Closed Caged Profits (Matthew)

[Kaie]

She was on fire.

Eyes were alive in their amber blaze, pupils dilated with the rush of adrenaline pumping through her veins and feeding her greedy muscles with energy. Face was fixed with a permanent scowl. A lip curled, revealing bared teeth in a way that was naught but feral. Yet the inferno raging within the savage was not purely a byproduct of battle. The ancestral gladius ravaged its way through the chest of her first victim on their way to the earth. The Myrian gave a grunt upon impact. The mercenary gave one final screech before he was silence by the removal of the sword sheathed within his torso, which was then hacked down into his face. Blood whipped skyward, bathing the killer in angry red splotches that colored her clothes and tawny features. Her hateful gaze found Yuri.

The giant insubordinate stormed from the back. His wild roars were boisterous even over the other howls for death and screams for mercy. Watching the man as he moved to eliminate another of the rear guards, with all the animosity of a forest bear, made the Myrian's fist clench around her weapon. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched Martin sink to his knees. A pike protruded from his back. Matthew. Focus swept away from the object of her contempt to spy the harlot ahead of her. She caught the gleam of his dagger as it found purchase into his assailant's shoulder. Pride swelled at the sight, but she was not permitted to linger over the scene for long. Vick, preoccupied by the sight of his twin brother dropping lifeless into the earth, received the cruel punishment from his opponent's blade. The man stumbled back with a cry and raised his sword, grief fueling his quest for victory.

"Hold position, boys! Hold position!" came the command of one man from the congregation of remaining mercenary slavers. Three of the rear guards fell back to join with the surviving two in the front, leaving a pair to fend off Yuri and Vick. "Shields up!" came the voice again, shrill in a way that conveyed both resilience and desperation. Kaie found her boots stomping quickly in its direction. Crimson on her blade's edge gleamed as it was raised toward Syna. A pair of shield-bearers made up the front of the small force of surviving six. They jittered with nervousness, minds still reeling from the suddenness of the ambush that was now upon them.

"Blessed Mother, cast your eyes upon your daughter now as you watch her from your throne," The Myrian language rolled off her tongue, its nature just as sharp and brutal as the people who spoke it. It was the only warning Matthew's newest assailant was granted before she was upon him. The shield-bearing, howling boy was too green and too focused on his grounded target. Blinded by rage. He rushed past her to continue his attack. That's when the savage turned with a shriek, and hamstrung him with a downward swing of her sword. It wasn't fatal by far, but it had been enough to earn a yowl from the man. He faceplanted, shield flying about a foot from his reach. His race was contorted in agony, blood soaking through the back of his pant leg and streaming to the dirt. Panic set in. Grubby hands clawed forward, dragging himself toward the shield rapidly while he still clutched his sword. The Myrian, true to her word, did not pursue him further. Her own fight was just beginning.

"Accept this bounty of blood I mean to offer to you. Listen for their cries as I deliver them to Dira on your behalf." Kaie rushed them. The shields rose, but they were not enough. Not stagnant, anyways. With the full brunt of her body, the Myrian practically threw herself at the one to her right. Her foot slammed into the round, wooden shield in a ferocious front kick that broke the small shield wall apart. The guard hurtled back into his compatriots behind him, and just like that, their simple defense began its deterioration. Dirk and Peter, having finished off the two men on their side, ran to aid Kaie. They flanked the six, coming up from the side while the savage swung her sword. Confused, the small force divided itself to deal with the three ambushers. A crossbow bolt flew into their formation and took a man in the back.

"Father, ancestors, smile upon me. You bring glory to the Goddess Queen..." Her sword slammed down at the right shield-bearer once he regained his feet to confront her. The more formidable fighter dodged out of the way and countered with a downward thrust of his own blade. The mean edge of his weapon slid along the outside of the Myrian's left thigh. Blood began to dribble along tanned flesh. Adrenaline made her quickly forget her pain. "....With the sword you've passed down to me..." She jerked the tip of the gladius at the man's middle. The shield raised, and it wounded wood instead. Teeth grit in frustration, and she instead followed her attack with a swipe of her right leg behind his. The man fell onto him back, shield arm flung wide as he struck the ground. "...That I use to kill our enemies!"

The gladius sheathed itself in his chest. Blood pooled over his leather armor and gurgled from his lips as he cried out. The Myrian's chest heaved, muscles burning from familiar strain. Two more bodies fell. Dirk and Peter stood over them with bloodied weapons. The last man standing before them turned craven at the sight of his fallen brothers. His sword was cast down before his attackers, and he sunk to his knees with palms raised. Yuri gave another roar from the back. The tired savage turned to watch him strike down the final guard remaining at the rear. Vick was crumpled upon the ground. Only his sword, thrust into the dirt, held him up on his knees. From what she could see from his tattered clothes, the blood that stained his attire was his just as much as the enemy's.

Kaie turned on her bladed heels to scour the battlefield. Brows raised in concern. She'd held up her end of the deal, as promised. Her willingness to do so didn't eliminate her concern for the man's well-being. The only thought to pass through her head was a quiet prayer to the gods that when she found Matthew, he would be covered in blood that wasn't his.

[Matthew]

Something wasn't right.

Matthew's mind blurred into motion, the full extent of his intellect quickly analyzing his trembling body to try and find the anomaly. He was out of breath much too early in the fight. His muscles were aching in ways that he was not familiar with, leaving them unable to perform at maximum capacity. Matthew was intimate with the signs of muscle fatigue due to his chosen profession. He had already worked on improving this, though. He had made it a point to make sure he was able to last for long sessions in the bedroom. He wasn't anywhere close to reaching the amount of time it should take to wear him out like this. Then why was he panting, tongue hanging out? Why did his lungs and throat burn?

Intelligent? No. Stupid, stupid Matthew. Different muscle groups, Harlot. This uses completely different muscle groups. You miscalculated. You made a mistake. A sloppy mistake. Now you might die for it.

A bronze blur suddenly made a rather impressive entry, moving so quickly that Matthew didn't even see exactly what the Myrian did that caused the Harlot's assailant to kiss the ground with a rough slam of his face, skidding a short ways through the dirt as agonized and angry yowls of pain echoed from his lips. Realizing he was still alive, Matthew set his jaw and forced himself to ignore the protests of his stinging muscles. Flinging himself forward in a quick dart, Matthew was soon upon his downed opponent. Keeping an eye out for the sword, Matthew positioned himself above the man, ready to plunge his dagger into the back of his neck and end this quickly. It was only when Matthew felt the meaty paw of his opponent wrap around his ankle that he realized he had made yet another miscalculation. The sword wasn't the only weapon to be concerned about. Kaie had shown him that a body could be a weapon too.

Matthew found himself tripped and yanked to the dirt and mud, slamming roughly onto his back, air exploding out of his lungs once more and introducing him to a new level of pain. His opponent was atop him suddenly, straddling him, bloodied smile stretching wide as the tables were turned in the space of a few meager ticks. Lifting his sword high, the man only took a moment to aim before plunging it down toward Matthew's throat.

Adrenaline was perhaps the only thing that drove Matthew's hand to reflexively snap up, catching the falling wrist and halting it in mid-blow. His opponent let out a enraged growl of frustration, not expecting the dirty pretty boy to possess such muscle. Veins popped out against the flesh of his neck as he strained, slowly starting to overpower the Harlot, gleaming steel blade dropping lower and lower towards Matthew's neck.

Attack. Do not think, attack. Use everything that is available to you. If you do not, you will die.

Everything?

Stomach muscles clenched as the Harlot suddenly sat up, lunging toward the man that had a knee to either side of him. Instead of fighting against the descent of the blade, Matthew switched tactics. Using his grip on his opponent's wrist to shove the blow sideways, the man bobbed forward and the blade drove into the ground. In a savage display, Matthew continued to plunge his head upwards, opening his mouth and driving his face and teeth as far as he could into the red and sweaty flesh that made up the side of his opponent's neck. He chomped down, white molars digging into the flesh and puncturing it, the taste of hot wet iron and silky fat flooding into his mouth. It was a struggle, his jaw screaming in defiance, but finally the edges of his teeth clicked together and he twisted his head to tear a chunk from the now-bellowing opponent.

The man fell backwards, both hands rushing towards his neck to try and stop the squirting flow of blood. Matthew's teeth had found an artery. Driven by a fire that he did not understand, Matthew gathered himself and lunged, tackling the understandably distracted brute. This time he did not aim, this time he merely struck over and over again, burying his black blade repeatedly into the neck of the man until his body finally stilled.

Staggering to his feet with his body quickly turning into a single mass of aching pain, Matthew was lucky to find that his fellow mercenaries had already ended the rest of the battle. Searching the multiple standing figures for Kaie, Matthew finally spotted her and approached. He certainly looked more like one of them now. Mud and dirt coated his back while blood was splattered on his chest and face, some of it actually dripping from a lock of hair. The crimson liquid was practically coating his mouth and dripping down over his lower lip, bringing Matthew to realize that he still had that hunk of torn flesh between his teeth. Almost to his Myrian companion, the sight of her made him remember something he had been curious about for a long time. Long fingers freed the piece of meat from his mouth and examined it briefly before raising it back to his lips, the Harlot actually chewing off a more manageable piece to slowly consume.

“Is this how your people eat flesh? Or is that only during religious rituals? Razkar briefly tried to explain at one time but we were interrupted. It tastes like a more mild form of beef.” His voice was as soft and proper as always, though he was openly panting. He offered her the remaining portion of his prize, the filthy blood-soaked prostitute glancing quickly at the remaining mercenaries before turning back to Kaie. “Did I misunderstand the plan? I had thought it was stated that you were supposed to make the call.”

[Kaie]

A broad grin spread across the Myrian's bloodied face. Amber eyes fixated on the sight of the Harlot, who staggered to his feet in a way that signified that even he, with all his bragging of prowess of endurance in the bedroom, felt the taxation that came with battle. Kaie's own chest still heaved. Lungs sucked for air, slowly becoming satisfied as the demand for energy in her muscles decreased as time ticked by. The Myrian's gaze scanned Matthew's slender, muscled frame. No longer did he hide behind a pitiful veil of simple dirt upon his face to make it seem as though he indeed fit into the rag-tag group of mercenaries. He'd earned his place. Blood tainted his clothing in bold splatters of red. Droplets had settled upon his face, dripped from his hair, and filled the spaces between his front teeth. She eyed it as it drizzled from his mouth down over his full lips, slipping coyly over their gentle curves to hang in a tantalizing fashion over the earth when they threatened to drip. Her tongue licked across her bottom lip, and the corners of her lips pulled further upward at the sight of what hung between his teeth.

He spends too much time with me, she thought in pure mirth. Her companions didn't have nearly the same pride written across their features at the sight of him. Peter turned and vomited at the sight of the familiar flesh trapped within the Harlot's jaws. Yuri scowled deeply in a fashion that was almost certainly in unfathomable disdain. Dirk seemed to do his best to ignore the strange and uncomfortable scene, shooting the Myrian a curious look before adverting his gaze altogether. The others were far too preoccupied to have an opinion of their own. Vick was still struggling to find his feet, and Hector was just beginning to trudge down the hill with his crossbow. Kaie was neither indifferent nor blind to their mixed emotions, but old norms kept her from over analyzing their reactions. Instead she merely nodded at the man who so fearlessly began to gnaw upon a chunk of human flesh. Bladed boots quickly made their way toward him.

"Yes, it is exactly how we consume flesh. We are all animals. What is the difference between devouring the meat of man and that of a commonly hunted animal? Only the same difference between the meat of a bull versus a hen. It is all survival. The only exception we make is for our own," the violent woman began as she neared him, her voice at a volume that was evidently loud enough for few but Matthew to hear. They already know a Myrian, let alone an outsider, to be their enemy. I will do little more than necessary to remind them of that. A tanned hand gestured to the death around them. "Usually we save our cannibalistic inclinations for battle. In those rituals, we devour our enemies before and after to sacrifice to the Goddess Queen among others."

The momentarily swell of pride in her eyes was short-lived. For in the next ticks after her explanation, Matthew had addressed the metaphorical elephant sitting on the battlefield. The woman adjusted her jaw as she eyed the Harlot. "You did not misunderstand, Matthew. I was supposed to make the call." There was a time and place for wrath directed at one's own team. With the battle finished, the Myrian had no qualms over turning in her boots to object of her fury. Eyes narrowed darkly, lip beginning to curl. Yuri stood in her line of sight. Bulging arms crossed over his thick chest, blood coating his body and stuck in his black beard adding a sort of gritty ferocity to his scowl. Neither warrior quivered beneath the weight of the other's challenge.

You are supposed to be a leader. You cannot tolerate insubordination! The Myrian stalked forward toward the man. The rest of the crew frozen in place, none of them offering to so much as hint that they desired involvement. Even Dirk was apathetic as he watched the display. His hands weren't the ones to be dirtied further. "If you had any confusion over our agreement before the battle, you had plenty of time to ask about it." Yuri exhaled a patronizing laugh from his nostrils. Kaie's hands balled into fists. "I wasn't confused at all, Myrian." Trunks for arms uncrossed and hung at his sides. One massive hand rested upon the handle of the ax hanging from his pants. "It's you who's been confused all along."
"What's that supposed to mean?" Vick finally found his feet and made his way to the gathering. A thick spat of blood rocketed from his throat and into the dirt by his boots. He managed to swing his sword up to rest it against his shoulder as he took his place beside Yuri. As time ticked by, the man's body slowly began to slouch.

"You two petchs can bicker all you want when we get back to Sunberth. My father is expecting these slaves by sundown," Peter finally broke the ice between the glaring warriors. The last standing slaver raised his hands over his head, eyes ducked down in submission toward the blood speckled earth beneath him. Dirk whipped out a handkerchief and began to wipe down his blade with a rather bored expression. "Boy's got a point. Question is, what do we do with this one?" Dirk looked to Kaie, then to Yuri, but it was Peter who countered the first option that must've run between the other's heads. "My father would be pleased with another slave. Tie him up with the others." That sent the craven in a panic, eyes wide and voice begging. "Take the slaves! Just let me go! Please! We can work something out!" Dirk hurled a fist into the man's face to send him back to the earth in silence. "You heard Peter. Let's tie him up. Hector, run back to the horses. See what you can find back in the camp's supplies." With that the crossbowman gave a sharp nod and darted back up the hill, happy to be away from the new conflict he could practically taste in the air.

"Now let's talk coin. This seems like a solid lot of shackles. What's the profit?" Yuri growled as he eyed the slaves that still cowered in the dirt. Peter frowned as he scanned the emaciated bodies. "Doubt a quarter of them will make it more than another day. Might have to kill off the diseased and useless. I'd say a several hundred. Divide that amongst the seven of us left and there's your answer." Suddenly the ax came flying from Yuri's hip to embed itself in Vick's stomach. The man crumpled immediately with a shriek, blood spilling from his torso and mouth. Yuri followed him down, gripped the save end of his single edged ax stuck in the man's body with his other hand, and yanked the ax across Vick's middle. The man didn't last long after that. Dira took him swiftly. "Six," he growled at the group. Along with the other bystanders, it took Kaie several ticks to comprehend the betrayal. Yet when she recovered, a storm rolled across her expression.

"You petching bastard!"
"Petch," Dirk cursed when he too came to his senses. Peter stood utterly dumbfounded beside him. Neither were quick enough to stop the tigress from taking on the lumbering bear she so quickly rushed. In a flash her gladius had returned to her hand, Yuri let out a roar as he lifted his own weapon. In the next tick, reddened ax struck gory gladius and the battle had begun. Peter and Dirk withdrew their own weapons next. However, their sights were set on Matthew. After all he was the Myrian's clearest ally. The flesh between his teeth, which they had watched him devour only chimes ago, made him as savage a pest as their co-leader. Peter approached with his blade in hand, cursing foully. In his eyes, the tawny-skinned woman had proven fierce, but the monstrosity that was Yuri commanded his loyalty. And thus he moved in for the attack with a yell. Dirk did something strange. Like the snake he really was, The man slowly withdrew from Peter's side as the boy engaged the Harlot. His blade was put away, glance given toward Myrian and behemoth, and then he was making a go back up the hill toward the horses after Hector.

[Matthew]

She seemed pleased. Perhaps amused. Mildly aroused, even? His eyes narrowed, gazing carefully at the Myrian through the blood soaked bangs that now dangled in front of his eyes. Apparently hair promade could not hold up on the battlefield. The Harlot continued to study her as he carefully ran a hand up through his red and black locks, transferring some of the blood to his fingers but also managing to remove it from his face. Pausing his attempt to translate the emotions that danced across Kaie's bronzed face, Matthew took a tick to try and control his breath. He was still panting and gasping for air without even really thinking about it. It didn't really help that he was also trying to chew his way through a small chunk of flesh while struggling to breath. Using his tongue to nestle the meat into one cheek, Matthew tried to regulate his breathing. Slow breaths in, slow breaths out. It proved more difficult than he expected. His intense focus on the task left him briefly oblivious to his surroundings, the Harlot not at all noticing when Peter lost his supper and Yuri drilled him with a scowl.

Kaie's familiar voice was enough to catch his attention, however. He blinked, refocusing his eyes upon her own as she approached. He agreed with her philosophy on consuming human flesh. He never understood why people insisted that corpses be venerated like living beings instead of the rapidly-decaying hunks of meat that they actually were. A dead body was an empty vessel. Why not put it to use?

Then Kaie moved on, her face switching from a type of positive emotion to a more negative one in just a short tick. She appeared to be angry. He could understand why. A team was only effective when it actually worked as a team. That was the whole purpose of having a leader, so that there was someone to make sure everyone was on the same page. Kaie had been openly defied when Yuri both created and followed his own plan. That could have potentially caused everything to go wrong. Matthew watched as she confronted the large man, blue eyes unblinking and apathetic. He continued to be silent as they decided what to do with the final slaver, having no real opinion on the matter and therefor opting to remain off to the side.

Then, in a blur of motion, Yuri's axe was embedded in Vick and just as quickly ripped free. This triggered a series of quick blinks from the quiet Harlot, confusion pulsing through his mind. Kaie was quicker to react than Matthew, her natural instincts and experience with such situations serving her well. It only took Matthew a few more ticks to finally understand why everything was playing out in the way that it was. If there were fewer people to split the profits between, that meant all the more coin for those who were left. He chewed thoughtfully on what was left of the flesh within his mouth, soon swallowing all that remained. Interesting concept. There wasn't time to mull it over, however. Peter and Dirk had raised steel and now approached. As if to make the situation more complex, Peter soon decided to back away. A traitor among traitors, perhaps?

That still meant that there was one left to fight. Matthew was considerably weakened. Even if he had just managed to finally steady his breathing, the Harlot knew that much of his stamina had already been expended. His muscles were still throbbing with hot shivers of pain. Taking a deep breath, Matthew focused his eyes on Peter as he drew ever closer. Tightening his fingers around his bloodied dagger he slowly began to creep backwards with slow and cautious steps, reaching down within himself to tug at the Djed that simmered deep. "I don't want to take you away from your father." Peter paused for a moment, blinking, the words throwing him off guard. "But I will kill you if you continue with this." His aura of influence slowly expanded, soft words only increasing the reach of his magic. A simple emotion was slipped into the psyche of the man, a subtle one. Matthew just wanted him to hesitate for a moment more. He just needed more time to prepare and more time to catch his breath. That emotion was fear.

Two ticks passed and Peter smirked, using a surge of arrogance to overcome Matthew's attempt at intimidation. He wasted little more time, leaping forward and striking out with his bloodstained blade. So it began.

Matthew lunged forward as well, bringing up his own blade to haphazardly block the oncoming strike. He managed to deflect the blow, the sword striking his dagger and bouncing off with the sharp shriek of clashing steel. His inexperience immediately showed however, the Harlot not trained enough to know how much force would be required to perform a proper block. The weight of the blade that he had just deflected sent shivers down his entire arm, fingers briefly going numb and dagger tumbling from his grasp. Peter gave a smile that showed teeth, about to recover from the rebound of his blade and come forward with another strike.

The Harlot tackled him, one part of his mind trying to keep track of his remaining energy reserves. Both of them thudded to the ground in a painful thump, Matthew immediately going for the hand that held the sword. Wrapping his fingers around the wrist as he laid upon Peter, he roughly slammed the blade against the ground over and over again, finding a brief advantage and jarring the weapon from Peter's grasp. The advantage quickly shifted, a fist thudding against the side of his face once and then twice, the taste of warm blood flooding his mouth as he was pounded to the side. Peter wasted no time going for his fallen blade, pouncing upon the stunned Harlot to quickly take a mounted position upon his waist. Wrapping his hands around the throat of his bloodied and worn opponent, Peter squeezed. Matthew reacted in an oddly calm manner, sluggishly lifting both hands to try and pry the hold his opponent had on his neck, gasping for air. Peter had no trouble resisting Matthew's tugging fingers, lifting his head a bit and then slamming it back down against the dirt and mud, attempting to further weaken his opponent while continuing to strangle him.

If Kaie survived her own battle and made any movement to approach Matthew, she would find that his ragged and strained voice gurgled out in an attempt at a shouted command. "Stay back!" There wouldn't always be someone around to save him. He needed to do this, and the fact that his mind was still working meant that there was still a chance.

[Kaie]

Gods, how such tension made him sweat. He was never cut out to be any sort of mercenary. Never born with the skills and traits to make him into a good killer. At least that's what he told himself. The job was taken for the sake of the promise of good pay. His mother was sick, father dead-beat on drugs, and his two little sisters grew frailer each passing day as the family slowly starved. When Dirk found him, no deal was sweeter for Hector, even if the crossbow had proven cumbersome in unskilled hands. Now that the fight was over though, he was relieved Dirk gifted him with a few chimes to himself as he searched for something to tie up the mercenary-turned-slave. At least as he trudged back toward the horses and up the hill no one could see his hands starting to shake. Precious ticks of peace were slain when his fearless leader thundered up beside him in nothing short of a mad-dash. That and the sound of a murdered business alliance.

"Don't petching ask, boy," Dirk growled as he rounded up beside his steed. The beast snorted and lifted its head from its lazy grazing. "Shyke turned to Hai. Forget about the petching rope." Hector blinked. Dread began to consume him. Dirk hoisted himself onto the saddle and gave a nudge with his heels into the animal's sides. "Wipe that stupid look off your face and help me!" Soon enough the young man shook himself out of his daze and stumbled down the hill after the riding man. Even as he focused on the new task at hand, it was hard for the boy not to pause at the sight of two pairs of fighters viciously duking it out.

"Give it up, Myrian!" Yuri boomed when his fist found purchase on his opponent's cheek. The savage went sprawling. Head went dizzy. Shyke. Tawny skin was bathed in a thin layer of dirt where it landed. "Maybe if you do it quick enough I'll be able to tell Peter to spare Pretty Boy in time. I'll even shackle you two together with the rest of our stolen lot!" Little did the giant know, that shipment that made him ripe with greed was already making its shoddy attempt at escape. Exasperated slaves rallied one another, leaders emerging with the hope that arose from distracted captors. Even the ones previously written off as near-dead managed to drag themselves along, fueled by the prospect of freedom. Kaie groaned as Yuri stalked toward her. From her position on her back, her knees rocked back toward her chest before shooting out again. The kip-up was executed just in time. With the savage back on her feet, her gladius was in a prime position to ward off the falling ax. She parried the weapon away and shoved her foot between his legs. The man let out a howl and doubled over, knees threatening to buckle but remaining in place out of sheer will. Then the sword fell down over his back. Another howl. More blood. Then again, and again, until the mutineer laid in a bloody heap beneath her like the corpse he'd created out of Vick.

"Get them!"
Hector hollered back an affirmative to Dirk's order once he'd come back to his senses. The horse roared forward, hooves striking the ground with all the intimidation of a tidal wave raking up a stormy shore. Man and mount swallowed the gap between the battlefield and the escaping quarry. The very sound of their rapid approach caused the weaker slaves to falter again. The progression collapsed into a dead-stop on itself. Their brethren nudged them on, frantic, panicking to keep momentum and somehow struggle through adversity. It was in vain. Dirk all but rode them all down. Hector was close behind with his crossbow. Boots came to a stop. A bolt sailed forward and sunk into the rear end of the very man he was previously tasked with binding only chimes again. The last surviving member of the extinct band of slavers yowled and face-planted into the brush. Hector couldn't help but feel the bitter-sweet pride in his aim. A fine shot, but a killer skill.

Kaie rose, chest heaving and legs heavy as stones. Her gladius was a gory mess like the rest of her. Blood splattered her clothes, speckles her face, and trickled down her arms. Some was hers, some was his. Another fresh coat of red that went over the last blood bath. Her throat was dry and her muscles ached. Yet it could not be over yet. Matthew! The savage found her friend in the thick of it with none other than Peter himself. The two were locked in an unforgiving fight upon the ground. The worst place to be, she couldn't help but assess once she spied Matthew on the bottom of the struggle. Had the battle been more of the nature of a spar, she would've happily shouted "pluck his hands outward, don't pry!" like a parent on the sidelines. She suppressed the urge and instead willed herself to action. The Harlot, per usual, anticipated that exact reaction.

His command bewildered her. All I have to do is grab the little shyke, or better, shove a sword through his traitor back. This could all be over and he could be safer. He knows this. Why? The answer was easy: Matthew wanted to win his own battle. He'd gotten the taste of battle, felt the heat of it, the pain in it. The glory of it. Like any soldier or fighter in a ring, Matthew wanted more of that glory to hold for himself. The sort that came when one over-powered their enemy through sheer ability rather than aid. Kaie's brow furrow into annoyance despite this understanding. She knelt down, brutally shoved her gladius up-right into the ground, and continued onward toward the battle two as one tried to strangle the other. Much to Peter's surprise, a firm grip from two very angry hands tore him from his prey. The boy went rolling nearby, and a pissed off Myrian followed after him. Her boot heel struck his side once, twice, and the third, by the sound of the crack and the scream that followed, broke one of his ribs. Subdued, Peter writhed on the earth. Pursuing Yuri's agenda had quickly left his mind. Kaie turned back to Matthew, silencing the tirade that was sure to come with a voice as deliberate and sharp as one of Dirk's daggers.

"You got your taste! There's plenty more to be had. As much as a rotten little prick he is, we need him," she growled with finality with a glare just as firm. Eyes traveled with disgust back to the boy where he moaned. New to Sunberth as she might've been, not even she was stupid enough to underestimate the power in a slave ring. A vendetta against them for killing a leader's son would not end peacefully. "I don't care who you are. You get up before one of us tells you to, and I'll reconsider making you my sword's new sheath. Clear?"
"As day," Peter mumbled bitterly, resigning to lay his head back against the dirt in surrender. The sound of approaching hooves had the Myrian finding her gladius again.

"Maybe recruiting mercenaries off the petching streets isn't such a wise strategy, Dirk." He scoffed atop his mare, the two seeming to silently recall their alley meeting that joined them together. It wasn't long until he recovered. "Like your leadership skills aren't very obviously lacking, Myrian," he spat bitterly as he rounded up near Harlot and savage. The animal tossed its head impatiently, apparently bored even after its slave chase. "The boy's alive. Recruiting you off the street wasn't a total lapse in judgement after all." A ghost of a mirthful smirk appeared but vanished soon after given their predicament. "During that little shyke show, the slaves tried to make a run for it. Hector's got them at crossbow-point just around the bend. Clean up and meet us there with the horses. Peter, get on up." There was a pause. Dirk looked at the boy in question. Ticks passed. Peter looked to Kaie, who found much amusement in giving him a stern nod of approval.

"Wait here. Don't do anything stupid. Come on Matthew," she coaxed the Harlot, who must've been rather infuriated over his stolen chance at victory. Then she trudged back up the hill, glancing now and then to see if her friend followed.

[Aladari Coolwater]

Grades Ahoy!

Name:Kaie

XP Award:

• Socialization: + 1
• Leadership: + 5
• Flirting: + 1
• Stealth: + 1
• Camouflage: + 1
• Weapon: Gladius: + 2
• Running: + 1
• Intimidation: + 1

Lore:

• No Such Thing as a Trustworthy Sellsword
• Shepard's Pie: Good Food
• Letting Him Stand Up For Himself
• Camouflage: Dirt
• Human Meat is the Same as Any
• Betrayal!

Name:Matthew

If you ever return, PM me and I will post your grade.

Comments :

Ah, such suspense! It was a little bit of a slow start to this thread, but I was quickly captured. Good work, both of you.

If you have any questions, or feel I missed anything, please feel free to PM me or Anarkhos. And don't forget to edit your request to reflect this thread's graded status.