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Watergram for the Wicked Witch [P]; Yes, sir, she ordered this [Aey + Roche]
Topic Started: Sat Apr 2, 2016 7:56 pm (642 Views)
Aeyliea
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The sound of their equipment rattling echoed through the gloomy under story of the forest, which here was blessedly free of much in the way of undergrowth. It wouldn't have mattered, likely, because of the path they followed through the twisting roots that made virtually every other path impassable. The Commander rounded a corner in the path, a massive root of whatever these trees were here blocking the way they had been going, snaking off into the dimness. High overhead, the canopy formed a cathedral-like ceiling a hundred feet and more above their heads, only allowing the faintest trace of sunlight through.

There were four of them for this particular mission. The people who had approached her with the offer to contract had been from a village somewhere in these dark woodlands, and the tales they had told her were near nasty enough to chill her blood. It was, perhaps, one of the cheapest contracts she had negotiated in several years. The plight of the people in their village tugged at the heartstrings a bit, but that was not why she had given them a break. No, it was the target that had done that.

Aeyliea absolutely loathed casters. She had learned to be tolerant of many of them, but the ones that used their unnatural talents for personal gain at the expense of those who couldn't protect themselves...oh, no. That wasn't acceptable at all. She had made it her personal hobby to deal with creatures like that, and the True Blade at her waist had likewise mirrored her desires. It faintly hummed in its scabbard. It could sense as clearly as she could that a mage's blood was about to feed it, that and any other fool that happened to be working for the filthy wretch in these woods.

The path divided ahead, and Aeyliea stopped her troop with a raised hand. She pulled the piece of parchment she had been given from the satchel at her waist, and looked at where she was. The path forked in three directions; east, west, and north. And this was the place that had been described.

Without a word, she knelt, and pushed some of the earth aside, rotting leaves and dirty. There, hastily buried, was a presumably human forearm, twisted and disfigured. The rest of the body wasn't in evidence, though Aeyliea hd not expected it to be. She could swear that she could taste the foul taint of sorcery, a faint corruption.

Two of you, head east. The other, head west...and be quiet. This one has fanatic followers, and we don't need to have our hides cut to ribbons before we even see this vile witch. Salutes, and then the muffled clank of gear as her soldiers headed off on their respective missions. They had already been briefed before even entering the woods. A specific plan had been made to rout this particular group of unsavory individuals from the woods. The lone soldier would fire their storehouse, such as it was, while the other two would take care of the stables and barracks.

As for herself, why, she would slay the witch herself. The barest smile graced her perfect lips. She continued on the path, her pace slowing as she went, ears and eyes alert for trouble.

Which was why she heard them before they could spring their trap.

Three figures leaped onto the path in front of her, steel in their hands. Aeyliea was forced to take a quick reassessment in this particular case, because she had been led to believe that these were simply forest folk that had gathered around someone with enough power to make the others bend knee. What she was faced with, instead, was well armed, and well armored, foes. Their chain hauberks were in good repair, with chain greaves and leather underarmor. They wore helms, and most importantly, were well groomed and sharp eyed.

This is not a forest band of thieves. It was a cold assessment, internal and not betrayed on her lovely face. In fact, she remained impassive.

"Well, if it isn't the Free Company! And we've been waiting so patiently for you!"

Whats this? She did not respond immediately. Instead, she stood her ground, dropping into a stance of defense even though she had yet to draw her weapon. Eyes narrowed, she regarded the trio before her coldly.

"Hah! I told you she would be thunderstruck! Didn't I tell you that, Lanys?" The man in the front elbowed one of the other two, a grin - malicious, nasty - on his face. The other merely grunted. "We should just deal with her. No reason to delay it, Torrid."

Yes, why don't you just get down to business. Its clear you were expecting me. I am on the lesser end of this particular stick. She grinned, and it was feral. Who wants to be the first one to try? She dropped a hand to the long hilt of her sword, and all three of them eyed her warily.

"Well, if you want it to be over quickly..." Said the first, apparently named Torrid. He stepped forward, nasty grin glued to his features.
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Roche
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The three weren't leaving him much to work with, though that could just be his shoddy tracking at work. It was a different environment than he was used to. He'd been at work for the last couple of weeks, hunting down this new group he'd been hearing about. The only lead he had was reports of well-armed scouts deep in the forest, where the trees grew huge and the canopy was high above.

He nearly walked across the three men before he saw them. Thankfully, their chain mail rustling in the otherwise quiet woods and their hushed voices gave them away to him. Ducking behind one of the great trees, he lifted his knee and drew his boot knife from it's soft leather sheath without a sound.

“--coming in. There's a lot of them.” The men were too intent on each other to notice him, and his words had the other two instinctively looking out away from Roche's position. Lowering his cowl, Roche readied himself to move when he got the opportunity. They took two trees, hiding much the same as he was behind them. They drew steel, nearly masking the sound of others coming closer. He could see them clearly now.

Damn but they were well-armed. He'd expected the reports to mean they all had weapons in decent repair, maybe even some who had a couple pieces of plate. Not matching sets of armor in fine working order.

"Well, if it isn't the Free Company! And we've been waiting so patiently for you!"

Free Company? He hadn't heard of them, but word scarcely ever reached into the mountains and he'd spent much of the last year in a collar deep in these woods. Reaching across his chest with his free hand, he unsnapped the loop holding his longsword's hilt to his baldric, leaving it secured by the half-sheath and ready to draw at a moment's notice.

Roche waited for an opportune moment, the newcomers largely obscured by one of the trees the men had hidden behind. Waiting until they were fully focused on each other, he slid around and stepped lightly to take their hiding place, only feet away now.

From the sounds of it, they were ready to start in on each other, fully focused on one another. And not on him. Taking advantage of this, he made the first move.

Roche gripped his knife in a backhanded grip and crouched, springing forward to tackle the nearest of the three. He hit him from the side and gripped his helmet's front securely and drove it back against the ground. The ground gave a little and the helmet would shield him enough from the blow, but it would rattle his brains a little all the same and the weight of his armor would slow his rise. Hitting the ground hard, Roche rolled forward off of him and got to his knees, keeping his hold on the helmet and plunging his knife just above the collar of his leather underarmor. Leaving the blade there, he drew his sword fully and readied it, taking a defensive stance.
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Aeyliea
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A moment that was timeless, everyone frozen as they were. Aey, impassive eyes locked on the warrior that advanced on her in his careless overconfidence. A man down, blood slurring from his neck and his mouth as he cried out s drowned, dying scream. Roche, upright and sword held in a defensive stance, attention focused who knew where. The other watchman turning, frozen in the act, to deal with the unexpected threat.

Aey was one with the sword at her hip. It hummed it's deadly song, suffusing her entire being with a numbness akin to death. Her sharp eyes narrowed further.

And the moment ended.

She moved suddenly, quickly, tearing the sheathed weapon from the belt at her waist. In the same motion, the scabbard cleared the deadly weapon, falling naturally into her two handed grip. All of this took a split second. All pretense of defensive play was put aside as she moved forward, closing the distance with savage rapidity. Her long moonlight hair flowed behind her like a cape, the chainmail she wore clinking with each footfall. And in her eyes, impassive and devoid of emotion, resided death.

A clash of steel on steel, followed by four more in rapid succession. She deflected his first lunge and then struck with confirmed precision three times, each blocked awkwardly and almost frantically. This was truly no bandit, no stranger to the weapon in his grip, and Aey had known it from the start. These were house guards, men in the pay and keeping of someone with enough coin to afford such things. All at once, there was a deep urgency in her to deal with these bastards, because this was not the mission they had accepted. The game had changed, and all the dynamics had become uncertain.

Th original idea of toying with the bastards was abandoned just as swiftly as that. Her opponent was backing away, clearly understanding just how outmatched he was. Steel on steel again, and again, as she pressed him hard. A middling swordsman, then. He would break...

And did. Another clash, and then she felt the brutal tug of her weapon slicing into chain, links popping audibly as she struck. He grunted, but it was already too late. Another stroke, and the sword and the hand holding it went tumbling. She stepped in close, and kicked him in the chest, weapon coming up behind her back in an awkward gesture that deflected the remaining swordsman's I'll timed thrust. The blade slid across the mithril links that guarded her body but lack any force at all.

She spun, an acrobatic dance that ended with her foot in the other soldiers guts before he could recover from his lunge. Sweat flew, glistening in the dim light.

Do not kill that one, stranger! Completely unconcerned on whether or not the new face was a different enemy or not.

OOC - Skills
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Roche
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Roche was frozen for the first instant the leader of the third party broke into action, putting an incredible amount of speed and precision in her initial assault. Feeling slow and clumsy in comparison as she severed the man's hand and blocked an attack from her rear, Roche finally waded in.

He moved on the second of the men, mortally wounded but desperately clinging to life, clasping his stumped wrist and trying to pinch off the flow of blood. Roche got behind him with an arm around his helm, lifting his head and pressing the edge of his sword to his throat. He didn't move quickly or gracefully, but he was efficient.

The third of the men had hunched, gut blow stunning him. He was in her control. Kneeling down, Roche began patting down the dead for hints.

“Damn it. These weren't bandits. No mark pays well enough to afford this, and anyone this well equipped would have been let by rather than taking the risk. These men were outfitted. And trained.” He drove his knee hard into the back of the man's, buckling the leg and forcing him to kneel. The man held still, still clenching his wrist.

He sincerely doubted his ability would allow him to survive an onslaught from the woman. He doubted he'd even seen her at a fraction of her skill. If she decided he was to die, he would. It was that simple. “Who are you and who the hell are they?” He asked, visibly circulating his breathing and keeping ready to move fast if she made a move.
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Aeyliea
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The other man was doomed from the moment she planted her boot in his abdomen. He was able to fend off the first three blows, feebly and inelegantly, but the fourth sent his guard wide, and the fifth crunch through a bit of hauberk, breaking his clavacle and ending in his thoracic cavity. He didn't even make a sound as he died, falling away from her blade with his eyes already glazing with death.

She spun, blood and bits of bone and meat flinging from the edge of her blade...and then stopped. Her chest rose and fell with exertion, sweat gleaming on her brow. She held the position for a moment, blade held at the ready...and then relaxed. She took the time to wipe the sweat from her brow, and managed to smear a few droplets of blood in the process.

Keeping an eye on him, she knelt. Her movements were practiced and fluid as she reached down and took hold of one of the slains clothing and wiped her katana off. I am Aeyliea Terossa, Commander of the Free Company. As to that other question...why, I intend to find out. She tore a strip of cloth from the dead man's tunic, and then got up and approached Roche and the man, Torrid. Said man's eyes followed her, rolling in their socket as she pushed away Roche's hand and then wrapped the strip of cloth around the fellows arm. She tied it off as tight as she could, and the flow of blood, which had spurted with each beat of his heart, reduced to a trickle.

And now, sir, you will talk. Lower your weapon so the bastard can speak without nicking himself. Torrid blanched.

After the blade was removed, or even if it wasn't, he spoke. "I won't tell you anything, murderer."

Aeyliea snorted. Do you really believe the crap you are spouting? Do you think the city of Taras would not jump on me and shut me down if they thought they had a criminal mustering armed men within their city?

The man gave a weak laugh, derisive. "You have enough money, commoner, to buy people off. You did kill my Lord some two years ago. The Family hasn't forgotten.". He spit at her, and she made no moved to about it as it struck the dirt at her feet. " Well, the family is about to make the balance even."

And how many of you are out here? And what about the so-called witch? She leaned forward, eyes like stormy skies half lidded. This was taking too much time, and she would not let him draw it out any longer than necessary.

"Enough to gut your scrawny arse, wench. And if the sword-and-bows aren't enough, then the young Mistress will be your undoing.". He sneered at her. She didn't react.

Aeyliea sighed, eyeing the stranger holding the man. She rose, and shook her head. Whatever. In a swift, brutal gesture, she struck fast and hard. She delivered a text book thrust, metal links popping behind the force of her strike. Straight through his heart, but controlled enough that it never penetrated through his back and thus did not have any opportunity to harm the other stranger. Going by garb alone, that one was not involved, and then of course there was the matter of his assistance.

She wiped the tip of her blade off on his leggings, and then turned. Well, stranger. Drop the body. I have no idea who you are, but I am willing to make a wager that you aren't a plant by these bastards to afford them a cheap kill. You bloodied some nobleman's personal guard, so welcome to the fray. And your name is...?
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Roche held the man fast, letting the woman tie off the wound and hooking a hand around his free hand's elbow to hold it immobile. Roche lifted his blade away from the man's neck enough to keep from slicing it open if he swallowed too hard.

As their conversation progressed, Roche's face grew sourer and sourer. He winced as the woman lashed out, driving her blade through the man's hauberk and the leather beneath, biting deep into his heart. Roche pushed the man forward and himself away, offering some buffer between himself and the blade, though it never exited. Roche let the man slump forward as she cleaned her blade, pushing him down and sheathing his blade.

“A nobleman's guard. Fantastic. I love getting dragged into highborn politics. They're all just so forgiving and generous.” He spat on the corpse kneeling face-down in the dirt in front of him. “I'm Roche. A pleasure to meet you Miss Terosa, I'm sure.”

He groaned and pressed the heel of his palm into his forehead. “Well, I'm not getting paid unless I deal with the situation one way or another. Care if I tag along on your spree or witch hunt or whatever you want to call it?” He eyed her blade and considered the ease and lack of feeling she seemed to hold for the act of murder.

“I'm from a local outfit. There's been some reports on worryingly well-armed 'bandits' gathering in the area. I was supposed to come scout out the situation and report back, or take care of the issue if it an opportunity presents itself.” He wasn't positive on how he would've taken care of the issue, but he'd gotten together a small sack of poisonous herbs to dump in a stew or something equally cliché from a tavern story.
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Aeyliea
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She made her way back to the fork in the path without saying another word, and there stopped. She had recovered the scabbard to her sword, and had fastened back to her hip though she left the blade bare. She turned to look at Roche, and finally let something of the woman behind the mask through. The expression was...sour, though when she laid eyes on him something else entered that gaze. Something...predatory.

"Well, Roche, at least you have a fair face. I could do a lot worse.". She spat on the road, and gestured with her sword back the way they came. " This isn't highborn politics. My bloodline is as common as mud. I also don't give a shit about that. I don't rightly recall the family name, but I recall the individual. A particularly odious man, was that lord. He kidnapped tavern wenches, had his way with them, and then murdered them and stuffed them under his grand staircase in his own manor. Arrogant bastard."

She turned and looked down the path two of her men had taken. "Just so happened that he tried doing that with a maid at a tavern I was in at the time. Gutted him like a rotten Carl, so I did. Burned his house down, too. You see, slime like that has money and power, and therefore can buy their way out of most anything. I didn't leave him the option." She didn't figure killing the bastard even counted as murder. She had done Taras a favor by saving it some money on the trial and talking, and its citizens by putting a permanent solution into place.

"An outfit, eh? Well, the Company has this contract. They killed a bunch of innocent people to make their contract legitimate, which...is absolute horseshit." She indicated the twisted and malformed hand and arm carelessly buried in the dirt of the fork. "And magic was involved in this, so it's my specialty. What an utter fool I was to walk into this trap. I intend to carve my way out of it, though."

She set off down the path the two had taken, inwardly dreading what kind of trap might lay in store for those unlucky mercenaries.
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Roche cocked an eyebrow at her, breaking the sour, simmering anger for a second. Fair face was hardly something he would expect to hear these days, given his scattered scars and the line across his nose where one slave had gotten in a lucky headbutt and broke the skin across the bone high on his nose.

Listening and walking along beside her, he found it difficult to hold onto the ill-placed irritation with her and the whole situation. It instead turned to disgust at the man and the tastes that cropped up in bored aristocrats. “Someone's parents didn't give him enough attention as a child.” He sighed. “Good. Eel would've just slipped out of the courts anyway.”

He retied his warrior's knot as they walked, completely ignoring the implied dismissal of his business here. “Your lot killed a bunch of people to get it or these bastards did?” He asked idly, hooking his thumbs through his belt and paced her.

“In any case, I'll tag along if you don't mind. Or if you do. In either case, this is worryingly close to home and I'll stick around to see how this pans out. Besides, it can't actually hurt to have another sword on your side if you're already expected.” He scanned the trees, looking for the next bunch of guards to jump them.

“It isn't about contracts at this point.”
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She stopped in the path, and whirled upon him quickly. Pretty face or no (she did like them rough), he was starting to irritate her. Which was something of an accomplishment anyway. Yes, I had my people come down here and slay a bunch of innocent civilians so I could get ambushed by a noble house. That makes such wonderfully good sense. She snorted. The way this works, is people come to me. I do not look for contracts. People come to me, and they pay ridiculous sums of money to have their problems taken care of. So, no. I killed no one on this mission until those three imbeciles failed to jump me.

She turned, and continued to walk. Even if I don't want you to tag along? Please. I would tie you up like a helpless kitten and there wouldn't be much you could do about it. Probably. There were a lot of ways something like that could go wrong. She certainly couldn't kill the man until he bared steel against her and her own. It wouldn't be honorable in the slightest, and if there was any one failing that would see her dead, it was that one.

She slowed further, ears strained for sounds. She slinked like a lioness in tall grass, except their was no grass. After several steps, she stopped, and took a leather thong from her satchel, and tied the cascading white hair back behind her back. And then she continued forward.

They rounded a bend, and came to a scene of butchery.

Her two soldiers - green, both of them - were cut to pieces. There were four men in similar dress and armor to the three that she had slain with the help of this Roche person. They had been killed cleanly; her men had been butchered and literally cut into dozens of pieces.

Aeyliea stood there, looking on, her face suddenly dark, eyes stormy. She spat at the sharp odor of blood, bile, and urine that hung in the air. Its always about the contract, Roche. Unless its magecraft, and then for me its personal. Or... She gestured ahead. Her hands trembled, but it was absolutely not fear that she displayed.

It was bloodthirsty rage.
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Roche lifted his hands placatingly. “Fair enough. I don't know what you're about. In my defense, I've seen more wanton death and crime in my last month here than I did in four and a half years as a ranger in the Gwilikith range.” He gestured back the way they'd come. “You just cut through those men like a scythe through grain without hesitation. You're obviously good at what you do. For all I know, you're a complete psychopath.”

He began walking after her again, hand resting on the pommel of his knife at his belt and tapping on the top of a leather greave, the only tell he showed of his nervousness. He was far outclassed by his current company and their common enemy was far better equipped than he was. And his new 'friend' seemed to be teetering on a razor's edge.

“Anything else you can tell me about these-- ah, shit.” He pursed his lips as the came around the bend, shifting his balance to be ready to strike. He looked over the scene, forcing himself to wear an impassive mask. Shoving down his mental and physical revulsion at the scene and the smells accompanying it, he studied the tableaux.

The members of the Company had been savaged, possibly even after they'd died. Their fallen foes were dealt with cleanly and professionally. The efficiency was admirable, but it was likely done out of need to conserve time and energy focusing on a threat outnumbering them. The Commander's men were very well-trained. Only after he'd scanned over each detail twice over and found nothing new did he allow the revulsion to curdle into anger, but he still kept a tight rein on it.

His anger could be used.

“Point taken.” He nodded to her, turning his assessing gaze on her face, looking for something he couldn't pinpoint. He decided to give her the benefit of the doubt and assumed the fury she was showing was a personal thing for her men lost, not a professional irritation or a zealot's fury at this magic-user they were after.


“I don't know if I'll walk away from this, and I have some serious doubts about the number of pieces I'll be in if I do, but I can't turn my back on this. Any decent human being shouldn't be able to.” He wondered if the same magic that had knitted his shoulder together once could have been used in the slaughter of these men. Could such a wonder be put to such use? What did it say of magic that those who used it would keep around such company as these beasts?
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Aeyliea
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Its never simple, is it? She said suddenly, her eyes darting this way and that. She was ever wary of the environs she was in, but now she was thrice so. The slaying of their Lord was but one aspect of this problem, I would say. I am normally not so forgetful, but I cannot remember their proper name. They are involved with more than just murder. Tied into the criminal underworld of Taras in some way. She spat. My Company has been cleansing the slums of their disgusting presence, and some of them have been less than happy about it.

Tossing her head angrily, she entered the little clearing, and knelt beside each of her fallen. Aeyliea did not believe in the gods - those that had lived in the past, nor those that lived in the now. The words she offered them were simple, spoken in a whisper to low to be heard. Bidding them well on their way to the world beyond. Once she had done this simple task, she rose, and brushed off her legs.

They wanted this to be personal, and they shall have it. I would love to meet this dread Mistress they brought with them, after I've had the pleasure of silencing the rest. She shifted the grip of her blade from one hand to the next, knuckles white from that tight and dreadful grip. She turned to look at him and displayed something new: pain. Tightly controlled, hemmed in at the sides by anger, but there all the same. I will not stand by and let this woman do as she pleases. Nobles are seldom decent humans, but this family is far, far from it. She paused for a moment, struggling to put on the facade of cold calm and distance she often wore in the company of others. She did not entirely succeed. Are you sure you wish to follow me into the lion's den? You might make enemies that you really do not want. I do not care myself; I have plenty of enemies.
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Roche bit his tongue as she spoke. It certainly seemed she had cause to be hunting those she did. And maybe it was the only way to show these evasive bastards the winds. But he had been a part of an entertainer's troupe once, and had heard tales of zealotry. It hardly seemed to matter whether the zealots were religious or simply following an ideal blind to circumstance, but many died along the way. There were always casualties. Roche stared down at the corpses of her men.

'Winds carry you to your new lives' He thought, touching two fingers to his lips. He was not typically a religious man, but he had been raised to believe in the dead. He was raised to believe the winds carried the souls of the newly fallen on to the afterlife. Even grown and somewhat skeptical, he gave the blessing and noted the slight breeze caressing the canopy's top overhead.

“They're expecting you.” His brow wrinkled, looking her full in the eye. What he'd wanted to say was 'Who is to stop you doing as you please?', but he held his tongue out of respect for the dead. This was not the time for conflicts of faith.

“I am familiar with the proverbial lion's den. You can tell much about a person by their enemies. I'm certain you have collected a fair few. A great deal more than I have, I am sure. I haven't had many enemies in my short time outside of the safety of a small town, but those I did collect are long since burned, their ashes scattered to the winds.” He looked out at the trees, looking more for answers than enemies as he tried to piece together what he felt.

“Some people deserve to be stood up against.” He returned his gaze to her, hardness not entirely directed at the situation at hand and the family responsible. Some of that look was for her, but he quickly pushed it aside. There would be time later, if at all.

“Let's go put this to rest then. The longer we stand here talking about it the more prepared our enemy will be for us. Lead on, Commander."
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Aeyliea
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She gave a last look to her fallen, and then turned about. She did not advance immediately, choosing to survey the twisted roots and narrow paths between them with increasing suspicion. Nothing moved in those shadows, no threat presented itself. Much as she would have liked to.

This had gone way too far. Trying to kill her was expected, and had become an essential fact of life for the last two years. She had stopped counting the people that came at her, the assassins and the rogues and all the other myriad faces killers put on. She was fighting a war, but it was a silent war. Usually. Between her and the criminal syndicates of Taras, and their backers who were often among the highborn and privileged. She had no idea they would go so far for their vengeance but, when you stopped to thin about it, men and women would do unspeakable things in the pursuit of wealth and power.

Like killing innocent people to set a trap. Like butchering her men as if they were unfeeling scarecrows, as if they didn't have a life.

Our enemy is already very well prepared for us. They laid this trap and they had to have been about it for a little while at least. She started forward, blade held loosely in one hand. The edge never touched the ground, and it was clear she could bring it back to readiness at a moments notice. This is shameful in the extreme. Where I was born and raised, we did not have this problem. Any criminal so overt as t slay innocents for a...for a ploy!...would have been killed long ago. The darker side of humanity stepped carefully, always wary of the whetted edge waiting for it if it grew too careless.

As she stepped onto the path at the edge of the clearing, her thoughts went to the lone soldier that had taken the other path. She had heard no sound of fighting, no death cries...but then, she hadn't heard either when this lot had slaughtered the other two. The woodlands were eerily quiet, devoid of even birdsong. It set her nerves on edge.

Forgive me for not asking sooner, but what is your name and your story, sir?
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Roche nodded, knowing her distaste for what seemed like an entirely unfamiliar, barbaric world. Back in Merton, there was little crime. The only trouble they tended to have was from outside, the occasional few bandits who thought it would be a profitable venture to waylay trade caravans in the mountain pass. Those were still a rarity though, as most had the good sense to realize one of the only passes through the mountains would be well-guarded.

“I'm Roche. I was a mountain ranger off one of the passes in the Gwilikith range. Got captured by bandits in Norwood a year and a half ago. My current company helped get me out and I've been taking jobs since trying to clean up when bandits crop up.” He tugged at his collar unconsciously, rubbing a thumb against the pale scar ringing his throat.

“Been filling time. I envy you your crusade. You sound like you have a purpose in life.”

“Where is it you were raised? It sounds like you're from a good ways away.” He asked, drawing his knife once more and fidgeting with it, brushing his thumb across the blade's edge and rubbing the horn handle.
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She nodded in response. We are well met, then. I wasn't sure to begin with but....trust is ever a slippery slope. Her eyes continued to rove, looking for any threat. Looking for anything at all, especially since she felt they should have found something by now. The pace she set was measured, cautious.

I wish my story were as low key as that. From a long way off? Yes. She paused. A bit of undergrowth ahead, indicating another clearing. The leaves of one of those bushes was moving, but there wasn't the faintest breath of wind to stir them. I come from a continent way to the east, across the ocean. The Empire was my home for thirty years and more, and I served in her armies. Alas, that all came to an end marked by blood and fire.

She resumed walking forward, giving no indication that she had seen what she perceived to be someone hiding in the bushes. She continued to talk, too, as she went. I escaped the Empire one step ahead of the headsman's axe. I used to...well, never mind that. Long and short of it, there was a coup in the Kantorin, the capitol. The Army divided against itself, one side standing for the usurper and the other from the Emperor himself. The Emperor lost. And the throne...

The next step brought her into range, and she immediately stepped back as an armored foe stepped from his place of concealment. He already had a long sword out and was already slashing for the woman he thought would be right in front of him. She wasn't. She was just outside the range of his blade, and as soon as he was fully committed to the attack, she stepped forward and executed a perfect thrust. The blade slipped underneath his help and above the neck of his armor, neatly severing his windpipe. A quick flick of the wrist severed the carotid artery and then she was pulling the katana free in a welter of blood. he had already dropped his sword to clutch at the blade in his neck, cutting his hands as he clawed at it. She waited until he dropped, then stepped over his body. And the throne is now in the hands of a pretender.

She paused.

Five more of them up there. They aren't being bashful about showing their faces this time. And my, do they look angry. And there, standing at the edge of the clearing, was indeed five more armored soldiers. Two of them were armed with heavy crossbows, the heavy quarrels already loaded and cocked. The others had swords and shields.

But they weren't the only ones who looked angry. Aeyliea's mask had slipped, and what was displayed was furious contempt for these cowards. But you, sir, are wrong about me having a purpose. My purpose was to serve my country, heart and soul. My country cast me out. I am empty, now. All I do is without meaning, all is a poor attempt to fill a void that cannot be filled.
Edited by Aeyliea, Fri Apr 8, 2016 3:03 am.
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