A Feast for the Liar's Tongue. [Crimson Edge]

[Apos]

10th Day of Spring, 512 AV It had been months since he'd uttered a syllable to another soul. The silence filled Apos with a deep reverence. He'd come to respect that he didn't needed to explain anything, or dissuade anyone. Nothing has had to hinge on his word, and for that simplicity, the Myrian found himself to be undeniably thankful. His solitary traveling has left him with the accompaniment of his own thoughts, which have never ceased to continue turning about in his mind since he was a child, first gripping a rusty blade to kill a so called "bad guy". Even at such a young age, darkness had always been a part of him. Innocence lost, or perhaps never attained. Thats the reason he's alone now. That's why he hasn't returned to Taloba yet. That is why he's traversed Mizahar, hoping that only his prayers reach Myri and his worship of her is heard. However, he will always live in darkness, he believes it to somewhat be of his nature. Apos' blanket shall be shadows, and his bed a never-ending night. To an extent thats why he chose to reveal himself to civilization once more. From the whispers of dying men and the rumors of loud, pompous women, he's heard that the infamous Crimson Edge were actively recruiting. He sought to join their ranks. He'd be loyal of course, but as a figure he'd of course seek something greater and on a wider scale. War, perhaps? Davros himself doesn't quite know what motivates him to think of what he does, or to act certain ways at certain times. In any case however, he always seeks to leave an impression...to say that he was once here, though there are those whom his touch shall have affect for generations to come. He wants to say that he would be remembered as a great warlord, whom somehow in pursued something more than bloodshed, though that is an inevitable ingredient. As far as war goes, he'd hope to one day return to Taloba, rally his people, wage war and completely take back Falyndor. It was once theres, he believed it should be that way again. Apos in most situations only killed as a means of survival, however most men around him killed for death's sake, and fluttered with excitement with the side-tasks of raping a man's family after killing him. That is what Apos defined as true butchery and trash. How I loath each of them.... Apos thought to himself. He came to a halt and looked around himself in a subtle 360. The surroundings were far from familiar. Apos had been to many cities in his lifetime, more then most, but this was a terrain which he had never tread upon. The only thing he recognized were blue skies which reigned over his head, with large billowy clouds that looked more like floating cities of waded up cotton. He frowned and looked down. Tufts of short, green-blue grass gave way under his leathery boot as he strode across a peaceful hillside. A cool breeze wafted over the hillside, brushing softly against Davros' animatedly white skin. He held his arms out, embracing the gentle gust. He closed his golden eyes and meditated solemnly as he slowly lowered his arms and tilted his body forward, following the momentum with a step, and then another after. "Sunberth." He said as he opened his eyes. "Wander how long it'll be till the Crimson Edge finds me...I doubt I find them myself." He looked back as if contemplating the quest, then looked ahead at the town. He moved forward. As the Myrian Warrior crested the hill his golden eyes fell upon a small town. He boar into the entering crowd and moved into the thick of town before averting his path to a bar. Some turned and looked at him, others didn't bother to see who came in. Apos strolled in and decided to start his search first at what seemed to be the most populated establishment in the area. Speaking in a very fluent variant of Common, he asked the Tender for a cup of water as he sat down. His cyan-hued eyes bore into the man in front of him as the bartender seemingly got lost in his gaze before Apos finally slapped a tip on the bar. "Y-y-yes sir!" Apos himself was about 6' tall, tanned, bald, and muscular. The heat here was nothing compared to that of Taloba, but it wasn't cool either. He wore a black muscle shirt, black pants, and black boots. His stoic visage looked from the bartender to the crowd, randomly looking around to see if anyone was paying any special attention to him. He mumbled a growl to himself and turned back around to see a glass of ice water in front of him. "Thanks." He said with a monotone-like manner, his voice deep and raspy.

[Zandelia]

The day was young for Zandelia, her sleeping patterns having adjusted rapidly to waking early and going to bed as late as she dared. It was tiring her more rapidly than she had anticipated, the risks to her life if things did not go all as planned pushing her to burn her meager candle at both end – hopefully not until it all became a molten lump of wax. However, she had no true way of knowing if she would survive the hardship without adverse affects. So far all that had been brought into her newest portion of existence had been a few bouts of insomnia and a sense of lethargy throughout her daylight hours. She needed to take breaks more often also, a fact that she was indulging in now as she leant back into the high backed chair she was ensconced within, her eye closed and her ears merely listening.

There is something comforting in listening to others talk, the sensation of flowing through a river of sound and swimming to the parts that are the darkest, the murkiest she thought to herself as her fingers tapped absently upon the arms of the chair in a loose rhythm.

It was a good exercise to practice, the art of selective hearing. She had to keep rejuvenating her skills in it or else they became rusty. It was an art that degraded quickly, the ears soon reverting back to their habit of swallowing noise into one cacophonous monstrosity, the notes of each player losing all cohesion and individuality for the most part. It was interesting, to hear the notes blend and change, crescendo and lull. It was within one such lull that she became aware of the complete absence of mutterings, the cause remaining unclear to her for a few moments. She opened her eye and saw two men, as disparate as could be. It piqued her interest enough that her tired concentration became as focused as a knife’s edge.

“What are a Symenestran and a Myrian, if I’m any judge, doing together?” she muttered to herself, leaning forwards now and sipping from her clay cup, the half-ale acrid to the tongue.

The Myrian was large like all of his breed, muscular and seemingly built for raw power and endurance. Dressed in black, simple clothing he cut quite the intimidating figure indeed, one which Zandelia would think the Crimson Edge could use – if he even knew about the group. He looked well travelled to her eye, dust clinging to the clothing as if afraid to let go and be taken in the winds. As for the Symenestran, he was as sleek and sinewy as Zandelia knew Shai to be, if a bit stockier in places. Hard edged facial features of alabaster color, peaking out the top of a form of armor she was not familiar with – black and reminiscent of insectoid origin, though that was rather too fanciful of her she thought. One a warrior, the other she would have seen as a scholar of not for his arsenal of weaponry.

Interesting indeed she mused as she noted how the Myrian looked her way, his goggled gaze sweeping the room. She nodded and carefully, slowly pulled a dagger from one of her boot sheathes. She let the blade glimmer a second in the light before planting it into the wood, accompanied with a dull thud and stray splintering.

She pushed the chair opposite her out and wondered if they would be drawn into sitting, whether they possessed fear, wariness of even curiosity. These were intriguing questions for Zandelia, seeing the benefit of knowing such a man would only be prominent if they showed more drive than to look pretty together.

“Let’s see what the day brings to my nets” she breathed to herself as she leant back into her chair once more, her gaze firmly fixed to the two men.


oocSorry it took so long and isn't fantastic. I've had some trouble writing this week for some reason. Hope it suffices

[Apos]

"You're welcome sir..." The bartender's voice trailed off, almost failing to look away from Apos' gaze again, before jerking his head down at the bar. He quickly grabbed a towel, and began to wipe up spilled beverages left behind by the men who formerly occupied the seats on either side of Apos. Not to his suprise they were found themselves leaving after Apos sat down, due to his own personal task, he seemed to have not noticed. Unless something was done intentionally to gain his attention, and he was dedicated to finding something or someone to do such a task he usually wouldn't notice it. Which is why, after the first sip of his drink, just as the cool liquid of the glass emptied into his dry mouth and throat, he noticed something in the corner of the bar. He failed to lower the glass at first, looking at her over the rim of his cup as she pushed the chair opposite of her's, out. Apos exhaled slowly, resonating a slow growl in his throat that became a habit he'd do whenever he was making a decision or thinking deeply about something. He gave the bar a cursory glace, then looked back at her. As he turned to put the glass back on the bar, the man who'd formerly served him, asked if he'd like a refill to which Apos merely waved his hand in rejection of the offer. Apos began his stroll towards her table, looking for signs. He looked to nearby tables, then to a few a bit further off. Any that would have direct vision to her. 'Don't see any allies, or anyone who looks as if they're particularly interested in my whereabouts. So its not an ambush. Perhaps she's a representative...' His thoughts trailed into nothingness as he neared her table. A light smirk made its way across his face. "Seat taken?" He asked sarcastically. Apos sat down, and looked at the woman across from him. Long, blonde hair that swayed down to her shoulders caught his eyes first as he continued to study her. He thought he could smell the scent of her, but the other odors of the bar mixed with hers, sending what he thought could be her into question. He tilted his head to the right, and kept looking. Full lips, sat under a dainty nose as he looked above both, to a single eye. Even in the dim establishment, her emerald eye stood out against the dark walls behind her like a jewel. He glanced to her scarred eye, then back to her right. 'Beautiful.' He thought to himself. Regardless of her features however, something told him she was whom he sought. "Apos of the Rampant Tskanna." His raspy voice let out. "And you, might be." The sentence wasn't said in a questioning tone, however it may seem like it. It was more like the beginning of a statement, letting her answer be the words that finish the phrase.

[Zandelia]

Zandelia watched intently as the Myrian made his way over to her, his body language playing through her mind as she attempted to decode it before he had arrived in front of her. He was lithe and strong, that much she knew already. The way he scanned the bar told her that he knew when to assess a situation before stepping into it, a useful thing to know in some ways but only half of that part of the man. He could have been a coward and not wish to jump into any situation without judgement, but he could also have merely been a cautious warrior who side-stepped unnecessary conflict. She was curious as to which one it would be if she were honest with herself, the Crimson Edge had no time for those not willing to get involved when required – whether they agreed with the need for it or not.

But he shows no fear, merely caution. I pull a dagger out and stab it into the table and he feels nothing to hold him back. Myrians are noted for ruthless courage, however I did not expect it to be so outwardly forthright in all of them she thought to herself as she reassessed her vision of the man.

She pulled the dagger tip from the wood of the table, leaving a small mark in comparison to what others left in times of a brawl, and placed it flat upon the table now and in close reach of her hand should she deem its use necessary. She was not sure she would win in a clean fight with the barbarian, however she would take any precautions that she could if it meant survival when things went wrong – if they went wrong. The man was directly in front of her now, speaking his words as she sat down, without a drink she noticed. She would have put a warrior caste as a good drinker in times of celebration, though perhaps there were cultural differences. Still, it was an anomaly for her to observe and remember.

“Who I am depends upon what you want and why you sat down, Apos…” Zandelia spoke, choosing her words carefully, “of the Rampant Tskanna. Well, you certainly do not look rampant at the moment at any rate” she continued.

“My name is Zandelia, Zandelia Sansom of the Crimson Edge, and you do not fear an introduction based upon a knife. You are interesting to me, so for now I can be someone to drink and spend time with. Should you choose to at any rate. Perhaps more afterwards, if you prove to be interesting enough” she spoke, a small smile gracing her lips.

She felt a slither of fear at the way she was choosing to greet the barbarian, as if it would provoke an attack of some kind in recompense. She hid it behind her general demeanor, letting her semi-sarcastic manner as a shield that wove around her. It was a tough life, living in Sunberth, and she knew well enough how to protect herself. Still, there was an opportunity here, one both for her own learning and for something Apos might have want of.

“So, what is a Myrian doing in Sunberth, a long way from home? I had a friend once, a warrior, who wished to travel to…Taloba isn’t it? Long way to go she said, very far indeed. So why come all the way here to our cesspool of a city Apos?” she asked him as she took a sip from her mug.

[Apos]

Apos hadn't paid much attention to the weapon until she pulled the dagger out of the table's surface. Presumably it was the motion of her arm that caught his attention, moreso than the dagger itself. Apos was particularly fond of small weapons, which is what probably accompanied his apparent oversight of the dagger. Ulaks, knives, daggers, picks; he loved them in all their various shapes and sizes. Daggers because of their latent ability to deflect other weapons, especially against larger arms like swords- and ulaks for their apparent speed. Picks were a good choice mainly because of their stabbing power. Blades did more damage to the skin, but sinking a 6" pick into a man's neck was another story. “of the Rampant Tskanna. Well, you certainly do not look rampant at the moment at any rate” He smiled and said "My clan is less graphic than our name precedes us to be. We're more rampant...physically, and in nature than anything else." He said as he leaned back moving his shining cyan eyes searching her face for any emotion. "Zandelia Sanson of the Crimson Edge. You're exactly whom I'm looking for." Apos listened as she finished her words, and waved his hand in the air, feeling the eyes of the bartender on his head. He slightly turned his head so that he may look at the feeble man out of his right eye, then turned back to Zandelia. Less than a minute later, a waitress walked up to their table who silently placed two glasses of alcoholic-like beverages down on the table. Apos looked up at her, and she walked away. "Hmm...Taloba." A baritone voice let out. "Yup, thats it. " He grabbed the glass nearest him, and gulped it back in one dash, treating the strong liquid like it was water. His facial expression stayed the same as he began to reminisce. "My pride was questioned once. A fellow Myrian, one whom I never particularly got along with, was prompted with a question by an outsider. It was something along the lines of asking just how dangerous was I as a hunter." Apos briefly paused to chuckle to himself, but it wasn't in a humorous tone. He looked up to Zan and began speaking again saying, "The Myrian retorted quickly and sarcastically saying "Apos isn't as dangerous as you've heard, outsider. He's only that dangerous around humans." Apos raised his glass at the waitress, whom began to walk to their table. "The thing is though, is its always been about these," he said as he pointed to his eyes. "No one in my village believed me to be full blooded despite receiving the blessing of a gnosis mark from Myri. "What ensued afterwards was a series of fights, which then escalated to a series of murders, and eventually a long walk and a bad name for myself." The waitress poured his drink and quickly retreated to the other side of the bar. "Ya know how they say serial killers don't start out as serial killers? Just a person with the thought of killing one particular person? Well its true." He lifted the alcohol and looked at her over his glass, then sipped half of it and sat it down. "But once they kill the first, they gain a sense of power. They kill a second and a third, and after that its like slitting the neck of a Tskanna. The bleeding never stops." He rested his face, letting his eyelids fall sleepily but still attentively. He didn't want to disrespect her. "Eventually, I heard of a certain town, which in turn hosted a certain faction." He was sure she knew what he meant. "Didn't think I'd meet a certain someone along the way however." He said smiling at her, and picking up his glass to finish his drink.

[Zandelia]

Zandelia listened intently, her full cerebral arsenal bent upon dissecting the large barbarian in front of her. She was not a master of the visual arts, however she knew enough to see more than what the Myrian was saying. Her assumptions were all played out within her own skull, her face still possessed of the small smile with which she had began her conversational tone. She had heard that his people were cold blooded killers, the stories wild in their telling and prone to massive exaggeration. Still, the general crux of the fact buried 3within the fiction of rumor still tended to lean towards the violent natures of the Myrians. They began wars, killed in honor of some leader or another and deserved their reputation. Now, face with one in actuality she was surprised to find a softer sense emanating from his very pores.

A Myrian who tired of fighting, yet came here after long journey after hearing of a group of fighters? AN enigma wrapped in a mystery, as they might say. Interesting… she thought as she leant back in her chair and considered her words logically.

He spoke the truth over his eyes also, the orbs reminiscent more of some solid jewel than natural color. Then again, she had met few Myrians enough to extrapolate from their eyes as to what was common. Still, if he told her his were unusual she was more than willing to believe him, seeing no reason why he would lie. He had not even had to tell her, which perhaps gave her another insight into his psyche. He, perhaps, showed them to her as a defense mechanism – something to talk about that was mundane and that he was used to. Still, she knew not at that moment and resolved to learn more.

“Well, you certainly feel versed in combat at least, a point of positivity in Sunberth indeed.,” she bean, toying with the subject, “and I would be inclined to state that such skills would be found of use to a…certain group” she looked at him directly now over her cup, making sure he would pick up upon the nuance she had left in her words.

“As to pride, well that tend to get you killed here so it may work to your advantage that you have defended it admirably over the years. Still, I wouldn’t make a point of committing murders and getting into fights for no reason Apos. Violence, without direction, is nothing but hot air from a slaver’s backside” she continued as she placed her empty cup upon the table, the resonant echoing sound pleasing to her ear.

So, for the most part he seems sturdy. Tired indeed, forlorn perhaps. At the very least he looks like he wanders to find purpose. Perhaps I could give him a reason to find purpose she mused for a few seconds, taking him in again for the fourth time in as many minutes and letting her evolving perspective extrapolate further.

“You sound like you lack direction Apos, that you wander because you have nowhere to call home,” she spoke softly now, her voice filled with her own knowledge of how such a situation felt though she tried to hide it, “come, I think that I could think of a few things to do this day that might give you something more interesting to do than drink with a grizzled woman eh?” she spoke up now, letting him think about it before answering.

“Just remember, nothing is what it seems in Sunberth” she tilted her head to the right and regarded him one last time, her most enigmatic smile playing across her lips.

“What say you, Apos of the Rampant Tskanna? Are you willing to lend your strength towards something with more virtue than blood for blood’s sake?”

He would make a welcome addition indeed, I think. Or at the very least I could use someone with his strength to watch my back. There’s too many angles to fully cover but he’s large enough to cover some she awaited his response with a calmed poise that she did not feel inside, every fiber of her being sensing possibilities.

[Apos]

Apos looked over at the waitress, whom for whatever reason, was already looking him. He ignored her staring, and made a gesture with his head towards the table. He nudged the glass away with his index finger and failed to look at the waitress this time. She picked up the empty glass, placed it on her tray with other empty, dirty glasses, and walked off. Apos tilted his head to the side, looking at Zandelia as she spoke. She seemed hospitable in the midst of a town not necessarily known for its kindness. Such a trait was overlooked by the Myrian however, he could tell that she was simply being polite. "See it as to how I don't have interest in any other syndicate, I find it quite favorable that this...certain group would have me." This was good news to the Myrian. Coming this far and not being able to get in would be quite the upset. He'd most likely go around killing, for Death's sake, moreso out of boredom than any actual pleasure though there was a certain feeling he got when he saw the blood of a victim before him. Since he left Taloba, his taste for flesh had somewhat quelled. He hadn't had the urge to kill random people just for a meal, but should he ever get the chance to taste the meat of a Charoda he would most certainly make that poor being fight for its life that day. "Violence is a cornerstone of my being. I seldom lie or sugar coat anything, but most of the time my killings come from my will to...survive, moreso than anything else." He moved his head upright from its tilted position, to look at her. "If my tone of voice gives away my lack of direction than you would be correct. But, how could I have a home, when I have been exiled from my birthplace." He said in a grizzled and stern tone. It wasn't a sob story however, and he didn't say it for pity, it was only the truth. In fact, he found enjoyment in his exile. He'd had the opportunity to traverse a good portion of Mizahar and see a lot of things. Besides, he'd learn to find enjoyment in looking upon the faces of dying Myrian's who'd been sent after him for bounties. He understood why they wouldn't send any other species though. Myrians, naturally, were stronger and faster than the lot of the other races commonly found for hire, so his own people were their best chance. With every kill, his skills only got better however, and his senses more keen. They'd give up eventually, and their want to avenge fallen brothers will being forgotten. He heard her make mention of a task shortly afterwards and found himself rising from his seat. "Corruption is everywhere, thus nothing is what it seems at anytime in any place." He said as he slid his goggles over his eyes, in preparation for the assumed exit of the Tavern into the sunlight of the noonday. The brute looked around the bar once more, then back to Zandelia. "I'm more willing than you'd think."

[Zandelia]

“Well you say the mantra that will keep you alive in this city Apos, well indeed. Perhaps you will last longer than most, perhaps not. Just remember that, should you choose it, there will be people in this hole in the ground whom will help protect you should you need it,” she stated as she rose from her seat, nodded to the barmaid, and made her way towards the door, “in these alleys readiness without others will help you not at all” she finished as she led them through the door and out into the grimy streets of Sunberth.

It was a despairing site, one which she faced every day and wondered if it would ever get any better than it was at present. It was a strange quandary, one which she mused upon all too often. She had grown up in Sunberth, watched its aversion to authority flourish and fight back against oppression. Some would say it was an untamable place, one which would live in permanent and festering anarchy. Zandelia, however, was starting to take a different perspective. The citizens of Sunberth, for want of a better word, knew authority well enough and bent knee. The real issue was their distrust in absolute rule – that she could use.

Taking the city would be hard, harder still to keep. However, if the ruler were to inspire virtues adverse to what Sunberth has experience before it could, in theory, become something sustainable. All you need to do is find the right levers of the psyche she mused as she led them towards the bridge, crossing it and approaching the Castle Commons markets.

“Apos, tell me what you think of Sunberth,” she asked, knowing it useful to ask outsiders their impressions, “would you think it shapeable? Could it be molded, bent to a will strong enough? Or do you think it to be so lawless as to stay that way until its destruction?” she asked as she treaded their way through the gathered throngs and towards a very specific market stall.

As she walked she noted how more people seemed to part for her after taking a long look at the large Myrian accompanying. She smiled at that, noting how upon crowds intimidation worked far better than fear. Fear paralyzed, left them impotent. Intimidation, however, seemed to be a happy medium that allowed both careful judgement and action upon the judgement. It was always intriguing how differing circumstance allowed different actions, however the actions themselves were of the most interest as they spoke of an inherent quality when performed en masse. Eventually they came to a stall that sold foul smelling pastes and balms, miracle cures and the like. Her contact stood behind, a nervous grin upon his lips as he took both her and Apos into consideration.

“What’s the matter Hareck? We aren’t here to harm you. Just showing a new blood some ropes of the city, you know how it is,” she opened with, leaving Hareck to try to discern what her meaning was, “but I am here because you said there was something of interest I should know. I do hope this is better than the last time, all those empty crate and already moved goods…” she let the unformed threat hang in the air as he licked his lips.

“Oh no no no! This is reliable Dinala! It’s all set up and waiting” Hareck responded, sliding her a note into her hand in the guise of a hand shake. Zandelia looked at the note and smiled, nodded and then took them both away and to the side of the market.

“Well well Apos, a possible blood bath to whet your appetites. You can even keep some of the bodies if what Myrian’s do is true from the stories,” she whispered to him once they were in the lee of a building next to an alleyway, “we are looking for men in blue and red, arrow-like symbols upon their sleeves. They have some goods we would like and power in Sunberth comes from that which you can take, often from the point of a weapon. Let us hunt them Apos. They are down this alleyway it has been stead, within the warren of the Warehouse district. Let us set you loose and see what you can track” she smiled at him grimly, nodding her head towards the alleyway.

oocThough I would give you an opportunity to get some skill boosting in, let you play around a bit. We are looking for a semi-open area with barrels of goods for the taking. How we get there, whether you want to kill some fore-guards is up to you. But the actual haul will be guarded by around 5 people, so have fun!

[Apos]

“Well you say the mantra that will keep you alive in this city Apos, well indeed. Perhaps you will last longer than most, perhaps not. Just remember that, should you choose it, there will be people in this hole in the ground whom will help protect you should you need it,” Apos nodded in return as a mute answer. "Hmm." He growled before answering. "I think to answer that question, one must first consider that in order to shape Sunberth one must be willing to create order amongst chaos. Can Chaos be molded into unity? This place'll self-destruct, unless a certain kind of leader shows up. One of unstable nature, with a bloody ambition for power and once able to reach the position won't alter Sunberth's nature. From what I've seen this place hates heirs, so if that person doesn't hang it over the city's heads or change the morals of the region they might make it." As they walked throughout the city Apos, like Zandelia, noticed the parting crowd as they moved down the street. It was in the back of his mind however, crowds tend to do that whenever he walks anyway. The only reason he really noticed it was because Sunberth is particularly more populated than some of the other cities he's visited in the past. As they approached a stall of some sort. As she spoke to talk to him, Apos noted that he was most likely one of her contacts. He looked at her, then back to the man. The party moved from the stall to an alleyway near by to which Zan told Apos his mission. "Its the only kind of bath I take." The Myrian said letting the metaphor hang about, wandering if she'd take it literal or not. He moved into the alleyway, peering down the lee from behind his goggled eyes. He rounded a corner and saw a man leaning on the wall next to another whom was sitting on a crate. The man resting had the arrow-like symbol on his sleeve Zan mentioned earlier. "Dog meat." Apos walked to the couple with a stalkerish prose, looking as if he'd pounce on either of the two at any moment. As he neared them, the once standing up felt the danger of the situation immediately, while he who sat down nearly waved his hand commanding the thug to attack. But the thug refused to move. There was something about Apos that didn't bode well with him. He didn't know if it was the stature of the Myrian or the ever infinite mystery of the eyes behind the goggles but he refused to move. The man sitting down snapped his fingers, and like a lap-dog the Thug moved to attack. He swung his right hand, which fisted a dagger, at Apos' torso in a wide arc. The Myrian leaned back allowing the blade to pass as he rushed forward and grabbed the man by the neck, pushing it back with such a force his head cracked the brick wall behind him. He struggled at first, and swung at Apos' neck twice, connecting both times as he came back for a third and last strike before he died. Apos dropped his body and cocked his head to the side looking at the limp corpse 'poor guy didn't even notice he dropped his blade.' The thug made a move to get up, but the much faster Myrian had drawn an Ulak and stifled the point into his kneecap before he could stand. "Whoa where you goin'?" "Hey, hey, easy ok?" "Wheres the crates?" "What crates?" Apos tightened his lips and moved the blade along his leg, keeping the point in his knee, therefore making a painful sear along his thigh as he stopped at his groin. He heard him scream in pain, but he didn't change his facial expression. Apos was nearly def to screaming at this point, he'd witnessed too much and was accustomed to it because he was always the cause. "Which door!" Apos screamed. The man panted and said; "Around the corner....knock three times stay out of the sliding peep hole. Now will you let me go!" Apos looked as if he was considering it then looked at Zandelia then back to the man. "May Myri accept this offering, and may Dira guide your soul." Apos placed his free left hand on his head to keep him steady as he moved the blade an inch deeper into his already cut thigh, and ran the blade upward to his neck standing in a position that would keep the blood from gushing out on him. He reached inside his chest, refusing to wait until he died and tugged on his heart, turning it so that the veins would snap and break from the aortas. Once out he drank from the organ until he was satisfied and tossed it onto the body. He ripped the shirt from the strangled man next to him, dried his hands and looked at Zan. "Shall we invade HQ?"

[Zandelia]

Zandelia let Apos lead the way as was her desire, watching his every move and weighing up his actions within her mind. He was an excellent potential recruit for the Crimson Edge, not to mention for her own more intimate designs, however she was not about to recommend his introduction to such entities without first knowing whether he was up to the task. She was a creature of calculation and knew well the price of poor investment, when it came to people and practical operations at least. He was light on his feet as he surged forwards, observant to the stone and wood environment around him, two aspects of his character that made her smile slightly with approval as she followed softly in his wake. She took her time, casually padding along without any real exertion upon her body.

Still, it will be how he engages with the enemy that will define his worth as a mercenary. Mercenaries do as their told, but I prefer to give a certain initiative. How he uses that will be telling indeed she thought as she watched him nod to her in recognition of coming across the enemy.

“Let us see how he handles himself in combat then” she whispered to herself as she nodded back ever so slightly and took up a position at the corner the barbarian had just rounded on his approach.

It was in his manner of confrontation that Zandelia began to suspect that he was more of a brute than an intelligencer’s dream, useful to the Crimson Edge but less so to her own machinations. He headed straight for them, with little in the way of pretence or acting out of a role that might have left the two guards – she now saw – less wary than they were as they engaged him in person. She could not fault his fighting abilities, however, as she followed up swiftly behind him now and passed him by. Apos had left the second man without challenge and Zandelia could not allow that oversight to stand. She had half-hidden herself behind Apos on her own approach but now side-stepped around him and made straight for the other man. She had no time to pull out her tonfa, instead relying upon her fists to do their work.

The sitting man had very little time to react to her assault, still only half-standing and seeing her now was forced onto the back foot. She pressed home her advantage mercilessly, lashing out at his right forearm as he tried to unsheathe his sword. His fingers were forced open upon the impact and he grunted with pain as he lashed out with his foot to try and buy himself some time. It was easy enough to bring her foot upwards to stamp his leg back down towards the ground, stepping forwards to smash her fist into her opponent’s solar plexus. She watched the breath whoosh out from his chest as he bent forwards and his knees began to buckle. It was then that her spring blade flicked outwards and was plunged into the side of his neck. She stepped back as he fell for the last time in his pitiful existence and turned to see the ending of Apos’s commotion.

Is he a madman or are all Myrians like this? she asked herself as, for the first time in years, she found herself speechless.

“Well, I’d have preferred a…quieter…foray into their territory,” she managed to force out with a few traces of shock evident in her tones, “but yes, let us approach” she finished as she tried to thrust the images she had just witness from her mind completely and focus upon practicality.

They approached the door now, rounding the corner with Zandelia in the front this time, pointing to the other side of the door for Apos in an indication of where to seclude himself from sight. That done she hid herself upon the other side and took a few moments to center herself and breath deeply – praying to Akajia that her blessings favored her venture. She reached out and hammered the door three times, keeping out of sight. It was most probably a different signal to those inside than an entrance one but they had nothing else to go by seeing as the men were now dead. She cursed that oversight silently as the hatch snapped open and closed after a few moments. The door opened, however it was not alone they both realized as three thugs poured out and into the street. The advantage they had, Apos and Zandelia, was that they were unseen at first – the thug’s eyes focused forwards and their brains no larger than acorns.

“Now!” was all Zandelia could get out before battle ensued and al five became engaged in the fray, cramped quarters perhaps playing well enough into the duo’s hands.