Snippet #1849168

The distracted deep human barely registered the voice in his head, which had long since lost it's malevolent edge on Kisikoni. However, he knew a serious voice when he heard it, and pulled himself out of his simmering thoughts back to reality. Not a moment too soon, Kisikoni heard Talae's cry of warning as well, and he instinctively crouched low, just in time to feel a single bolt whip past the left side of his face. The other slammed into his upper right torso, sending him reeling. Unluckily for the deep human, his light mail was not able to stop the penetrating power of the bolt, slicing cleanly through the links. The first bolt barely missed the pack horse by an inch, causing it to panic and charge down the streets. Kisikoni gathered his wits quickly, standing up despite the wound and wildly looked for his partner- which had bounded off for a cart. He noted the lone bolt embedded into the side of the building, and decided three assailants was not a very good match up, even if the lone fighter in question was one of the best fencers he knew. The horse could wait, it was trained to return to the tents and had nothing of real value anyways. He broke into a run, avoiding unnecessary movement on his right side to avoid having the arrowhead slice his flesh too much. However, even as the cart and Talae carved a path through the crowds, One of the riders was tossed off by the silent dark elf. Kisikoni proved to be too slow to catch up, but even as the man rolled to his feet, the deep human was ready for him.

Though not primarily left handed, Kiskoni could fight well enough with the rest of his limbs as he drew one of his butterfly swords. His right arm dangled uselessly, to avoid unnecessary trauma. The man, a deep skinned elf began the duel with a high horizontal chop with his short sword, something Kisikoni easily ducked. Spinning around, the elf used the momentum to bring his sword around into a quick low cut, which Kisikoni twisted to block. The deep human retaliated with a heel kick to the elf's side, sending him stumbling back. Following up, Kisikoni charged in parrying a quick stab and falling into a slide that knocked the elf off his feet. The elf rolled over, attempting to get up but Kisikoni had already turned to land back on his feet, bringing a knee to slam the side of the elf's head and finishing him off with a downward thrust of his thick blade into the man's back.

Shoving him off, Kisikoni scanned his surroundings, ensuring that there were no other mercenaries that meant him harm. Convinced that there were none at the moment, Kisikoni began making his way toward an alleyway. This would be a bad idea in general, but he couldn't make it all the way back to camp without the pain and the bleeding getting to him. He needed to perform some proper first-aid first. Doing it in a public area was just asking for trouble, be it from the city guard or meticulous shopkeepers or assassins. Leaning against the wall, he slid down until he was sitting, letting a hiss escape his mouth as he grasped at the bolt. The head was designed like a harpoon- quick to enter, a pain to get out. Pulling it out would rip out more flesh than he would like.

Let me do it. It's faster. it said irritably. Kisikoni immediately threw up a mental wall, trying to block it from doing anything, but even as he tried to, he felt his mind go numb. A deep stink of what could only be described as fear for anybody close enough began to exude from the deep human, as his breathing became more labored and the bolt began twitching and turning unnaturally. Eventually, as the aura of fear became more palpable, the bolt slid smoothly out of his body, accompanied by the forming of a scale-like scab. Kisikoni heard the bolt clatter to the cobblestone ground, and immediately stared into a puddle formed from dead-gods-know-what. A monster stared back at the deep human, or rather, faced him. The eyes were completely missing, leaving naught but a black void- and his skin was as dry and cracked as a lake during a drought. Blinking once, Kisikoni steadied his breathing, and felt his face return back to normal. The scaly scab that the arrow left was gone, leaving only bare skin where the bolt had pierced through his mail and clothes.

"Never do that again."

Why not? I saved you the trouble of-

"Never do that again! You have no right to consider what or what doesn't trouble me, you monster!" Kisikoni shouted angrily, his calm composure completely shattered.

Harsh words for a hypocrite. Our fates are intertwined, mortal. You cannot tell me to do anything. You have less control than you would like to believe.

"Shut up! Shut up! SHUT UP!!"

Kisikoni stood up hastily, feeling the presence take extreme pleasure from his distress. He cast his eyes around quickly, and noted with some cheap relief that nobody had taken much notice of him. Avoiding the topic that clouded his thoughts, he decided to look for Talae and the pack horse. Flexing his right arm, he confirmed with some lingering disgust that it was working as well as it was before the ambush. He found his horse fairly close to where the ambush occurred, where it was calmed down by two fruit shopkeepers interested in stopping the horse's rampage before it destroyed their inventory. After apologizing quickly, he paid them to look after the horse until he returned. With his mind as clear as he could get, he delved back into the streets, following the commotion in an attempt to trace Talae and the Wagon's trail.

---

"You know, all this work can't be good for you." She said, staring at a slim figure sitting at a desk. Pieces of blueprint paper were scattered about the room, some neatly piled in one side, others thrown carelessly about. The figure shook his head slowly, his head of jet-black hair shading his face from further recognition.

"I've seen harder days before Haven." He replied curtly, the quick motions of his quill never ceasing.

"Suit yourself, but why?" Mercy asked, tilting her head and leaning over the paper to get a better view. He did not look up, but rather continued writing as if she wasn't currently in the room. In truth, he was well aware of the fact, more so than the average person would be.

"Because I still can serve." He paused. "I'm getting soft." He commented, raising a hand to indicate her leave. "I have work to do."

The commotion just outside her tent roused the drowsy Nightmarian from her stupor. She returned to reality reluctantly, blinking heavily at the entrance flaps, which showed two figures moving erratically. She almost laughed if she weren't in such a daze. In this sorry state, she recognized some urgency. Why would two belly dancers perform outside her tent? Unless they weren't belly dancers. They burst through the tent flaps, clawing at their face with daggers out and flailing wildly. Well now.

She huffed slightly, raising her arms slightly and allowing both to trip and fall over. The would-be assassins tried to regain their balance, but failed to do so as they met a face full of a mixture of hay and arc shell. She twisted around, grabbing one and casually twisted his neck as he recovered. He fell to a clump, dead instantly. Mercy didn't have the patience for this bullshit, frankly- very few people dared to interrupt her drinking binges, and even fewer avoided seeing her fangs as punishment. The other had already stumbled to his feet, blindly stabbing with his dagger, but Mercy twisted, using her amazing flexibility around her waist to avoid the blade completely, grabbing the man and twisting his arm. The man spun around once, landing on his back with Mercy's arms securing him from the shoulders down.

The man struggled slightly, before he felt something pierce his neck. Instantly, fear began to seep in. This was definitely NOT what he signed up. He began to struggle with a feral instinct that was almost pitiable, because even if he could break the Nightmarian's iron grip he would not be able to make it outside of the tent before her Paralytic poison deaded his limbs and left him unable to move. Even as his flailing weakened, she rose, reaching back to grab some of the webbing she was secreting from her abdomen. She gently began wrapping him up, lazily observing her assailant's face as he realized he was being enveloped in the sticky secretion. "They're going to have fun with you, dear." She murmured softly into his ear, giggling mockingly. His expression was priceless, as was her many other victims. She finished securing his body with a mass of webbing, before tossing the man out of the tent, along with the body. She didn't particularly care she had just survived an assassination attempt, or that the assassins were unusually clumsy. However, now that she was awake she did have something she cared about.

She popped open another bottle. Immediately downing a quarter of it, she lamented drowsily how they couldn't have just killed her. It was such a pleasant dream.

---

Dresinil's entrance and graceless fall did not entertain Safir's poor humor as the pain in his hand began to grow more and more pronounced. He did, however deign to grin, as it was partially his fault for blocking the way in the first place. He noticed a couple of dark elves leaving, though not so subtle now that they've more or less lost control of their bodies. Safir took solace in the fact that assassins, who valued their precise movements much more than he did as a knight were suffering the hardest. "You only say that because you know I won't bite your head off." Safir replied, grunting as he stood up carefully. He was going to invite his elven comrade to find a healer with him, but apparently the Captain had already arranged such a thing.

A woman, a silenced with red robes approached him in all his inglorious appearance and quickly mended his bones. Safir's face twisted slightly, discomforted by his bones moving and mending at unnatural speeds. Well, it beat having to splint it and nursing it for weeks. The woman seemed to smile at him kindly, which brought a warm feeling to the knight's heart. Well, at least it seemed like she enjoyed what she did, despite the circumstances. He watched her heal Dresinil, slightly interested in how she manages such strange magics. His mother, an enchantress never spoke of her trade, and Safir himself didn't have a lick of magic within his veins. He wondered what it was like, to have such power no matter how slight it was.

He wasn't brooding for long, because before he knew it, Dresinil also sprang up fairly quickly, careful with his movements as well to avoid another injury. Tao's explanation and suggestions were feasible enough, and Safir decided to entertain himself for the day by getting reacquainted with his body- however strange that sounded. Dresinil offered to go with him, as training was less of a chore when done with others. They walked carefully, adjusting and fine-tuning their movements. As they searched for a good spot, they caught a glimpse of Jivven.

"Good dancer, but I've seen better ballerinas back home. None so pretty, though." Dresinil commented, and Safir could not help but chortle.

"Yet here you are, barely able to walk." He replied, attempting a light punch on his shoulder. Dresinil stumbled from the force, his face reddening slightly. "Oh, I did not mean t-"

"Gotcha." The elf laughed, righting himself carefully. They were already far enough away that they couldn't hear the dark elf's pattering feet. They decided to walk back to the general area of the healer, Carmen. The way people like himself and Dresinil trained was very different from that of Jivven's, involving more injuries. However, that served only to strengthen the body. Martial Artists like Gatan often beat themselves with special wooden rods to temper their nerves, becoming nearly impervious to medium amounts of blunt trauma. The two began with stretches and basic exercises, to get a feel for the new strength. More than once, Safir overexerted, pulling a muscle and ligament- or even throwing so much force that limbs popped out of their sockets. Carmen had to make more than one trip down, but whether she was disgruntled or not was hidden by her calm facade. He could not say the same for Dresinil, who was beginning to think of this blessing as something of a bittersweet curse.

Even after an hour of this, they were still apprehensive about trusting themselves with swinging around a weapon. They watched as a light swordsman whipped out his sword so hard, he hyper-extended his arm and had to be treated by the healer. Weighing his sword and shield with his hand, he was surprised to conclude that his sword felt like it weighed no more than a reed, and his shield was nothing more than a plank of wood on his arm. Dresinil expressed the same surprise, but at the same time seemed very happy about it. "This seems to have put you in a good mood." Commented Safir.

"Yes. I fear for the durability of my axe now that I can wield it with such strength." He said, a gruff excitement in his voice.