Setting
The port of Opynonias is fair sized port of the Empire's southern provinces, but most trade is eventually diverted to the larger ports in the north. The place is lined with eateries and taverns where incoming passengers and sailors may dine and rest before continuing on.
Minimap
northwest |
north |
northeast |
west |
You are here. |
east |
southwest |
south |
southeast |
Port of Opynonias is a part of 
Opynonias.
Raikyyn jerked awake to the sound of the ship's bell ringing. They had reached port.
Finally, I can get off of this dreadful boat. Oh, I ache for land.
The assassin, aliased as a traveling merchant, rose from the bed- or, cot -within his cabin. He only wore loose breeches to sleep, as was usual for him, and his lean muscles rippled as he stretched the sleep from his body. After cracking his neck, he stood, and began to clothe himself.
Breeches, shirt, chestpiece, guards, bracers, boots, cloak. Even while disguised as a merchant (and in a brown cloak, no less), Raikyyn wore his armor underneath his cloak. Granted, in this day and age it wasn't odd to see individuals in armor, but he kept his tucked under the cloak just to be safe.
Raikyyn gathered his things (of which there were many), and made his way up to the main deck of the ship. As he arrived in the sunlight of the day, he noticed that they were just beginning to dock. Timing as impeccable as ever, Raikyyn chuckled to himself.
The "merchant" hauled his belongings across the ship, and onto the port. "Excuse me, sir, need a name for the registry," a dock worker informed Raikyyn. "Tsamuus Araan, merchant arriving for business," the assassin told the dockhand. His alias had to have to have a name, of course. Tsamuus also had a touch of legitimate business items and ledgers on hand just in case suspicion came his way.
The dockhand waved him on, and Raikyyn continued down the port into the city.
My, my, Opynonias is as grand as they say. At least on the surface. Every city has it's own darker shades, but where to look? Raikyyn puzzled.
Regardless, the elf made his way through the city streets until he reached his destination, a small inn in the middle of the town. Inconspicuous, out of the way, and just the right price for a merchant to stay for a while. Raikyyn entered the building, waded through the barfront lower floor of the inn, and found the Innkeep. "Tsamuus Araan, here for my room," Raikyyn told the Keep. The burly man nodded, accepting the pouch of gold (counting it, of course), and gave Raikyyn his room key.
The ashen-skined elf made his way up the stairs, noting bits of chatter within the bar.
"Did you see the last fight?"
"Oh, it was great!"
"Who fought?"
"The Black Hammer!"
"I missed the Black Hammer?!"
At this point, Raikyyn had entered his room, locked his door, and left earshot of the conversation. He placed his bags on the bed, and began opening and sorting everything within them. Within one bag resided the necessary papers and items for his cover, should he need them. Within another, his black and red cloak, sheathes, belts, pouches. Within the last, his "tools" (poisons, and the like).
As the assassin organized himself and his belongings, he pondered the dream he had had the night prior. A tavern, a woman, it was distorted, blurred now. Pieces he remembered, but others he had lost. Probably just bad ale, or seasickness, Raikyyn thought to himself.
No matter, this dream shouldn't impose on my mission. But how to guarantee a way into the depths of the Colosseum?
Finally, I can get off of this dreadful boat. Oh, I ache for land.
The assassin, aliased as a traveling merchant, rose from the bed- or, cot -within his cabin. He only wore loose breeches to sleep, as was usual for him, and his lean muscles rippled as he stretched the sleep from his body. After cracking his neck, he stood, and began to clothe himself.
Breeches, shirt, chestpiece, guards, bracers, boots, cloak. Even while disguised as a merchant (and in a brown cloak, no less), Raikyyn wore his armor underneath his cloak. Granted, in this day and age it wasn't odd to see individuals in armor, but he kept his tucked under the cloak just to be safe.
Raikyyn gathered his things (of which there were many), and made his way up to the main deck of the ship. As he arrived in the sunlight of the day, he noticed that they were just beginning to dock. Timing as impeccable as ever, Raikyyn chuckled to himself.
The "merchant" hauled his belongings across the ship, and onto the port. "Excuse me, sir, need a name for the registry," a dock worker informed Raikyyn. "Tsamuus Araan, merchant arriving for business," the assassin told the dockhand. His alias had to have to have a name, of course. Tsamuus also had a touch of legitimate business items and ledgers on hand just in case suspicion came his way.
The dockhand waved him on, and Raikyyn continued down the port into the city.
My, my, Opynonias is as grand as they say. At least on the surface. Every city has it's own darker shades, but where to look? Raikyyn puzzled.
Regardless, the elf made his way through the city streets until he reached his destination, a small inn in the middle of the town. Inconspicuous, out of the way, and just the right price for a merchant to stay for a while. Raikyyn entered the building, waded through the barfront lower floor of the inn, and found the Innkeep. "Tsamuus Araan, here for my room," Raikyyn told the Keep. The burly man nodded, accepting the pouch of gold (counting it, of course), and gave Raikyyn his room key.
The ashen-skined elf made his way up the stairs, noting bits of chatter within the bar.
"Did you see the last fight?"
"Oh, it was great!"
"Who fought?"
"The Black Hammer!"
"I missed the Black Hammer?!"
At this point, Raikyyn had entered his room, locked his door, and left earshot of the conversation. He placed his bags on the bed, and began opening and sorting everything within them. Within one bag resided the necessary papers and items for his cover, should he need them. Within another, his black and red cloak, sheathes, belts, pouches. Within the last, his "tools" (poisons, and the like).
As the assassin organized himself and his belongings, he pondered the dream he had had the night prior. A tavern, a woman, it was distorted, blurred now. Pieces he remembered, but others he had lost. Probably just bad ale, or seasickness, Raikyyn thought to himself.
No matter, this dream shouldn't impose on my mission. But how to guarantee a way into the depths of the Colosseum?
Lir rested at an inn near the port. She sat off to the corner on the lower floor in a room separated from the dining hall. She combed through a tome, reciting incantations that she no longer had the leisure to study in a library in solitude. However, being on the run had taught her to be quick with her wits. She practiced everyday, it made her keener, sharper than the average, complacent Academy student her age. Her meditation was cut short by her curious eavesdropping.
She overheard a pair of patrons talking about a fight that took place earlier in the day.
"Aye, 'at Feld'n claw'd th' other wun's face wi' its baur paws," the first man finished his mug.
The second man appalled, "Indeed? And that's what they call a fair fight?"
"Faer ur nae, dun matt tae meh. 'Twas a sight."
Every so often, she cast a wary glance at the various guests coming in and out of the tavern for any suspicious fellows. Lir could only sit and wait, but that was a dead man's game.
Or in her case, dead woman's game.
The open road proved ever perilous with sellswords sent to kill her. She knew the Academy was behind this, they wanted to keep things quiet, the things that she had seen. She managed to foil the attempts on her life on numerous occasions.
She disappeared wherever she went thus far, but she could never stay at any one place for too long. Mages always smelled of magic, and prodigal mages stunk of magic. She left as big a trail as any other, and her appearance was what some might call distinguished. Her hood could only cover so much of her hair.
Her hair smelled like nothing on some days. On other days it smelled of the mud and garbage that she hid in while witnessing an assassin dismember an innocent man in her place.
All of this running and fleeing made her long for her home, long for the days when her hair smelled of lilacs. That had vanished now. She was sure. Her mother and father may have already suffered a fate all too familiar to the one soul she chose to reach out to.
Antius Geminus was rumored to be a pit fighter in the colosseum of Opynonias, at least that was the news when she last heard of him.
She remembered him as a gifted mage and a friend during their early Academy days. She had the impression that he liked her, but he never said anything about such feelings which made her believe that he only viewed them as friends.
When the University of Magic accepted her, she thought they would admit him as well. Things were never so simple, for she knew nothing of the enemies that Antius's father, Senator Geminus of Agora, had made at court.
One day Antius disappeared without a word, she discovered his exile and his family's execution from another friend. The same friend who had since died by the Academy's hands for the same reasons that assassins were pursuing Lir.
She heard the locals speak of a fighter who went by the name 'Magus of the Gemini'. If Antius Geminus was still alive and fighting in a pit, then perhaps this fellow was him.
She felt a mix of emotions though. Fear that she could have mistaken the 'Magus of the Gemini' to be her friend, for anybody could have such a cryptic alias. If it was Antius, then she felt anxiety that he might not help her. She had few friends or family left, it would be her alone. No matter though, the next ship for Khi'ir would depart on the morrow. A loquacious captain had already secured her spot aboard the ship.
And if he did help her, nervousness at having to look upon his face again. The years may have worn on him, changed him. His face might be different, marred, or worse, clawed. If his appearance changed, who knows what else may have changed. But she hoped not much other than that.
The concoction she sent him, a final act of defiance against the Academy as she had stolen it from one of the alchemy chambers. If Antius was still studying magic as she had hoped, then the potion would simply be a bad hangover for him if he knew how to use it.
She overheard a pair of patrons talking about a fight that took place earlier in the day.
"Aye, 'at Feld'n claw'd th' other wun's face wi' its baur paws," the first man finished his mug.
The second man appalled, "Indeed? And that's what they call a fair fight?"
"Faer ur nae, dun matt tae meh. 'Twas a sight."
Every so often, she cast a wary glance at the various guests coming in and out of the tavern for any suspicious fellows. Lir could only sit and wait, but that was a dead man's game.
Or in her case, dead woman's game.
The open road proved ever perilous with sellswords sent to kill her. She knew the Academy was behind this, they wanted to keep things quiet, the things that she had seen. She managed to foil the attempts on her life on numerous occasions.
She disappeared wherever she went thus far, but she could never stay at any one place for too long. Mages always smelled of magic, and prodigal mages stunk of magic. She left as big a trail as any other, and her appearance was what some might call distinguished. Her hood could only cover so much of her hair.
Her hair smelled like nothing on some days. On other days it smelled of the mud and garbage that she hid in while witnessing an assassin dismember an innocent man in her place.
All of this running and fleeing made her long for her home, long for the days when her hair smelled of lilacs. That had vanished now. She was sure. Her mother and father may have already suffered a fate all too familiar to the one soul she chose to reach out to.
Antius Geminus was rumored to be a pit fighter in the colosseum of Opynonias, at least that was the news when she last heard of him.
She remembered him as a gifted mage and a friend during their early Academy days. She had the impression that he liked her, but he never said anything about such feelings which made her believe that he only viewed them as friends.
When the University of Magic accepted her, she thought they would admit him as well. Things were never so simple, for she knew nothing of the enemies that Antius's father, Senator Geminus of Agora, had made at court.
One day Antius disappeared without a word, she discovered his exile and his family's execution from another friend. The same friend who had since died by the Academy's hands for the same reasons that assassins were pursuing Lir.
She heard the locals speak of a fighter who went by the name 'Magus of the Gemini'. If Antius Geminus was still alive and fighting in a pit, then perhaps this fellow was him.
She felt a mix of emotions though. Fear that she could have mistaken the 'Magus of the Gemini' to be her friend, for anybody could have such a cryptic alias. If it was Antius, then she felt anxiety that he might not help her. She had few friends or family left, it would be her alone. No matter though, the next ship for Khi'ir would depart on the morrow. A loquacious captain had already secured her spot aboard the ship.
And if he did help her, nervousness at having to look upon his face again. The years may have worn on him, changed him. His face might be different, marred, or worse, clawed. If his appearance changed, who knows what else may have changed. But she hoped not much other than that.
The concoction she sent him, a final act of defiance against the Academy as she had stolen it from one of the alchemy chambers. If Antius was still studying magic as she had hoped, then the potion would simply be a bad hangover for him if he knew how to use it.
The Flying Dwarf was a beaut to the Captain who beheld her. To anyone else, though, she was but another galleon on the high seas. It costed Aramus Eiraendar a fortune, but the dwarf never told anyone the exact figures, which left most of his crew wondering. They even created a betting pool just to see how much he had put into it. It was believed that despite all the various jobs he had done, he was nowhere near replacing the gold he had invested.
For the dwarf Captain, though, he was one among a few of his kind to ever travel the seas. He knew this to be because dwarves never made great swimmers due to their stout figures. Eiraendar stood only a head taller than most granted by his longer than average legs. For him, it was never about the gold, gold was only there for the day to day. To see the world mattered more to him than anything.
Captain Eiraendar watched a few of the crew members finish some tasks before they turned in for the night, "Mr. Ravel, 'ave the ship ready to weigh anchor b'fore the rooster crows."
His second mate, a tall and lean Sivyne with a head of vertical braided hair, turned to him with hesitance, "Me don't tink dis ship be ready by t'morroh. We still be waitin' on some merchants and they goods. Yah sure yah doon't want teh steh a lil' longer?"
"I'm sure, where we're gwan, we'll need a headstart."
Eiraendar watched the waves lap about while he nibbled on his pipe until he noticed an old bald man, the one various crew members called Mace. The dwarf wondered why he was out so late in the night. He hoped the old man would not fall overboard.
"Oy, ye see 'at old man there?"
"Aye," Ravel replied, "Waitin' for Mugesha."
"Mugesha?"
"The Goddess of the waters, he be waitin' for her to come claim what be hers."
"Ye sure he's not watching her? Old men should never go quietly into the night. Or the sea for that matter."
-
On the main deck stood another man, perhaps as old or perhaps as young, no one knew. His face was fair, so claimed the maidens at each port the Flying Dwarf had dropped anchor. A few of Eiraendar's crew of the fairer gender could agree with those claims. They knew him as Paecus Ixipas, which was one of a thousand names created by the being who was once known as Galtros Penrimore and nothing less.
Regardless, it was all a face.
A face with a pair of eyes of course, and his eyes rested squarely upon an old man just several paces away. His silver eyes flecked with blue never blinked as he observed the old man. He turned to the moon when he saw two younger women come and flank his mark.
Penrimore wondered for how long he had followed the man. He remembered when he was first drawn to the extravagant undercurrents of magic that coarsed about his mark in a hidden aura. Penrimore sensed it better than most. Yet, he dared not approach him because he knew he could reveal himself to the old man.
Yet when he did, Penrimore recognized that the magic was not his own, that it came from another source. He recognized and determined that the old man was merely mortal, and no such magic ever came from mortal hands. It had to be from an artifact of sorts, a proper and more potent fount of magic than any mortal form.
Penrimore felt the old man posed no threat, but the two younger women seemed capable and predisposed to intervene should he try anything. What were their relations to him? Daughters? Body guards? The thoughts swirled in Penrimore's mind. He could simply have killed them all and ran away with their items. Such was his power at its height like taking candy from a baby. As he thought of this, he looked down at his palm gripping his ornerame like a vise. His power waxed and waned, and his current state felt nowhere near that peak. He needed to rely on subterfuge and subtlety.
He retired to his cabin.
For the dwarf Captain, though, he was one among a few of his kind to ever travel the seas. He knew this to be because dwarves never made great swimmers due to their stout figures. Eiraendar stood only a head taller than most granted by his longer than average legs. For him, it was never about the gold, gold was only there for the day to day. To see the world mattered more to him than anything.
Captain Eiraendar watched a few of the crew members finish some tasks before they turned in for the night, "Mr. Ravel, 'ave the ship ready to weigh anchor b'fore the rooster crows."
His second mate, a tall and lean Sivyne with a head of vertical braided hair, turned to him with hesitance, "Me don't tink dis ship be ready by t'morroh. We still be waitin' on some merchants and they goods. Yah sure yah doon't want teh steh a lil' longer?"
"I'm sure, where we're gwan, we'll need a headstart."
Eiraendar watched the waves lap about while he nibbled on his pipe until he noticed an old bald man, the one various crew members called Mace. The dwarf wondered why he was out so late in the night. He hoped the old man would not fall overboard.
"Oy, ye see 'at old man there?"
"Aye," Ravel replied, "Waitin' for Mugesha."
"Mugesha?"
"The Goddess of the waters, he be waitin' for her to come claim what be hers."
"Ye sure he's not watching her? Old men should never go quietly into the night. Or the sea for that matter."
-
On the main deck stood another man, perhaps as old or perhaps as young, no one knew. His face was fair, so claimed the maidens at each port the Flying Dwarf had dropped anchor. A few of Eiraendar's crew of the fairer gender could agree with those claims. They knew him as Paecus Ixipas, which was one of a thousand names created by the being who was once known as Galtros Penrimore and nothing less.
Regardless, it was all a face.
A face with a pair of eyes of course, and his eyes rested squarely upon an old man just several paces away. His silver eyes flecked with blue never blinked as he observed the old man. He turned to the moon when he saw two younger women come and flank his mark.
Penrimore wondered for how long he had followed the man. He remembered when he was first drawn to the extravagant undercurrents of magic that coarsed about his mark in a hidden aura. Penrimore sensed it better than most. Yet, he dared not approach him because he knew he could reveal himself to the old man.
Yet when he did, Penrimore recognized that the magic was not his own, that it came from another source. He recognized and determined that the old man was merely mortal, and no such magic ever came from mortal hands. It had to be from an artifact of sorts, a proper and more potent fount of magic than any mortal form.
Penrimore felt the old man posed no threat, but the two younger women seemed capable and predisposed to intervene should he try anything. What were their relations to him? Daughters? Body guards? The thoughts swirled in Penrimore's mind. He could simply have killed them all and ran away with their items. Such was his power at its height like taking candy from a baby. As he thought of this, he looked down at his palm gripping his ornerame like a vise. His power waxed and waned, and his current state felt nowhere near that peak. He needed to rely on subterfuge and subtlety.
He retired to his cabin.
Huo eyed the surrounding streets near the port district. He saw only emptiness and heard only quiet save for a few wagons and wandering drunks. He did not expect his escape from the colosseum to be as smooth as it were. He made a break for the nearest empty block and wandered along. Huo knew he appeared far too conspicuous especially with his glinting set of armor. Any colosseum regular could have noticed and recognized him. It would be even more unfortunate if they reported him to the authorities.
He had never attempted something such as this before, and he could feel that familiar feeling of fear fall on him. No matter, his fists could pave the way through any physical confrontation. He kept a hand on the curved daggers holstered at his waist, at the ready to hurl at a threat. He kept his pace quick and steady as he tried to avoid the common avenues. He turned a corner where he saw a squad of Imperial soldiers, like the ones he had seen outside the colosseum, run by with torches. He let himself catch some breaths in a shadowy alley and craned his head back in the direction from whence he came to spot anyone that might have been tailing him.
Huo finally reached the docks as night continued to fall. He could hear the swirling and swishing of the water that was blackened like night. The seagulls chirped every now, but without over eagerness such as during the day when they could find more fish. He could see the moonlight reflecting off the water's surface in little ringlets as the waves rolled.
He took a moment to inhale the briny wind. It smelled fresh and different from the stale air he came to accept in the Colosseum. It smelled different from the smoke of the brazier fires that hung in the air on the nights where he laid with his eyes open. Eyes open blinking in darkness, as he struggled to wrap his mind around the concepts of destiny and fate.
The port of Opynonias started out as a fisherman's village until merchants set up shop to sell their wares. Then the Imperial navy came by in the early 3000s whereby the port served as a launch point for Emperor Uriel Loenthil's crusades. Since then, the small village turned into a fair sized urban sprawl.
The Osu runaway walked along the harbor causeways beneath a few bridges where he met an old man who seemed like he knew his way around.
"I'm looking for a ship captained by a dwarf."
Without a word he pointed further down at a sitting galleon, a ship larger than the rest. No doubt it was crewed by a dwarf adventurer who had seen much and drank much. The ship seemed fitted for long journeys on the sea, but what did a slave fighter know about ships? He moved along in that direction like a ghost while watching his shadow along the murky water.
He climbed up the plank onto the ship. Where his gaze met a dwarf's, the same dwarf from the Luckless Maiden.
"So, ye've decided I see? Come then, let's discuss the matter of your payment."
He had never attempted something such as this before, and he could feel that familiar feeling of fear fall on him. No matter, his fists could pave the way through any physical confrontation. He kept a hand on the curved daggers holstered at his waist, at the ready to hurl at a threat. He kept his pace quick and steady as he tried to avoid the common avenues. He turned a corner where he saw a squad of Imperial soldiers, like the ones he had seen outside the colosseum, run by with torches. He let himself catch some breaths in a shadowy alley and craned his head back in the direction from whence he came to spot anyone that might have been tailing him.
Huo finally reached the docks as night continued to fall. He could hear the swirling and swishing of the water that was blackened like night. The seagulls chirped every now, but without over eagerness such as during the day when they could find more fish. He could see the moonlight reflecting off the water's surface in little ringlets as the waves rolled.
He took a moment to inhale the briny wind. It smelled fresh and different from the stale air he came to accept in the Colosseum. It smelled different from the smoke of the brazier fires that hung in the air on the nights where he laid with his eyes open. Eyes open blinking in darkness, as he struggled to wrap his mind around the concepts of destiny and fate.
The port of Opynonias started out as a fisherman's village until merchants set up shop to sell their wares. Then the Imperial navy came by in the early 3000s whereby the port served as a launch point for Emperor Uriel Loenthil's crusades. Since then, the small village turned into a fair sized urban sprawl.
The Osu runaway walked along the harbor causeways beneath a few bridges where he met an old man who seemed like he knew his way around.
"I'm looking for a ship captained by a dwarf."
Without a word he pointed further down at a sitting galleon, a ship larger than the rest. No doubt it was crewed by a dwarf adventurer who had seen much and drank much. The ship seemed fitted for long journeys on the sea, but what did a slave fighter know about ships? He moved along in that direction like a ghost while watching his shadow along the murky water.
He climbed up the plank onto the ship. Where his gaze met a dwarf's, the same dwarf from the Luckless Maiden.
"So, ye've decided I see? Come then, let's discuss the matter of your payment."
Danairia trots down the road, beyond out of breath, physically exhausted, and beginning to exhibit a limp. Each time she presses her foot down, pain strikes up through her right leg.
"Ow..Ow..Ow..Ow..Fucking-ow-ow..Ow.."
She has a goal in mind but she will have to get there fast and as quiet as she can, which seems to be quite the dilemma in her current state. She sticks out, wearing garb of the enslaved while carrying a sack reminiscent to the typical image of a thief and-
"-Ah, fuckin' hell..."
-Apparently bleeding much more than she would have thought. Enough to leave a trail of where she has been. The elf looks around, trying to find a spot for her to rest without being observed but makes no discovery. She continues her trot, attempting to find such a place, hoping she may soon. But something catches her ear. Her...name?
Her eyes widen as she whirls around with her right sword gripped, almost falling over from the extra pressure on her calf but recovers from the stumble in time. She spots four people-all of which she does not recognize. Some girl, an old man of an obvious wizard type, another girl on the younger side-giving off the definite vibe of an archer, and a VERY large man with the heaviest resting bitch-face she has ever seen on a-...
...and a VERY large girl-who is a female-with a completely normal face.
THAT'S A WHOLE BUNCH O' 'NOPE'!
She wants to question who they are but finds her words caught in her throat. If she were to yell out at them or draw her weapons, she may draw more attention to herself. More that would be remembered for telling a certain group of soldiers that are looking for her.
Danairia simply double takes at the group and continues to hurry along but now at a hurried pace, trying to get away from them despite having lost the ability to completely sprint.
AGENTS OF THE COLOSSEUM COMING TO GET ME AND TAKE ME BACK TO THE IMPERIALS-NOPE!-NOPE!-NOT HAVIN' IT! BITCHES ABOUT TO HAVE A TOUGH TIME 'CAUSE I'M NOT GOING BACK TO THAT!-THOSE GUYS ARE BAD NEWS!
Danairia tries to speed up but finds herself simply further pronouncing her limp instead.
NOPE NOPE NOPE NOPE NOPE NOPE NOPE NOPE-!
The sight is rather pathetic. It is clear to see that, even if she were moving at any kind of an intimidating speed, the periodic drops of blood would be more than enough to find her. But then again, how many people would still be trying to run in her situation?
"Ow..Ow..Ow..Ow..Fucking-ow-ow..Ow.."
She has a goal in mind but she will have to get there fast and as quiet as she can, which seems to be quite the dilemma in her current state. She sticks out, wearing garb of the enslaved while carrying a sack reminiscent to the typical image of a thief and-
"-Ah, fuckin' hell..."
-Apparently bleeding much more than she would have thought. Enough to leave a trail of where she has been. The elf looks around, trying to find a spot for her to rest without being observed but makes no discovery. She continues her trot, attempting to find such a place, hoping she may soon. But something catches her ear. Her...name?
Her eyes widen as she whirls around with her right sword gripped, almost falling over from the extra pressure on her calf but recovers from the stumble in time. She spots four people-all of which she does not recognize. Some girl, an old man of an obvious wizard type, another girl on the younger side-giving off the definite vibe of an archer, and a VERY large man with the heaviest resting bitch-face she has ever seen on a-...
...and a VERY large girl-who is a female-with a completely normal face.
THAT'S A WHOLE BUNCH O' 'NOPE'!
She wants to question who they are but finds her words caught in her throat. If she were to yell out at them or draw her weapons, she may draw more attention to herself. More that would be remembered for telling a certain group of soldiers that are looking for her.
Danairia simply double takes at the group and continues to hurry along but now at a hurried pace, trying to get away from them despite having lost the ability to completely sprint.
AGENTS OF THE COLOSSEUM COMING TO GET ME AND TAKE ME BACK TO THE IMPERIALS-NOPE!-NOPE!-NOT HAVIN' IT! BITCHES ABOUT TO HAVE A TOUGH TIME 'CAUSE I'M NOT GOING BACK TO THAT!-THOSE GUYS ARE BAD NEWS!
Danairia tries to speed up but finds herself simply further pronouncing her limp instead.
NOPE NOPE NOPE NOPE NOPE NOPE NOPE NOPE-!
The sight is rather pathetic. It is clear to see that, even if she were moving at any kind of an intimidating speed, the periodic drops of blood would be more than enough to find her. But then again, how many people would still be trying to run in her situation?
Setting
0.00 INK
9th Breh
03:30
It was always quiet this late into the morning. Every couple of days, there would be one or two patrons staying but, for the most part, everyone had family or co-workers waiting for them and they needed to return before they were missed or the inconvenience of catching little sleep outweighed the pleasure of drinking.
Hans enjoyed this time of the night shift. It allowed him to catch up with the regular tasks of maintaining the quality of the premises while nobody could divert his attention away. Every week he was placed on night crew was the same. He would begin with cleaning all of the glasses and placing them in their correct spot so that they were ready for the next shift. Then, he would work on wiping off the tables and counter before sweeping the floor and transferring the day's earnings to the owner's office, for him to collect when he returned with the morning shift. Finally, it would be time to sweep the floors.
There was another man who was currently assigned to his shift, Jacob, but he took care of maintaining the inn-side of the house up on the second floor and generally did not come down after the nightly rush was finished with. For the most part, Hans was alone after everyone had left.
Currently, he worked on wiping down the glasses and cleaning any that remained of the dirty ones. That was his first task, now that the last patron for the night had left.
At least...he thought they had.
Another man walked through the entrance, his face somewhat hidden under the hood of a cloak. Over his shoulder, he carries a satchel.
"Good morning, sir. What brings you?" Hans asked, curious about the new arrival at this time of night.
"Drink," the man simply stated. "ale, to be precise."
"Coming right up. Please, have a seat wherever you like."
As Hans turned around and approached the appropriate barrel to fill the man's mug, he could not help but wonder what drove the man to come in at this time of night and order a drink alone. Perhaps he was a local and his spouse had kicked him out for whatever reason. Typically, that was the result of a discovered mistress.
Who knows, he could be waiting for someone he planned to meet with but that really did not make the fact that it was so late any better.
"Pardon me," Hans said as the man sat down at a table facing away from the bar hand, "but may I ask what brings you here this time of night?"
The man shifted in his seat. "Couldn't sleep."
Hans cut the tap as the foam grew to the rim and began to spill over the top and stepped out from behind the bar to approach the man.
"You sure you want to start drinking? I know a good remedy for restlessness, if you'd like me to make it for you. Usually customers order it for their friends if they are getting too rowdy and, I've got to say, it works wonders."
"I'll stick with the alcohol," the man says.
Hans shrugs and places the mug down on the table before walking away.
"Suit yourself. Let me know if you change your mind, sir."
Hans briefly glances back to see the man reaching for something inside of his bag. From it, appears some sort of white object. Curiosity stings him but he has long since mastered the art of bearing and pays no mind as he enters back behind the bar.
The bar hand quietly hums to himself as he turns to the dirty glasses and begins cleaning them. However, the oddness of the situation was getting to him.
Someone comes in in the early hours of the morning even though it would be sunrise with a bit more time. It was rare, once again considering the fact that the people who stayed late were usually there much earlier to begin with. A quiet man, intent on ordering his drink, rather than actually going to sleep, as he had said he was having trouble with. All coupled with the strange object...
The man had some other reason for being here. Hans was sure of it.
The young man stopped cleaning and turned to investigate...
...His breath caught in his throat, refusing to come out or even gasp as all he could do was propel himself backward, into the shelves of alcohol.
In his face...was a blade.
On the other end of the knife was the man. He leaned far over the counter, falling just short of Hans' nose. Upon his face was a white mask, the only features being two rectangular slits for the eyes. Cold eyes stared back at the bar hand from just underneath the man's cloak.
Hans could not believe what was happening. Where did he come from?? Clearly, it was the man but how did he get there? Hans never heard him even a little. Also, why was he being targeted? Was this a robbery of some sort?
"WHOA-WHOA!" Hans yelled, throwing the glass he had been cleaning at the man.
The man was silent as he withdrew his blade and effortlessly dodged the missile. As he regained his stance, however, he found himself in the way of an oncoming strike and leaned backward, narrowly avoiding the head of the axe Hans had grabbed from behind the bar.
In an effort to escape, Hans side-stepped to the right, aiming to exit from behind the counter.
"JACOB!" He called out.
"JACOB! HELP ME!"
After stepping out from behind the bar, Hans grabbed a stool by one of its legs and lifted it, holding the axe in his other hand. The masked man had approached closer to him but kept a short distance away while still brandishing the dagger. He was cautious but still refused to back down.
"JACOB, WHERE ARE YOU?!"
Hans was having a hard time keeping his cool.
Can't he hear me??
Trying his best to keep the assailant at bay, Hans swung the weapon in front of him but it was an empty swing and far from dangerous, as it would not have even connected if its target had held still. Hans recoiled, trying his best to remain at a defensible stance but it was difficult. He stumbled forward, his mind in a panic as the man approached to plunge his blade into the helpless bartender.
Using whatever defense he could muster up, Hans raised the stool and, as the man's hand passed through the legs, tugged it to the side before raising it up and arcing it around into the surface of the counter, causing him to lose control of his weapon, followed buy a quick gab with the head of the axe. With the assailant stunned, Hans made his move; sprinting to the right, toward the tables and through them to get around the man.
The assailant was not about to let the bar hand go though, and made that very clear by removing his hand from the stool and throwing it at his target. Luckily for Hans, he was able to see it coming and duck underneath, allowing the projectile to crash through the establishment's front window before he escaped out the front and scampered down the road.
Surprisingly, the man hopped through the window, completely clearing the sill before giving chase.
"WHAT DO YOU WANT WITH ME?!" Hans yelled at the man as he ran.
The bar hand looked back to try and gauge how far away his attacker was. Perhaps he could evade him long enough to find help?
However, the cloaked man was out of sight.
"Where did he go?" Hans thought as he turned back around.
The man had not given up though. Hans simply did not check in the place that currently mattered most...above him.
The assailant leapt, falling from a platform on the front of a building adjacent to Hans' route and, in an instant, was upon the bar hand. After a short tumble, Hans lost his axe but, fortunately, managed to land on top. He tried taking advantage of his situation by holding the man down and throwing a punch but the man on the ground thrust his knees up, connecting with Hans' back before the man wrapped his legs around his target and pushed them back down to the pavement, sending the young bar hand with them. Hans struggled to reach his weapon but he was at the mercy of his attacker, who had very little trouble taking the axe before the young man could.
In desperation, Hans struggled and squirmed, trying his best to wiggle from underneath the assassin.
"HELP!!"
But it was worthless. The man had him.
The situation was hopeless and that became obvious to Hans as he watched the emotionless, masked man raise the axe into the air above him, ready to hack him to pieces...
03:30
It was always quiet this late into the morning. Every couple of days, there would be one or two patrons staying but, for the most part, everyone had family or co-workers waiting for them and they needed to return before they were missed or the inconvenience of catching little sleep outweighed the pleasure of drinking.
Hans enjoyed this time of the night shift. It allowed him to catch up with the regular tasks of maintaining the quality of the premises while nobody could divert his attention away. Every week he was placed on night crew was the same. He would begin with cleaning all of the glasses and placing them in their correct spot so that they were ready for the next shift. Then, he would work on wiping off the tables and counter before sweeping the floor and transferring the day's earnings to the owner's office, for him to collect when he returned with the morning shift. Finally, it would be time to sweep the floors.
There was another man who was currently assigned to his shift, Jacob, but he took care of maintaining the inn-side of the house up on the second floor and generally did not come down after the nightly rush was finished with. For the most part, Hans was alone after everyone had left.
Currently, he worked on wiping down the glasses and cleaning any that remained of the dirty ones. That was his first task, now that the last patron for the night had left.
At least...he thought they had.
Another man walked through the entrance, his face somewhat hidden under the hood of a cloak. Over his shoulder, he carries a satchel.
"Good morning, sir. What brings you?" Hans asked, curious about the new arrival at this time of night.
"Drink," the man simply stated. "ale, to be precise."
"Coming right up. Please, have a seat wherever you like."
As Hans turned around and approached the appropriate barrel to fill the man's mug, he could not help but wonder what drove the man to come in at this time of night and order a drink alone. Perhaps he was a local and his spouse had kicked him out for whatever reason. Typically, that was the result of a discovered mistress.
Who knows, he could be waiting for someone he planned to meet with but that really did not make the fact that it was so late any better.
"Pardon me," Hans said as the man sat down at a table facing away from the bar hand, "but may I ask what brings you here this time of night?"
The man shifted in his seat. "Couldn't sleep."
Hans cut the tap as the foam grew to the rim and began to spill over the top and stepped out from behind the bar to approach the man.
"You sure you want to start drinking? I know a good remedy for restlessness, if you'd like me to make it for you. Usually customers order it for their friends if they are getting too rowdy and, I've got to say, it works wonders."
"I'll stick with the alcohol," the man says.
Hans shrugs and places the mug down on the table before walking away.
"Suit yourself. Let me know if you change your mind, sir."
Hans briefly glances back to see the man reaching for something inside of his bag. From it, appears some sort of white object. Curiosity stings him but he has long since mastered the art of bearing and pays no mind as he enters back behind the bar.
The bar hand quietly hums to himself as he turns to the dirty glasses and begins cleaning them. However, the oddness of the situation was getting to him.
Someone comes in in the early hours of the morning even though it would be sunrise with a bit more time. It was rare, once again considering the fact that the people who stayed late were usually there much earlier to begin with. A quiet man, intent on ordering his drink, rather than actually going to sleep, as he had said he was having trouble with. All coupled with the strange object...
The man had some other reason for being here. Hans was sure of it.
The young man stopped cleaning and turned to investigate...
...His breath caught in his throat, refusing to come out or even gasp as all he could do was propel himself backward, into the shelves of alcohol.
In his face...was a blade.
On the other end of the knife was the man. He leaned far over the counter, falling just short of Hans' nose. Upon his face was a white mask, the only features being two rectangular slits for the eyes. Cold eyes stared back at the bar hand from just underneath the man's cloak.
Hans could not believe what was happening. Where did he come from?? Clearly, it was the man but how did he get there? Hans never heard him even a little. Also, why was he being targeted? Was this a robbery of some sort?
"WHOA-WHOA!" Hans yelled, throwing the glass he had been cleaning at the man.
The man was silent as he withdrew his blade and effortlessly dodged the missile. As he regained his stance, however, he found himself in the way of an oncoming strike and leaned backward, narrowly avoiding the head of the axe Hans had grabbed from behind the bar.
In an effort to escape, Hans side-stepped to the right, aiming to exit from behind the counter.
"JACOB!" He called out.
"JACOB! HELP ME!"
After stepping out from behind the bar, Hans grabbed a stool by one of its legs and lifted it, holding the axe in his other hand. The masked man had approached closer to him but kept a short distance away while still brandishing the dagger. He was cautious but still refused to back down.
"JACOB, WHERE ARE YOU?!"
Hans was having a hard time keeping his cool.
Can't he hear me??
Trying his best to keep the assailant at bay, Hans swung the weapon in front of him but it was an empty swing and far from dangerous, as it would not have even connected if its target had held still. Hans recoiled, trying his best to remain at a defensible stance but it was difficult. He stumbled forward, his mind in a panic as the man approached to plunge his blade into the helpless bartender.
Using whatever defense he could muster up, Hans raised the stool and, as the man's hand passed through the legs, tugged it to the side before raising it up and arcing it around into the surface of the counter, causing him to lose control of his weapon, followed buy a quick gab with the head of the axe. With the assailant stunned, Hans made his move; sprinting to the right, toward the tables and through them to get around the man.
The assailant was not about to let the bar hand go though, and made that very clear by removing his hand from the stool and throwing it at his target. Luckily for Hans, he was able to see it coming and duck underneath, allowing the projectile to crash through the establishment's front window before he escaped out the front and scampered down the road.
Surprisingly, the man hopped through the window, completely clearing the sill before giving chase.
"WHAT DO YOU WANT WITH ME?!" Hans yelled at the man as he ran.
The bar hand looked back to try and gauge how far away his attacker was. Perhaps he could evade him long enough to find help?
However, the cloaked man was out of sight.
"Where did he go?" Hans thought as he turned back around.
The man had not given up though. Hans simply did not check in the place that currently mattered most...above him.
The assailant leapt, falling from a platform on the front of a building adjacent to Hans' route and, in an instant, was upon the bar hand. After a short tumble, Hans lost his axe but, fortunately, managed to land on top. He tried taking advantage of his situation by holding the man down and throwing a punch but the man on the ground thrust his knees up, connecting with Hans' back before the man wrapped his legs around his target and pushed them back down to the pavement, sending the young bar hand with them. Hans struggled to reach his weapon but he was at the mercy of his attacker, who had very little trouble taking the axe before the young man could.
In desperation, Hans struggled and squirmed, trying his best to wiggle from underneath the assassin.
"HELP!!"
But it was worthless. The man had him.
The situation was hopeless and that became obvious to Hans as he watched the emotionless, masked man raise the axe into the air above him, ready to hack him to pieces...
9th Breh
02:45
Ya'weh opened her eyes and stared at the ceiling above. She felt energy cascade through her body, not abruptly, but fluidly. Her tattoos tingled a bit, as they did every morning. She rolled over to see Zoni pulling the leather straps on her armor skirt.
"Why are you up and ready already?"
Zoni looked at Ya'weh with compassion but spoke with exaggerated indifference.
"Well, not everyone takes five seconds to get ready. I'm no longer a gladiator-slave. Am I not allowed to try to look my best?" She smirked, and finished tightening the strap with a quick yank.
Ya'weh sat up and stretched. "We are to leave at daybreak," she said, almost as if speaking to herself.
"You know, I thought about that, and to be honest, I think we should be ready to go before that." She grabbed her blonde hair and tied it into a knot on top of her head. "I've prepared different arrows, some contraptions with what I could find behind some of the taverns, and I am eager to go. We usually do everything you say, today I'm saying lets get to the damn port by sun-up, not just be leaving at that time." She placed her hand on her hip and looked down at Ya'weh.
Ya' got up slowly and walked over to Zoni. They maintained eye-contact during the entire exchange. Although Ya' is taller than Zoni, Zoni did not flinch or move from her spot. Ya' grabbed her by the face, kissed her forehead and muttered, "Occasionally your stubbornness is cute, and needed." She proceeded to get her armor on and began gearing up as well.
Zoni looked around the rat-pile of a hut they had been living in. "Look, I didn't want to say anything, because I do believe in your intuition, how else could you have gone from slave and gladiator to a fighting mentor, but sometimes woman, your lack of expression and desire to be right destroy me." She knocked over a rickety and empty bookshelf. "Like that." She gave Ya' a dramatic look. "That is what you do to me!" She said smirking.
"You said we left the group to meet someone. We have met no one. We haven't even discussed when we will be meeting up with the group or where. I don't even know where they are! We are already at least THREE WEEKS behind them by now. I also have not had this dream, so I've been spending my time waiting for you to 'feel right.' But I'm at least going to be trying to leave today. I have to get out of this place."
Her voice began to go up in pitch as she got emotional, "WE deserve better Ya'. And that group of escapees had a plan, a focus, and a goal. Wandering around here listlessly, eating out of garbage cans, collecting coins off the streets at night, none of that is for me. I am jealous of them in their comradery and focus. They are driven to do good and I have that same passion and desire within me, but I do not have your iron-will. I stuck it out with you but I am serious about going somewhere today. Whether that is with you to the mystical place from the dream, or on my own, we can decide later, but I can't do this anymore. Please hurry so we can go back to a CIVILIZED CITY! And GODS WILLING LET THERE BE A SHIP!" She panted due to her passionate plea and stared directly at Ya'weh.
"Even if there happens to be a ship, how can you be sure they will even take us?" Ya'weh retorted.
"We will never know until we try," she said in a dead-serious tone.
Ya' stared at her, and in her typical fashion gave only the SLIGHTEST response to the statement. She then finished getting ready. Zoni had come to learn to watch for such responses, and seeing one she gave a muted sigh of relief. She grabbed her bow and arrow quiver and held them in her hand.
Ya'weh had just finished putting her hair up. She had all her gear and weapons attached and secured. Anyone looking at her would say she was a formidable human, especially as a woman. "I will say Ya', I have appreciated immensely the training you have given me. On and off the field of battle. I look and feel better, I feel more able, and I also feel more capable of surviving." She hugged Ya' who held her wrist after they came apart.
"Let me take this today." She grabbed the bow and quiver and placed it on her. Zoni cannot help but laugh as she looks at Ya' thinking of her as a pack mule. Ya' looked concerned for a moment, then joined in the laughter after looking down at herself. She slipped on her shield as they headed out the door.
"May the Gods watch over this place for the next person in need. And may they watch over us, for trouble is always ahead." She closed the door and caught up to Zoni.
-----
9th of Breh
03:45
Zoni and Ya'weh normally walk the back roads and alleyways, but due the nature of the time of day, and that nearly no one was up, they walk through the "streets," if one were nice enough to call them that. The cobblestone and dirt combinations of different streets, obviously influenced by the ones who have money and choose not to focus on the infrastructure, show which areas are for which people. They saw nearly no other people except for an old man who was on the side of the road smoking from his pipe. He appears to be an old, retired sailor. He nodded at the women, respectfully. Many women are able-bodied in this area, and having traveled, he has seen Sivyne women even more formidable and statuesque than Ya'weh. They nod back and keep on their way.
A stray dog runs by, chasing shadows or a pest of some kind. They round a corner and see another humanoid shape down one of the cross streets, lurking in the darkness. The figure is motionless and it brings chills to Zoni. Ya'weh's tattoos light up briefly. The shape turns its head to them slowly and its face is white as snow. Zoni looks forward and keeps moving, trying not to make it apparent that she is startled and chilled. "They wear a mask, but why?" Ya'weh whispers while facing forward. The figure watches them pass, then turns back and continues to stand in its spot.
After a few more moments, still not having mentioned the exchange with the... thing, they hear a crash. Zoni and Ya' exchange quick glances with one another. They run forward and see a man running down the street. Broken glass litters the street in front of them and a stool sits ominously in its midst. Zoni and Ya'weh approach the stool and the man running suddenly hits the ground. Zoni runs towards them as she can see a fight starting. An axe falls to the ground and the man is flipped and rolled around. The cloaked figure rolled the man from on top of them to beneath them. The man struggles while reaching for the axe but the figure grabs it first. As they raise it above their head Zoni shouts a shrill and intimidating, "Hey!"
The figure pauses and turns their head. Just enough hesitation for Zoni to use her ability to charge into them. She leads with her shoulder hitting the figure in its side. They fly straight through the air and land on the ground with a soft thud nearly fifteen feet away. Zoni drops to a knee to get reoriented. The figure has already begun getting up. Zoni kicks the axe to the man, who is still laying on the ground, seemingly stunned, and pulls her short sword out of its scabbard.
Ya'weh has an arrow knocked and lets it fly. It passes over Zoni's left shoulder and right to the chest of the figure who slyly dodges it, seemingly with ease. Zoni stares in astonishment. This feeling quickly fades as a dagger is brandished and forces Zoni to parry a multitude of blows. The figure is fast, even faster than Zoni in her normal state. She starts heating up for another charge.
"The ROPE!" she shouts through gritted teeth as the figure pushes her sword towards her own neck causing her to strain. Ya' quickly lets another arrow fly, this time with a rope attached, one end tied to a post on a building next to her. It hits a wall and the rope pulls tight. Zoni kicks at the figure who steps just outside of the counter-attack. They step back in forcing Zoni to keep parrying hits. The figure knows it has an advantage as Zoni is barely able to keep up and grabs her by the hair, pulling her head back.
"DO NOT TOUCH MY HAIR!" she shouts as she rushes them with her ability again. She hits them just to the side of center. This causes the figure to turn slightly before being clotheslined by the rope. Zoni falls to her butt and focuses on reorienting herself. She smirks as she sees that her hit caused the figure to do a full black-flip and land on their back. The figure takes a moment to get its breath back.
Ya'weh takes this time to get offensive. She detaches her hook swords and runs in swinging them like claws. The figure springs up and immediately dodges and parries a few blows before returning some counter-attacks. Ya'weh hooks the dagger and tries to rip it out of their hand with her sword, however the figure moves first and twists so Ya' bends over to prevent her shoulder from dislocating. A swift kick to the chest sends Ya' back a few feet. She turns the pain into motivation and lands on her feet. Zoni tends to the man momentarily.
'A woman, always tending to a man,' Ya' thought.
Zoni quickly ran over to collect her bow and arrows. She returns and begins tending to the man.
"He just...attacked me out of nowhere!" The man breathed out, clearly still in shock.
"You're okay now," Zoni calmly reassured the man, "What's your name? Can you tell me your name?"
"Hans," the man mumbled out.
"Well, Hans," Zoni said, "I'll stay here with you and make sure you're safe. My name is Zoni and our saviour over there is called Ya'weh." She turns to watch, confident in Ya'weh to keep them all safe.
Ya'weh refocuses to the fight on hand. The figure has slid inside her center and while Ya' attempts to elbow the figure, they grab her arm and flip over her shoulder. Upon landing they swipe her feet. She falls into a roll over her shoulder and hooks her swords together. She swings them at the target swiftly and expertly. While they are able to parry a few blows, most of their energy is spent on dodging. Ya'weh remains calm and collected while keeping them on the defensive. She hears the figures first noise, a grunt of energy expenditure and frustration. She smirks as she swings the hook swords over her head. The figure rapidly fires their dagger up and hooks the claws. The figure uses their whole body to pull on the swords forcing Ya'weh to lurch towards them.
Blood dripped from Ya'weh. A gash on her face, her arm, her legs, and the back of her neck. Her opponent was playing with her. She had lost the will to live, and thus she was being careless. The other fights had been easy as she rushed in carelessly without abandon. Those opponents had been a bit less confident, so this strategy had worked then. She was now fighting the champion.
They decided, her being unable to be rivaled by a woman as of yet, they could force her to fight the men. Once running a few men into the hands of Death, Madame Phrina decided she should put her up in the championship match. Ya'weh had killed teens, women, men, animals, and even her own teammates in battle.
She had a reputation.
She was jaded.
Having seen her family hang from the same trees she used to climb as a child had killed her desire for life.
This man was mocking her. Toying with her. Playing with her like a cat plays with a mouse. He didn't even see her as a respectable adversary. She had refrained from using her abilities in most of her fights. She was trying to die.
She swung her weapon, chosen by someone betting against her no doubt, at the man. The trident is an amazing tool when used correctly. The net had been taken out of her hands already and had not been used most of the fight. The man grabbed the trident mid-swing and used the momentum to pull Ya'weh into him. He hollered as he yanked the weapon and Ya'weh sailed towards him. She tucked her shoulder, and instead of being impaled was only sliced by his sword. Upon colliding shoulder first into him she grabbed his sword from his hand. As he flew backward, she screamed and sliced a rapid, wide arc through the air.
The crowd collectively gasped. Ya'weh couldn't hear anything though. All she saw was the man's head nearly severed. His lifeless body fell to the ground. Ya'weh threw down the sword violently and looked into the stands. Phrina looked down at her, astonished. Ya' glared back at her. Using her ability she enhanced the sound of her voice, and decreased her vision. She leaned back and her amplified, blood-curdling scream echoed through the Colosseum silencing the crowd. She quickly, and quietly, said a departing prayer for her enemy and walked to her gate. The guards looked at her in amazement. The crowd erupted, some of the loudest cheers she had ever heard from the Colosseum. She had found a taste, no, a zest for life again.
As soon as she got past the guards she fell to the floor, unconscious.
The figures dagger glinted in the moonlight and Ya'weh reacted similarly to her penultimate battle. She turned inside and the dagger sliced her side and arm. Her shoulder hit the figure square in the face. As they flew backwards Ya'weh grabbed the dagger and disarmed them. The figure shuffled back. Ya'weh took a menacing step forward and the figure stepped back again.
Zoni and the man had not moved yet but they were a safe distance away. Ya'weh could feel blood trickling down her armor and onto her leg. The figure let out a piercing whistle causing Ya' to flinch. She swung her hook swords to push distance between them again. She noticed a movement through her periphery.
Hans' eyes widened as more of the masked figures popped up on the roofs and two dropped down onto the pavement. He immediately climbed to his feet. Zoni took notice and opened her large pouch and quickly sifted through it, pulling out a much smaller leather bag.
Ya'weh, still having her swords hooked together, swung them at the figure nearest her, backing them up even further. Even they knew she had the upper hand at this point. Her tattoos glowed and she surveyed the scene. One figure, unarmed. Second figure approaching with a machete. Third figure, brandishing a spear. She knew a ranged weapon like a spear would be the biggest threat.
Zoni and Hans retreated even further down the road.
"Hans I need your help!" Zoni said desperately.
"Here, take this," she handed him a match, "and unwind this and light it." He briefly paused and looked at Ya'weh who was about to have three cloaked figures on her. He immediately struck the match-stick on the ground and lit the leather strip hanging from the brown, leather bag. She knocked an arrow and pulled back the string. She allowed the arrow to come off the bow slightly.
"Slide the bag onto the arrow. Quickly!" He grabbed the arrow gently and slid the bag on. The fuse, already having been lit, was burning fast.
Ya'weh made the unarmed figure step back again and threw the dagger with precision at the figure with the spear. This forced them to duck. The one she had engaged with just stood there, looking at her menacingly through the mask holes. Ya'weh began to retreat as the second figure tossed a sword to the original cloaked figure.
'A well oiled machine...' Zoni thought.
Zoni hollered and watched as Ya'weh came sprinting over, holding her side. The figures spared no time coming after her. She let the arrow fly. The bag exploded sending fire and smoke raining all around their pursuers, causing them to scatter for a moment. While none of them were hurt, it bought them time to get away.
"Follow me! I have a way to get us away from them!" Hans yelled before taking off down the road.
"Ya'," Zoni muttered between strained breaths, "There were more on the roofs."
Ya'weh nodded and pressed forward.
02:45
Ya'weh opened her eyes and stared at the ceiling above. She felt energy cascade through her body, not abruptly, but fluidly. Her tattoos tingled a bit, as they did every morning. She rolled over to see Zoni pulling the leather straps on her armor skirt.
"Why are you up and ready already?"
Zoni looked at Ya'weh with compassion but spoke with exaggerated indifference.
"Well, not everyone takes five seconds to get ready. I'm no longer a gladiator-slave. Am I not allowed to try to look my best?" She smirked, and finished tightening the strap with a quick yank.
Ya'weh sat up and stretched. "We are to leave at daybreak," she said, almost as if speaking to herself.
"You know, I thought about that, and to be honest, I think we should be ready to go before that." She grabbed her blonde hair and tied it into a knot on top of her head. "I've prepared different arrows, some contraptions with what I could find behind some of the taverns, and I am eager to go. We usually do everything you say, today I'm saying lets get to the damn port by sun-up, not just be leaving at that time." She placed her hand on her hip and looked down at Ya'weh.
Ya' got up slowly and walked over to Zoni. They maintained eye-contact during the entire exchange. Although Ya' is taller than Zoni, Zoni did not flinch or move from her spot. Ya' grabbed her by the face, kissed her forehead and muttered, "Occasionally your stubbornness is cute, and needed." She proceeded to get her armor on and began gearing up as well.
Zoni looked around the rat-pile of a hut they had been living in. "Look, I didn't want to say anything, because I do believe in your intuition, how else could you have gone from slave and gladiator to a fighting mentor, but sometimes woman, your lack of expression and desire to be right destroy me." She knocked over a rickety and empty bookshelf. "Like that." She gave Ya' a dramatic look. "That is what you do to me!" She said smirking.
"You said we left the group to meet someone. We have met no one. We haven't even discussed when we will be meeting up with the group or where. I don't even know where they are! We are already at least THREE WEEKS behind them by now. I also have not had this dream, so I've been spending my time waiting for you to 'feel right.' But I'm at least going to be trying to leave today. I have to get out of this place."
Her voice began to go up in pitch as she got emotional, "WE deserve better Ya'. And that group of escapees had a plan, a focus, and a goal. Wandering around here listlessly, eating out of garbage cans, collecting coins off the streets at night, none of that is for me. I am jealous of them in their comradery and focus. They are driven to do good and I have that same passion and desire within me, but I do not have your iron-will. I stuck it out with you but I am serious about going somewhere today. Whether that is with you to the mystical place from the dream, or on my own, we can decide later, but I can't do this anymore. Please hurry so we can go back to a CIVILIZED CITY! And GODS WILLING LET THERE BE A SHIP!" She panted due to her passionate plea and stared directly at Ya'weh.
"Even if there happens to be a ship, how can you be sure they will even take us?" Ya'weh retorted.
"We will never know until we try," she said in a dead-serious tone.
Ya' stared at her, and in her typical fashion gave only the SLIGHTEST response to the statement. She then finished getting ready. Zoni had come to learn to watch for such responses, and seeing one she gave a muted sigh of relief. She grabbed her bow and arrow quiver and held them in her hand.
Ya'weh had just finished putting her hair up. She had all her gear and weapons attached and secured. Anyone looking at her would say she was a formidable human, especially as a woman. "I will say Ya', I have appreciated immensely the training you have given me. On and off the field of battle. I look and feel better, I feel more able, and I also feel more capable of surviving." She hugged Ya' who held her wrist after they came apart.
"Let me take this today." She grabbed the bow and quiver and placed it on her. Zoni cannot help but laugh as she looks at Ya' thinking of her as a pack mule. Ya' looked concerned for a moment, then joined in the laughter after looking down at herself. She slipped on her shield as they headed out the door.
"May the Gods watch over this place for the next person in need. And may they watch over us, for trouble is always ahead." She closed the door and caught up to Zoni.
-----
9th of Breh
03:45
Zoni and Ya'weh normally walk the back roads and alleyways, but due the nature of the time of day, and that nearly no one was up, they walk through the "streets," if one were nice enough to call them that. The cobblestone and dirt combinations of different streets, obviously influenced by the ones who have money and choose not to focus on the infrastructure, show which areas are for which people. They saw nearly no other people except for an old man who was on the side of the road smoking from his pipe. He appears to be an old, retired sailor. He nodded at the women, respectfully. Many women are able-bodied in this area, and having traveled, he has seen Sivyne women even more formidable and statuesque than Ya'weh. They nod back and keep on their way.
A stray dog runs by, chasing shadows or a pest of some kind. They round a corner and see another humanoid shape down one of the cross streets, lurking in the darkness. The figure is motionless and it brings chills to Zoni. Ya'weh's tattoos light up briefly. The shape turns its head to them slowly and its face is white as snow. Zoni looks forward and keeps moving, trying not to make it apparent that she is startled and chilled. "They wear a mask, but why?" Ya'weh whispers while facing forward. The figure watches them pass, then turns back and continues to stand in its spot.
After a few more moments, still not having mentioned the exchange with the... thing, they hear a crash. Zoni and Ya' exchange quick glances with one another. They run forward and see a man running down the street. Broken glass litters the street in front of them and a stool sits ominously in its midst. Zoni and Ya'weh approach the stool and the man running suddenly hits the ground. Zoni runs towards them as she can see a fight starting. An axe falls to the ground and the man is flipped and rolled around. The cloaked figure rolled the man from on top of them to beneath them. The man struggles while reaching for the axe but the figure grabs it first. As they raise it above their head Zoni shouts a shrill and intimidating, "Hey!"
The figure pauses and turns their head. Just enough hesitation for Zoni to use her ability to charge into them. She leads with her shoulder hitting the figure in its side. They fly straight through the air and land on the ground with a soft thud nearly fifteen feet away. Zoni drops to a knee to get reoriented. The figure has already begun getting up. Zoni kicks the axe to the man, who is still laying on the ground, seemingly stunned, and pulls her short sword out of its scabbard.
Ya'weh has an arrow knocked and lets it fly. It passes over Zoni's left shoulder and right to the chest of the figure who slyly dodges it, seemingly with ease. Zoni stares in astonishment. This feeling quickly fades as a dagger is brandished and forces Zoni to parry a multitude of blows. The figure is fast, even faster than Zoni in her normal state. She starts heating up for another charge.
"The ROPE!" she shouts through gritted teeth as the figure pushes her sword towards her own neck causing her to strain. Ya' quickly lets another arrow fly, this time with a rope attached, one end tied to a post on a building next to her. It hits a wall and the rope pulls tight. Zoni kicks at the figure who steps just outside of the counter-attack. They step back in forcing Zoni to keep parrying hits. The figure knows it has an advantage as Zoni is barely able to keep up and grabs her by the hair, pulling her head back.
"DO NOT TOUCH MY HAIR!" she shouts as she rushes them with her ability again. She hits them just to the side of center. This causes the figure to turn slightly before being clotheslined by the rope. Zoni falls to her butt and focuses on reorienting herself. She smirks as she sees that her hit caused the figure to do a full black-flip and land on their back. The figure takes a moment to get its breath back.
Ya'weh takes this time to get offensive. She detaches her hook swords and runs in swinging them like claws. The figure springs up and immediately dodges and parries a few blows before returning some counter-attacks. Ya'weh hooks the dagger and tries to rip it out of their hand with her sword, however the figure moves first and twists so Ya' bends over to prevent her shoulder from dislocating. A swift kick to the chest sends Ya' back a few feet. She turns the pain into motivation and lands on her feet. Zoni tends to the man momentarily.
'A woman, always tending to a man,' Ya' thought.
Zoni quickly ran over to collect her bow and arrows. She returns and begins tending to the man.
"He just...attacked me out of nowhere!" The man breathed out, clearly still in shock.
"You're okay now," Zoni calmly reassured the man, "What's your name? Can you tell me your name?"
"Hans," the man mumbled out.
"Well, Hans," Zoni said, "I'll stay here with you and make sure you're safe. My name is Zoni and our saviour over there is called Ya'weh." She turns to watch, confident in Ya'weh to keep them all safe.
Ya'weh refocuses to the fight on hand. The figure has slid inside her center and while Ya' attempts to elbow the figure, they grab her arm and flip over her shoulder. Upon landing they swipe her feet. She falls into a roll over her shoulder and hooks her swords together. She swings them at the target swiftly and expertly. While they are able to parry a few blows, most of their energy is spent on dodging. Ya'weh remains calm and collected while keeping them on the defensive. She hears the figures first noise, a grunt of energy expenditure and frustration. She smirks as she swings the hook swords over her head. The figure rapidly fires their dagger up and hooks the claws. The figure uses their whole body to pull on the swords forcing Ya'weh to lurch towards them.
Blood dripped from Ya'weh. A gash on her face, her arm, her legs, and the back of her neck. Her opponent was playing with her. She had lost the will to live, and thus she was being careless. The other fights had been easy as she rushed in carelessly without abandon. Those opponents had been a bit less confident, so this strategy had worked then. She was now fighting the champion.
They decided, her being unable to be rivaled by a woman as of yet, they could force her to fight the men. Once running a few men into the hands of Death, Madame Phrina decided she should put her up in the championship match. Ya'weh had killed teens, women, men, animals, and even her own teammates in battle.
She had a reputation.
She was jaded.
Having seen her family hang from the same trees she used to climb as a child had killed her desire for life.
This man was mocking her. Toying with her. Playing with her like a cat plays with a mouse. He didn't even see her as a respectable adversary. She had refrained from using her abilities in most of her fights. She was trying to die.
She swung her weapon, chosen by someone betting against her no doubt, at the man. The trident is an amazing tool when used correctly. The net had been taken out of her hands already and had not been used most of the fight. The man grabbed the trident mid-swing and used the momentum to pull Ya'weh into him. He hollered as he yanked the weapon and Ya'weh sailed towards him. She tucked her shoulder, and instead of being impaled was only sliced by his sword. Upon colliding shoulder first into him she grabbed his sword from his hand. As he flew backward, she screamed and sliced a rapid, wide arc through the air.
The crowd collectively gasped. Ya'weh couldn't hear anything though. All she saw was the man's head nearly severed. His lifeless body fell to the ground. Ya'weh threw down the sword violently and looked into the stands. Phrina looked down at her, astonished. Ya' glared back at her. Using her ability she enhanced the sound of her voice, and decreased her vision. She leaned back and her amplified, blood-curdling scream echoed through the Colosseum silencing the crowd. She quickly, and quietly, said a departing prayer for her enemy and walked to her gate. The guards looked at her in amazement. The crowd erupted, some of the loudest cheers she had ever heard from the Colosseum. She had found a taste, no, a zest for life again.
As soon as she got past the guards she fell to the floor, unconscious.
The figures dagger glinted in the moonlight and Ya'weh reacted similarly to her penultimate battle. She turned inside and the dagger sliced her side and arm. Her shoulder hit the figure square in the face. As they flew backwards Ya'weh grabbed the dagger and disarmed them. The figure shuffled back. Ya'weh took a menacing step forward and the figure stepped back again.
Zoni and the man had not moved yet but they were a safe distance away. Ya'weh could feel blood trickling down her armor and onto her leg. The figure let out a piercing whistle causing Ya' to flinch. She swung her hook swords to push distance between them again. She noticed a movement through her periphery.
Hans' eyes widened as more of the masked figures popped up on the roofs and two dropped down onto the pavement. He immediately climbed to his feet. Zoni took notice and opened her large pouch and quickly sifted through it, pulling out a much smaller leather bag.
Ya'weh, still having her swords hooked together, swung them at the figure nearest her, backing them up even further. Even they knew she had the upper hand at this point. Her tattoos glowed and she surveyed the scene. One figure, unarmed. Second figure approaching with a machete. Third figure, brandishing a spear. She knew a ranged weapon like a spear would be the biggest threat.
Zoni and Hans retreated even further down the road.
"Hans I need your help!" Zoni said desperately.
"Here, take this," she handed him a match, "and unwind this and light it." He briefly paused and looked at Ya'weh who was about to have three cloaked figures on her. He immediately struck the match-stick on the ground and lit the leather strip hanging from the brown, leather bag. She knocked an arrow and pulled back the string. She allowed the arrow to come off the bow slightly.
"Slide the bag onto the arrow. Quickly!" He grabbed the arrow gently and slid the bag on. The fuse, already having been lit, was burning fast.
Ya'weh made the unarmed figure step back again and threw the dagger with precision at the figure with the spear. This forced them to duck. The one she had engaged with just stood there, looking at her menacingly through the mask holes. Ya'weh began to retreat as the second figure tossed a sword to the original cloaked figure.
'A well oiled machine...' Zoni thought.
Zoni hollered and watched as Ya'weh came sprinting over, holding her side. The figures spared no time coming after her. She let the arrow fly. The bag exploded sending fire and smoke raining all around their pursuers, causing them to scatter for a moment. While none of them were hurt, it bought them time to get away.
"Follow me! I have a way to get us away from them!" Hans yelled before taking off down the road.
"Ya'," Zoni muttered between strained breaths, "There were more on the roofs."
Ya'weh nodded and pressed forward.
[Co-written by Tyce]
The assassin and his friends were put off by the sudden explosion. They stumbled a bit but did not stop. The one with the spear drew a sword from the scabbard on his belt and tossed it to the unarmmed member of their team. Meanwhile, one of the figures on the roof stopped, lowering a crossbow to the surface on which they stood and placing their foot in the stirrup before yanking back on the string. Another figure with a sizable yew longbow calmly walked past the other as she drew an arrow from the quiver at her hip...
Ya'weh and Zoni followed behind the bar hand as he ran through the streets of the Port of Opynonias.
"This way!" He yelled.
Zoni, trying to get a better hold on the situation, looked back behind her. The assassins were gaining...but that was not all.
"Ya'!" She called back to her companion, who was beginning to look as though the loss of blood was taking a toll. While she held her normal expression, her complexion had somewhat faded, as though it in itself was flowing from the wound in her side.
From atop the building, the crossbowman loaded a bolt into his groove, aiming and, immediately after acquiring his target, yanked the tickler.
As Zoni slowed down to help the wounded girl keep her pace, the bolt sped through the air where she once stood, impacted the ground and skidded down the cobblestone pavement.
Zoni, barely even noticing her close encounter in her adrenaline-saturated moment, took Ya'weh's arm and placed it over her shoulder to help.
"I got you Ya'. Clot up that wound and let's keep moving!"
Ya' nodded at her and as her tattoos glittered briefly in the exchange, she began increasing her tissues healing rate and her clotting factor in her blood. At the exchange of her hearing and smell, which became nullified to balance the enhancement of her blood.
"Okay I'm working on it." She focused on her magic so as to not lose it and she felt a slight bit better right away.
The assassin with the longbow calmly nocked her arrow, drawing it back to the cheek of her mask before aiming at the girl who slowed to help her friend before waiting...and then looses, sending the missile out.
"Keep moving!" Yelled the bar hand, turning to look at the two women. But, as he turned, his eyes widened; face white.
Suddenly, a yelp hit the air and Zoni fell to a knee...with an arrow in her back.
Ya'weh gasped.
"Zoni!" Ya' and Hans called simultaneously. He turned and rushed to help her keep moving.
"Are you alright?!"
The girl looked puzzled, removing Hans' hand as she spoke.
"Yeah, just a little stinging in my back, I guess. What hit me?"
The man was confused.
"A stroke of luck," Ya' said in a murmur as she inspected Zoni's back. Her face lightening and her lower leg covered in blood.
"Wait, what?" He questioned as Zoni resumed helping her friend move along, exposing to Hans the long projectile sticking from her quiver atop the bag she wore.
"O-...Oh..." Hans stammered out. "You-...I-I'll tell you later!"
After leaving the exposed kill-zone of the two figures on the rooftop, the three sprinted around the corner of a building and down the length of one of the docks. They had finally reached where they were going...but where exactly were they going?
Hans mumbles to himself, "Please still be here-please still be here-please still be-YES!"
The bar hand pointed ahead to a merchant ship as it was loading up its last crate. A man stood out in front of the ramp.
"TIBERIUS!" Yelled Hans.
The man looked up with a smile which...quickly faded.
"Hans?" He questioned aloud.
"What are you doing here? What the hell happened t'yeh?"
As Hans gasped for breath, struggling for answers, Zoni nocked another one of her arrows and stood facing down toward land.
Before the man called Tiberius stood a bar hand, an archer with an arrow sticking out of her back, and another woman with her side bleeding.
"I'll explain what happened in as great of detail as you want later," Hans said through his gasping, "but, by the creator, we need to board and we need to set sail NOW."
"Wait, why?" The captain asked.
"That!" Hans said, pointing up the dock at the group of three assassins rounding the corner.
Zoni drew the string on her bow back the rest of its length and loosed the arrow. However, the target it raced toward leaned to his side, dodging the threat before reclaiming the speed he had lost in the process.
"...Get aboard." Ordered Tiberius.
The assassin and his friends were put off by the sudden explosion. They stumbled a bit but did not stop. The one with the spear drew a sword from the scabbard on his belt and tossed it to the unarmmed member of their team. Meanwhile, one of the figures on the roof stopped, lowering a crossbow to the surface on which they stood and placing their foot in the stirrup before yanking back on the string. Another figure with a sizable yew longbow calmly walked past the other as she drew an arrow from the quiver at her hip...
Ya'weh and Zoni followed behind the bar hand as he ran through the streets of the Port of Opynonias.
"This way!" He yelled.
Zoni, trying to get a better hold on the situation, looked back behind her. The assassins were gaining...but that was not all.
"Ya'!" She called back to her companion, who was beginning to look as though the loss of blood was taking a toll. While she held her normal expression, her complexion had somewhat faded, as though it in itself was flowing from the wound in her side.
From atop the building, the crossbowman loaded a bolt into his groove, aiming and, immediately after acquiring his target, yanked the tickler.
As Zoni slowed down to help the wounded girl keep her pace, the bolt sped through the air where she once stood, impacted the ground and skidded down the cobblestone pavement.
Zoni, barely even noticing her close encounter in her adrenaline-saturated moment, took Ya'weh's arm and placed it over her shoulder to help.
"I got you Ya'. Clot up that wound and let's keep moving!"
Ya' nodded at her and as her tattoos glittered briefly in the exchange, she began increasing her tissues healing rate and her clotting factor in her blood. At the exchange of her hearing and smell, which became nullified to balance the enhancement of her blood.
"Okay I'm working on it." She focused on her magic so as to not lose it and she felt a slight bit better right away.
The assassin with the longbow calmly nocked her arrow, drawing it back to the cheek of her mask before aiming at the girl who slowed to help her friend before waiting...and then looses, sending the missile out.
"Keep moving!" Yelled the bar hand, turning to look at the two women. But, as he turned, his eyes widened; face white.
Suddenly, a yelp hit the air and Zoni fell to a knee...with an arrow in her back.
Ya'weh gasped.
"Zoni!" Ya' and Hans called simultaneously. He turned and rushed to help her keep moving.
"Are you alright?!"
The girl looked puzzled, removing Hans' hand as she spoke.
"Yeah, just a little stinging in my back, I guess. What hit me?"
The man was confused.
"A stroke of luck," Ya' said in a murmur as she inspected Zoni's back. Her face lightening and her lower leg covered in blood.
"Wait, what?" He questioned as Zoni resumed helping her friend move along, exposing to Hans the long projectile sticking from her quiver atop the bag she wore.
"O-...Oh..." Hans stammered out. "You-...I-I'll tell you later!"
After leaving the exposed kill-zone of the two figures on the rooftop, the three sprinted around the corner of a building and down the length of one of the docks. They had finally reached where they were going...but where exactly were they going?
Hans mumbles to himself, "Please still be here-please still be here-please still be-YES!"
The bar hand pointed ahead to a merchant ship as it was loading up its last crate. A man stood out in front of the ramp.
"TIBERIUS!" Yelled Hans.
The man looked up with a smile which...quickly faded.
"Hans?" He questioned aloud.
"What are you doing here? What the hell happened t'yeh?"
As Hans gasped for breath, struggling for answers, Zoni nocked another one of her arrows and stood facing down toward land.
Before the man called Tiberius stood a bar hand, an archer with an arrow sticking out of her back, and another woman with her side bleeding.
"I'll explain what happened in as great of detail as you want later," Hans said through his gasping, "but, by the creator, we need to board and we need to set sail NOW."
"Wait, why?" The captain asked.
"That!" Hans said, pointing up the dock at the group of three assassins rounding the corner.
Zoni drew the string on her bow back the rest of its length and loosed the arrow. However, the target it raced toward leaned to his side, dodging the threat before reclaiming the speed he had lost in the process.
"...Get aboard." Ordered Tiberius.
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