‘Shit.’ Amelia silently cursed. She almost felt like crying but held it back strongly. The problem wasn’t that they failed at getting information. It wasn’t even that they generally failed the mission. The problem was that they failed the mission and had to report to him. An image of a rather lanky but incredibly dangerous sub-commander of hers that gave the order to either catch or kill the suspicious individual suddenly sprouted in her head.

All they had were a few choice words Amelia was able to catch for information. Having the man escape though meant that the information might end up invalid; the man possibly reporting to his group 'Condor' about tonight's bust. And even if it was still valid, Amelia and Marie wasn't able to capture the man for clear and concise information.

As Amelia walked back with Marie through the cold and damp streets she couldn’t help but voicing her concerns. “Tarn is going to kill us. Then the commander. Then Tarn again.”

Amelia’s shoulders slumped heavily. "We're dead."

Absentmindedly, Marie turned to her companion and said, "Nah...Tarn's gonna kill you. My commander'll jus' flay me alive." She winced and touched her back at the thought. However, she didn't come away empty handed. The bolt could be analyzed for things that could help them track down this 'Condor' group.

"It twasn't that bad, though. I c'n still get a few nibblin's off th' bolt. Tell Tarn that we c'n still salvage th' whole thing. I'll go wiv ya...fer moral support." She sighed and shook her head. 'Moral support. What kinda partner am I? I'll take th' blame fer her, seein as how I don' report ta Tarn anyways.'

When they rounded the corner and approached the group, Marie put her arm out to stop Amelia. "I'll handle this," she whispered. Tarn looked at the two impatiently, so she quickly approached him and started explaining the situation. His expression went from bad to worse when she mentioned the man getting away, and from worse to horrible when she tried to explain that she could fix the situation. Marie could tell why Amelia was afraid of this man, but she kept a cool head.

If he tried to do anything but verbally reprimand her, she was prepared to...defend herself. She certainly knew how, and wouldn't have a problem with just one man. His teammates, however, might be a problem. She was still worn out from the fight earlier, and she knew Amelia would be forced to join in if it came to blows...on the other side. It would be suicide to attack one's commanding officer.

"Perfect," Tarn spat. "That is the perfect way to end this night." He turned toward the wall and put a hand on it. Suddenly he spun around. The sound of his hand hitting Marie's cheek just below the bottom of her mask was increased by the wetness and the rain.

"Stupid, stupid. You couldn't have killed him while you had the chance? What, exactly, had I told you, hmm? The longer someone like that is left alive, subdued or no, the better cance he has of gettting away from you. Never fails." Tarn began pacing, turning sharply in the small confines below the overhang. His breathing was ragged, punctuated by sharp intakes and quick coughs.

"Now, what do you really think you could-"

"Tarn, you must come quick! 'Arry's run into a spot of trouble!" Lake was back, and it seemed that he'd saved Marie from anything more than that single blow. Tarn had just been getting started.

Tarn didn't even so much as glance Lake's way. He faced the other soldiers. "Get going." He clapped his han together twice, and started at a fast trot in the direction Lake had come from.

Amelia stiffened as she watched Tarn smack Marie, outraged and disappointed. The tongue lashing he gave Marie was nothing compared to that sharp crack that reverberated through the dark alleyway; the rain did nothing to hide that echoing ring in her ears. Amelia stepped forward and lightly grasped Marie’s wrist, trying to calm her down through Tarn’s tirade. The older woman didn't have to cover for her and Amelia thought of it as one of the sweetest gestures she'd be exposed to in the Seeds. She just hoped Marie wouldn't hold it against her.

When Tarn gave them new orders and walked away Amelia lightly tugged upon Marie’s wrist. She whispered a small “I’m sorry.” with a silent promise she’d pay her back for this later. With a slight apologetic nod Amelia then started dashing towards the commotion in a hurry.

Fucking site maitnence

As soon as Tarn's hand met Marie's cheek, the whole world went gray and silent. She didn't feel the rainfall, hear Tarn yelling, or see anyone around her. She was busy figuring out how to react to him. Obviously he'd never read her portfolio, or he would have stayed his hand. During her first week of training, she put her instructor in the infirmary for slapping her upside the head for making a mistake.

Marie was just about to jab him in the throat, cobra style, when Amelia softly grabbed her arm. All of the sudden the whole world came rushing back to her, and she heard a soft "I'm sorry", and then the girl was gone. For a moment, Marie simply watched her retreating form.Then she looked at her wrist. The sensation of her hand was still there. A small smile broke out on her face, which evolved into a large grin. She scampered up the drainpipe and followed the group. Luckily, her cloak was the same color as the roof tiles, so she was pretty much invisible.

There was a fight going on in the street. About half a dozen sword-armed peasants clashed with fewer Lemon Seeds. In the middle of it was a man slashing with a pair of small axes. He was grinning wildly as he fought.

"I may have water running down my neck, but I'm not wet behind the ears! I can take you on!" He laughed strongly and loudly; this was unmistakably Harry Shildin. His eye caught Tarn's. "And here comes the cavalry, the waterlogged cavalry, seahorses! We've got seahorses come to help us, whoo hoo hoo!"

The peasants were fighting as only the desperate could. Three of them turned around at Shildin's acknowledgement and tried to attack Tarn just as he had rushed in to hit them from behind. One of them managed to block Tarn's initial swipe; another caught him in the side. Though Tarn's armor saved him, that would surely leave a bruise.

Lake looked on wide-eyed. "I'll get Soble sir!" Then he ran off.

Amelia, Shannon, and Hauclir were just yards away from the fight. Marie had a good vantage point from up on the rooftops, though the time spent climbing put her slightly behind the rest.

Hauclir was not impressed at Tarn's behaviour. Yes, the woman- was Marie her name? he couldn't remember-, had failed in her task. But to suddenly start beating her for it was ridiculous. He was fairly certain she didn't even fall under his command. Besides the fact that he thought it wrong to hit a woman, it was actions like that that lead to mutinies, or to the officers involved disappearing in the night. Despite all of these misgivings, he remained silent. This was not the sea, perhaps things worked differently here. When the order was given to march out he obediently double timed it, easily keeping pace with everyone.

When he saw the fight, he was at first rather annoyed. This was quickly turning into a patrol he probably should've skipped. Then the big guy with the axes called him a sea horse. In the back of his mind he knew that the man probably had no idea who he was, but at the front of it a furnace of rage opened up. He slung the small bolt thrower from his shoulder and began to ready it to fire. He levered the arms into position, locked the trigger mechanism in place, and then attached the arming lever. The whole thing had taken a couple of minutes to set up, and then it took him another minute or so to complete the twenty ratchets needed to pull the cord back and fit the bolt. But the result was worth it.

Grinning, he shouted back to the man "Everybody knows a Corsair's a sea bird, 'cos we fly fast...and 'cos we have talons." And with a wicked wink he braced himself and pulled the trigger. The bolt thrower bucked, rocking him back, and the bolt flew through the air almost faster than the eye could follow. It narrowly missed the brawl Tarn was caught up in, and then the two foot long iron tipped projectile hit the peasant he had aimed at. The impact lasted less than a second, with the man's head bursting like a watermelon. It then kept on going, impaling itself through the foot of another peasant, pinning him to the floor. Not bad for the first shot of the day he thought to himself, as he began the process of reloading the weapon...

Marie finally caught up to the group, and quickly examined the fighters, trying to see exactly who was winning. She cursed under her breath and slid down the nearest drainpipe. Since no-one noticed her yet, she had time to unwind her chain and drink from her flask. The firey liquid burned down her throat and stoked the already boiling furnace deep inside of her.

"Ah...Strong batch. Good. I'll need th' boost." Marie quickly wiped excess water off her mask and whistled shrilly. A few peasants turned and looked at her, then eachother, and then charged. Marie simply laughed and spun in a circle.

At the end of her spin she whipped her arm over head, and then sharply to the left. The chain uncoiled from under her feet and leaped through the air. The heavy weight smashed into the lead man's face, caving it in and spraying blood everywhere, and then her left yank sent it flying into the second man. He tripped and impaled himself through the ribcage on his own sword, which made Marie giggle a bit. The final guy slowed to a stop and looked at his dead friends in shock. Marie started making big windmill sweeps, causing the chain to form two big circles on each side of her and sparks to leap high from where it made contact with the ground.

'No quarter is given, No mercy to be found! Cast in the name of gold, ye greedy, and prepare to dine a banquet in Hell!' The man trembled and shook as she yelled at him. She had gotten close enough that he could see her mask, but in his terrified state he thought it was her real face, and that she was Death come for him.

'No! No you can't take me!!' the peasant shouted. He was going to say something else, but the chain burst his throat, sending his head high in the air.

"Well, that's three off their backs. I'll take care of any stragglers, but they seem to have a handle on it," Marie mused to herself.

Shannon Briscoe grinned fiendishly. The terrain was more open than she was used to, but she could work with it. What she didn't like was the crowded battlefield...this was going to be tough. Whipping out her crossbow and expertly loading a bolt into it, she took a few quick steps to increase the chances the shot would come from an unexpected direction, then pulled the trigger, sending the steel-tipped projectile square into the kidney of one of the would-be fugitives. Sure, Hauclir's device was impressive, able to cleave through multiple targets in a single mighty shot, but it was more of a siege weapon. It could come in handy if they needed to break a fortification, she thought, but boys and their toys...

Something landed on Hauclir's back. Hard. His second bolt was thrown way off from its original aim as he fell, accidentally pushing the bolt thrower aside. A voice above his head called out, "Do not falter, friends! These rotten knaves shall get just what they deserve!" It was the man that had escaped from Marie and Amelia before. He had a cape on now, colors muted in the gloomy rain.

Tarn had just managed to dispatch another peasant, ending with a sharp trip and a stab from his sword. He turned around. "Get him."

Shildin tried to rush him; the man deftly sidestepped the flailing axes and continued on his way. With him came another pair of reinforcements: a heavily-armored woman bearing a decorated shield, and a fur-covered spear-waving heavily-bearded mad-looking warrior. The woman immediately went for Marie, using the shield to weather the worst of the flail blows and striking back when she could with a sword. The furred man danced between Shannon and Amelia, striking quickly and managing to gouge Amelia's left arm pretty well. Shannon got a crossbow shot off into his leg; the warrior kept fighting, oblivious.

The leader tried to rally what peasants were left, then spun away to slip in behind Shannon's back, dagger drawn.

Amelia cried out as her arm was gouged heavily by the strangely furred man’s spear. “Curses!” She tried as her held her left arm with her right. The fight had been well up to this moment. Amelia had been dueling various peasants were her saber up until their reinforcements arrived. Flipping away backwards, Amelia reached a somewhat safer area. ‘At least safer here than with them.’ She thought.

They weren’t far off and could easier reach her in time but the others were providing a healthy distraction. Spying a nearby fallen peasant she prayed a quick prayer for his soul as she then ripped off a large portion of his tunic. Wrapping it up around her wound she hissed as she straightened out her body.

‘I need a plan.’ The former thief thought to herself.

However she didn’t have much long to think as she watched the previous man that escape her earlier sneak up behind Shinon. ‘Shimon? Shannon? Something along those lines.’ Amelia thought.

Without even a moment longer Amelia whipped out one of her trusty stilettos and threw one directly towards the man. Without even a second to spare the dagger dropped out of the man’s hand as Amelia pierced it well. Amelia rushed forward and swiftly planted her hand upon the ground. With a strong front flip she barreled through the air and towards the cloaked man and kicked him hard in the chest. During this swift moment Amelia quickly retrieved her dagger from the man before he flew backwards onto the wet streets.

After that first shot Hauclir became almost mechanical in his movements as he settled into a rythm. He hauled back on the arming lever, watching as the cord slowly became taught, before sliding in another of the deadly bolts. He settled down, taking careful aim-
And then something smashed into his back, knocking him to the floor and throwing off his aim, causing the shot to go well wide of its mark. He cried out in surprise and at the numbness that now crept up his arm. The weight on top of him did not move, and he realised it was a man, evidently another of the peasant ring leaders.
"Do not falter, friends! These rotten knaves shall get just what they deserve!" the man yelled, before reaching down to take hold of Hauclir's throat, his hands slowly tightening. Hauclir began to struggle, trying to pull the man's hand free, but the peasant had the glimmer of the desperate and the mad in his eyes, and refused to shift, instead leaning more of his weight into it. The corsair writhed in the man's grip, eyes widening with the realisation that time, and air, was running out. His actions became more frantic, he beat at the peasant's abdomen and head, but the man was either too focussed or too thick to notice.

Desperately he grabbed around for a weapon- his short sword was trapped beneath the man, he wouldn't be able to draw it. His vision was beginning to swim as he ran out of air, the peasant's smile triumphant. He grasped around for something, anything, and found the shaft of one of his bolts. Clearly it had fallen from the bag when the man jumped him. Taking a firm hold of it, in a last move he stabbed the man in the thigh, as hard as his oxygen starved muscles could manage.

The peasant cried out in pain, loosening his grip for a second, which was all the opening Hauclir needed. Slapping the hand away, he rolled, and in the same motion drove his knee into the man's groin as hard as he could, causing him to scream in pain. The corsair lay there for a few seconds, taking deep breaths, before getting unsteadily to his feet, and drawing his short sword. The peasant also slowly rose, an impressive feat considering the painful blow he had just taken, and with a roar ripped the bolt from his thigh. Hauclir gave the man a retaliatory war-scream, and began advancing towards his opponent, his steps becoming ever more cohesive and his eyes burning with the need for vengeance...

Shannon Briscoe nodded to her comrade behind her who had made short work of the one that tried to take her from behind when she noticed the siege engine operator being overpowered by a brute of a man. Luckily, the aggressor had dropped to his knees after being the recipient of trauma to the groin of a scale normally reserved for cornered wolverines, which made her job easier. As the giant slowly rose to his feet, she dodged and weaved through the madding crowd, short sword in hand because it would take too long to reload her crossbow in this environment. Taking a short hop for extra leverage, she wrapped her legs around the peasant's torso from behind, allowing her to drive her short sword into the man's neck from above. After all, deadly force was to be answered with the same.

Tyro stepped back out into the rain.

You get nothing for free is and excellent motto he'd been bound by for years. It had given him plenty but a raincoat might be nice...maybe some shoes? The mud found room between his toes in the biblically heavy rain. Nothing much would shift it. He's fought plenty of times for various different people and never once did he get anything he genuinely wanted. Money is largely useless when you don't have a place to call your own to fill. He did wonder whether he could stay in one place again for a long time and he figured he'd go nuts if he didn't move on for too long a time. He was a free spirit, he figured, knowing that to have several meanings. He was doing this because there wasn't much else he could do at this point. He had a debt and an addiction.

The door opened on the small hut where he was to pick up some old clothes one of the women kept. Some grandson or something hadn't come to collect them yet and wasn't likely too. It was better than shivering to death repeatedly. He'd left her back in the...where everyone else was, smoking a pipe so it looked like she'd be a few minutes before she arrived. He crossed the room the fireplace, throwing a flame across to whatever wood was there. He attempted to still his shivering with the fires growing heat.