Setting Foot (Wrenmae, Lyalya, Aerika)

[Lyalya]

Lyalya walked on, she had been acknowledged but not spoken too, just as well. She was far more interested in anything the Zith could say then casual introductions by the human. She listened to the talk of Crimson Edge, she had already heard. He was right though. We all weren't so different. Killing wasn't something she did with her breakfast, but she was a killer and wouldn't hesitate if it was called for. Lyalya held a deeper loyalty for herself than she did for Mizahar's peace, and now her loyalties lied with her new band of missionaries.

In the middle of the streets, they were very open and exposed. When she walked, she had a tendency to do just that, she wasn't afraid. The handle of her gauntlet was an easy read strapped against her back, partially hidden by her hair. Lyalya always loved a little excitement.

She waited with Wrenmae for the Zith's response, did he have a tribe? Past tense of course. Her head dipped forward, her eyes locking onto the Zith's face. His blue skin was so... fun.

[Massacre]

It seemed both the beauties from the bar were following them, Massacre noted. Aerika's attempt at hiding against the wall might have been helpful against a human, but Massacre could see in the dark as plain as if it were day. She was smaller than the other woman, softer, perhaps younger, but there was something about her. He couldn't quite pinpoint it, but he imagined she would be just as entertaining as the first woman, in a wholly different way. But again, Massacre's mind wasn't on those sort of thoughts. Well, only in passing, he was male afterall. At the moment though the Zith was more interested in hearing what Wrenmae had to say about his friends. Strength in numbers, that was something Massacre understood well. The Zith formed tribes partly because it gave them more strength. Zith lived in the wild lands, not protected by city walls, where danger lurked at every turn. They could not afford to be alone. Sunberth was like a wild city, and it only made sense that Wrenmae and his friends would group together for protection. When Wrenmae asked about his tribe it brought a sour look to the Zith's face. It was there for less than an instant, and then it vanished. Memories of his tribe, lost to him years ago, flooded to his mind, threatening to overwhelm him. He still blamed himself, and rightly so, for what happened to them. Many thought that Zith were mindless killing machines, bent on hunting or enslaving all the other races. It was true, the Zith had little respect for the other races, but there were not mindless and they felt as strongly if not more so than all the other races. Asking about his tribe only brought those emotions back, but he quickly shoved them down. He wouldn't show weakness in front of a stranger. "I had a tribe, years ago. They are all dead now. Lost in jungles, or to the Drykas and Akalaks who met us when we came back." Massacre's wings drooped slightly as he spoke the words, but he quickly straightened back up and continued walking. "And you? Human's have families. Where is yours?"

[Aerika]

The small girl, who thought she was well hidden, was glad she began to listen again when she did, for the group of three began to walk once more. Still trying to hide in the shadows, she stalked the group, listening carefully to their conversation. Somehow, they had begun to talk about families, a topic she had never stopped to actually think about. Her family... two kelvics that she could no longer remember, just that they were there. Their names lost in the short time, for it was never spoken to her, and the night they never returned flashed in her mind. She was left alone, not because they abandoned her, but because they could not fight off another animal. She only saw what was left of her parents, blood was everywhere, and they were torn apart by something large and powerful. This grew as her understanding of life, kill, or be killed. Aerika had begun to follow the men and woman more casually now, less careful, and more in the middle of the road, only to duck when she thought one was about to turn around. Her focus broadened, as she started looking over the woman, what was her true reason for following the two men, was it truly to be introduced, was there more to her? This human, leading the group, was the only thing he wanted to do was offer food and shelter? Someone as strong looking as this zith should surely be able to handle himself, much like Aerika had been doing for the last few months. Flashes of her fights ever since she had arrived in the city had started to flood her thoughts. Most of these fights were with other humans, several of which had been drunk, but there were occasional, other types of people. One notable man was the first zith she ever met, he was also her first pit fight, he was a slave and had been starved to be an easy, yet entertaining kill. She remembered how the man fought, mostly with his claws and occasionally sweeping with his wings. Because he was weak however, Aerika had no trouble overpowering him, as well as being faster, it was a slaughter, for the entertainment of the humans. Brought back to the pits only ever two other times, her third fight was with another kelvic, this was the first time she found out the kelvic could be other animals and still take on human appearances. This kelvic was a wolf, and he called Aerika a fake, for she chooses to stay in her human form more than not. Few other fights ever happened, yet her experience with killing was increasing, as she began to understand different ways to become lethal. Her favorite was still aiming for their throat as it was the quickest, usually the easiest, and several times the least protected. Her attention snapped back to the group as the took another turn, she was careful to make her footsteps quiet and only turn the corner when they had actually fully turned, so she would not be noticed. Aerika began to wonder, why was she not confronting them? Was it actually a sign of fear to not speak to them, and instead hide? Remembering her promise to the gods Kelwyn, she decided to go ahead and run up to the group, planning on speaking to them, hopefully hold an interesting conversation. If she could do a good job, perhaps she could even get a chance to ride on the zith's back, or simply rub against his wings, just for her own pleasure. Doubtful yet determined, Aerika quickened her pace, attempting to catch up to the group.

[Lyalya]

So the Zith was a little touchy, Lyalya noticed at his quickly hidden response to the subject of his family. However she knew he was strong, the way he hid it and held himself straight. Family tended to be a sore subject, even for her. Her brothers were cold and always arguing and her mother was weak. Although, having a prostitute for a mother really should have told her not to expect too much. Her little sister, Nadya, took after their mother, she was soft and let people walk all over her. She never could get the girl to man up. Her family was why she left. She didn't want to end up raped and beaten like her mother practically let herself. That wasn't the future for her and it was worth giving up the sea to escape it. Her only regret was not taking her baby sister with her. Who knows what has happened to her in the years past.

Pushing that out of her mind, Lyalya heard the little Kelvic approach them from behind. Her foot steps were quiet and lithe but Lyalya still heard. She had noticed her earlier, but hadn't felt entertained enough to look further. She looked back at the blonde, noticing the curious glint in the young woman's eyes. The idea that this woman too may just want to be entertained made her smile. Lyalya liked people and was quite the charmer, but she loved another thrill-seeker. She smiled back, her porcelain like face interested.

As Lyalya walked, her body swayed as if she was listening to music. It was both a distraction and a veil to hide the way her body could turn vicious any moment. No one seemed to be intimidated by a pair of swinging hips.

[Wrenmae]

Shroud listened, perhaps the first time he'd done so in some time. The Zith spoke in the halting syllables of an unsure tongue and the storyteller listened. There was something unyielding about his companion, the way he moved perhaps or how he spoke. It was reminiscent of the open sea, the air that filled sails and spun wide coffins to distant graveyards. The Zith was strong, and Shroud admired that. Vayt would admire it as well, laud it actually. To that extent Massacre was in good company. "My family?" He asked, shaking his head, "I have many." The gulf between them grew, yawning for an answer, clarification. Shroud continued, "My birth mother left me with my father, a fool who tried to cross the Kalea mountains in the winter. My half brother and sister perished there, with him, and I found new family in Alvadas." They turned a corner, the women following closer now. Let them. "At first I was content to join the Sek family, a scribe and his wife old in years but clinging to productivity. They took care of me...for awhile, before I joined a friend and was adopted by a fallen rich man, Alvin Wilmot." Shapes ducked through the alleys around them, moving ahead of them, the swinging motion of clubs and swords drew his eyes. He scowled, no doubt here for the Zith. "I left Alvadas and joined the Baggywrinkle pod, lived as a Svefra awhile before returning to Alvadas. By then I had outstayed my welcome and traveled to Sylira." Ahead of them, standing shoulder to shoulder and blocking the street, four men stood unmoving as the group approached. They seemed surprised to see more had joined the Zith since he'd left the tavern, but their expressions, steeped in fear and anger, was more than indication of their intention. "I crashed at sea and washed up on the shore of Sylira, by chance I found myself at these gates." They held out their weapons, wordless, eyes on the creature they feared and distrusted...a monster by all rights. But, weren't' they all? "Outside I was attacked and imprisoned underground till Winter...and now I abide with a new family, the Crimson Edge." He drew his own dagger, casually tapping it against the sheath, "It's professional, of course, but there is kinship in shedding blood together...is there not, Massacre?" He glanced up at the Zith, then back at the men. There was a moment between them all, an unspoken agreement of combat. Some would be spared, some no doubt slain. But the Zith would not be trifled with and his companions would not back down. To back down was to show your throat. And blades found throats easily in these alleys. "Fear," Shroud murmured, taking a step forward, brandishing his blade, "It motivates us so strongly." Taking a moment to glance back a the women, he jerked his head at the opponents ahead. "Choice time, fight with us and earn your place with the Crimson Edge, or walk away." He circled toward the wall, lax to let someone flank him, "No time like the present."

[Lyalya]

As Lyalya listened to Wrenmae's story of loss and moving, she watched the men assemble in front of the, they were big, armed, and driven by hatred. The air around them seemed to still as onlookers either fled or set up to watch. She wanted to look at the Zith but couldn't spare a moment of broken eyes contact with the thugs. They were here for him, for the winged blue man. Her head pounded in her chest and adrenaline began to sear through her veins.

At her side, Wrenmae wielded his blade and bade them to fight or flee. His arms were tense and ready, body waiting for the first move to attack. He was ready and Lyalya had his back. If the situation were not so perilous, Lyalya would have found herself attracted to the masculine was he held himself. But this was no time for that, this was time for bloodshed. The Zith needed to make it out alive by battling, if he showed weakness or fled, others would surely come. Luckily, Zith weren't known to be weak.

Her mind calculating and motives manipulative, Lyalya kept her gauntlet sheathed. Her body abandoned it's combative stance immediatly and fostered one of curves and pursed lips. The men would not be swayed so easily, but, perhaps, they could put some focus on herself as well as the Zith. It would assist her comrads tremendously if there was a spreading of attacks. Besides, in triumph of their kill, no thug would give up the chance to a little womanly entertainment.

She took a step or two forward, letting her hips sway musically and her hair catch the light, glistening. A few eyes noticed began to notive and there, there it was. In their eyes she could see they wished to take a hostage. It was their own foolish mistake, never take the bait. Their attempts may now be somewhat divided.

As slowly as possible, she pulled her own blade out. Her body was coiled into her sensual position, but she was ready to spring. She eyes them, and teased "Let's dance boys." Her voice was low and painful, her eyes brimming with bloodthirsty.

It was four against four, an even match. But the thugs were driven by hatred and a claim on the Zith's life. Lyalya and her companions fought as one: The Crimson Edge. There was no backing out, it was life or death and atleast four of the eight would never walk away.

[Massacre]

Wrenmae sure did like to talk a lot. Massacre had only asked about the man's family because it seemed like the correct thing to do, considering he had just told Wrenmae about his own. But really, he hadn't expected an entire life story. Of course most of the names the man mentioned Massacre didn't recognize. The Zith was well traveled, but had never bothered to learn the names of the many regions he'd visited. Names were a thing used by the civilized people, and until recently Massacre had little interest in being "civilized." The name he used himself was only chosen for it's meaning, and was originally intended to strike fear into those who heard it. Massacre's Zith name was more a combination of scent, sight, and sound, something the other races couldn't understand. When the men appeared and Wrenmae indicated they were to fight, Massacre only nodded and took a step to the right, putting some space between himself and his companion to she could better move about. Four on four.. it wasn't really an even fight. The men didn't look all that intimidating, and Massacre probably could have handled them on his own. If not, he was certain he could have escaped, but to prove himself Massacre would need to fight. And Massacre was never one to turn down a fight. His claws were his deadliest of weapons, but instead Massacre drew his sword. Long and gleaming, it was heavy enough that he had to hold it with both hands to wield it properly. He certainly was no expert with the blade, but he had picked it not for its deadly efficiency, but for how intimidating it was. There was something about seeing a sword big enough to cleave a man in half that tended to give people pause. Holding the greatsword out in front of him, his strong arms easily supporting its weight, Massacre took on an aggressive stance. He wouldn't make the first move, no, these people still had a chance to run if they wanted. But he would go on the offensive the moment they attacked him, if they did at all. OOCBleh.. this is a crappy post. I'm still kind of sick, so my brain isn't happy right now. *shrug*

[Aerika]

Aerika reached the group just in time to witness the group of four other men appear in front of them all. They were all angry from the looks of it, and the group she just reached seemed to be preparing for a fight. The zith drew his sword, the human male took his dagger while the female was trying to speak to them she thought. Knowing where this was about to lead, Aerika began to strip her dress, lifting it over her head, making the snowflakes on her arm disappear and re-appear on her side. The dress was carefully placed in her bag and she then began to take off her pants, also noticing the snowflakes moving once more, spreading evenly across her arm and side. Once the clothes were set in her bag and the bag placed against the nearest wall, Aerika took her spot next to the zith between the only other woman. While everyone had a weapon at their disposal, the only thing she had was her still unknown kelvic identity. That was, as long as none of the men in front of her recognized her, as she was the only child fighter that resembled a mythical race known as konti. She hoped none of them would be familiar with her, as it was clear, she was not use to fighting with a group, against a group, and especially not use to being the only one without a weapon. The fact that she had stripped her clothing rather than searching for a weapon should be more than enough of a hint, yet she knew, most humans were slow, and hopefully, would aid her current moment. Aerika looked up at the zith, then to the two humans, each of them had their focus set on the group ahead, ready and waiting for them to make the first move. So Aerika began to look at each of the other men in front of them, they too, waiting for them to move. Noticing how this was not going anywhere, Aerika started to think. Would it be smart to wait with her group? Or be the one to make the first move? The kelvic closed her eyes, trying to ignore most of the current situation, thinking to herself. The men were unreadable, her own group was unknown to her, nothing was making sense to her, she couldn't figure out what to do or when to do it. For the first time, she would have to just let the fight take place to see what needed to be done. Aerika opened her eyes, no one has moved, even some of the people standing by just stood still, waiting to watch the bloodshed. The only movement that caught her eye was the cloud on her shoulder, followed by the flakes again, but instead of focusing on them, she turned her head back up. She wondered if she would even be needed in this fight, not fearful of fighting, just not sure if they actually needed her. She figured it would at least make things easier if she could even just keep one busy and make it one on one for them. She hoped it wouldn't just be her keeping one busy, and instead, her killing on to make it take less time. Her body was completely relaxed as she stood with the taller people, and she watched, waiting with them, hoping to make a good impression. OOCsorry, my post was mostly rambling, but I honestly had trouble thinking of what to write

[Wrenmae]

Shroud stepped sideways to avoid the blade Massacre drew, tapping his own long dagger against the sheath in a swift stacatto. The men blocking their way shuffled nervously, painfully aware of the impotence of their own weapons in comparison to Massacre's. Perhaps more acute was their confusion at the appearance of the naked Aerika, brazenly bare. Personally, Shroud tried not to think about it. An ally was an ally, even if flaunting her body with no particular purpose. Lyala was excited, nearly stepping into combat too soon, but Shroud held a hand out in front of Massacre and smiled disarmingly. All four men were frightened, their auras swirled and shifted, proving easy to pierce but less easy to influence. Shroud tried to suggest that discretion was the better part of valor, but bloodlust, violence, hatred, and fear swirled in to fill his momentary seeds of sedition. There was no give in the men, they held their ground and stared ahead. Sighing, the hypnotist withdrew his power. "I am sorry," he said at last, stepping toward the men, punctuating each step with another clang of his dagger. "But I don't suppose we could convince you gentlemen to be on your way?" "Leave the petching monster," the leader growled, "Sunberth's better with that thing in an alley somewhere." Shroud closed his eyes for a moment, opening them sharply and grimacing. "Pity then, you leave us no choice." Transfixing his gaze on the group, Shroud flexed the Djed within him, leaping it through the space between them till it bit into their auras, moving with deadly intent. Hypnotism, subtlety, but sometimes a little clout could get the job done just as well. He fed them the illusion of other Zith descending from the sky, shrieking bloodlust as they brought polearms and arrows toward the four men. Even if they willfully disbelieved it, the panic of being suddenly outnumbered scattered their company, sending two scurrying toward an alley for shelter and the others charging forward, intent on driving themselves through the Wrenmae's group to escape. Dashing forward and leveling his shoulder, Shroud smashed into one of the men, sending him wheeling over his shoulder, both he and Shroud crashing to the ground. The agony in his shoulder was immediate, a flaring burning pain that nearly crippled the murderer. He hoped the other man would be taken care of...now that he'd used magic on them, none could escape to live. The night fell heavily on their backs, the moon brightening their progress and efforts, casting staggered shadows and cruel color to the confrontation. They needed to move fast. Others would investigate the scuffle...and if they were better armed, Shroud would have to abandon this venture entirely. Groaning, he turned on his side, his dagger slashing the empty air impotently, getting to his feet as the other man was slowly getting to his. He wielded with a stout piece of wood, swinging it with moderate accuracy. Shouting incoherently, the threw himself onto Shroud, smacking the blunt weapon into his chest with a resounding crack. Rolling away from the blow, winded, the murderer spit blood, gathering Res into his palm even as his mind sought out the frenzied aura of his attacker. A quick illusion of him rolling right while he rolled left had the berserker smashing his weapon on the ground...valuable bits and pieces of time. Time he used to prepare his next assault. The others better be faring better.

[Lyalya]

Lyalya nearly laughed as the excited blonde stripped. It wasn't exactly intimidating, but it was... slightly more forward that Lyalya's attempt. If she had the time, she would praise the small girl. As Wrenmae seemed to battle within himself for a moment, she scanned back over the men. They seemed to grow nervous, oddly, and then even more so after Wrenmae gave them the chance to flee.

Her grip tightened on her sword, letting the adrenaline rush through her veins. Just as she was about to spring, the men began to panic. They looked up, dread and fright spilling over their shocked features. Lyalya, too, looked up, searching for whatever it was they saw. But only the night sky hung above them, and her suspicions turned towards her companions, there was magic at play.

Began she could investigate further, the men, their attackers, split. Two ran in the direction of the alleys and the other charged forward. The men almost appeared to be fleeing rather than attacking. Nonetheless, they needed to be stopped, none left alive. With a speed that could only be instince, Lyalya rushed towards the men who had turned towards the alleys. Over her shoulder she watched Wrenmae and one of the attackers collide, swords clashing. She did not know how Aerike and Massacre were preparing to fight, or knew who they put their efforts upon. She just hoped they were victorious and casualties-less.

When she caught up to the two men, who seemed too preoccupied with their fear to hear her, Lyalya swung her sword wide, slicing shallowly into both men's backs. It wasn't exactly the smartest move to take them on together, but they were obviously cowards, and she more obviously was not. The men turned to her, their faces feverish with desire, and not the kind she was use to. Their desire was to live.

Lyalya steadied herself, ready for whatever blow the two men could throw at her. And attack they did. With their swords freshly drawn, the men came at her, their swords taking her at different angles. She spun, her long pale hair streaming in a circle as she turned. The first blade missed her, the second colliding strongly with her own sword. She looked into his eyes, which were dark and angry, and spat into them. He cursed and backed away, his fists rubbing. She took the opportunity to turn to the second man, his second swing coming. She didn't have enough time to block, so she dropped and rolled, the thick cobblestones digging thickly into her back and sides.

Damn it! She muttered and the men approached her. She was an easy target on the ground. She caught the first swing with her sword, the metal clashing, and rolled to hopefully avoid the next. She needed to get on her feet, now. The man seemed to laugh down at her, how stupid, they thought, such a pretty girl pinned to the ground. But she was ready, on the ground or not.