Past Erased IV - Safe House Slaugher [Fallon]

[Zandelia]

Events escalated all too quickly, the guard she had abused earlier with a cheap one-two assault whilst bound, stepped forwards and brandished his blade towards her – he was ready for revenge and meant to take it. Behind her she could hear Fallon scrambling about, levering herself up from the floor she hoped and ready to fight. If she wasn’t then there would be a fight upon her hands, a losing battle perhaps and just maybe she would be able to kill or injure the remaining threats enough to allow Fallon to escape. She swallowed and prepared to parry and counter in an attempt to nullify one before the battle commenced in earnest. She swallowed, she was in unknown territory now. Never before had she stood watch and stared death so avidly in the eyes, prepared to rip its damned throat out at any cost. Her life had been long by Sunberthian standards but she had yet to be willing to give her life in protection of another – in defence of a dream.

She knew how it felt now though, the words spoken between the two of them hammering home within her like a thrust lance. It wasn’t about her father anymore, she had slammed him through a rotten wall and took his blade without a second thought. It would have amused her had it not been so raw, if it hadn’t felt right. The flickering of fate caused a shiver and fear came, her mouth drying to become akin to s desert. The tread of a boot, the shining of a blade as Fallon stepped in front of her and the guard fell before her clinically precise thrusting, falling to the floor as he was shrugged off. She blinked at the words, they seeped in slowly through the haze of her mind. Her mouth opened, surprise vying with horror at what played out before her.

“No, no you can’t!” the whisper was out of her mouth before sense could stop it from issuing forth. A lot could be read from the tone, her caring concern clear. Gaze snapped to Fallon’s briefly before the other looked away, she couldn’t read what was within that look.

Her mind rebelled, writhed and seethed under the offer that had not been agreed. That she would never have consented to. She had made her position clear, if death was to come to them then she would be the one to fall – it was her vendetta and she had asked Fallon for assistance to see it done. But now…now she was being asked to merely stand back and watch as it played out before her. A bystander, with only the other at risk. She shook her head vehemently, she still refused to acknowledge that the events were even taking place – she hadn’t even moved from her readied stance such was her shock. She stayed there, a statue amidst the death, even as Fallon retrieved her second tulwar from its resting place with a grunt of effort.

This can’t be happening! Why? Why would you…oh for petch…for me. You…bitch! If you die I’m as good as dead anyway! You think they’ll let me go? After killing the others I’ll be lucky not to be raped to within an inch of my life before being broken to pieces…slowly she couldn’t sustain the anger, not in the face of such an act.

Laughter amidst the shifting of falling wood clattering to stone flooring, rich and deep it dispelled the tension and her father stepped from the wreckage through the door and not the hole, to slam it behind his with a broad grin. Against all sense of style it fell backwards and the creaking groan of strained construction greeted all ears as the wall collapsed backwards into the smaller room Markus had called his home. The guards laughed nervously after the noise had ceased and knew the rest of the building wasn’t about to follow suit. Blades lowered but were not sheathed and Zandelia’s shoulders sagged, her resistance was gone as strength faded with the loss of blood. She was tired, so tired.

Pointless…it was all pointless. I won’t even need a shovel because I’d deserve whatever happened to me if she falls. This…this is what vengeance brings me. A hollow place…cold…worthless. So be it she thought.

“So be it!” her father echoed her sentiments outwardly as he drew his broadsword and a dagger slipped into his left hand, “don’t worry daughter. You have the look of infatuation about you. I’ll kill her swiftly to ease your pain. Your face says it all. Used to look like that when we took her favourite toys away you know. To the death? ” he asked Fallon casually and Zandelia flinched at the words.

"You should know that lone wolves tend not to snap at bears. For good reason. They tend to die. Are you ready to learn that Bitzer?" he mocked her as he looked at the guards that remained, "know that your sacrifice won't be in vain though. We'll have a new pelt and a new pet too" and the men laughed, sickeningly.

“So be it” she whispered into the ensuing silence before she took both of her tonfa into her left hand in defeat and stepped backwards.

She stayed between Fallon and the two guards that remained. She noticed that the back door was being blocked by the body of the one she had kicked in its direction. Perhaps she had been slammed into it, knocked unconscious. She could hear no pressure upon it, no baying of hounds. Perhaps their owner had fled into the night with them, it didn’t matter anymore. She sighed and came to Fallon’s side, resting her free hand upon the shoulder to impart a gentle squeeze. She eyed her now still enemies with suspicion and vowed to kill them if it even smelt as if they were about to intervene.


The die is cast, but where it lands only Lhex knows. But I'm damned if I'm not going to try and cheat our way out of this. If I can she told herself mournfully as she looked upon Fallon, arms trembling with fear.

There was a suspicion that this could be a ploy, another hastily conjured gambit to try and tease out an opportunity but from the set of Fallon's jaw and the way she refused to fully meet her gaze the hope was a small one, flickering rapidly towards being extinguished. If there were to be such events they would have to come from her end of this abbatoire. She stayed out of striking range of the enemy and gripped her waepons grimly as adrenalie faded and the pain began to creep inwards. The bleeding had slowed to a trickle now, gushing slightly more when she moved.She pressed her hand to her sliced ribs firmly with a sharp intake of breath as she sought to aid the clotting process with pressure.

She could only watch.

[Fallon]

There was that moment of stillness, that initial calm before the storm. Her shoulders rolled, a gentle arc up onto her toes as she stepped round and found a rhythm within her steps. The heart fluttered, a long inhale as she took the scene in. Wood was broken and scattered, the stone floor slick with blood, earth and debris. The look lifted, a beat sounding out within her ear, the whispered hiss as once more she passed Zandelia. That cry of concern, that clawed at her heart. He accepted of course, and with that there was no going back.

Clear gazed she let the dice of fate roll and spin across the ground, her chin lifting to view the predetermined roll. She would live, or she would die, there was no middle ground this time. A second inhale, deeper, hotter, filled with flames as it fed her core. The hand rested upon her shoulder, a squeeze from the woman for that final act and moment before it was all ripped away. Her gaze turned at that point, meeting and unwavering for those last few precious ticks. The accent of Bitzer was lost, and it was only the soft roll of her more natural one that sounded out. True, unwavering, certain and filled with the same fire that burned within before she stepped away, "I love you, don't you ever forget that."

It was all for Zandelia. For them.

"There is a saying," The husky growl fell, composure taking over. Her back straightened, the mercenary face falling away to the back. Concepts of honour bloomed within her mind, of doing the right thing, of justice and prevailing over ones enemies. Passion covered her, a burning fire from within as she raised the point of the tulwar. It was there it was held, the disc pommel bouncing off her thigh, the tip wavering and stilling upon the air. Her gaze locked upon the father's eyes, unflinching and unmoving as she held him within her grasp. Eyes told a multiple of things; thoughts, feelings, where the blade was going and the flickers of hesitation before strikes. Words rolled from her tongue, "That my mentor used to say into the face of Death. When it was time to rise up, to draw blades and swords and face down the greatest of fears... You know what he would say to Death?"

Her lids narrowed down upon him, her lip breaking into a curl. The father had lifted his blade in response, a low thundering tones escaping through the room. A final rise up and rock on her toes. Her shoulder went down, the grip upon her left tensing as feeling began to throb in its return. Fingers flexed, her eyes lifting to meet him. She was ready. Fallon sprung forward, "Not today!"

Metal clashed against metal, a sharp grind as honed edges met the other. The silent audience stared in surprise that the combat had ensured. The leading right curved forward, a mighty slash to mark the start of the duel and to gain the upper hand within the combat. His dagger was what came round in response, the smaller blade jabbing at her arm with speed. The tip pierced through the leathers, sticking into the flesh as she pulled away in recoil. First blood went to the father. She could not allow herself to be overwhelmed, else she may as well already be dead.

A flurry of movement, the throwing of weight against the tulwars as she shoved herself into the father. A backlash, the staggering of feet upon rubble strewn ground. Toes snagged and pressed, the rising up onto an arch as the pair once more were locked. The smaller against the giant, strength against speed. He pushed back, the clatter of blades ringing out as the surfaces ricocheted. Legs bumped into the table behind her, the left hand pressing against the wood top as the broadsword raced downwards. The tulwar snapped upwards, the base of her spine pressing against the surface, the curved edges catching the larger blade within an x. Teeth gritted, arms trembled as gravity and strength worked against her. The sharp edge pressed against her cheek, the cold tip beginning its dig in. Eyes full of murder, she gritted her teeth, her eyes narrowing down into a wince as the inevitable closed in. Her mind screamed at her - Not today!

Raising a foot, she forced it between them and kicked him in the gut. Staggering back, Fallon pushed herself up, the blade weaving forward in retaliation. A flash of steel, a break in the defence and a hiss as the tip sliced flesh. Tip angled she continued her assault, the off hand swinging the tulwar round. The broadsword thrust forward, keen as it looked to pierce her torso. He had reach where she did not. She contorted round, forcing a pivot as the edge screeched its way across her breast.

[Zandelia]

The words hung in the air, the affection flickering in the air between them as gazes met truly and then Fallon turned to her father. Bitterness fought with the surging up of joy and wrestled it into submission. Last words, stated when they needed to be and she knew then that if fate held true to its usual course that they would seal Fallon’s death in this endeavour. She had never considered herself lucky and hope now died and was replaced with self-loathing. She stepped back and her head tilted upwards as her eye pressed shut in fervent exasperation. Fallon never did anything with half-measures, she should have known. She had known but hearing the words aloud at this crossroads proved too much and she fought back the tears. She pressed the hand harder into the ribs to stop them with the pain, she deserved it.

“Well that’s just petching great…”she muttered quietly to herself.

“What did you say?” the guard nearest her spoke up suspiciously.

“I said if either of you move it will be the last move you make” the promise stated with utter conviction, eye still closed.

Why didn’t I just walk away? She tried to make me, always questioning…searching the path I could take without being consumed. Several times. I should have walked it with her. Now it’s too late. She thinks I’m worth the sacrifice but I’m not, I’m just the same as my father. History repeats, making his mistakes she couldn’t stop the criticisms, they ripped through her with a strength she had not experienced in some time.

Fingers gripped her tonfa until the knuckles whitened to beyond the pallid, her right hand peeled away and the shirt didn’t follow – stuck to the wound and helping to seal it for now. Her shoulder was the same, she could feel fabric doing the job of binding for her though it would rip away as soon as she moved. It was a secondary consideration, there would be death either way she thought and at that moment she would have accepted it willingly such was her plummeting mood. She opened her eye with a deep, pained breath and she resolved to watch – if she was being fought for she owed at least the observation of the show. It began.

It passed with a blur, they were both skilled and from the offset seemed to be evenly matched as far as she could tell. Her cheek winced at every movements, lips trembling in accompaniment of the harsh sound of metal rasps. She bit her lip and when Markus’ dagger slipped through teeth drew blood that flowed into her mouth with a hiss of indrawn breath. Coppery tang flooded her taste buds as her eye widened and only narrowed once Fallon was out of immediate danger. It was the hardest thing she had ever done in her life, just watching as the observers shifted around the room as the melee shifted and relocated as it flowed. She couldn’t just sit back and do nothing! She knew Fallon was good, she wouldn’t be alive if she weren’t but honour was pointless if it couldn’t be used.

What good is wisdom when it brings no profit to the wise? Oh you’ve finally found a sense of honour and duty Zandelia, well done. Bit late though. You promised to protect her, promised! And you took her into the den without accepting this could happen. Now look. Watch. Both wounded now but that’s not the point is it? She shouldn’t even be here… the mental barrage continued and instead of fighting it she gave up, tumbling through the torrents to smash through its blows.

Something died within her, she knew not what but as she continued to watch the bout calm began to settle upon her like a soft blanket. No more turbulent emotions, no more desires for blood. She just wanted to get out, finish this and breathe the fresh air again. Her gaze flickered to the floor as muscles relaxed and the decision was made logically – she would cheat. Whether her father died or not was not as important as whether Fallon did. She didn’t care for any honour towards those as didn’t deserve it and the only one in the room who did was the other woman. She was close enough to both the guards and her father to flow in either direction. She listened as the men jeered her champion, she wouldn’t stoop that low – not now.

Let them get caught up, distract themselves with an old fashioned sport. They won’t see the end coming. What did she say about death?

“Not today” she whispered under her breath as her weapons were placed in both hands now, loosely so as to betray no immediate threat but all too ready to flash forwards brutally at the crucial moment.

Come on Fallon, come on. Pivot, slash the back of the knee. Slow. Weaken. Bleed. Strength can’t win this for you, only speed. Go for the vessels, the tendons. Inside of the wrist to disarm. Inner thigh or inside the elbow to bleed quickly. Come ON! she screamed internally, not breaking her silence in case she would prove a distraction.

Her eye flicked between the two groups of targets. Which one was the greater threat?

[Fallon]

A snap back, a recoil as she pulled away from the blade. Fingers wriggled around the hilt of the tulwars, her chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. Right tip pointing forwards, she stepped around him, her eyes forever stuck upon the target in question. Steel quivered in the air, a jerk back as the dagger gave a slash and the broadsword thrust forward. A rock, a snap and twist as the left blade came round to meet the sword, that grinding screech of metal before it backed off. Weaving the blade forward she raised the tip, a flurry of jabs as the broadsword once more swung round.

Throwing her own blade up between her and him, she felt the mighty crack of brute force strike against her. Footing was lost, a misstep over the uneven ground. Her chest heaved, a firm kick sending her tumbling forwards to the ground. Feet searched for a solid stance, a full twisting pivot to deflect the oncoming blade with the left. It bounced, the right arched round afterwards, slicing into the exposed flesh of the wrist and then down. Her back slammed against the floor, a crunch as the cheers sounded out. Her body rebelled, her eyes burning up within her vision.

Sword swinging down, onto her she rolled to the side, knees picking up beneath her and leaving her back exposed to an attack. He was stronger than her, and capable of using her as little more than a play thing. With the air on fire, she felt the blood bloom, the sting as steel sliced flesh. A struggle, a stagger as she clawed her way up to her feet. Eyes watered, teeth clenched as the right tulwar once more came up between them. She had to fight back, she had to win. She could not afford to lose.

Parrying the dagger away, she felt the pommel clip her across the temple an upward struggle commencing in the duel. Staggering to the side, Fallon teetered on the edge, head swimming with pain before she threw herself back into the blades. She needed to be faster than him, to win in the throws of this deadly dance. She swung the tulwar, letting it slice through the air, metal hitting metal once more. She pushed back, pouring in her energy into closing the space between them. It was clear that the difference in length was vital, it meant he was at her mercy whilst leaving him limited in his own movements.

With a growl escaping she pressed, blades locking in with each other. Hot breath errupted from each other, the red fog of war consuming their minds. A shove, a push back, her form crouched as she absorbed the impact. The energy shot thought the legs, her teeth gritting as she watched him pull back the sword once more. The world slowed, the taste of iron within her mouth, her fires still burning strong. A spring forward in response, steel hissed along each other, the impending blade snaking its way forth. Her eyes widened, the body forced into turning once more, the tulwar shooting towards him.

A gasp, a hiss and a patter of blood as it fell. Blades stuck into flesh, both bodies snug against the other. Her grip around the tulwar tightened, her weight rocking against him. A leg buckled, the broadsword stuck in place as the father tried to pull it free. The eyes of Fallon looked up to him, teeth breaking out into a wolfish grimace. Pushing him away with the left tulwar, it was the same arm that clenched around the blade that lay snug to her, "Got you."

She watched him scowl, and hiss as she twisted the tulwar lodged within his shoulder. A kick, a twist of the broadsword in resistance to being pulled. Skin sliced, blood flowed as she kick him back. A shout of pain, the twist as the tulwar was ripped free. The broadsword clattered to the ground, a smear of blood and laboured breaths. The cut stung, numbing to the arm as it bubbled down the pale skin and leathers. The toe slid the dropped blade away towards the corpses, her eyes flickering to Zandelia for less than a beat.

Get it.

She watched the grimace, the rattling dirge of air escaping her lungs. Now his main reach had been elminated, the duel would turn to her favour. In theory at least. Circling him she pointed the tulwar at him, challenging him to fight back. A rise of the chin, the flexing of fingers as the Bear and Wolf stared each other down. The Bear charged.

[Zandelia]

Her breathing became ever more shallow as the bout continued, chest rising and falling quicker as chimes became the most important periods of time that one could ever measure so diligently. The speed was breath taking, the silence of the combatants in stark contrast to the two leering wretches beside her – she was shuffling closer, as close as she dared to get in preparation for her gambit. They were too focused upon the fact that their leader seemed to be winning, slowly but surely edging out youth with experience. Even as she loathed him she had to admit that he was a talented swordsman. It was proven neatly as Fallon was brought to the floor, the consolation prize of slicing into her father’s wrist to weaken him paling in comparison to the slashing received at her own back. She inhaled sharply, only able to imagine the pain that was being endured.

“Come on…come on,” she began to mutter under her breath, a repetitive mantra that gave her a semblance of comfort.

“Stab ‘er up!” the screams of the guardian duo crawled across her skin.

That’s it, I’ve had enough. I can’t watch this. I can’t her fingers gripped her tonfa murderously and her head turned to take in the animals beside her.

She was about to reap her tonfa outwards and upwards, silencing one of those voices forever with the collapsing of a windpipe, the last sickening enjoyment before the long silence of death overtook her. Her decision was made, her father was the greater threat now. Toying with her partner like a child with an insect. He was enjoying the position of superiority but he would relish it less when her daughter smashed him to pieces. It would leave her back exposed to attack, deadly most assuredly, but she didn’t care. The anger of years broiled up, finally overtaking the horror as she breathed and prepared to flow forwards with as much energy as could be mustered. The scene froze…and was broken by the growl.

"Got you."

Vision snapped back as the broadsword descended, clattering to the stone flooring slowly and a dark smile flickered across her lips. She snapped her gaze to Fallon’s face to see the strain there, passing over the seeping blood of the wounds to seek out the stolen glance at the weapon as it was kicked away. She had waited, waited so painfully and now the opportunity presented itself. With a shout of wrath her arm snapped outwards upon its pre-planned journey and crunched into the throat of the closest guard as she span her right shoulder around to follow through with a smash of metal to jaw to send the man flying backwards. The weapon dropped from her left hand, finger’s uncurling and disarming herself for what was required. The second guard, daggers in hand, frowned at her as she continued in her pivot until she was facing the right way. Footing slipped dangerously upon the slick blood beneath her and she stumbled forwards.

She reeled sideways, momentum carrying her through as she began to fall towards the hard stone. Fingers of her free hand stretched outwards, brushing the handle of the broadsword, seeking its grip and finding it roughly enough to carry it with her as she slammed into the floor painfully. Consciousness trembled as wounds opened brutally, blood coursing once more as she rolled with all of her ability away from the duel. The broadsword sliced into her right forearm, jagged cuts peppering it but from the bouncing she guessed they were not overly serious. She ended upon her back, propped up by one of the created corpses and triumph upon her face as the grip became as strong as she could make it.

“Kill her” her father screamed at the remaining guard before he rushed towards Fallon, seeking a quick end through sheer brutal power.

She could barely breathe, the haze of her foolish gambit causing her vision of flicker as pain tore through her from wounds both old and new. She had bought time, had given her champion superiority by completing the hastily cobbled together scheme. As the guard rushed at her, blades flashing, it was all that she could do to raise her foot and slow his momentum by placing it into his chest. The riposte was agony, dagger slashing at her right thigh and biting through feeble cloth to force her leg away as he closed in on her. Tonfa came up and her right forearm turned the blade in its descent but only just enough. She paid for it with yet another wound, this one shallow as sharpened edge ground against blunt tonfa and sliced her arm. As it did she brought to broadsword around and slammed its tip home into his belly with as much force as she could muster.

“Petch…you” she snarled weakly as she pulled it back to rip through his insides, twisting her wrist venomously. Blades hit the floor with an oddly unnerving chiming as her left leg pushed him back so he didn’t collapse upon her.

She was tired, unused to feeling such battle pains. She coudn't even tell where she was injured anymore - she remebered the sohulder and the ribs but other than that it was smoke upon the wind. She would deal with it later, if she didn't bleed out first. She rolled herself slowly sideways until she could push herself upwards. She staggered and fell into the wall…through the wall almost as wood gave way to misuse. The building was a wreck. Interior walls were either collapsed or sagging and wishing they could. The front door was now off its hinges and had taken the frame with it to leave a gaping maw into the night. Debris and corpses littered the main room, no furniture remained intact. Shutters had given way too, though when she couldn’t piece together. It would take an enormous amount of time and effort to bring it into any state of use. Fragmented thoughts flickered and died. She had one last task to complete and she pushed herself forwards, towards the combatants as if drunk.

Save…Fallon…

The broadsword swung around weakly, without skill and powered purely by fading willpower. It shimmered, it screamed for pain. It sliced through the back of her father’s thigh as she shouted pure fury and collapsed into a heap sideways. Weapons fell from her grasp as she lay upon her back and tried to maintain consciousness through the agonies. Breathing was laboured and difficult, her arms searched for something to defend herself with and found nothing but wet, rough stone. She sighed.

At least they had won.

"So much death. So much...hate. Stupid" she mumbled, unable to produce any more words.

[Fallon]

Zandelia reacted, and it was only then that all the effort that Fallon put in obtained. A scream, a shout, a sickening crunch as surfaces collided. Her feet gave a turn, a quick step and pivot as he charged her. Length was her advantage now, the quick slashes slicing the skin. Faster, swifter, the pulse raged, the dance of blades reaching its pivot as blood pulsed and flow. The final desperate moment, the last of the attack as she cleaved the right tulwar around, the left sheepishly following after it with the turning momentum. A slash, a restriction as it cut though the chest and back. Lips gasped, the taste of blood within her mouth, her eyes burning as the father shouted out. The woman could not die, not yet. Not whilst life was still in the veins of Fallon. A ragged breath escaped, feet slicking upon the floor, her eyes turning to find the woman before the dagger raced towards the chest. A pivot, a turn, her feet stepping and sliding away as everything began to make itself known. She had to be faster, quicker and end it all soon.

He stumbled as the broadsword struck his exposed back, the roaring howl of anger as she swung the blade haphazardly to him. Zandelia came into view shortly after, the form crumbling with the last attempt to protect. Fallon's heart screamed, the grip tightening around the hilt. She could already see him turning to retaliate against his daughter, and it was with the last few reserves of her energy that Fallon charged him, "No you petching don't!"

It was the full weight that tackled against him. A blind charge to defend the woman from an impending wrath. A shout, a rumbling roar escaping from her dried throat. Arms pressed against him, and for a moment there was suspension. Feet were off the ground, teeth gritting as hands wrestled in the air. A crunch, a slam of movement as the bodies collided on the hard surface. Scrabbling, struggling, it was the right and empty hand that swung round to crack against his jaw, a final display of dominance over the other. The hand clenched around her throat, the fingers tightening and constricting as she tried to pull away.

Air thinned, her breaths becoming few and laboured. Somewhere Zandelia had mumbled something, but that was not her concern right now. The left blade sliced the arm, her head arching back as she sucked in the air. With her grasp upon her left she pressed the keen edge against his throat and stared down to him. She unpeeled herself away, the struggling continuing as she clambered up to her feet. One foot pressed against his chest, the other stamping down upon the dagger hand. Her chest heaved, her arms trembled as she brought the tip up hovering above his chest. Eyes blinked, the colours swirling into focus as adrenal begun to slip.

"Zandelia," her voice managed to croak. Her eyes remained fixed upon the father, even as she spat away a mouthful of blood, "Zandelia? I... get... get up. I... need you." she dared not take her eyes away, to do so would leave an opening for danger. Her back stung, her muscles ebbing as the pain sunk in, "Zandelia! Please!" A hiss, the tip of the tulwar pressed against his throat. For a moment she blinked down at him, a cold harsh gaze that absorbed him for all he was. He had lost, they both knew that, and now he was at the mercy of the blade holder. Her voice cracked, and she managed to breath, "What do you want me to do? What... shall I..." Her arm gave a tremble, that search for some confirmation as to what to do. Shakily it was her right hand that slipped round to the bracer and pulled upon the dagger that had always been there, and then stretched it back out towards the woman, "What... what is your wish?"

[Zandelia]

Eyelid flickered, the bloodied back of her forearm drawn across her forehead to leave its smeared, tacky mark. Words spoken in earnest all too commanding in their expression. She tilted her head sideways to see the tableaux, frozen in their victory. She groaned as she rolled onto her side and began to lever herself upwards, Fallon was still standing. She didn’t know how the woman managed it, she was injured further than she was. She wasn’t in as much pain now, wounds were beginning to stick together but she was tired. She came to one knee and blinked, minds trying to catch up with what had happened. She stared at the proffered weapon, the dagger she had held for so many years to produce at this very moment. Trembling fingers reached out, brushed the other’s hand and shakily grasped the blade. She looked at it dully for a few moments.

“Knew you’d make me get up again. Can’t let an old woman rest?” she spoke the words, attempting humour but failing miserably with the flat tones, “it’s okay Fallon. I’m here. Alive. What?” she asked, mind only now fully catching up with events.

Her gaze passed between the tip of the dagger and the prone form of her father a few times before she growled and shuffled forwards to replace the other woman. Knee pressed into his chest as the dagger came around to rest its edge upon his throat with inevitability – the moment she had waited for. It began to slice but stopped almost immediately to leave just a thin trickle of blood and a superficial cut. His eyes were mad with fear, wild and pleading as they pierced up at hers. Emerald reflecting emerald and neither of them able to summon up enough hatred to lend gravitas to the scene. She looked around the room, to Fallon, back to her father. To Fallon. To Markus. It all paused as scenarios flashed through with possibility, calculating probability for her.

The blade rasped forwards, slicing tendon and flesh until nothing but a gurgle could be heard amongst the thrashing. The task was completed as always imagined but she was a murdered now. Patricide. She was shunned by many despite the circumstances. Fallon stuck by her but she held her own views and refused to discuss them until one day forced to. A festering wound between them that never closed, that there was disappointment. Consumed by bitterness Zandelia lost everything for the vengeance.

She blinked.

It was treated like a mercenary job but it held a more profound effect than a simple contract. The soul darkened, light flickering within until finally consumed. Death. Murder. She lived for them now and the dream was no more, her own actions working against the Scars and risking more than was wise. It all collapsed as she was drawn in by the power she could hold over others, their life in her hands and stolen away with the sweet song of a blade’s edge. The crunch of blunt instruments of warfare. She became, slowly, her father’s daughter.

She sighed.

She was hunted down in retribution for the death, unknown allies recruiting friends of those fallen that night to close in around her. She used her skills to make sure Fallon wasn’t implicated but she couldn’t stop the war of attrition upon herself. Small wounds, building up over seasons. She tried her best but they weakened her by increments. A letter received one day, an offer of exchange. Her life for the one she cared about. She walked into the night and met Dira’s embrace, found the next morning in the streets with bodies strewn around her.

She nodded. All futures were bleak, she didn’t have time to calculate them all but either way she knew she would be doomed. She was a net weaver, not a killer by trade. She had yearned for this moment but now, with Fallon’s gaze upon her, she couldn’t bring herself to go through with it. It was something she could never have anticipated, that she would lose the taste for her wrath but it had petered out. Destroyed in small portions by the events of the evening, slowly ground down until now all she could feel was a hopeless bitterness at its incarnation. She glared down at Markus, face coming as close as she dared. She chose none of the futures that had existed before this night, she chose another that hadn’t existed at all.

“You will leave Sunberth and never return. Your property, your gold…everything is mine by right. I know your face, your fingerprints upon the work. If I even smell you I will hunt you down like a dog. Look around you, two women and you couldn’t win when you outnumbered them. I am not your daughter” she brought the blade up and then smashed her hand downwards to bruise knuckles wrapped around the hilt as it crashed into his temple.

Once. Twice.Thrice. He slumped back, unconscious. Her breathing was ragged, emotion gone but something still remaining deep within. It flickered and she shook her head bitterly.

“F-Fallon…teach me how to shovel,” she whispered, “let’s go home. I claim his blade and he probably has gold somewhere. I don’t care. I just…I don’t know anymore” fingers fumbled for his harness after slipping her dagger into its boot.

She pulled it away finally and standing now buckled it to herself. Chimes passed in silence as she gathered her weapons. Broadsword slipping into its gaudy scabbard and she slid the tonfa under the harness on her right hip. She didn’t look at Fallon at first, she didn’t want to see what was contained within that gaze. Would she hate her for not following through when she had endured so much damage? It would be deserved certainly. Finally she turned and half-walked, half-limped up to the other woman, she didn’t have the heart to slap her for suggesting the duel though she truly wanted to do so. She gingerly embraced the other woman, trying not to disturb the wounds which made it awkward but the message was clear.

“I wish that we had met a long time ago, then perhaps I wouldn’t be an idiot. Are you okay to walk? You need attention,” she kissed that cheekbone and properly took her in then, blood seemed to be smeared everywhere and she couldn’t tell which of it was her own, “healer?” she asked quietly.

They both knew how sadistic Sunberth’s healer was but this time it might be required despite the prices to be paid.

[Fallon]

Everything properly began to hurt. Adrenal had escaped her, the arms growing weak as the hand brushed against fingers. She stepped away, the woman replacing her in the hold. Her head throbbed, dizzying almost as the dry humoured words shifted through the air. Glazed eyes blinked at Zandelia, her lips parting as she inhaled. Fingers traced the slashes within the armour, the thin trails of blood showing that it had done some of its job - protected her from the worst of the damage. Her feet gave a stagger, but for the moment she was silent as she forced her way around the room and to the carnage.

It was Zandelia's time, it was up to her now to make the decision. The dice was rolled, the deck empty now for all but the last card. Fallon's finger's curled up around the discarded cloak, a weak grip pulling the fabric and tossing it over her shoulder. Blades found theirs sheaths, the kukri shakily being slid into is sheath. Her breathing laboured, her gaze turning back to face the woman. She was torn, stuck and internally struggling with the potential outcomes that could arise. Her breath caught in her throat, but she held herself back. She had fought for the woman, she had spilt blood so she could reach this climax and make her own choices - and whilst she would respect whatever choice was made she still hung onto her own personal opinions.

Her hand gingerly pressed upon the slit on her arm, her teeth gritting as she focused. She needed to stay concious, alert and ready. For her. A rattling exhale escaped, her fingers weakly curling up. There was a flicker to the voice, the threatening lean down as the words hissed at him. The fist, the drawback of the hand the crunch as she struck against his temple. She paused, a flicker of surprise that the woman had spared him. She had show mercy in a bloody situation - of course, not without its threats. Fallon swayed on the spot, tired eyes blinking as the scene blurred.

A hesitant step forward, her right hand reaching out to touch. That warmth, that sharing, that bond. She knew the woman needed her, even as she whispered that bitter hiss. Fallon was not angry, she was more concerned even in her sluggish state. There was a wince, a clench of teeth as the blood clotted and flesh stuck. She needed to get out her armour, to free herself from restrictive bonds. And both of then certainly needed some medical attention. Grasping the cloak tightly as the woman came closer she produced a brave smile between the winces, until finally the woman was in range. The cloak around Zandelia's shoulder she adjusted it, her eyes staring into that emerald orb, soft and lacking in judgement to her choices.

Fallon placed her hands upon the woman's shoulders. Weak, trembling slightly as she tried to keep her focus. Her mind kept swimming, lightheaded almost as she held it. A press of the thumb against the cheek, the pulling into an embrace, as her hands held the woman. And it was then that only the whisper barely escaped, "Together... together, we will learn... We will live, we will survive and face our difficulties, together," A sharp inhale, her brow pinching as she tried to choose some words. Zandelia was hurt herself, though the complete state of injury was not known. She squeezed gently, a hiss as she held the woman close.

"You need attention too," Her hand pulled away, the gloved tips gently touching the open slice that traced her ribs. A tremble, a brush of her forehead as she took the woman in. She was certain her legs were about to go numb, the hiss as those lips trembles. She needed to stay strong still, they were not out of danger just yet. But for the moment she simply just wished for that reassurance - just like she could almost sense the same looking in the woman before her. Her head slumped for a moment, her shoulders hunching in as she held the gaze. Breaking a mumble she spoke, "I'm proud of you."

Lips pressed against Zandelia's cheek quickly, and with one final look, that gentle grasp of fingers within her left hand. No more would be gained from waiting around here, only the bitter taste within their mouths of a blooded night. Wound needed to be tended to, the minds needed to be brought to rest. It was done, "Come on. Let's get out of here. Let's go home."

[Shai]

However hopeless the situation appears to be There yet always exists the possibility of putting up a stubborn resistance Zandelia : Acrobatics 1 Broadsword 2 Disguise 1 Intimidation 1 Observation 3 Planning 2 Rhetoric 1 Spring Blade 1 Subterfuge 1 Teaching 1 Tonfa 2 Unarmed 1 Alias: Za The Curse of Remembrance Fallon: Her Dreams Became Mine Fallon: The Mage Patricide Truncated Loot: Iron Broadsword and scabbard Wounds: Various knicks, cuts and slices some serious. Two Broken ribs. Fallon : Acrobatics 1 Acting 1 Dual Wield 1 Intimidation 3 Kukri 1 Negotiation 1 Rhetoric 1 Planning 1 Projection 2 Subterfuge 3 Tulwar 3 Unarmed 3 Binding A Prisoner with Rope Projection: Sending an Invisible Signal Zandelia: My ‘Sunshine’ When the Wolf Bites the Bear Wounds:Various knicks, cuts, and slices. Multiple serious cuts. Check : Wounds, Wounds every where! Wounds to the left wounds to right!