Setting
Setting
0.00 INK
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."
Setting
0.00 INK
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.
Blemâs 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 naĂŻvetĂ© 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.
Setting
0.00 INK
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...?"
Setting
0.00 INK
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.
Setting
0.00 INK
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..."
Setting
0.00 INK
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 couldnât believe his luck:
âHey, watch it!â said one of the Carmainians over the upturned table. Coins, mugs, and the sword, scattered across the floor. âPick that up.â
His blood half-ale, the guard couldnât seem to decide whether to turn around and see who pushed him, or to unleash his aggression onto this rude gambler. The decision didnât take long. âDonât you tell me what to do, wastrel.â
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 hadnât 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. Blemâs heart broke; he wasnât 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. Blemâs rapier burst out of the swordsmanâs chest, and the soldierâs body slid cleanly to the floor.
âIâm sorry for hitting you with the ale,â he said, his trembling voice full of false bravado, âbut Iâll get you out of here alive.â
As more soldiers closed in, Blemâs only thought was of how great his last words were.
Setting
0.00 INK
âMight as well pick one up, honey, youâll need it.â 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 didnât 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 didnât 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 wasnât 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, âIâm going wherever he does.â 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, âNo, darling. Youâve made your father proud, Nihm. Weâve done exactly as he would want us to.â 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 â it didnât 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 wasnât 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.
Setting
0.00 INK
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, âcan you run?â
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 anothersâ 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 didnât 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.
Setting
0.00 INK
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..."
Setting
0.00 INK
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.
Setting
0.00 INK
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 manâs dark overcoat fell from Nihmâs 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 commanderâs coat and tried to wrench him to his feet. âMitâkha!â she hissed profanely through gritted teeth. âI need you alive!â Her mind reeled as her body jolted for freedom. She wasnât exactly sure what âmitâkhaâ 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?
- 13 posts here • Page 1 of 1