupil was constricted from the magic overload and the blow she had taken. "You were once an authority figure, what do you suggest? Or is the reason you are out of commission is because you cracked? I would not be surprised given...your attitudes."
He straightened out, wincing slightly. Strynn was definitely not as young as he used to be. "So, the young see reason." He said cynically as he lowered his own sword. The shock of the headbutt, coupled with his come-down, made for a nasty sensation. "I just knew you'd come around."
He sighed and sheathed his sword. "I'd rather it be them, unless you have any objections." He said, hauling on one end of the nearest stone bench and pointedly choosing not to respond to her biting comment. "Help me move a couple of these against the door. Two leaning upright and one bracing those two. We've got a defensible position here, if they can only come at us through the windows we can hold them off. If we're lucky, the main force moved on and there should be no more than a handful- maybe fifteen, most."
Tiraris growled, letting her blade roll across the back of her hand in a swinging arc at her side to relieve some of the anger and frustration that still roiled within her. As much as she wanted to pummel the old codger for his high and mighty attitude but for now she had to reign it in enough to not kill him where he stood. At worst he could still be a useful distraction for the beasts outside while she attempted her own escape. At best he could assist in the massacre that was about to occur.
Wisely, the assassin kept her tongue curbed and heeded the order. She shuffled a bit wobbly over to the benches to assist in placing them in the specified formation. Her eyes squeezed tight in long blinks that still did nothing for her vision and only served to irritate her further as she stewed in silence.
Her ears though were straining to listen beyond the cold stone walls of their sanctuary. Strynn was right in part at least; the entire force had not come to vanquish them. But fifteen was small in comparison to what she suspected she was hearing. It was hard for her though between their screeching howls and the way their piercing voices ricocheted off the stone walls. In her mind's eye Tiraris imagined nearly double the perceived number and clasped her blade tighter. They were in for one hell of a night, provided of course they actually survived it.
"Old man," the assassin called softly, eying him from the corner of her only seeing eye. "You ready for this? I would rather not die tonight because you decided to wimp out on me."
Strynn dashed about, making small preparations for the upcoming fight and hoping fervently that his estimation of the forces they'd face was accurate. He was going by memories of raiding parties past rather than ear alone, but one could never really tell. 'We are in a church,' he mused silently. 'If ever there was a time to pray...'
"Ready as I'll ever be." He grunted, rolling his shoulders and wincing as he clapped a hand to the injured one. "I could use a quaff of something strong about now, but there's nothing for it." His voice still had the thickness of one deep in drink, but he shook his head to ward off the ache and focused his bleary eyes on the assassin. She still seemed to have trouble focusing. "What of you? Are you alright, girl?" As he asked, he snapped the straw off a broom and propped it in the corer of a window. Grunting, Strynn hefted one side of the bench up until it rested on the other end of the broom over the window and stepped back to cast a critical eye over his work. The window was now rigged so that one could not enter without disturbing the broom handle, resulting in a heavy stone bench over the head.
The old soldier picked up his crossbow, drawing back a bolt. He set several more in easy reach so that he may snatch them up and reload quickly. "Something tells me you haven't come this far just to take a sword in the gut tonight."
Blood-red eyes peered out from the side to silently glare in the darkness at the old fool. "You have marinated long enough soldier. Take a whiff of yourself, and I am sure that will be enough to sustain you. Perhaps the smell of you will be enough to kill them."
Restlessly she rolled her shoulders, flexible chain-mail softly crackling and rippling like the muscles that rested beneath the surface of cloth and skin. The assassin felt like a caged animal waiting for the lock to be sprung and the freedom that came with it. She wanted to kill, to scream, to release the beast battling within her soul.
Her hand fiddled with her grip on her sword, flexing and relaxing to try and not lock up. The last thing she needed was to die because she was not properly prepared for the fight to come. 'Round two. I can do this. Fought worse. Suffered worse. This is nothing.'
A pink tongue darted out to lick cracked lips. Outside the screeches and hollers were right outside their doors. Bodies slammed into stone and wood. For now it held but not long. A few more well aimed hits and blood would begin to run. Tiraris expelled a heavy sigh before at last replying. There was nothing else to do while they waited. 'Not like he will be silent if I ignore him/'
"I am not like you old man. I am not afraid to die. I go into a fighting expecting it," she spoke calmly, with a smirk curling her lips. "If I die then it was my time. If I live, then it was theirs. Just..do not do me any favors. I am not going to save you. I do not expect the same. Enough of this sentimentality," the woman growled, shaking her head and readjusting her footing. The pounding of beasts ran in time with the beat of her heart. Adrenaline was pumping. Someone was going to die tonight.
Maybe this strange warrior-woman was right. Maybe he had felt sorry for himself and stewed his problems in alcohol long enough. Maybe he had marinated long enough- not only tonight, but for the past several, several years. It made him a little ashamed. But then, every time he hid behind a bottle of whisky or rye he felt a bit ashamed. And then he felt sorry for himself. And then he decided to drown those feelings in more whisky. Yes, he could definitely use a drink right now.
Strynn blinked his bleary eyes and shook his head to clear his mind. Now was not the time and place for self-discovery. Now was time to focus, to fight and kill and win. He chuckled at Tiraris' words.
"My my, aren't we bleak this evening? You seem to be awfully accepting of the idea of fate." The creatures outside rammed the door again, knocking pieces from the door and forcing it open slightly. He coolly brought his crossbow to bear, aimed carefully down the body, and shot. The bolt glanced off the edge of the door and sped into a scaly face as one of them tried to get a good look into the church. Grunting at his shoddy aim, he quickly set his foot in the loop built at the end of his bow, yanking back the arm until it clicked into place. "As for these "favors" you mention, you've already done me one. You've taken up arms at my side, and that makes us comrades." He informed her. "The way I see it, we-"
Strynn broke off suddenly as he aimed his crossbow, suddenly hearing the scrabbling of claw on stone. "They're coming in through the windows!" He barked, whirling and sending a bolt into the one who sat screeching in the high opening. He heard a crash and the grinding of stone on stone as they at last threw the door open and shoved the benches inward. "Get ready!" He shouted, setting the arm of his crossbow and nocking a bolt with blurring speed.
She was right, he really could not keep his mouth shut. It took all her effort not to swing her sword at his head again in an attempt cleave it from his shoulders. Tiraris could not stand him and his self-assured, self-righteous attitude. She sought no companionship. By fighting she was not choosing to be his comrade-in-arms. How dare he assume such things of her! He had no right! She fought for her own survival. If he managed to make it out of this alive too then more power to him. It had nothing to do with her.
Thankfully the presence of a true threat saved her from having to converse further. His warning fell on deaf ears as the assassin raced forward to meet the intruders head on. It did not matter to her that Strynn was notching up to strike them down from a distance and could very well miss and hit her in the process given his formerly intoxicated state. The agitation and anticipation of fighting drove her forward, perhaps even recklessly into the oncoming wave of adversaries.
The first wave was always the smallest, those that still struggled to open the doors would be cut down while their brethren pushed on behind them. She let their screeches guide her in her dance of death. Their cries of blood lust telling her where her sword should swing home. Those that made it past her were not her concern. For while Tiraris considered herself not honor-bound to protect Strynn, the soldier was the kind of man who would feel such things. He had her back, for now at least.