Asmerin (City)

A narrow side street, caught somewhere betwen rain on one side, and mud on the other. It was no mere precipitation, but rain with a vengeance. This was the kind of rain that drew entire cities to a standstill. This was the kind of rain that decided the fate of wars, one way of another. In fact, this was the kind of rain for which the term "rain check" had been invented. It was rain that resisted activity of all kinds with a force commonly attributed to divinity.

"If you ask me, you've got to be a damn fool to try to pull anything in this kind of weather. How are you supposed to even see two feet in front of you?" A number of dark figures stood under an eave, sheltering themselves against the downpour.

"Silence." Why they refused to take full shelter inside was anybody's guess.

"I mean, they've got to practically kill themselves, in this kind of stuff! Stupidest stupid buggers in the history of stupid..." The woman shivered and drew her coat up tighter around herself.

"I said stop your tongue or I'll stop it for you, Maste!" He leaned forward slightly, squeezing his eyes shut as the rain plastered his already-thin hair to his scalp.

"Captain, if you succeed in that, I'm sure there'll be no end to those waiting in line to give you a medal." Despite the temperature, her voice managed to find a small reserve of warmth for that statement.

A pause.

"Lake! Brogen Lake!"

"Yes sir, Soble sir!" The younger voice took a running tumble on the sheer obstruction of sybilants in the sentence.

"I think it's about time they're showing up. Make sure the others are still concious."

"Right away, Soble sir!" He took off running, feet padding squishily against the unpaved street. Just befre he rounded the corner, a charm twisted around his neck and trailed over the right shoulder. A silver bird, glinting in what little lamplight there was.

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"'Allo Marie. Amy. Shan'." Brogen Lake then addressed the pile of metal lying against the wall. "Tarn." Lake's diminuitive stature, boyish face, and higher-pitched voice concealed his true age and veterancy: as old a hand as it was possible to be at tweny-five. He was going on his ninth year of service.

The pile gave an angry snort. "Yes. Lake?" Tarnalin Beative replied.

"Mister Soble sir says we're to be prepared. It could be any time now, he says."

"Very well. Now shove off." As Lake set off to alert the next post of Lemon Seeds, Tarn drew himself up steadily, rubbing some of the mud off of his chainmail and looking closely at the women. "Well, you heard the boy. Weapons out, get going. And you better be ready to run."

"Then why don't you listen you little..." Tarn drifted off into an incomprehensible low mutter. His sword was about halfway out of the sheathe before he grunted, twitched slightly, and returned it.

"Then you probably missed the part where Soble hardly knows what he's doing himself. All we're working off of is a few untrustworthy rumors that Miss Maste has supposedly 'acquired' from 'legitimate' sources. Something about a man named Condor, indications that the ruffians of the city have been arming themselves, and a murky hint as to about this time right now. So of course that puts us out here. In this..." Tarn grunted again.

Down the street a window opened, and a load of filth met a whole runny pile of filth increasing the general filthiness of the street by a minute amount. Seconds later, a rectangle of light began to fight the darkness, not quite losing entirely but retreating back behind the doorframe like a wounded animal, licking its wounds. A single person began a hurried journey, his path clearly taking him past the shadowed loation of the four Lemon Seeds.

Mistake...

Amelia flinched slightly as she watched Tarn draw his blade then immediately re sheathe it. She didn’t know what to take of Tarn. All she knew were various rumors of his militia like personality and that he was a few coins short of a pouch. Not to say he was crazy, but definitely a little unstable in Amelia’s eyes.

"Then you probably missed the part where Soble hardly knows what he's doing himself. All we're working off of is a few untrustworthy rumors that Miss Maste has supposedly 'acquired' from 'legitimate' sources. Something about a man named Condor, indications that the ruffians of the city have been arming themselves, and a murky hint as to about this time right now. So of course that puts us out here. In this..." Tarn grunted again.

‘Shit hole?’ Amelia mentally finished for him as she watched the hurried figure run past them and down the streets. The streets were always filled with grime and filth; but on that note so were the streets in any other town. Whether wanted or not, the filth was something normal in this country; Amelia had been exposed to the same conditions in her home town. Half the time Amelia wondered if all the other countries were like this or was it just Asmerin.

“Either way, we may not have much, but that might be a sign.” Amelia continued to speak but in hushed tones. She had eyed the individual and decided not to race immediately after him; doing so would seem even more suspicious then the individual had.

She looked towards Tarn expectantly, awaiting to see his orders on the matter.

"Might be a sign, might not. At any rate, we've got this city covered tight as a sieve," Tarn noted. "Ha ha." That was exactly what it sounded like. Not a laugh, but the words "ha ha" spoken aloud.

"Ennis, go find out what's happening." There was a thud just next to him. "And Edgefield can go with you, since she seems so keen to get the drop on people. If he's connected at all to this, kill the man. If not... let him be. And that's an order from Soble himself."

Tarn pulled out a rag and began wiping the water off of his left sleeve, a wholly fruitless maneuver, it seemed.

-Doubled- Dang site maintenance.

"Don't you... gah... stop, I..." the man sputtered as he shuffled backwards on the ground. When Marie approached to tie him with a length of rope lying in a cupboard, his eyes suddenly acquired a blaze of fervor and he kicked hard at her shin. He then leapt to his feet and barreled past her, jumping clear through the window before either Seed could react. A small bolt, as one from a pistol crossbow, shot back through, narrowly missing Amelia.

"A talon from the Condor!" And then the sound of his footsteps began lessening in intensity.

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"Where in the hell are those two?" Tarn asked wearily. "Well if they've gotten themselve in trouble, it's their own damn..." Grunt.

‘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."

"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.

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.