Setting Foot (Wrenmae, Lyalya, Aerika)

[Massacre]

OOCI would just like to point out again that it is night time, not day time... Massacre had no idea why the four men began to panic like they did. Their startled glances skyward seemed to be toward nothing, and considering the Zith could see perfectly well in the dark he knew for a fact there was nothing up there. Unless humans could see things he couldn't.. but Massacre doubted that. Whatever it was they saw, or thought they saw, what actually mattered was what they did. Two of the humans broke off in terror. The woman who had been shadowing them fell in pursuit. At the same time, the other woman approached.. and she was naked!? Well, whatever impression she was trying to make, she certainly made one on Massacre. ..but this was combat, and the Zith would not be distracted by such things as pretty human women with no clothes on. His last companion, Wrenmae, moved to engage one of the remaining two men. That left Massacre with two options, pursue the fleeing men, or take on the one close at hand. Always preferring to deal with the nearest threat, and not knowing that Wrenmae needed the other two men dead, Massacre engaged the other one that had chosen not to run. This man wielded a heavy spiked club. It was not a weapon Massacre had encountered before, more experienced in fighting against bows and swords, but Massacre was confident in his ability to defeat the man. Once he noticed the Zith approaching the man with the club turned Massacre's way, swinging the weapon threateningly in front of him. Massacre grinned and charged, hefting his heavy blade into the air and chopping down at the man's right shoulder. For what it was worth, Massacre's opponent was not completely incompetent. He managed to get his club up in time to intercept the blow, though the blade dug deeply into the wood before massacre yanked it loose. That moment of distraction gave the man a chance to kick out, catching the Zith in the gut. Massacre staggered back a step as he yanked his blade free, nearly wrenching the club out of the man's hands in the process. Both combatants eyed each other wearily for a chime or two, waiting to see who would make the next move. Massacre was patient. He'd been in many battles, he knew when to bide his time. A blow from that club would do a lot of damage, Massacre knew better than to be wreckless.

[Aerika]

Aerika didn't expect the other female to run after the two other men by herself, and even more, didn't expect the two men she was fighting with to fight only the two closest men. Making her mind up quickly, Aerika transformed into her true form, filling the dark street with light and then the white fox stood in her place. The little fox's eyes fixed on the alley that the two men and that one woman ran off to. She knew her assistance would be needed, so Aerika darted to the alley, using what little night vision she had to find the group. Their presence was loud, so easy to find, and already engaging each other, metal and wood swinging at each other. The small fox leaped toward the group, managing to jump over Lyalya while still managing to run toward the other two. Aerika instinctively leaped toward the first man's ankles, biting at them and tearing her teeth deep into them. Blood filled her mouth, and he yelp with pain, bringing attention to the other man that she was there. Angered and still frightened, he kicked at the fox, making sure to get it away from them so they could focus on the nearest threats. The small white fox was sent flying toward the wall of the closest building, and pain filled her body quickly. Aerika looked back up, changing back into her human self, and slowly stood back up. This group obviously didn't want the fight to last too long, which meant she would have to end it quicker than them. Trying to think of something, Aerika stood only to watch them, one man weilded a large sword, its shape was simple, but had obviously been worn. The second wielded two short swords, one in each hand, and each different sizes, the one in his right hand was larger than the one in his left. The woman who was still on the ground only had a sword in her hand, but there did appear to be other weapons that she could chose. The chances of her living were quickly disappearing, she was the only without a weapon, and easily the smallest of the group. Without only her nails, claws, or teeth, Aerika tried to think of a plan to get in close, with everyone using long weapons, her only chance was to get in at biting range. Doing so would also put her in a dangerous position, as the large men would easily over power her, even without their weapons. Aerika knew she would have to aim for weak points, and get out of range quickly, though thinking it and doing it were two very different things. One man already had one ankle torn in to, and the next man was using the two swords, meaning if her took out his arms, he would be useless. The man with two swords should also be the slowest she thought, so Aerika prepared herself and planned on charging the second man. Before she recklessly charged in however, she looked back to the other woman to see what she would do, maybe she had a plan.

[Wrenmae]

OOC :

Sorry about that Ver, corrected my post

Shroud grabbed the gritty ground with his left hand, folding over the uneven cobblestone and grasping for balance. His head swam, the world turning round and round above and below him. Res pooled in his palms, seeping past the dagger and onto the ground. Around him, his companions were dealing with the challenge in their own way. He heard the thunk of steel against wood, but hadn't time to see if the Zith had been worth the effort to speak to. Instead he staggered to his feet in a lopsided lope, sliding against the wall of a sagging building to keep his balance, turning his attention to his opponent. The barbarian was on his feet again, charging the storyteller with the club swinging over his head. A full blow would leave his bones broken and torn, possibly claiming his life as well and Shroud tasted fear, a bitter sort of trepidation building against his beating heart. Bring up both hands, wrists together and palms outstretched, one hand still gripping his dagger, Shroud launched the res he'd been building and converted it immediately, a blast of air displacing his opponent's momentum and sending the club cracking the stone wall above him rather than his skull. Shroud brought up his long dagger beneath the guard of his opponent, burying it in his chest with satisfying ease. Jerking away, yanking the weapon out of Shroud's hand, the barbarian snarled, one hand feeling the hilt of the weapon against his skin with furious impotence. He had not fallen. He had not died. And now Shroud was weaponless. Bloody teeth mashed into a hideous grin confirmed Shroud's observations, a fact both he and the other were well aware of. He could not fight. He was outmatched.

[Lyalya]

Lyalya glanced up at the fox who had come to her aide. It was nothing but a relief. Abusing their attacker's distraction, the blonde warrior flung herself up and back into fighting stance. She could hold off the two men, distract them at the least, the fox adding what would hopefully be the game changer. Lyalya hacked her sword into the one man's side, a clean blow. He shouted, his voice angry and ruthless, but... not pained.

Lyalya stepped back, holding her blade in a death's grip. It was as if the blood pouring out of his side was not even there. He looked at her, barely pale, and roared. She thought of the wolf, and wondered if they too noticed. What had they gotten themselves into? These were the two weakest, the two cowards. If they had this resilience, what did their comrades face? They needed to get these two cold and dead as soon as possible if any of them had the chance to shine.

As she charged, Lyalya swinging wildly just to deflect the blows thrown at her. What did they have that these two men didn't? What was their weakness. She watched them move carefully, the way their bodies swung with their heavy weight, how sweat droplets beaded on their necks and forehead as they kept up.

And then it clicked.

"Dance!" Lyalya began to move as fast as she could, her feet twisting and jumping. Her body spun out of the way, twirling around her opponent. She barely kept his sword at bay, but he was growing confused. How could you predict a dancer's movements? Not that she, or she suspected the wolf either, could actually dance, but it was the concept.


As the man's blade arched through the air, colliding with her own sword, their muscles straining. They clashed, each unsuspecting of the other's strength. With a loud clank, the two swords soared over their heads and back into the streets. Lyalya panicked, turning and running from the man towards her gauntlet. She could hear heavy paces behind her.

Just as she was almost there, the footsteps disappeared and two hands grabbed onto her ankles. With a scream, Lyalya was thrown downward, her face colliding with the ground, her wind knocked out of her. Flipping and twisting, trying to kick herself free, she groaned. But it was no use, he was so much stronger.

[Massacre]

Massacre just barely dodged the swing of the spiked club, so close to being hit that he felt the wind on his fur as it swung by. He brought his sword down in an attempt to lob off the man's arm, but his opponent managed to turn and knock the blade aside. Out of the corner of his eye Massacre saw Wrenmae go down. He could hear the girls fighting in the distance, but he couldn't see them at his current angle. None of them seemed to be faring very well, however, himself included. The man came at him quick, with a flurry of swings all aimed to break the Zith's bones. It was all Massacre could do to parry them, the thunking of wood as it connected with metal filling the scene as he fended off the attack. One final smack from the club sent Massacre's sword flying from his hands to clatter to the ground. The thug wore a broad grin, his eyes filled with triumph, thinking he had won the fight. In truth, he'd just given Massacre the upper hand. When the man swung next Massacre dodged again, one thing he was good at with or without the sword, but this time he coupled the dodge with a slash from his claws, grazing the man's right arm. The man roared in pain, but Massacre didn't relent, and jumped forward slashing again and again. The Zith landed several good blows on the man before he finally recovered from the shock of the new tactic and brought his club back to bear, forcing Massacre to retreat. The man was bleeding from several wounds, but he wasn't out of the fight. Far from it, in fact, and he proved it by renewing his assault with the club. Now Massacre could do nothing but avoid, since he didn't have a weapon to parry with and risking his bare arms against the club was not a chance he was willing to take. Dodging as best he could, Massacre waited for an opening. When he saw it, he took it. The Zith charged forward, not slashing but slamming right into the man in an all out tackle catching him off guard once again. Beating his wings hard against the air Massacre propelled them forward, lifting off the ground slightly as they went. The Zith slammed his opponent right into the barbarian Wrenmae was fighting, knocking all three of them to the ground. Being the only one who knew what was going to happen, Massacre was quickly on his feet and next to Wrenmae. "You looked like you could use some help," the Zith commented as he prepared for the fight to begin again.

[Aerika]

The little fox's attacks were weak, hardly enough to even cause a cut. The attention of the man with two swords was completely on Aerika, swinging wildly yet nearly accurately toward her. Only able to barely dodge, she wasn't given much time to try and work with Lyalya or attack the large man in front of her. It was clear this fight could not drag on, she needed to put him down and assist everyone else quickly. Aerika was forced to jump back as the man swung both swords in front of himself, nearly taking her feet off. Patients running out, Aerika dashed toward the man, body staying low and her stride was powerful and strong. As she was about to reach the man, he did something she did not expect, he tossed his largest sword held in his right hand at her. The sword flipped continuously toward her, making her jump to one side, lose her balance, and only watch as the man stepped toward her. He grabbed a hold of her with his now free hand, wrapping his fingers around her neck and lifted her into the air. Aerika's hands tried to grab a hold of his hand, attempting to pry herself free, choking and gasping for air. As Aerika kicked her feet still trying to struggle free, the man raised his sword into the air. He began to laugh loudly as he stared into the girl's eyes, fearless yet in pain. The kelvic tried to think of something quickly, so in desperation, she kicked up to wrap her legs around his arm, pulled down as hard as she could, and dug her nails into his arms. Blood began to pour from his arm, her nails digging deep and actually beginning to do damage. The man swung his sword down quicker now due to the pain, so Aerika bent her body to raise his arm just higher than her head. The sword cut into his arm as he yelled in pain, his grip loosened, and Aerika fell to the ground landing hard on her back. The small fox lied there for a moment, coughing and choking for air, her face still slightly red, and tears streaking across her cheeks. Aerika held her neck, rubbing it, trying to regain herself to get back into this fight. She turned to see the man, his arm bleeding horribly, and both swords were out of his hands, his attention was on his arm only, which gave her the best opportunity. She stood, ran toward him while changing into her original fox self. The fox bit his leg, tearing into it heavily, blood began to gush from the wound, and she began to shake her head, forcing him to take his weight off of his leg and allowed her to drag his leg in one direction causing him to fall. As his body hit the ground, she let go of his leg and jumped onto his chest to look him dead in the eye. Still without fear, Aerika changed once again to her human form to sit on his chest with either leg on either side of him. She began to smile as she grabbed a hold of his head, keeping it still as she then lunged toward his neck and tore a large section of it away. Blood started to flow from his wounds and mouth, he was unable to make a sound as he looked at his killer. He lifted his left arm, taking his hand to grab Aerika's neck once more. She allowed him to, as his grip was weak, and eventually he was unable to hold his arm up. The life faded from his eyes, and his body stopped moving. Aerika stood up, looking toward the other woman, ready to help even though she was still short of breath.

[Wrenmae]

The tumbling shapes of barbarians and Zith passed across his vision, hurling his opponent from his feet to tumble across the dusty ground, trailing lifeblood with each thump. Massacre was up first, a growl in his voice, but the common spoken well enough that he could make out the meaning. He offered the Zith a short bow, retrieving his second long dagger as the Zith's opponent warily stood again. His companion, Shroud's thug, was slower to rise. Adrenaline was only so useful in getting the body to deny the obstruction within it. The long dagger stuck in his chest was pumping cold spasms across the human's body. Blood soaked the front of his shirt and he grasped at the weapon with paralyzing fear, pulling it from him in frenzied terror. It only increased the torrential bleeding. Shroud watched him, letting Massacre deal with his opponent on his own terms, only curious to watch the light leaking from the mans eyes. He was no warrior, not really, more a rough man in a rough town. He might have had family, dreams, ideals. In those moments he struggled for each breath, gripping the earth with one arm and holding his life within him with the other. It was a pointless effort, the ground was already slick with gore and his gaze was fading fast. He reached out toward Shroud, pleading now, no longer frightened of the Zith but of the more present and real terror afflicting all of them...mortality. His own life lay bare for the briefest instant and he reached for the enemy for assistance. Hoped beyond logic, no doubt, that he could be spared. Shroud let him die, let those eyes become dusty and blank. Something left him, something that escaped from his mouth and dissipated into the air around them. It was small, it was vital, and it was gone the instant it left its fleshy home. Turning with his dagger, Shroud watched the rest of them, moving to flank the opponent of Massacre...but only as support if necessary...never moving to thrust unless the Zith looked pressed. "Thanks." He offered Massacre, dancing back from the thug's wobbly gait. This fight would not take much longer.

[Lyalya]

As Lyalya was dragged, her fingers clinging desperately at any ridge in the hard ground, her anger boiled. How dare he! Her clothes were filthy and her arms straining, and the only thing she wanted was the precious metal back into her hand. That sword was how she brought death. It had been since she left the sea. As the man's hands neared her knees, Lyalya spun. At first, the movement was confusing for her attacker who slightly let loose. And by the time he realized what she was doing, her foot had already collided with his face. The confinement over, the blonde sprung to her feet and raced towards her sword.

As the sweet metal hit her skin, Lyalya sighed. It always made her feel safe... or at least safer. She turned, her eyes sparkeling in a way only fire could. She stared him down like a piece of filth she no longer wished to look at. He tried to stand, his nose jutting out at an awkward angle, blood dripping out over his lips.

She raced at him, her blade ready and wanting. As she swung, his arm came out, catching the sword. Yanking it back, blood escaped its fleshy home and covered his side. It was poor choice, stopping a sword with your own bones, but what other choice did he have? With a warrior's cry, Lyalya pierced the man's chest, feeling the resistence of his insides. But still, she pushed harder. Her eyes softened ever so slightly as he coughed , staining his hands, and fell to his side.

She was taught never to mourn her kills, but she disagreed. If she could not respect the fight they had given, the life that had before, how could she expect her blade to truly understand and rule over them? With a hand in her gauntlet, Lyalya freed her sword and swiped most of the blood on the man's shirt. She nodded at him slightly before turning back to her companions.

[Massacre]

Massacre didn't really noticed Wrenmae's opponent as he died, nor would he have cared. It wasn't so much that Massacre was a cold hard killer, though he certainly was when he had to be, but that these men were trying to kill them and it was only natural that they should kill them in return. Were he not in a city where they generally frowned on such things, Massacre would likely take the bodies, or at least one, to whatever place he spent the night for a meal. He wouldn't do that with these dead, not unless someone else suggested it anyway, but only because it would slow down their journey even more. Massacre still recalled what he was doing before the thugs arrived on the scene, and he wanted to get on with it. Massacre's opponent was slower to rise then Wrenmae's, something the Zith took full advantage of. As the man rose in a daze the Zith charged again, this time spreading his wings and lifting off the ground. As he crashed into the man once more he dug his claws into his foe's shoulders, his legs wrapping around the man's waist, and beat his wings hard. Both men lifted off the ground, the Zith and his opponent rising into the sky. Though his opponent was heavy, this was a favorite hunting tactic among his kind, and Massacre had no problem carrying such weights for short distances. Massacre flew up, probably higher than necessary, as the man struggled in his arms. He had dropped his weapon, so Massacre wasn't really concerned, and when the Zith reached the height he wanted he let go. For an instant the man seemed to hover in place as he realized what had just happened, and then he was gone, falling until he crashed into the ground. His legs broke with a snap as they hit the ground first, followed by the rest of him. It wasn't a fall he could easily survive, and he wouldn't be getting up again without help even if he had. Massacre landed shortly after, retrieving his weapons and returning them to their places on his body, before turning to examine his companions. All of them, it seemed, had fared well and the battle was over. Massacre walked over to Wrenmae, glancing at the dead man at his feet as he asked a casual question. "So is this going to happen often?"

[Aerika]

The small kelvic found herself fasinated with the Zith as he lifted himself and the other man high into the air. It was a beautiful sight, his wings fully extended and flapping in the moonlight. Without any warning, the zith let go of victim, and Aerika did not allow herself watch him, instead her eyes remained on the dark man. A slight breeze rolled across her still bare body, reminding her that her clothing was still lying around. As quickly as she could, Aerika ran to her clothes, finding them still crumpled across the street since they were tossed aside. Not even a moment passed before her clothes find their spots back on her body. Feeling her certain spots of her body throbbing, Aerika tried her best to ignore it and find a spot next to all of the others. Each of them easily taller than herself and each of them looking at each other, almost as though they were trying to pay no mind to the child. Aerika continued to inch further and further toward the zith, his wings were inviting, his body was like straight out of a dream. It was taking every ounce of energy to hold herself back from jumping onto his back and rubbing herself on his wings. Trying to pay attention to the conversation as much as she could, she found herself staring at the zith again, but resisting the best she could.