PM to join [The Streets] Night of Tears

[Fallon]

69th Summer 514 AV

It was pitch black outside, dark, barely a glimmer of light. A dark veil of clouds smothered the moon and the stars, the glows of lamps and candles duller than normal in the night. The air was thick and moist, a heavy, thick haze of blood smothering the senses and the beating of the pulse leading one onwards through the dark. Sweat hung about her form, the heavy breaths escaping as she moved. Speed was of the essence, every step vital, every move important in order to make not only distance, but time. Beneath a hood of black she turned, eyes catching the low light, the hum of voices somewhere behind as she stepped, and the edge of exposed steel hidden behind a veil of black.

She could not rest, she could not return to the designated spot. Not whilst her own hunters rested upon her trail. Orvin was at her side, the low rumbling growl escaping whenever they stopped for more than a chime, those golden orbs staring off into the darkness. Her head swum, tired, the slow sting of sluggishness starting to make itself known, but still she pushed and would continue to do so until she felt she had reached a point of safety. Eyes caught the glimmer of the lantern light, the glowing beam that cut through the darkness and was directed at her mass of shape. The wolf bushed up, the master let out an angry snarl in response before calling down to the beast, "Orvin! Come on! Follow!"

He did not take much convincing as the hunting shouts cried out and the shadow of the silohette charging after her. Feet skidded, the patter of dirt as she forced breath once more to fill her lungs. Pulse quickened, eyes darting and searching as she saw the dark shape of a narrow alleyway and promptly darted in it. Pants and breaths echoed down it, another sharp turn as the summer heat caressed her and a quick dive behind the crates. The entire body of Orvin was pulled close to her after that, a whipping of the cloak tightly around their forms. Fur pressed against skin, a slither of a gap peeking out from the folds.

For a moment the whole world stilled, the breaths fell silent to the clattering of feet. She hunched slightly when she spotted the glare of the lantern pierce over the boxes, hovering and swinging from side to side. A gentle crunch, the gruff voice shouting out, "Come on out you little bitch. Give it up on running away!"
Another one shouted then, "Oi! Over here! Heard something!"

The lantern swung away, the sharp shift of movement and foot falls marking the rapid run down the alleyway towards whatever the source of the sound was. It was gradually that she uncurled, cloak flapping to one side and her back pressing against the alleyway wall. Her chest gave a heave, eyes darting about the remains of the space, her mind racing to gather what was going on. Somewhere beyond the chase was still ongoing, with the clatter of fighting and combat ringing out behind. The gangs were still at war, scrapping and snarling at each other with metal claws and fangs unto the end. It was chance that she was caught the crossfire of it all, and now as a potential threatening target it made life difficult once more to move.
"Petching Hai," she cursed as she pushed herself up to her feet. There was a dart of the glance back and forth once more, before she begun the slow and careful process of attempting to back track through the darkness. Hoping, silently, that she would be left in peace and out of harm's way.

[Markus Andres]

The knight had often found himself wandering out at night in Syliras. When he couldn't sleep or if something nagged him. He had been confident in those hallways and walkways, felt safe and secure. There had been a comfortable feeling about being able to walk the streets knowing that no one would dare attack a knight. Not even in the middle of the night with no one around to save him. This city was a direct contrast to that feeling. Every corner was a potential hazard waiting to spring out at him. Every window, boarded and shut up to keep outsiders away. The fury of Myri had taken the street, but not all found her victory – the bodies strewn across the street said as much. The men nurturing wounds, to both body and soul, spoke the same story.

The streets were not what one would consider safe. Kvist had his shield strapped to the left arm. Under normal strolls he would have carried it on his back. Easier, didn't look like he was about to kill someone. Under these circumstances, that extra bit of intimidation made the crucial difference between being a victim and being left alone. He could feel he was getting a little weary of the darkness. Eyes getting tired of constantly searching out the place that omitted the light of Priskil.

There was a reason for Kvist prowling the desolate streets of Sunberth, rather than being in his room cuddled up against a beautiful konti. He was hunting for a pair of low-life scum he had had an encounter with the previous day. One did not threaten children in front of Kvist and expect to get away with it. They had wisely chosen to vanish from the streets, still, the knight searched. He was about to give up hope for the evening when he heard the sound of men chasing someone. The lantern shone brightly in the nightlight, alerted him of their position far before they were capable of seeing him. He crouched low, felt the thigh tighten as it suddenly bore the brunt of his weight. He was still learning to undo a lot of bad habits when it came to his balance. It had served him well thus far, but he required a better understanding. Especially after seeing how certain people could keep impossible balances in strange positions.

Kvist wore not the breastplate he had brought from Syliras, only the chainmail protected him, it was not needed he figured. Best to move swiftly and silently. After seeing their numbers, he wished he had had the breastplate. Instead he wore the cloak, it was darkly coloured and blended well with the surrounding blackness. He did not have the hood up, preferred the extra couple of degrees of vision out the corners of his eyes. Kvist swiftly moved aside, scurried across the alley and pressed himself flat against the wall. A barrel for rainwater, mostly drained by the heat, stood by the wall with a drainpipe shielding the large man somewhat. The chainmail moved with his body, afforded him the full flexibility that the breastplate denied him. He peeked over the edge, they seemed to be looking for someone. A little bitch? He heard called out. Escaped slave? Whore who had not paid up? He did not know, but part of him felt he should step in to save the person. His personal hunt could wait. He strained his eyes to make out the shapes against the dark backdrop. Another voice responded to the first and the concequences were dire. Someone had entered a turf belonging to someone else. Battle was joined and Kvist felt the futility of the situation. He could attempt to sneak away from the fight, undoubtedly get away with it, but if the men he looked to end was amongst the combatants or the woman was in danger. Felt wrong to wait out a fight and swoop in and finish off the survivors, but it was necessary. First, he had to ensure he did not join their fight, for in this darkness he would have no idea who or what he was swinging at.

What sort of petching morons fight in this darkness? Lunatics. Kvist murmured to himself as he shifted his balance. Slowly drew the Peacekeeper and held his breath. Someone had cursed closeby. Someone was out there, practically right on top of him. There was the slight sound of movement nearby. Someone was very close to him and he did not like it one bit. Time ticked away as the figure, dark against the darkness, impossible to spot if not for the movements and slight light afforded by the distant lanterns. They caught the gleam of the Peacekeeper as it was pointed in the direction of a cloaked figure. Less than a foot away from the tip of the blade as he stepped forth from the cover of the drain. Pointed directly at the chest.

”Who's there?” A hard hushed voice broke his silence. Hoping the person was a law, pfft, abiding citizen trapped between the hammer and the anvil.

[Fallon]

It was only the breathing and the faint hum of metal being drawn that alerted her that there was another in the cramped space of the alleyway. Black against black, the faintly glowing of a steel point within the darkness. Her entire form paused, bending slightly as the hands beneath the folds looked to grasp upon a weapon - the kukri would be her best bet. Beside her she heard the padding of Orvin, his fur standing out considerably clearer that the darkened shades. Leathers gave a faint groan, creasing as she heard the clatter of distant fighting beyond. Her pulse quickened in response as she took the point of the metal within her gaze - even beneath the hood it was clear she was staring down the length of it and burning towards the holding hand. The owner was distorted at best.

Her head gave a snap back, eyes widening as she heard the approaching footsteps once more. The squeak of a lantern, the wild swinging of a light from side to side. It was not upon them yet, even as the world seemed to thunder on around them. The canine released a growl, his ears pricking forwards and his fangs bared to the world. Fingers curled around the hilt of the kukri, her teeth gritting as she heard the demand - of an obvious male - hiss at her through the night air. Beneath she could hear the closing in of steps, whilst the rest of her worked to decide between flight or fight. Pure, primal and instinctual - it was a choice of survival.

An exhale, the beginnings of a step back as she begun to slip the kukri free, the workings to keep it as silent as possible. There was a tentative move, slinking almost as she looked to escape the hovering point that came slightly too close for her comfort. Lips were licked, the low trembling growl escaping as she forced words to form, the faint ring of the rolling lilt escaping, "What's it to you?" Another look over her shoulder, another step back as she drew the kukri. It remained beneath her cloak. With a low whistling escaping, she spoke down to the wolf, "Come on, heel," and then turned her gaze up to the shadow of a man, "You friend or fo-"

Words were cut off, the glare of a lantern piercing out across his shoulder. Eyes squinted to the sudden brightness, her head turning sharply away as her hand rose to shield. A shout, one of finding this time as they thundered up behind whoever the shadow man was.
"Oi! Over here!"
"Petching, son of a bitch!" she gave a snap, teeth flashing as she wasted no time. A sharp pivot on her heel, feet sent her forward without a look back and into the darkness. It was foolish to fight like this, too narrow, too confined. She needed to hide and properly - not just some dip down behind a barrel or crate. Orvin sprung behind her, piercing out and leading away as she dashed down the straight and left the other to whatever was to come. She barely paid attention to the shouting, her main focus on simply getting away from it. She broke out into the narrow street at the opposite end, following the path Orvin was making without a moment of thought.

Something she regretted when she was taken off her feet. A body of an attacker slammed into her, hood being swept back to reveal her features. Fabric billowed about her, a lantern rolling and cracking across the dried dirt. Her shoulder slammed into the ground, the kukri swinging up and round in an attempt to knock of her new attacker. A strike to the temple, the opposite side crashed against the floor the other hand grasped tightly around her armed wrist.

"Got her!" shouted one of them, "Stop petching struggling! Can't get away now!" Her teeth grit, her arms giving a wrestle as she looked to fight back. She was not about to let herself be trapped or taken, by the gangs - or at least not without a struggle. She released a bark at them, "Try it!"

[Markus Andres]

Kvist felt tense, felt a trickle of sweat not caused by the summer heat. The shadow reacted unexpectedly. There was movement and he almost hissed a warning to stay still. To remain where it stood. But distant fighting warned him against any unnecessary noise. Kvist didn't like it, too... unaturally. Calculated response. No instinctual fear trying to back off. Standing there, no response. The figure before him made no move to give him a reply he could use. Frozen in fear? Or merely biding its time to strike at Markus. He wanted to believe the former but the latter seemed much more likely in a city forsaken by law and order. Every wasted tick was a tick in the shadow's favour. Words finally responded. Hostile. Aggressive – Female. There was a sliver of doubt, but mostly he was convinced this was the bitch the men had been chasing. A thief at best.

Come on, heel? Kvist pondered the words when new ones were send in his direction. A question cut short. Was it not for the lantern illuminating the night he would have become a foe. Already at half a mind to pierce her shoulder with the Peacekeeper. Only thugs, thieves and scum – and the occasional knight, would be out at this bell. But the lantern stopped his attack before it even happened. Shouts and Kvist shifted his balance as his turned his gaze away from the blinding light. Preserving what little night vision he had in this darkness.

Enough for the figure to see her chance to escape. A pivot and Kvist's blade slashed at her. Missed with a narrow margin. But enough to grant her the ground needed to avoid his blade. Figures moved closer. Kvist didn't like the odds. Too many feet against the road. With the blade clearly gleaming in the light of the lantern Kvist pivoted to face the newcomers and his face full of wrath.

”Petching morons! I HAD HER!” Kvist shouted with his voice full of anger as he turned to those who had not already passed him to grab the woman. Some seemed relieved to find the huge knight an ally of theirs. Albeit unknown one. Tactical concerns were abound. Outnumbered. Surrounded. Unable to lie to even save his own skin. The slender hands of Dira were moving to get a grip. Kvist took a deep breath. Eyes shot lightning at the situation. The lantern gave him enough vision to count more black figures against the backdrop than he liked. Bodies moved to give chase, Kvist followed. Could not slink away, not before he knew what happened. The figure on the ground, another trying to pin her. A person Kvist felt no obligation to save, only another criminal scum of the city. Probably a thief judging from why these men chased her. A red mane, arms wrestling for control on the ground. A nose that seemed familiar. The jaw as well. Eyes that he knew intimately. Twisted in anger and a defiant snarl.

... Fallon? … Heel. Orvin. He stared for several ticks in disbelief. And he found that he did care about the person struggling on the ground. Now he could not only try to survive himself. He had to drag her out of this petching situation as well. His corner teeth bit into the tender flesh as he calmed himself. Rushing in head first was not the right way. Divide and conquer. Misdirection and deception. Tools of Rhysol and weaklings. Kvist stood at the edge of the men who wanted Fallon dead... or raped. An involuntary shudder went down his spine at the thought. He turned to face the others and pointed with the blade at the place Orvin had run off to.

”You there! Go get that petching mutt of hers!” Kvist ordered harshly in the direction of those with the lantern. Trying to extend the authority he held in Syliras to these common thugs. ”Boss wants a new rug!” A cruel mocking tone he could hardly believe belonged to himself. To his surprise, some actually went to follow the mutt. Thinning their numbers slightly. There was a focus inwards at the energy and djed that existed within. Finesse was not the primary concern, speed was. He felt the energy respond to his summoning. The flow of energy was gently directed in different paths. Away from long term needs such as digestion and similar bodily needs. Now he needed the energy he could muster. There was a myriad of energy in his body, some along paths he dared not touch or mess with. Moments later he felt ready. Felt the needed energy to give him the edge was pushed to his right leg. Kvist stepped forward. Cold iron flashed in the lantern's sharp light. Thrust the weapon in the neck of the man, twisted it as he did so, cutting muscle and fat before opening the jugular. Showering the woman below in his blood. Death would be swift. With a swish he pivoted as he withdrew the blade. There was a slight scrape of the blade against the neck. He observed the situation before him. Many fighters. The shield was withdrawn from the cloak and held before him.

”Get up and fight.” He hissed at the woman behind him.

[Fallon]

A spray, a spatter across her face. Her head twisted away, the shower of red marring across her vision and her eyes blinking rapidly. A gurgle, she saw the pointed edge pierce through the unprotected flesh, the spasm of the body as the chaos of the fight roared on around her ears. The grip loosened, her foot pressing up beneath the growing dead weight, her other hand reaching up to throw it off. Eyes blinked up in the distorted world, the snapping of her attention to the sound of rushing blades and hissing tones. Muscles gave a strain, a roll and a push up, a sharp, spinning pivot as she tried to blink through the half blinded vision.

The glimmer of a shield, the second slice as the howls and shouts cried out into a night. Confusion eradicated as she gathered her bearings - in the loosest sense. A charging man, one of the chasers, let out a hallowed cry of rage consumed almost by a blood lust that sent him screaming at them. Kukri in her grasp, the free hand smearing away the red from her eyes, her throat prickling up in retaliation. A fight was upon her, and with that in mind there was no turning back. The discarded lantern sent out its glow and shapes, destroying her dark vision to bathe the world in an amber sheen. Not that it mattered too much. What did was the fact there was an ally, admittedly one thought clicked somewhere in the back of her mind of him being Markus - but it would not truly dawn on her until later.

Her arm arched back, then swung forward. The Kurki flew from her grip, rotating through the air as it was thrown forwards without a second thought and lodged into the charging attacker. The other fingers went to her lips, a loud piercing whistle escaping to call back the wolf to her - she needed all the allies she could get after all. There was a quick sidestep away as another begun the closing in, a rise up onto her toes from one foot to the other. Speed was her ally here, being quick and able to evade. The man with the kukri still lodged into him let out a whimper, a final dying gargle as another begun to release the shout of realisation.

"Oi! Got a traitor here!" she caught one of the shapes in the gloom. She could hear the gurgled screams and snapping growls of Orvin somewhere in the darkness, though his shape was lost for the moment. Her hands went onto the hilt of the tulwars, a push back of the cloak as she drew them wide. A loud ring of steel, there was a slash outwards and a snarl of her own, defiant and ready to face the oncoming slaughter. Footsteps gave a thunder, another pair closing in and looking dumbfound as they saw the blood. Barely a glance to the man, she began her careful steps in the gloom - wrists rotating round. Eyes strained, her head turning as she counted the steps in and rose the blades to defend. Reach, speed, reaction - all were required to be maintained to bring success.

"Don't have to tell me twice," she breathed. There was a sway to and fro, a shifting of balance and a quick lurch forward as one finally picked his target and swung at her. The right blade came hacking downwards, the left swooping in from the side, "Just try not to get on the tip and we'll be just fine." Her eyes burned at the others then "Come on then, you want a piece or you changed your mind?"

[Markus Andres]

Kvist held no illusion that the man would survive his initial attack. But he did not know how badly Fallon had been injured, if at all, so it could take time before she got back on her feet and was ready to fight. A tackle to the ground ought to daze most for a tick or two longer than any fight allowed. But he could not divert his attention to Fallon and the men who undoubtedly wanted to tear open his throat. He had to deal with the men while Fallon recovered.

She has a way of making friends everywhere she goes...

The knight felt the flicker of energy in his legs. Unprocessed by the muscles. He pushed it around, kept it in motion. Felt the surge of energy in his shield arm when the first man came at him. Still unable to control the finer details of his style when infused with magical aid, the shield knocked aside the weapon with a brutality that Kvist had not intended. Though never one to let a good opportunity go to waste, his left foot slid forward a little, gave him the distance needed to turn his defence into a devastating offence. The metal edges with sharp teeth was swung forward. Edge leading directly into the advancing man, he tried to recover before the attack. Managed to push himself a little to the outside of the knight's stance. Only far enough that teeth gnashed into his left shoulder. A weak bone was crushed under the relentless push of the shield. A sharp cry of pain as the man's left arm hung limb down his side as the collarbone gave way. The stepped up. Felt the resistance as he put his weight behind the shield and used brute force to shove the man back and away. The knight assumed the man felt relieved that he was still alive, if he felt anything through the haze of pain that a shattered collarbone provided. The thug fell back and crashed into crates that did not budge behind his weight.


"Shut up and just fight."

Was the brief thought as the window for thoughts closed and he let trained instincts take over. He relinquished manual control over his djed stream and astral pathways to let his body control that by itself. It gave him more focus on the fight before him and now he wanted to be able to register what happened around him more than he wanted that extra bit of speed in specific attacks. Peacekeeper screeched against a cold iron scimitar. Kept it from nicking his cheek. Kvist stepped back. Gave a little room for time. Fallon ought to be on her feet, but he had not the presence of mind to make certain. The fact that he heard combat behind him was enough reassurance that Fallon was not yet a bloody corpse on the ground.

Once again in the fire because of her.

Shield deflected an attack high and sword moved independently to the side and knocked away the scimitar again. A flick of the wrist and the Peacekeeper forced a man to weave out of reach. Shield deflected the attack of the other man. Far enough out that Kvist's left foot kicked out. Catching the man across the shin. He cursed as he fell back. Kvist felt the brief reprieve as a godsend as it meant he could turn his head for long enough to see her still on her feet and fighting. In came the scimitar and the mace. Working to overpower his defence. The scimitar man wielded a small buckler. Behind them Kvist saw more figures. The mace wielder stepped forward to attack. Overhead swing. Powerful. Deadly.

Came the automatic response from the knight as he swiftly stepped to his left. Shield rose to catch the descending mace. The shield gave way. Directed the weapon to Kvist's right. Where he had stood a tick earlier. The shift of balance as his left heel dug into the ground. Peacekeeper rose behind the shield as Kvist checked the mace to the ground. Forced the man to overcommit to the attack. With a flick of the elbow the Peacekeeper found the man's exposed neck. The impossibly sharp sword tore through the unshaven man's neck. Opening arteries and split muscles apart with apparent ease. Kvist stepped to the right as he tore through the neck. Slid the blade across the throat. Managed to nick several vital points as he mercilessly moved to engage the other thug while he was no longer outnumbered. Down descended the blade, under the scimitar. The man leapt back, avoiding having his right leg hamstrung.

"Find us a way out Fallon!" He ordered falling into old habits. As much as he enjoyed himself, he knew their situation was untenable. There were too many of them and once one of them fell, the other would be attacked from all directions.

[Fallon]

Adrenal roared up, the beat of battle raced. Fighting became deafening, the clatter and crunch of weapons and armour as it surrounded them. Men who looked for greed within the darkness, opportunity to exploit and manipulate things to their advantage - she was a threat that had to be eliminated in their eyes, nothing more or less. The tulwar was sharply dragged free, the other slicing on through the exposed underbelly of her victim. A spray, a twisting pivot and a the tips were once more teasingly licking the air.

Wrists rotated, crossing over and pushing back when the next attacker came her way. Their blade was caught in between and it was with a firm rise of the foot that she booted them in the gut. Watching them sprawl backwards she wasted no time leading a cut up from navel to collar bone and moving onto the next target. There was a firm crunching noise as flesh made contact with a surface, a glance back in the low light to see the shield smash against an attacker. There was not enough time to formulate a good tactic or plan outside of simple survival. There was a whip crack, brute force and speed formulating and working together. For now at least, she was not quite sure how long she could keep it up for.

The blade met resistance when it carved into the next victim, caught within the exposed crook of the neck with a firm, downward hack. The right clattered back another swing, her head snapping away when an unexpected blow took her by surprise, and sent her once more fighting for balance. There was a grind, the firm bowling over of another man's form as the jaws snapped and the teeth sunk in. A gurgled struggle, a clatter down and only the loud growls answered the struggling. It was clear now that she was still as far from experienced at combat as the knight next to her, more so as he gave another clatter of the shield and the slashing of the blade - she tried not to think as it pierced and skewed through.

It did not stop her from giving it her best though. The tulwar pulled back and free, elbow rising as she gave only the quick, thrusting jabs at the enemy, the other hand twisted the blade around until her finger and thumb was free. It was with a rise of them to the lips that she managed to release a loud, piercing whistle. Orvin's ears twitched, his snarling jaws clamping around the leg of another and jerking him back, before bounding his way towards her. It was with the same hand that she rose the blade and pointed forward and outwards towards what she perceived to be the best way out, "Shielder, this way!"

She watched Orvin barge into the closest, throwing his full weight into them. Behind him, Fallon was lunging in, both blades fixed on quickly crippling or executing her foes before they tried to stop them. In the dull lantern light there was a glance back, as she made the steady pace to the darkness of an alleyway. The canine lead the way, bolting and snapping as he raced on between the gaps. Footsteps thundered, snagging and turning as she focused on carving the way forward and out, "Keep close damn it!"

[Markus Andres]

Kvist stepped to the left, slapped the peacekeeper across the scimitar and flicked his wrist to give a quick thrust of the blade deep into the belly of the man. The man screamed in agony as he fell back. He would probably bleed out if he didn't find a healer, though that was not Kvist's problem. He pulled the arm back and covered himself with the shield again and awaited the next hopeful would-be knight-slayer come at him. He knew he was giving them time to recover and regain the initiative, but he could not leave his spot or he'd leave Fallon unguarded. It was a terrible situation, but he only hoped Fallon could find a gap in their lines they could exploit. The grin on his lips as the new trio emerged from the darkness to engage him in combat. Before his brain really registered it, the shield rose in a jerk and Kvist heard the clang of something tossed strike his metal shield. As the shield lowered slightly and he peeked over the edge he saw the fourth man in the back with what Kvist identified as war darts. Much like a mix between a crossbow bolt and a spear. Shorter and stubbier than a spear, but thicker than a bolt. Kvist saw he had at least one more in his hand and likely more than that packed away on his body. Kvist took a deep breath and steeled his will for another shower of blood. The men approached him.

A whistle fiercely broke the silence of combat. Tore through to his attention and he heard the sounds of a wolf who engaged in the combat. The sounds of a man buried in white fur and snapping teeth. The men in front of Kvist also paused by the whistle. Looks around a little nervously making sure there was not a surprise in store for them. Kvist lowered himself and took a step forward and the Peacekeeper slashed out and knocked an axe from one of their hands. The tip sliced across the thigh of one of the men. Covered in simple hardened leather it offered some resistance, but still did a sharp cry of pain come from the man as part of his thigh was parted. The knight backed up as he followed the sounds of his ex as she called out. He had made a gap between them? A quick glance over his shoulder. Yes. He had allowed for a sizeable gap to form between them. Kvist jumped back over a corpse left behind by Fallon. Right foot went under the fallen man's blade and he kicked it at his attackers. The blade was easily deflected. Kvist offered the men a shrug in response to the futile manoeuvre. He honestly hadn't expected it to work, so he wasn't overly concerned with its absolute failure. The little lull in combat didn't last long however as the men came at him again. Determined to reach the woman behind him and end her.

Kvist stepped to the left. Shield knocked aside a weapon the Peacekeeper went the other way and knocked aside the axe that the man had retrieved. Kvist didn't retaliate as he stepped back again. Using the corpse as a small wall. They couldn't approach without getting in reach of his weapon nor could they reach him. It was a good situation. But he had to keep up with Fallon as she fought their way out of there. The shield rose quickly and barely managed to keep a war dart from getting acquainted with his face. The missile was knocked into the air and the men jumped across the body to attack him. Kvist stepped back away. Peacekeeper blocking the axe with an audible grunt from the knight. The shield took a pounding and then another as the other man pressed the attack. The shield came out, knocked the weapon aside for a brief tick. The man overcommitted as he had been pressing down with all his might to power through his block. It would be his undoing. Kvist gave way as he slid to his left. The axe went down hard and took his blade with it, but the man came in closer. The brief tick gained in his shield bash became important as he slammed the shield directly into the side of the man's head. A quick jab-like attack. Kvist heard a bone snap, most likely a broken or dislocated jaw. Enough to send the man scampering back and away. He tripped over the corpse and Kvist paid him no heed anymore as he himself backed away. Shield took a glancing blow as he retreated after Fallon.

[Fallon]

Regardless the knight was following her, the dull thudding of steps above the combat and the clanging ring of metal, sword and shield alerted her of this much. The snapping snarls, the sound as muscle, bone and sinew was ripped asunder. It was carving, repetitive, the slashes of movement blurring into one screaming sound of death and hurt. A lunge forward, a twist of a pivot upon her toes as the edge cleaved round. A gurgled cry, the jaws of the wolf snapped around the leg of another and pulled them to the floor. A sharp stab into the exposed torso, the left blade bluntly hacking down into another. Another glance back in the low light, the glow of ochre flickering across edges. The tulwar was hauled free, the kukri claimed as she continued to make the break for the alleyway.

A slam into the ribs, a full shoulder barge as some blade wielding man - she did not bother to work out what sort of blade it was - came at her. The tulwar slid in, and splurged out, a moment of a deep breath as she shoved the body to one side. It slumped, still and lifeless and she continued on. Blood pumped, the adrenal commanding for the escape into the night. Another pivoting arc, both blades clapping together. A crunching noise, the loud clattering bang, the thudding whistle that came close as it clattered through the air. For a moment there was little more than alarm, the swatting away of some projectile in the dark.

Another step, a firm kick this time, there was a lean back as the point was thrust in her direction. The right gave a swat away, deflecting it and holding it to one side as she pulled the left back. There was little more than a lunge as she stabbed with the left tulwar, another push to the side. The exit out was before them now, just a few more steps of struggling and then - in theory - the fighting would stop for now. Her chest gave a heave, the mind blurring as the rough growl escaped. Madness, all of it was. Pointless, bloody, madness - but that was the rule of the city, to simply take the blade and carve a path forward to achieve the end goal, no matter what happened in between. What a world it was indeed.

A jab, she gave a high swing up into the jaw of another that sent him skittering away into the darkness and with that the path was open. She gave a shout back to Markus, barely audible above the loud clattering of combat. Orvin took the plunge in first, the heavy pants and barks as he cleaved his way on through the darkness. Her left tulwar was sheathed, the hand snapping up to bang upon the back to grasp his attention enough. Her feet thundered after her companion after that, black cloak clinging around her form as she descended on through. Whether or not the knight followed after her she did not know - but she did not wait immediately to find out. Behind there was no doubt the sound of armour, the rattling noise all to distinct in the low light.

A small alcove, her other tulwar was sheathed away. A sharp turn of a pivot, she placed a hand onto Markus once more, eyes adjusting in the dark as she attempted to push him into the narrow gap. From there she stepped into the darkness of the space, throwing her form up against the wall and focusing only on cloaking them. A hiss escaped from her lips, eyes glancing back to the alley, "Don't, make a sound."

A last suck in of the air, a tremble of limbs as she fell into silence and the steps of chasers thundered on past.

[Markus Andres]

Deep cries of pain from behind him, told the knight that Fallon was still carving her path through the bodies. The growls of a canine told him that Orvin was amongst them tearing limbs from bodies. He hoped the white death recognized his scent or that Fallon had taught the wolf friend from foe. Lest their reunion might end in further bloodshed.

The knight lowered his left side. Caught the powerful blow of a spear against the metal shield. The clang resounded through the darkness. It was fortunate the man on the other end of the spear didn't know how to use it properly. If so, he'd not bothered with trying to smack the knight with it. The man wielding was also fortunate that Kvist was retreating so he couldn't lounge out and leave a bloody mess. For all the advantages of a good bastard sword, a spear was still longer.

Peacekeeper rose and directed a blow away from his centerline, it nicked the armour covering his right shoulder. Left leg extended. Pushed him back and away from the combatants. He was merely a delaying action until Fallon got her shyke together and found them a way clear of this mess.

Out the corner of his eyes. A rookie. Full of confidence. Strength like an ox. Barely even fifteen summers old. Huge for his age. Size of a man. Full of power he came in and confidently swung at the knight with all his strength. Kvist dropped to his right knee. It collided, painfully, with a stone extending from the ground. He felt the wave of air above his head. The woosh of death that narrowly avoided taking his head. The knight felt the breath of Dira as he sucked in deeply. A chill.

The peacekeeper flashed. It struck fast and hard at the lad's exposed guts. The howl came not from a man, but from a boy. His weapon flung at his allies by mistake as he fell back and away. Kvist had struck deep and severed too much for the boy to live. Another howl distracted him. The resemblance uncanny, but the attacker much older and full of fury. Attacking with abandon. Kvist retreated again. Felt his left arm numb and the ringing in his left ear appear as the shield was pounded without mercy. Kvist did his best to avoid the blows. Some fell short. Others too long and Kvist took the brunt of the force. Absorbed it through his stance and then pushed back with the shield. Propelling the man back, but he returned. Shouting and yelling bloody murder.

Fallon called out. Kvist let the wicked smile return. As the lone man had been swinging wildly the others had pulled back out of fear of getting in his way. So broad had his strikes been. Now he no longer served that purpose. But he could serve another.

The blade once more tasted blood as Kvist thrust it into his left thigh. The enchanted blade went deep into the approaching thigh. He tore the blade to the side. Clearing the flesh and leaving the man a crippled mess on the ground. Kvist turned without missing a beat and followed Fallon into the darkness. Her hands upon him and into the darkness he was pushed. His frame touching both sides as he tried to make himself as small as possible.

A warning would have been nice. He thought sourly as the shield was pressing against his numb arm. Blade was held high and touching the rooftops. Right arm had a little mobility. But not enough to fight properly. Really, you want me to be quiet? No shyke. He could hear his own heartbeat in his ears as the men searched for them. Feet across the ground. Dying men screaming. It bothered him to leave them alive and in pain. He hated that their deaths were not quick and clean.
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