Carmaine, Carmaine. Every aspect of the city reflected the strict, stringent policies that had stood as long as the country itself. The buildings were straight and narrow, defined by hard lines and sharp angles. The pedestrians moved with a sense of purpose, walking calmly from one open-air shop to another along their daily routes, stopping to talk placidly with each tidy, aproned shopkeeper about anything but politics. Guards patrolled the streets regularly, stomping around arrogantly. Ironically, these men (and they were all men) were nearly the only character the capital possessed, as they were the only individuals allowed to make facial expressions. The most common expressions were sneers, jeers, disgusted scrunches, and just about anything else condescending. Everything else was all about function before form, and the people were drones.

Of course, the reality of the capital of Carmaine was not nearly so dull and hopeless--there was actually a lot of life in the city--but that is how it seemed to an outsider. Raythe Vangard paced casually down a wide street, remarking the order of everything. Vagar was nothing like this, having given way to the chaos of its crowds. Everything and everyone here seemed so . . . peaceful. It was a completely foreign experience.

Having learned to fit in so well in Siis' largest city, Raythe felt he stood out like a red thumb amongst these folk. Though he wore his long black coat which was characteristic of Siis officers, he sported none of his badges or commendations, and his weapons were cleverly hidden, and by all outward accounts there was nothing conspicuous about him, but he just felt so out of place. The sights, sounds, and smells were all different and assaulted him more harshly than any combatant.

At long last, to Raythe's relief, he came upon his destination. A small, brown, wooden door flowed seamlessly with the stone brick wall around. A little parchment sign was fastened behind the square glass window cut into the top-center of the door, and it read, "Comm's Arms," short for the establishment's formal title: The Commandant's Arms.

It was a relatively high-class pub that, due to its rather extensive history, was frequented by the city guards and Carmaine's officers. It was open to the public, but a lot of the public tended to stay away from it unless they were looking for trouble. It wasn't trouble Raythe was after, but information, and he knew that he would certainly find one or the other in here.

He grasped the doorknob, twisted, and pulled. Immediately a waft of warm air floated out to embrace him, and with it came the smell of booze and men, and the low voices of the conversations within. It was mid-afternoon, but inside the Comm's Arms was rather dark. It took a few moments for Raythe's eyes to adjust, and when they did he scanned the room from the doorway. It was a large place, and so early in the day only a few armed and armored soldiers and a few tough-looking guys were spaced around the floor.

"Don't just stand there," came a gruff voice from across the pub. It belonged to the barman, who leaned on the polished wooden counter. "Take a seat."

As far as pub greetings went, that wasn't the most unfriendly. Raythe nodded subtly and stepped further in. Just about all eyes were on him, even if their owners pretended to carry on their conversations unaffected. Warily, he made his way to an open table, slid out the chair, and softly set down in it. He glanced around, unsure of himself. If he didn't fit in in the streets outside, then he was most certainly a black sheep in this place.

“Nihm! Come here girl!” an older lady shrieked into the edges of the forest.

A flurry of red hair filled with leaves and twigs emerged from its camouflage.

“I’m coming, I’m coming…” the young girl heaved as she darted over the small wooden gate. It must be so irritating… she often thought, That little fence wakes up everyday, and has to stare at the rich, thick trunks of its cousins; knowing that it will never become such.

“Where have you been?” an icy voice cut through her thoughts.

Nihm trotted towards the dark wooden door, her mother’s chittering voice biting at her ankles. She had heard it all before… Rolling her eyes, she gathered up her tangled mess of hair, swaddling it in a wrap of dingy cloth.

“You promised, Nihm. Not today. You promised you wouldn’t be late!” her mother scolded.

“I don’t see what is so important about today. It is a pick-up just like all the others, the only difference is I am required to keep my head lower and my voice dimmer!” she exclaimed. She sighed dejectedly as she viewed her mother’s pursed lips.

Silence claimed the air between them.

“Give this to Talice. Tell him I se-“

“Tell him you send your regards, and you’re grateful for his discretion.” Nihm finished. Her mother pressed a wrinkly kiss against her forehead, helped her dawn her father’s old hunting garb, and watched as she faded into the distance.

Talice wasn’t exactly a dangerous fellow, but his stature and growling voice was quite intimidating. Perhaps that’s why he was such a successful barman. she thought to herself. Before Nihm’s father, Demicus, was prudishly taken by this ridiculous war between Carmaine and Siis; he would regularly stop by The Commandant’s Arms, which this man owned, to buy a hefty supply of his liquor. Talice brewed the finest mead in all of Carmaine, or so the rumors spread. Demicus always liked the guests at his inn, The Spotted Doe, to be supplied with the best accommodations and that included Talice's mead. After he volunteered to fight for the existence of Carmaine, little could be done about his agreement with Talice, for women were not allowed into his pub. Passer-bys became less frequent, and The Spotted Doe began to decay. Talice, upon hearing the news, set up an arrangement. Nihm would come to The Commandant’s Arms in her father’s garb, speak of nothing and be seen by no one. This would allow the exchange of goods to take place, the reputation of the pub to remain pristine, and acted as a safety for Nihm as well.

Nihm didn’t care for the arrangement, which was made without her consent. She’d much rather her father return from this blasphemous war and take care of his family like a rightful man should. Of course, Demicus was never coming home. He was dead. But no one seemed to be able to convince her of that.

Valerie woke up with a set. She was covered in sweat and her breathing was deep and fast, she looked at her hands, they were shivering. She could feel her heart beat rapidly. She had had one of those nightmares again, one of those where she saw the faces of the people she had harmed without any proper reason, other than doing what she had been ordered to do. The nightmares had started three months ago and were beginning to occur repeatedly as time passed.

Valerie got out of bed and walked to the window in the room. She removed the curtain and saw that the sun was setting. She had used the last night to walk into the city to have a higher chance of not being noticed as the traitor she was known as. It had been three years since she had been in the city, so people was beginning to forget about the event because of other never events that occurred from time to time, even though most of them wasn’t nearly as dramatic as the one she had been in. Other than that she had also grown a bit, maybe not much in height but she had gotten more of the well known feminine curves. All in all there wouldn’t really be many guards of the city that would look at her and remember her as a traitor, she is too hard to recognize and women is anyway not meant for fights most people say, that’s also why there isn’t any womanly guards. Now she was in this inn, she couldn’t remember the name of it since it wasn’t important, but one thing was for sure, the Comm’s Arms was right beside the inn.

Valerie walked over to a little table in front of a mirror, on the table there were an empty bowl, a jug, filled with water, and a towel. She poured the water into the bowl, wash her head and then she put the towel into the water, wrung it and used it to clean the sweat on her body. The cold towel made her relax and she felt normal again. She put on her mask and clothes. Her new mission was very odd, the leader of the assassins’ guild had told her to go train and become even stronger than she was already, he would need a very strong person for a job that was coming and he had decided that she was the one. The mission was to get stronger, though she had already mastered the wing chun, so she needed training elsewhere. One of the best places to get information was surely the Comm’s Arms, though she would be taking a risk walking into a pub filled with guards. She took her bag and walked to the locked door, opened it went outside and locked it once again.

Valerie walked downstairs to the place where the manager of the inn was. She put the key on the table and turned towards the entrance of the inn. She had already paid for the room as she arrived in the night, or actually the morning.

“Thank you for staying here, have a nice trip.” The manger said with a smile on his lips.

“Sure.” Valerie answered without even turning her head towards the manager.

Valerie exit the inn and walked towards the Comm’s Arms. It was obvious that it was a pub, the smell of booze and sweat was in the air outside the pub. She opened the door to see the pub filled with military guards and soldiers, only one person was different than the others, other than herself, and that was the person wearing a long black coat, a Siis officer. Valerie walked directly to the counter of the pub.

“Where is the best place to get combat training in this city?” She put some money on the counter to show that she was serious. She wasn’t in the mood for discriminating jokes.

A guard heard what she was asking about and walked up to her. From the smell of his breath, he was surely drunk.

“Ha! A girl in combat now I’ve heard it all!” The guard grinned.

“Leave me alone.”

“Aww… Don’t be so shy little girl.” His hand approached her.

“You’ll regret touching me.” She growled.

“What!? Was that a threat towards a guard on duty? Who do you think you are? I would have been nice to you but now I am going to teach you a lesson instead.” He raised his hand as if he was about to hit her.

Blem looked, dejected, at his hand. He had nothing: a lonely Prince of Coins, a two and six of Spears, and a three and nine of Shields. And, as for bluffing, he was sure both Carmainians at the table were far better at keeping a straight face.

Blem had long since traded his priest robes for an uncomfortable, but dashing, twilight-blue suit. There was very little remaining that tied him to his past life, and after this card game, there would be nothing at all. A rapier glinted on top of the pile of coins in the middle of the table. Close at hand, the last drink he'd be having for a long time was, thankfully, not terrible. He didn't usually have the taste for mead.

He carefully re-arranged his cards, scrunching his eyes so as best to look like he was pondering strategy. If he had had a mirror, he might have observed that he looked more like he had just tried to peel a lemon with his teeth.

"Show me what you've got," said the Carmainian on the left.

Blem fidgeted a bit more. "In a moment. You can't rush Cunning."

The Carmainians exchanged glances.

A moment later, Blem's plan (wait for a miracle) came into effect. There was a sudden loud commotion behind him, and his opponents dropped their cards face-down to get a better look at the impending battle. Wasting no time, Blem shoveled the pot into a pouch, and reached for the rapier. One of the Carmanians grabbed his arm. Instinctively, Blem splashed the mead into the man's face, wriggled free like a worm, and bolted for the door, arms full of loot.

The second of the Carmanians stepped in front of him. "Sorry," Blem said, "but I had four-of-a-kind. So, if you'll kindly just step aside..."

A wild punch clipped his ear, and he crumpled, dazed, to the ground. He now had a good upside-down view of the scene.

At the bar, a guard raised his hand to strike a woman.

Cailen had been awake for some time now, though it was still relatively early in the day. Then again, one never could get much sleep in the cold forest, always being "greeted" by the scum and bugs of the leafy and eerily warm surface. He walked quietly through the city of trees, each one like an apartment building, inhabited by countless creatures, shared by the small and large alike. Above he spotted a bobcat, lazing about in the branches o'er his head. The cat lifted its head, but soon lowered it into the warmth of its furry paws once more, as Cailen raised to of his fingers in a greeting to the young cat.

After a bit of walking, Cailen had finally come upon the city of Carmaine, having been out for one of his often all-night excursions into the deep dark, but not-so-dangerous woods. Reading the shadows of the meadow, Kale determined that it was approximately high noon, and that it was about time for him to return to his dojo. So the man entered the city walls, and nonchalantly flashed the guards his identification, for this was a regular thing for both he, and the guards currently on duty. Though Cailen had passed by the same men countless times in the last few months he's lived in Carmaine, he never quite bothered to learn their names. It seemed that Cailen didn't know the names of many people he saw frequently... yet they all seemed to know his. Be it that they never introduced themselves, or that he's infamously terrible with names and faces, Cailen didn't let the fact that he knew none of the people who claimed to be acquainted with him.

Strolling through the market, he took in the smells of freshly baked bread, and the sweet scent of a fruit peddler's stand, all the while greeting the hordes of faces that he didn't recognize, but somehow knew him. And it wasn't as if Cailen socialized often... He tried to stay away from social gatherings, and parties, knowing that he would be likely to get himself into trouble with the guards, again. Though as he wandered the winding alleys to his dojo, the bluish-white fabric around the ankles of his fighter's suit becoming dirtied with the soot and dust that lined the streets, Cailen heard a bit of a crash, and thump coming from the nearby bar. Talice's bar. One of the few men he knew, he knew in this bustling city.

Cailen soon poked his head through the tavern doors to see what was quite possibly escalating into a bar fight, consisting of regular soldiers, and a few new faces that he'd yet to see before today. Stepping in the rest of the way, Cailen dodged a renegade fist, whose owner didn't quite know where he was punching, and then grabbed the man's wrist, pushing him down into submission. "I suggest you calm down, lest things get ugly in here." Cailen spoke down to the man, and released him. "Talice won't let you back in if you're starting fights, you know."

"Kale... Well, I'd fight back but I don't exactly feel like being humiliated today." spoke the soldier, who obviously had a previous run-in with the local martial artist. "I'm calm..." he added with a sneer.

"The same goes to you, Boyd." called Kale, across the room to the man poised to strike a young woman at the bar. "I don't think Tal likes it when people fight in here," repeated Cailen, approaching the man, his hand placed firmly on his katana's hilt, "And I certainly don't like when 'big bad soldiers' try to beat on innocent young women. Lower your hand."

To preserve the last of his dignity, Blem scurried back along the scuffed floor until his back hit the wall. He sat there, and tears began to fill his eyes -- not from the force of the punch, but from everything else. There was nothing left to him. He was an alien: he was lost, banished, excommunicated, poor, unskilled, and he had just gambled away his last possession. The only thing keeping him from the end of the rope was the cost of rope. Some firelight vainly tried to reach out to him, but the solid bulk of a table immersed Blem in cool blue shadow.

During his flight, a small stray shard of glass had entered his hand, and he calmed himself by squeezing his fist tightly. Even the painful ringing in his ear was a relief. He almost chuckled at the sick joke that pain was the least painful thing.

Tense hostility brewed in the tavern: it tugged at the dark corners and lines on the faces of even those no longer permitted to use their facial expressions. With the exception of Blem and a nearby passed out drunk still hugging a near-empty pint, every eye now turned to the pointed exchange. The liquor smell cast a powerful spell. Minds were fired and unquenchable.

Blem’s mind, however, was focused on something else, albeit with just as much passion. In an infinitely long heartbeat, he was still, and realized something. Blem would not be able to win back his possessions through honest gambling, nor through a fair and just fight, but he decided, one way or another, that he would wipe the tears off his face and get his sword back. The sick feeling of despair, never a good companion, sublimed instantly into boiling sadism. The world had not shown him an ounce of fairness, and had mocked his abundant ambition at every turn. He knew, in that lightning-split second, that he would never have the charisma to scrape his way up any social ladder. It was beyond time to cheat. That simple naïveté of a gambler took a step toward the honest cruelty of an executioner.

Granted, Blem had never truly been a particularly selfless man, and besides, he had certainly relished, for that briefest of moments, the liberating freedom of going rogue. One failed robbery was just bad luck, he knew, not incompetence. His prize was back in the pot. Every guard and ruffian in the house was, in that eternal moment, weighing the costs of choosing sides. A semicircle of half-sober soldiers began to stand. His heart thumped. A decision was made.

Blem needed a bit more chaos for any strategy to work. In one swift movement, he pulled the mug from the unconscious drunk and heaved it across the room at the scarred martial artist, who was busy chastising the guards at the door. He relished the thought of his impending revenge on the two Carmainian thugs, just as he hoped his artfulness was enough to make it look like one of those guards had thrown it.

Suddenly understanding how his fellow priests could pray with sincerity, Blem dodged sight as best as he knew how, trying to obscure the entirety of his body in the shadowy recesses of the round ashwood table.

Cailen came closer still to the guard who seemed to be pretending his hand was a cobra, tugging slightly on the hilt of his blade so that the shine of its killing edge showed. "I'll warn you once more, Boyd. Lower your hand." he growled calmly, a fierce glare attempting to pierce the soldier's mind and send him cowering before things got violent.

Though it seemed just as the man's fears got the better of him, and he lowered his palm, a mug came barreling through the air, with globs of ale flopping out with each rotation. The mug itself crashed into the side of Cailen's head, as the ale poured out onto his robes, and splashed out onto the young woman who sat nearby. This came as quite the surprise to Cailen, which knocked him slightly off-balance as Boyd took advantage of the situation, and made a move for Cailen's blade. The burly soldier now had a firm grip on the hilt of his katana, and the drunkard had a look about him like he wouldn't be letting go anytime soon.

Cailen soon stumbled over himself, and fell to the floor, rubbing his temple all the while, in a rather childish manner. "Ow..."

"Heh... I bet ye' won't be so tough wif'out yer' sword, now won't ye'?" Snickered Boyd, who now brandished Kale's blade like it was his own. "Jus' back 'way slowly, and you'll keep yer 'ead!"

Now realizing the situation he was in, after a few seconds of glancing about the room looking for his assailant, Cailen rose calmly to his feet and stared the confident soldier in the eye, "You'd be surprised, actually." He stated with a grin, sliding his right foot forward, and contorting his hands into "talons". "Why don't you see for yourself, Boyd old buddy."

With a cackle and a wild thrust of the sword, Boyd lunged forward in an attempt to run the man through, though it was misplaced due to his previous inebriation, and ended up aimed for the martial artist's left shoulder. Cailen's tremendous foresight, and reaction time let him predict the action, and dodge accordingly, as he rolled his torso counter-clockwise, as to move completely out of the way of the attack.

Cailen was now in a perfect position for a counterattack, which he took advantage of quickly. With Boyd already off-balance from his missed attack, Cailen grabbed the soldier's wrist and tugged him backward, causing Boyd to lurch further forward. Next, Kale drove a fist into the drunkard's chest, pushing him back with a crippling blow to the sternum. As Boyd stumbled back, he dropped the sword and clutched his almost certainly fractured sternum, but Cailen didn't stop there. With one smooth motion, he swung his left arm, the one that held Boyd's wrist, in a large arc, which smashed into the side of his neck with a great deal of force, knocking the soldier out cold immediately.

Bending slowly and retrieving his blade, Kale returned it to its scabbard, dusted himself off and turned to the crowd of onlooking soldiers, their mouths wide open, aghast. With a smile that made it seem as if he were clueless as to what just happened, Kale spoke calmly still. "So, anyone want to tell me who threw that...?"

Lamia lounged about her thread bare couch like a lazy cat, chocolate and honey colored hair fanned out behind her, one leg hanging off the side. The lights in the living room were dimmed, though her emerald eyes shone vividly. What also glinted brightly was the small pile of gold pieces on the floor beside the couch, Lamia having reached a hand down to run her slender fingers through the recently stolen loot. A dreamy expression crossed her features and a low, satisfied purr rumbled in her throat. She had been napping on and off, the previous night was spent hunting through the alleys for people to con and shiny items to steal from the unexpected. The pile of gold wasn't much of a turn-out, for she had had nights where she would return home with a sack nearly full of stolen goodies, but it was better than nothing. Curious as to the time, Lamia hefted herself up and off the couch with a sigh and crossed the room to one of the windows. The wallpaper in the living room was torn in various spots, revealing older wallpaper beneath, the dingy colors eventually running together. Wood panels lined the floor, the telltale signs of wear and tear prominent.

Peering outside, she quickly realized that it was around noon. Another sigh escaped her plush lips. She didn't particularly want to go outside today, but she had made a mental note to drop by the tavern for once to see if there was anything new in the up and up of the town. Looking back to the rickety, stained coffee table in front of the couch, Lamia walked back to the center of the room to collect her belt with attached pouch and holsters, securing the belt around her waist. She then reached for her beloved pistols, "Shock" and "Awe", placing them carefully in their respective holsters. Shock on the left, Awe on the right. Bending from the waist, she leaned down and double checked the hidden slots in either boot for her daggers. They were secure, as well. Removing the thin piece of cloth that was around her wrist, Lamia threw her hair back in a pony tail, leaving her bangs to frame the sides of her face. Her outfit consisted of a jade and gold trimmed bodice, with a light brown, short-sleeved peasant blouse beneath it, and black harem-styled pants. Upon her feet were black, mid-shin length boots. Around her neck, her mother's favorite necklace, stolen out if spite. A silver key with a heart shaped handle, the handle adorned with small sapphires. Once satisfied that she had everything and was ready to go, she exited the front door and secured it.

Lamia lived in the back alleys, the slums of Carmaine. She thought it easy living there because it was a breeze bullying the other poor louts if they posed any trouble. And if they kept up, she simply rendered them unconscious or killed them, whichever suited her mood at the current time. Eventually most of the alley residents learned to leave her alone lest they wanted to wake up in a different part of town or catch a bullet between the eyes. There were still a few who would pick a fight for fun, and both Lamia and her assailant would wind up heavily scuffed, but Lamia fought dirty. Losing was not in her book. And the times she had lost, she almost always got her revenge at some point or another, biding her time. She sauntered down the street, hips swaying from side to side, her boots drumming a staccato rhythm on the cobblestone street. The houses that lined the alley were close together, one right after another, with run down wooden doors and windows covered in grime. Beggars could be seen leaned against the walls, pitifully asking for food or gold pieces, or passed out in the middle of the road from too much to drink. Those that had accumulated enough gold set up make-shift stalls to sell whatever goods they got their hands on. Street-walkers graced the alley with their presence, offering their services. The atmosphere was gloomy at best, but Lamia grew accustomed to it, having had just as gloomy of an atmosphere in the old home where she was raised.

After a little ways, Lamia reached the edge of the alley ways and turned onto the main street, focusing on the hustle bustle of children running by, people darting between this stall and that haggling prices, the smell of fruit and pastries filling her nostrils. She pushed her way through the crowd, making her way to the Comm's Arms tavern. Lamia had been by the tavern before, but never really spent an extended amount of time in it. Today, she decided, she would tavern monger for a while and listen to the gossip. The rancid smell of alcohol soon permeated her nose the closer she got to it. For a moment it brought back one of many horrid memories of when her mother would drunkenly whip her. She regretted not killing her mother, and debated on going back at some point to do just that. Snapping out of her reverie, Lamia finally approached the tavern doors and pushed them open. A cacophony of yelling assaulted her ears, emerald eyes trying to quickly take in the fight before her. A slight smirk touched her lips, Lamia loved fights. Especially big ones. In big fights she could further spread the chaos with fighting of her own, pilfering items and making off with them in the disarray. To participate, or take a seat and observe as planned? Her mind was made up for her as a mug started whirling in her direction, at her face actually, ducking just fast enough for it to fly right over her head, and into Cailen. She started to laugh at the pain Cailen was in, but was cut short due to a drunken patron in a chair beside her grabbing at one of her pistols. Lamia quickly snatched his wrist, twisting as hard as she could, and pulling back with her weight to sling him to the floor. She then took the patron's seat, both palms resting on her pistols, and propped her feet on the patron's head, digging her heels in. "I would like to know, too." Lamia said coolly in response to Cailen's statement.

Apparently Raythe had chosen a very wrong day to sit down in the Commandant's Arms. He was officially on leave. He did not have to be anywhere in particular, and he had chosen here of all possible places to be. Now he found himself quite literally in the middle of a Carmanian tavern brawl. Tempers were flaring up all around him, augmented by corrosive alcohol; all corners of the room were vying for Raythe's attention, but he stayed focused on Cailen, the newest comer to the ensuing fray. He was unassuming by any account, displaying a firm resoluteness that might have been mistaken for the placid rigidity of the city's general populace. But he had waltzed into the pub as though he owned the place, and had attempted to defuse the situation, treating the Carmaine soldiers as though he owned them, too. He had even called one of them by name. But Cailen did not wear a Carmanian uniform, which only added to Raythe's vexation.

Raythe was on his feet, now, contemplating how exactly he was going to handle this predicament. Looking left and right and slowly inching towards the tavern's exit, all he could see were angry Carmanian faces. None of them stared back at him, but Raythe did not exactly want to stick around to find out what happened when one of them did. His nervous back-and-forth gaze caught and locked onto the fantastic spectacle of the half-filled mug of ale spiraling through the air with a lazy wobble, spewing its contents in all three hundred and sixty degrees. Raythe instinctively reeled from it and nearly walked face-first into the tavern door as it opened, offering yet another newcomer access to the chaotic mess that had minutes before been a relaxing afternoon. Just what was going on here?

Men were going down one after the other. Raythe wanted out. A fight in the middle of Carmaine was exactly how we was going to be arrested. As he took stock of the entire room from the vantage of the pub's foyer, he gained a grim countenance, suddenly very aware that he had made an incredibly poor decision today. He wasn't interested in who threw the mug. He wasn't interested in why Cailen was bossing around and assaulting guards. He wasn't even interested in the stunningly beautiful face that had just entered the room. He spun swiftly, his long black coat flaring up behind him, and reached for the doorknob.

"'Ey, pretty-boy!" called a massively angry voice from a distant corner. Looking back on it later, Raythe could never quite work out why he assumed the man was talking to him, or why he turned back around to face him. The soldier who had yelled was on his feet, slightly hunched over, and was advancing across the barroom floor flanked by two buddies. All three had longswords drawn and looked like they meant business. Their heavy, metal footfalls on the aging boards beneath, their ragged, alcohol-laden breaths, and the shifting chain armor beneath their stylized leather garb suddenly became the only sounds in Raythe's tiny little tavern-sized world. "Yeah, we know 'ho you are," the leader grumbled, one corner of his mouth beginning to curl. He looked like he was formulating some dastardly plan.

One which Raythe planned to never let see fruition. He was a Lieutenant in Siis' army; he was known for his skill and bravery. He did not fear these men, and he knew he could outwit and outfight all three of them if he had to. But he was in enemy territory, and killing a Carmanian soldier or three in plain sight was going to damage his reputation beyond all repair. His forays into the enemy country relied on his lying low. Though it seemed like his brother's men were finally beginning to recognize him, Raythe decided a tactical retreat was probably the best way to ensure not getting injured and not going to a Carmainian prison for a lifetime of torture and misery. Still not wasting the time to speak a word, he turned and reached wildly for the door handle once again. The mud-brown wood directly next to his outstretched hand suddenly splintered and exploded when an enormous bang resounded through the pub, and he recoiled immediately, his heart skipping at least two beats. Raythe pivoted on one boot-heel and leveled his gaze at the soldier who now held aloft a large pistol.

As far as Raythe was concerned, there was usually a bright side to most situations. The bright side to this one was that he now knew what he had come to learn: that Luther had in fact been distributing firearms en masse. For this lowly city guard to carry one was dire news indeed. So, he had come to the Commandant's Arms and obtained both information and trouble. What a bargain.

Raythe offered the trio of soldiers a sardonic grin. "Bad idea, chaps. If you know who I am, then you should know better." Was this tavern a breeding round for rotten plans, or what? In the blink of an eye Raythe retrieved his own pistol from the back of his belt and trained it on the foremost man, who held the smoking gun. Raythe cocked his head, as if to say, "What do we do now?"

The offensive soldier fired again, but Raythe's muscles had been tingling with anticipation, and he lunged to the side the instant he saw the opposing trigger-finger flinch. He collided with a round table and nearly tumbled into a useless pile on the floor, but managed to save himself with a deft role. If he had identified his opponent's weapon model correctly, he knew that it contained only one more shot, but he couldn't let him take it. As Raythe came up out of the role, he took quick aim and fired. With an enormous clap and a bright flash, the bullet screamed through the air and ripped through the soldier's wrist.

"Gwaaaah!" the maimed guard cried, dropping both his weapons to nurse his wound. He faltered, stumbling back behind his two cronies.

The event had turned out pretty efficiently for Valerie; at least she wasn’t in a fight at the moment. The guard that had been about to hit her, had turned towards another man that just arrived in time to give the guard a lecture of manners, though it seemed like the lecture was giving the opposite effect of what he had wanted it to. Actually it looked pretty well at the beginning, but then a mug with some kind of gooey substance inside took off into the man’s face. This was the beginning of the tavern brawl which was in full swing.

Valerie turned around leaning her back at the old wooden counter of the pub and was now able to see how the event was turning out. The guard was now holding the man’s katana while taunting him to attack. Valerie’s facial expression hadn’t changed at all since she arrived at the pub but a smile appeared under her mask when she saw how the event turned out. The man seemed like he had learned some kind of martial arts. The pub owner Talice, if she’d heard correctly, was right behind her. He had obviously given up on trying to stop the tavern brawl and was now sneaking towards the back door; in the back of the pub, behind the counter. On the way behind Valerie he was taking the money she had put on the counter, hoping she wouldn’t notice him.
“Who is that man?” Valerie nodded towards the man that had defeated the guard from earlier.

Talice looked up a bit confused since he thought she wouldn’t have heard him “Erm… That man?... He is Cailen Armistice, he owns the new dojo; Bamboo Bokken.”
“Interesting.” Talice was already out the door as she replied.

While she was observing the fighting further, another man approached her from a dark corner in the pub. She didn’t see him before he was close by, she was actually wondering a bit why no one was attacking her, but somehow a lot of other people were getting attention.

“Well, well if it isn’t Sin’s little toy.” Valerie turned her face towards the new man that had approached her, he was covered in black clothes from top to toe, the only things that wasn’t black on him was his pale-white skin and light blue eyes, even his nails were black. “It’s incredible how far you’ve come in the ranks, without fighting any of the ten. You surely are strong, or is Sin just getting blind when having a woman around him?” Sin was the alias of her leader; the leader of the Knights of Sin.

Valerie was already tired of this man’s assaults towards both her and her leader. The “ten” which the man was referring to were the ten in command of the Knights of Sin. Normally you would only be able to obtain one of these ranks by defeating a person that had the rank and thereby taking his rank as your own. But Valerie had obtained one of these ranks without defeating any of the ten, and not just one rank, but the rank as second in command; Number two. “And you are?”

“Oh where are my manners. I am Number Fi… No wait six since you’ve been promoted.” He stared at Valerie with his devilish blue eyes. Number six, also known as Shadow, the most cruel, greedy and dishonorable person of the ten. The name Shadow told everything about his way to do the job, he used the more, silenced ways to get his targets. And he was powerful, the ten is the only ones able to recruit new members to the guild, and Shadow had recruited around a fifth of the guild and they would surely follow him no matter what.
Valerie met his eyes. “Why are you here?”

“Well I was talking business in that corner until you came by and created this mess.” He pointed behind him towards a table that was in the darkest corner of the pub.
Valerie turned her sight towards a gunshot that sounded.
“Sounds like I need to take my leave… But don’t worry we’ll meet again… Painkiller.” And with those words he disappeared silently through the back door.

The brawl was beginning to look more like a battlefield rather than a “normal” tavern brawl. Another gunshot sounded, but this one was followed by a scream of pain. Valerie could feel how the sweat was beginning to appear on her forehead, she was no match against a gun, and had never trained her skills in how to counter a gunslinger. She kept an eye on the one that had shot another guard; it was the man in the dark Siis officer coat. Different from the others he didn’t seem bloodthirsty though, he looked rather misplaced in the fight. Valerie spotted another guard taking a pistol from his belt about take an aim at the Siis officer from behind. Valerie didn’t really like the Siis but she hated when people didn’t fight fair and square and a gun was anything else than fair. In a split second she decided to help the officer this once and ran towards the guard pulling the gun. Four steps later she kicked the gun out of the guard’s hand into a corner of the pub. “You Bi-!” The guard wasn’t able to end his sentence because of an elbow knocking his lower jaw upwards, making a crashing sound of teeth breaking.

Nihm trotted towards her destination, slightly altering her gait due to the looseness of her father’s clothes. I don’t see why I have to go through all this trouble just to pick up poisonous drinks!” she huffed as she shoved her perspire-covered hair back into its wrap.

Suddenly, the echoing sound of a fired bullet ripped through the air, followed shortly by a second. Nihm despised the war and fighting more than most things, but her thoughts immediately turned to Talice. He was one of the only people who helped her keep the memories of her beloved father alive. She bunched up the excess material floating around her thin legs and took off towards the back door of the tavern. She reached the entrance in a matter of seconds and released one of her tightly clamped fists, pushing her weight forward against the large door, which moaned open in response.

“Talice?” She hissed, mostly to reassure herself that she was brave enough to enter. Nihm’s heartbeat was pulsating rapidly in her ears as she wound her way around the barrels of ale, slowly approaching the doorway leading to the common room. Her fingers laced their way across the doorframe as she peeked around the corner. Suddenly warm spatter in the form of a thick liquid covered her face. A man shrieked, grabbing his injured hand, stumbling over her. She fell to the ground easily against the strong weight of the male.

“Talice!” She screamed instinctively.

The ogre of a man clawed at her head wrap, ripping it off her head and pressing it against his wound. Frizzy tendrils of red swept around her face as she spat the metallic tasting liquid out of her mouth. She kicked frantically at her assaulter as he stumbled out the way she had entered.

Nihm clawed at her face as the lump in her throat expanded.

Blood. Is this what happened in the war? Soldiers covered in dirt and filth, blood spraying across their faces as limbs from their enemies and comrades alike, catapult across the sky? Father –“

She stopped her thoughts. Father will come back, and soon he will be making these trips to Talice’s tavern. Wearing his own clothes… Nihm stared down at her father’s garb, speckled in blood.

“Mother is going to kill me…” she mumbled.

Without thinking, she pushed her body through the doorway, her eyes searching for Talice and answers. But instead they fell on two unlikely patrons, two females. One lingered at the entrance, while the other stood in the midst of the commotion. Nihm wrinkled her brow angrily. Mother always told me women weren’t allowed to enter the tavern… That horrid things would happen if they did. Then again her mother had told her that women would turn into mushrooms if they ever tasted liquor…

A familiar hand on her shoulder shook her from her thoughts.

“You can’t be here, Nihm. Remember what your mother said? No women-”

“But there are women here!” Nihm proclaimed loudly.

Talice growled lowly, “Yes, and they are only causing me trouble.” He mumbled as he shoved her back towards the door. Nihm glanced at the beautiful lady nearest the door using a patron's head as a foot stool, when she noticed a man unlike the rest, a man in a heavy, dark coat with a rapier on his hip. I know that coat… That man is a Siis officer…

She cleared her throat and spoke towards the man, “Are you a resident of Siis?” Talice grabbed her shoulders and pushed her towards the doorway.

“Wait!” she shouted. “I want to have words with that man… Maybe he will know when my father is returning!” Her mouth spoke sternly but her eyes stared at the man in the dark coat with the innocence of a doe. Talice sighed and begrudgingly released his grip on her shoulders.

The drunk patron beneath Lamia's boots gave a low, pitiful moan. His hands pawed helplessly at her feet. A sadistic smile crept across Lamia's lips, and she leaned forward, crossing her arms over her knees. The swell of her breasts pooled together at the edge of her bodice, creating luscious curves. "What's the matter, sweetheart?" She said with a low purr, forcing her heels deeper into the man's head. A puddle of drool began to form just outside of his mouth. Crooking her elbow, Lamia propped her chin up on her fist as she watched her feet twist back and forth. A content sigh escaped her lips. She loved putting useless men in their place. You NEVER touch the guns. Not unless you had a serious death wish.

Just then a loud bang resonated beside her, causing Lamia to yelp and instinctively throw her arms over her eyes and face to protect them. Her heart thudded loudly in her chest and ears, the gun shot to the door having thrown her off guard. After a minute or two, she slowly lowered her arms, emerald eyes blinking rapidly to clear their vision. Lamia's hands flew back to her face to check for splinters. God forbid any splinters ruin her lovely complexion. Satisfied that she was blemish free, a malicious snarl took its place across her features now. Lips curled back, teeth bared. Lamia did not appreciate being shot at, especially while in the middle of "punishing" someone. Her eyes snapped to the situation a few feet in front her. Three ignorant oafs, one with an injured wrist and being kicked at by a feisty young girl, the other two having yet made a move, their faces stricken with expressions of bewilderment. The Siis officer, Raythe, was now on the other side of the door way from her and in a corner.

Lamia's slender fingers curled around Shock and Awe, her wrists jerking back sharply to remove them from their holsters. She sprang to her feet and ran forward, her full weight temporarily on the drunk man's head, causing him to gasp and flounder. Aiming for the injured soldier, Lamia centered on one of his shins and released a shot. He screamed, stumbling further from his cronies and collapsing to the floor, now grasping at his second bloodied limb. With her momentum, she kneed the soldier closest to her, and then brought the butt of her guns down on his back, causing him to fall to all fours. She aimed Awe at the soldier by her feet, and Shock, surprisingly, on Raythe. She offered the third soldier a "Try Me" glare and then pasted a sickeningly sweet smile on her face as she looked to Raythe next. "Just in case you feel a little twitchy again." An ironic statement coming from her. Reaching with her foot, Lamia found one of the dropped weapons, and kicked it back toward Nihm. "Might as well pick one up, honey, you'll need it." She said without looking at her, keeping her sharp gaze between Raythe and the third soldier.

Cailen had noticed, during his little scrap, that a young woman had entered the bar, and sent a soldier sprawling to the floor as he reached at her gun. As she sat, and spoke coolly, Cailen glanced over to her with a smirk before returning his gaze to the rest of the soldiers, some of which were already reaching for their clubs, axes, swords, and guns. "Well, it looks like I've got an ally in this endeavor, don't I..?"

Before he was able to approach the soldiers for an interrogation, a shot rang out, and Cailen heard a terrible shout of pain and fury. The woman in front of him quickly reeled into a somewhat scared appearing contortion, and then took off quickly toward where the shot was fired, firing off a shot of her own into an already wounded soldier. Now Cailen was the only one who stood before the small army, and their growing confidence. Scanning over the soldiers, Cailen saw only two other guns among them. 'Guns... This isn't good. I can't really dodge bullets...' he thought quietly, backing away slightly, as the soldiers encroached upon his stance.

Though, hearing a familiar voice, Cailen glanced backward to find Nihm and Talice, who was attempting to shoo Nihm from the tavern. With a sigh of discontent, Cailen quickly ran backwards to Nihm, Talice, the Siis General, and the mysterious gun-toting woman. "Nihm, you chose a bad time to come here. Go hide!" he commanded, his rather cool personality unraveling into that of a defensive and worried one. Using his scabbard, Cailen now pushed down Lamia's arm, causing whatever shot that may be directed at Raythe to fly askew. "And we may as well work together in this fight, since they're all coming after us now."

Soon, however, the pistol wielding young woman kicked a blade over to Nihm, encouraging her to fight. Without wasting a second, Cailen growled back to her. "No, Nihm. Don't take the weapon." He unsheathed his blade quickly, and stood ready to fight the soldiers approaching, and surrounding them. "The door's still clear, so go!"

Returning his attention two the officer of Siis, and Lamia, Cailen gestured to the soldiers with his neck. "We may not exactly know one another, but we're all fighting a common enemy here. We may as well combine our efforts, so we can get out of here unscathed, or even alive." Cailen spoke with authority, hoping they would accept his offer. "Talice, try to get Nihm somewhere safe. I'll handle this."

"If she wants to stay, she can stay." he replied with a discouraged sigh.

"Nihm, that information won't be any good to you if you're dead. Just go with Talice!"

At the moment his finished speaking, three of the soldiers had attacked him. Cailen was able to dodge the first attack, the man swinging down at him with a sword, by stepping quickly to the side. He then countered by firing his elbow into the back of the man's neck, sending him tumbling to the ground behind Cailen. The next soldier came at him with an axe. A horizontal sweep to his abdomen. Cailen parried quickly, and threw the brawler off balance with a push, where he dispatched him with a powerful kick to the chest, using his scabbard as something of a vaulting pole now. The third soldier, however, was a bit more successful in his attack. He came at Cailen with a club, and distracted him first with a feint of a punch. Cailen made an attempt to block the punch, and took one hand from the hilt of his sword. Meanwhile, the crafty soldier swung his club downward at Cailen's head. He hadn't much time to react, but was able to bring his katana over his head in an attempt to block, however weakly. The club, though it made contact with Cailen's blade, did not stop moving. Now it simply slid along the end of the blade, until it slipped off and smashed into the martial artist's shoulder. The crushing blow had broken his collar bone, and brought Cailen to one knee. The soldier next wound up for a second attack, beating him next in the stomach. Cailen flew back from the force of the attack, and crashed into the wall behind him with a pained grunt.

"Looks t'me that the mighty Cailen ain't quite wot' everyone made 'im out t' be." The soldier laughed, his voice rough and gravelly.

Even with the broken collarbone, and presumably cracked ribs, Cailen regained his footing and stepped away from the wall. "Alright... Time to get serious." he grumbled, holding his throbbing shoulder. "I hope you have a good doctor, jackass." Suddenly, Cailen lunged forward and slashed at the soldier's chest with blinding speed, crimson spraying from the man's wound and following the tip of Cailen's blade. Stepping onto the soldier's chest wound, as he lay gasping on the ground, Cailen scowled. "I'm not going to rob your family of their happiness... So I'll let you live. But maybe next time you shouldn't get so cocky when you're up against a properly trained fighter..."

Cailen kept on his guard as he stepped off the man's chest, and returned to the sides of Raythe and Lamia, all the while looking as if he were in no pain whatsoever. The damage to him was clear, however. His jagged collarbone had pierced his skin, and his robes around his shoulder began to turn a deep crimson as he bled into them. "I suggest we finish this quickly..."

Either because of the commotion, or because he looked like a harmless blubbering idiot, it was easy for Blem to get back to the table unaccosted. He paused, his courage gone now that he realized he had over-estimated his plan. What was Blem going to do? Conk a gambler with a chair? He didn’t know where to hit someone to knock them out. And even if, big if, he was lucky enough to knock one out, he remembered that the other would be more than a match for him.

He wavered, and reached for the chair anyway. By a stroke of luck, an armed soldier got in his way, back to Blem. Ready to improvise a plan that seemed much safer, Blem shoved the man hard. It worked. Blem couldn’t believe his luck:

“Hey, watch it!” said one of the Carmainians over the upturned table. Coins, mugs, and the sword, scattered across the floor. “Pick that up.”

His blood half-ale, the guard couldn’t seem to decide whether to turn around and see who pushed him, or to unleash his aggression onto this rude gambler. The decision didn’t take long. “Don’t you tell me what to do, wastrel.”

Blem slipped around the ensuing scrap, and grabbed his rapier, as well as a handful of coins as a reward. He glanced to the door, and again, he faltered. He hadn’t thought for a moment that fanning the flames of this brawl would have any consequences, but now there was blood everywhere, and the man he had hit with a mug was severely wounded. Blem’s heart broke; he wasn’t sure what kind of man he wanted to be, but today had shown him what sort of person he could become. It was small wonder, he thought, that he had been ejected from the clergy.

As he had been moved by anger, now he was moved by pity. Unable to control himself, and silently cursing himself, Blem sneaked his way behind the soldiers cornering Cailen. The swordsman was warned by his comrades, but far too late. Blem’s rapier burst out of the swordsman’s chest, and the soldier’s body slid cleanly to the floor.

“I’m sorry for hitting you with the ale,” he said, his trembling voice full of false bravado, “but I’ll get you out of here alive.”

As more soldiers closed in, Blem’s only thought was of how great his last words were.

Raythe was frozen in place with his left arm outstretched holding his pistol and his right hand hovering inches away from the hilt of his saber. Walls blocked his right side and his back, Lamia had a weapon trained on his head from his left, and the way ahead was beginning to collect more rabble. Cailen, who seemed just as much as him to want to escape this ruckus, was badly injured, and Carmanian guards were dropping dead left, right, and straight in front of him when Blem joined in the slaughter.

What were the Primators going to do when they discovered a lone officer had instigated a retaliatory strike from Carmaine into Siis' border cities? Hanging from the gallows was the least of Raythe's concerns. But Blem and Cailen had the right idea: right now, the intoxicated Carmainians were everyone's enemy, and if the four of them worked together they could probably get themselves out of this.

"Someone would have heard those shots," Raythe said quickly. "More guards are on the way. If we're going to move, let's do it now." He was unsure why Lamia had approached him with her weapon raised, but he trusted her sense of reason. There was, of course, the possibility that she fully intended to kill him anyway, in which case, at this range, he stood little to no chance of survival. He regarded her warily, making well-sure not to portray any semblance of "twitchiness."

He scanned the room, taking note of the back entrance from whence came the young red-haired girl who had called to him moments earlier. Was he really so obvious that an ordinary citizen could pick him out? If he wasn't more concerned with survival, he might have responded to her. Anyway, that back door was their best bet, as any moment now a cadre of Carmainian grunts would come bursting through the front of The Commandant's Arms.

Raythe made eye-contact with Cailen. "Can you run?"

Nihm pinched her lips together, trying to steady the trembling coming from her lower jaw. She attempted to reassure herself that she was strong enough to withstand all of this. You’ve beheaded chickens before, Nihm… this isn’t any different, right? Blood is blood. Killing them has served a purpose; it has kept us all safe. Just like killing a chicken feeds Mother and I. Except we aren’t going to eat these men… Maybe comparing these guards to chickens wasn’t such a safe idea after all. Nihm doubled over as she emptied her stomach contents onto the blood soaked floor. If it wasn’t for the vile stench she would have stayed down there as the entanglements continued. She raised herself on shaky knees just in time to watch the female by the entrance gracefully incapacitate three grown men, completely capturing the attention of the tavern.

“Might as well pick one up, honey, you’ll need it.” Her soothing voice flickered as a sword skidded to her feet. Nihm felt the voices of a hundred different opinions swimming through her dizzy head. Is this what it took to be respected, to pick up arms? Or was this more of a declaration of independence. No man tried to order this woman around or harm her. And if one tried, they were put down easily and effectively. No. She refused to fight, but she also didn’t accept death so easily.

A more abrasive voice addressed her, "Nihm, that information won't be any good to you if you're dead. Just go with Talice!"

That didn’t settle well. Nihm glanced to the well-skilled woman. People need to stop telling me what to do and how to do it. I have a brain in my head! her inner voice screamed. She certainly wasn’t ready to commit her life to war or violence, but people certainly treated you differently when you carried one of these. she told herself as she picked up the sword, the unaccustomed weight requiring two hands.

Nihm spoke softly to Talice, “I’m going wherever he does.” She announced, lightly pointing the tip of the sword towards Raythe. She had seen that coat once before when she was small. A man, broken and bleeding, had collapsed just outside of their inn, The Spotted Doe. It had taken quite a while before Nihm and her mother were able to trace the source of the faded knocking sound. After finding the man, they immediately brought him inside, cleared off the kitchen table and started cleansing and bandaging his wounds. It was only after they nursed him back to health that they found out that he was a commander for the Siis army. Nihm stormed to her room and cried. She felt as though she had betrayed her father by helping the enemy. Her mother came in and started brushing her hair, “No, darling. You’ve made your father proud, Nihm. We’ve done exactly as he would want us to.” When they woke up the next morning, the officer was gone. He had left a note and promised that he would someday return the favor and settle this debt.

Whether this man, with the same coat, knew of the injured man or not – it didn’t matter. As far as Nihm was concerned he would either know something of her father, or need to repay the debt that his comrade offered. She wasn’t letting him out of her sight. She squeezed her hand tightly around the hilt of the sword, realizing that the trembling of her lip had long since abandoned her.

Valerie really hated the situation she were in now, this was not exactly what she had hoped to accomplish when she entered the pub, she just wanted to get a little information to be able to complete her objective in the city. Instead, after knocking a person out, two men; both with a saber in their hand, were ready to attack her, one from the front and one from the back. Different from most of the guards in the pub these two didn’t look drunk. Valerie tried to keep her head cool; she was beginning to get irritated and angry with the situation, which wasn’t good for her or the guards. When Valerie was frustrated in a battle she would easily begin to make mistakes but she would also become murderous which resulted in more devastating attacks from her fighting style.

Suddenly the two guards charged simultaneously towards her, both with their sabers directed towards her upper body. Valerie defended herself by twisting her body while putting her right hand on the saber-blade coming towards her front and her left hand on the saber-blade coming towards her back; pushing both of them in each direction away from herself. In the twist she kicked the guard attacking her front in the back of his knee to make him fall. She kept twisting until she had her front at the guard attacking form behind, then with a swift strike from her right hand at his neck knocking him out. All this happened in less than two seconds.

As the guard who feel was about to get up Valerie put her hand under his jaw and forced his head in between her knees holding his head with both knees and began to hit him with weak but fast strikes directly into his face. Valerie released his head after seven hits letting him dump down to the floor.

Valerie could feel a stinging pain in her left hand; she hadn’t been able to defend perfectly against the saber from behind. Blood was dripping from her hand, but for now she would rather want to find a place she could escape through than tending her wound. For now it was too hard to go through the front door as well as the back door, one way was filled with guards while the other were filled with different persons fighting the guards and it would probably not be long before more trained guards would appear. Looking around for an escape route she saw some stairs, without more hesitation she ran towards them, seeing that some guards had their eyes on her and were soon running towards her as well.

Upstairs there was a hall with four doors, one on each side and an open window in the end of the hall. Valerie ran through the hall starting to think about jumping through the window, but then she saw that the second door to the right had a sign saying private on it. She took the chance and turned the door knob, with her right hand, hopefully it wasn’t locked. Luckily she was able to both open the door get inside and lock the door once again before the guards that saw her running up the stairs was able to see her.

“She must have jumped through the window!” The sound of footsteps outside the door got higher. From the sound of the footsteps Valerie guessed that there were around 3-4 guards outside the door looking through the open window.

“Damn she is fast.”

‘Safe!’ She thought while taking a few steps backwards into the dark room.

“Wait a minute look at the floor… Isn’t that blood spots leading into the private room?”

‘Or not…’

<<< End of Round 2. Click here to be taken to the discussion thread! >>>

:þ

Objectively, nothing was correct about Blem’s stance. His feet were so close together that the slightest pressure would surely knock him over, and his front was completely exposed. He held the petite grip of the rapier wrong, as though he was wielding a greatsword, and his elbows compensated, and so splayed unnaturally out from either side of his body. His blade was perpendicular to the floor, maybe to emphasize that it would be just as glad to tilt backward, instead, and stab Blem instead of an opponent. Blood soaked the length of the blade, and made slick the grip. It was surprise enough that he had killed someone with it: although sharp, the thing was clearly made to decorate a wall with flair, not decorate the ground with gore.

The uncanny feeling of heroism that had swept Blem into this rare situation had already starved to death in his yellow veins. He began to appreciate just where his vapours had flung him. For one thing, Blem was in front of the enemy, which was far inferior to being behind. For another, the enemy was, to speak more accurately, enemies. And, for a third thing, they were all very close at hand, which was less favourable than being at a considerable distance. With this frank reappraisal of the situation, Blem silently wished, for the future, Kimra bestow on him a few treasures: more foresight, some self-control, and artillery, as well.

He took a step backward. Perhaps it looked somewhat like he was shifting into a defensive posture, and he was finally ready to reveal something of this mysterious two-handed rapier style: the nearest two soldiers likewise stepped back, and shifted their grips. Simultaneously, Blem heard, a little too loud, the short phrase, “can you run?”

Those three words exposed the bluff to all. But the strategy was indeed sound: put these enemies at a considerable distance. The path to the back door was clear, and Blem was quick when needed. Out through the kitchen and the back door, he ran heedless of whether anyone deigned follow him. He heard voices shifting around the main entrance of the Arms, but nobody had yet thought to guard this escape route.

He was nearly at the corner, ready to fade into the avenue, when an unarmed man, wearing robes stylized with the livery of Carmaine, turned around the self-same edge of the building. There was a stillness as the two appraised one another, close enough to feel one anothers’ breath. The man looked at Blem, and his eyes stopped on the bloodied sword. Blem picked out the heavy shoulder bag, beringed hands, and bejewelled neck.

Raised in Edin, Blem had never before seen a wizard, let alone one with official capacity, but he still knew what this was. The magic-user didn’t have time to raise a hand in protest before Blem skewered him through. There would be no frog's-leg stew tonight. With disgust, he left his rapier where it lay, like a pin now cursed by use in a profane voodoo doll.

Although he felt nauseous touching it, Blem did, however, take the shoulder bag from the leaking body. There was certain to be something valuable in there; he could, with these accursed goods, buy another sword. Feeling helpless now that his armament was befouled, he waited to see if anyone else survived the tavern.

Cailen listened to the voice of the experienced young officer who stood with him in the bar. With a nod, Cailen glanced toward him, then quickly redirected his views at the door toward the back of the bar, a path, clear as day, that led to salvation and survival. "I agree." said Cailen, shifting his stance to one that favored his right side to put his wound further from the enemy. Due to this shift in stance, Cailen spied Blem standing as if he'd never fought a day in his life, which conflicted with his image of the traditional rapier-wielding soldier, which was ordinarily well trained and charismatic, whereas Blem's.... his was rather awkward, giving him the appearance of something of a hobbledehoy. With a light snicker, Cailen smirked and stepped forward, giving an advancing soldier a swift stab to the shoulder before receding back into the group. "We shouldn't stay to antagonize the beast any longer though. If we're to move, I suggest we do it now." Cailen looked towards Raythe once more. "I've got a dojo nearby, to the south. We can hide there for a spell..."

Though it seemed Blem didn't need to be told twice to run, as he bolted for the door at first chance, running through a mage and leaving his blade to rust in the magician's chest. Cailen's jaw clenched, somewhat distraught at the fact that this man had just dispatched two soldiers, instead of simply wounding them as they deserved. "D-dammit..." sputtered Cailen as the wizard's blood leaked out onto the bar room floor. "Yeah, I can run..." Cailen's response was a tad dismal, and quiet, pondering whether he should let the cowardly gambler into his sanctuary or not. I'll just have to be the bigger man... Sure...

"Let's go! Now!" Cailen roared to the rest of the group, and he dashed forward, dodging and blocking a myriad of swipes of blade and club. One soldier, however, jumped into his direct path for an attack. Barely able to react, Cailen spun to the right, and delivered a crippling kick to the grunt's knee, breaking it with a sickening snap of bone and rending muscle. Though, Cailen almost lost his footing in this attack, due to the amount of blood lost into his robes. Cailen was beginning to feel light-headed, and it was reflected in his wobbling steps toward the door, following Blem from the bar. Though before he slipped from the exit, Cailen plucked the rapier from the fallen wizard's chest.

Upon exiting the bar, Cailen ran for a few more feet, and stopped in a small alleyway to wait for the others. He leaned against the wall, and looked to his wound, and sighed softly as he placed the rapier on the ground, and leaned his katana on the wall. Ripping off a portion of his sleeve, and then tearing the seam to create a strip of fabric, Cailen carefully set his bone back into his skin, all the while biting down on his wooden scabbard to deal with the pain. Afterwards, he tied the fabric tightly around his wound to act as a temporary bandage.

He had yet to notice Blem, however, as he was much more concerned with the treatment of his wound than the whereabouts of this particular murderer. As Cailen returned his sword to its sheathe, and bound it to his waist, he looked toward the rapier disgustedly. "He didn't have to kill them..."

A grimace adorned Raythe's face as he listened to Cailen's suggestion. "A very short spell, maybe. I heard you call one of these buffoons by name. If you know them..." He trailed off, allowing Cailen's undoubtedly adept mind to work out the rest. At any rate, the amount of time any of them could spend on words was growing thin. For the time being, just having a destination at all was good enough for the lieutenant; even ten minutes refuge would be enough to figure out some kind of plan. For Raythe's part, he needed to get out of Carmaine. More and more he realized that coming here was a huge mistake. There were no explicit laws against his presence, and since Siis and Carmaine were officially in a state of peace he had felt no need to disguise himself, but he should have known that wandering around enemy territory was just begging for trouble. His normally stoic eyes bled these feelings into the outside world, and Raythe was too tired and too preoccupied to care.

Their ears were assaulted by an enormous bang as the Commandant's Arms' front door was smashed violently inward. A trio of armed Carmainian footsoldiers burst into the room with weapons drawn. Their faces were contorted into visages of anger and bloodlust, obviously drawn from afar by the commotion and the promise of a chance to dish out some punishment. Their fiery eyes scanned the room quickly, taking stock of each and every present individual, deciding in an instant who to assist and who to attack. Their collective gaze caught Blem's form as the gambler dashed through the rear exit, then settled on the others gathered nearby: Cailen, Lamia, Nihm, and Raythe. They even took note of Talice, though they knew the barkeep by name and would hardly think to lay a finger on him.

As soon as the front door exploded inward, Raythe's eyes snapped to it and he regarded the new Carmainians with cold fury. He did not falter when he realized they were looking straight back at him, but secretly he prayed that the soldier now writhing on the floor with multiple gunshot wounds represented merely a fluke. Cailen was next out the door. Raythe looked to Lamia, then to Nihm. "Time to go," he whispered, and bolted after the other two men.

"After 'em!" one of the three soldiers called, pointing his longsword straight out. The morale of the handful of remaining off-duty guards was bolstered by the presence of new comrades, and they renewed their efforts against the rag-tag group of troublemakers and broke into hasty strides, hoping to catch them before they disappeared into the back alleys behind the tavern.

From his vantage inside the Comm's Arms, Raythe had not seen Blem's most recent murder. He charged through the back door at full speed after Cailen and immediately tripped over the fallen body. Raythe failed to react quickly enough when his boot caught on the billowing robes and didn't come forward for the next stride. Expelling a surprised gasp, Raythe let go of his pistol and stuck out his hands to break his fall. The weapon clattered upon the ground and bounced away; his palms found little purchase and skidded out from under him, landing Raythe flat on his belly with legs propped up upon the bloody corpse.

"God's'ammit!" He expelled the standard blasphemous curse with such force it nearly came out as a physical lump. Raythe scrambled to regain his footing while diving for his firearm at the same time--no doubt the soldiers would not be far behind. He did not have time for idiotic blunders.

Nihm watched, trembling, as blood began to create silky puddles on the tavern floor. She felt her gag reflex threaten again but the contents of her stomach already decorated the wood boards below her. She forced down the urge to heave with a stiff gulp. The moments seemed to exist inside hours. Words were drawn out into inaudible long-toned smears. Finally, time caught up with their events as the Sissian spoke, “Time to go.” He lunged forward towards the open doorway that two others had already disappeared into. Nihm pressed her toes boldly into the bottom of her father’s boots and the friction shot her forward, following close on the heels of the commander. Talice growled loudly in her direction, but she wasn’t listening. The need to find her father was greater than her need for protection.

With wide eyes she hunched her body close to the familiar stranger. She was afraid but also feeling a strange sense of invulnerability. This feeling was soon shattered as the two of them rounded the corner of the kitchen doorway. The man’s dark overcoat fell from Nihm’s view and a struggling curse exploded from his lips.

The sound of crisp boots splashing through coagulating blood made the hairs on the back of her neck sharpen. With a yell of adrenaline mixed with fear, she grabbed a fistful of the commander’s coat and tried to wrench him to his feet. “Mit’kha!” she hissed profanely through gritted teeth. “I need you alive!” Her mind reeled as her body jolted for freedom. She wasn’t exactly sure what ‘mit’kha’ meant, but she had heard her father mumble it under his breath only a few times in his life. So she assumed it was fitting for their current situation.

Scuffling outside, she turned the corner and found the other escapees huddled in silence. Pressing her body against the nearby building, she felt a burning pressure in her lungs as she tried to restrict her airflow, quieting her gasps to keep their location hidden. A few low murmurs were exchanged between the makeshift, rag-tag crew that fate had so blindly thrown together. They needed to be on their way soon. But with no trust or ties between them, what would hold them together?