MQ: Arms of Gold

[Djakara]

(Open)

The weather in Salvar was not pleasant at all. It wasn’t just that it was cold, but it was the kind of cold that sapped energy from a person. Djakara could feel his interest in his plan declining with every step along the way, not because his greed was abated as much as he just wanted to wrap himself in his blanket for warmth. He looked out of his wagon at the permafrost expanse only grudgingly, wishing that for all the technology that Alerar had invented, they had given a higher priority to heating devices.

However, the Freiherr knew that he could only wait in the warmth of his blanket for so long. There was a caravan to manage, weapons that were supposed to go to the King of Salvar to help him with his Civil War. Djakara had other plans. It wasn’t that he objected to the King’s political stance. For that matter, he didn’t really know what the King’s politics were, or what the politics were of the people the King was fighting. He didn’t pay much attention to the news, except for casualty figures and the kinds of weapons people were buying. Those were the things that he paid attention to.

Now, being asked to deliver an important convoy to Salvar, a high risk transport of weapons badly needed, was a boon. When the Alerar government had dispatched him, he could tell that the rest of the nobles had limited expectations for his success. They had suggested that he do his best, and that the government of Alerar would be grateful for any successes that he might have. The moment they said that, Djakara had decided to loot the convoy for his own profit. Normally when he was involved in weapons shipments, he was told that anything lost would be coming out of his hide. When the expectations were this low, he knew there was more profit in failure.

A failure, that was to turn and resell the weapons in Corone, of course. Djakara knew that Salvar wasn’t the only place on Althanas with a civil war going now, and with the amount of weapons he had on him, he knew that he would be able to start building that luxury villa he had been dreaming about in Istraloth. Djakara smiled when he thought of the villa, of the warm tropical breezes and the private swimming pool he’d have. With his money, he’d get a couple of attractive women and invest in the kind of technology that would return him to the life of luxury he was used to on his planet.

However, dreaming of the villa and owning the villa were unfortunately, two very separate matters. The caravan was moving along slowly, and Djakara knew that it would be a matter of time before they had to act. His plan was to recruit as many people as possible that he saw displaced by the violence, and then convince them to join his insurrection as soon as possible. Now that his caravan was within a few hours of the reaching the banks of the Holgalov lake, he knew he was going to have to act fast. It would only be so much longer until they reached Knife’s Edge.

Fortunately, the areas that Djaraka had passed through were the city strongholds, the places where the king was still loved and respected. There was now nothing between him and Knife’s Edge but countryside. Still, the Freiherr did not like to leave things to chance. He hated guessing games, and the only plan he’d come up with now was essentially that.

“If only there was snow,” he thought wishfully. “That’d slow the caravan down…”

[Call me J]

If it were snowing, Jame would have hit the ground much more softly. As it was, he hit it hard. He wasn’t sure how he had been spit out into Salvar, and when he’d first fallen to the ground, he had no idea where he was. Still, the temperature would have been inimitable anywhere else in Althanas. The half dragon would have shuddered, but fortunately, the enhancements he had received less than half an hour ago in Aglarlin were helping him against the cold as well. He looked up to the sky to check the time. It was nearing nightfall. In spite of the Aglarlin magic, he shivered.

There was absolutely nothing around him. There was just a cold expanse of deserted areas. A few trees, but the leaves had fallen off of them a long time ago. The sun in the sky hovered above, brightly but unhelpfully. This was one of the wastelands in Salvar where a person could easily never be found. Still, Jame was not afraid. “I’ve got to help Raiaera!” he resolved. “I was there, fighting through it all, and then this.” He looked around. If he wanted to help Raiaera, he would first need to find some place warm. Off in the distance, he could see a black dot. He preened forwards and began running towards it, the enhanced muscles in his legs sending him across the ground faster than he ever could imagine. Even with the cold wind chaffing at his face, he kept running until the small black dot turned into a convoy of traders. There were five wagons in all, and each one of them but the first seemed to be relatively well guarded. Under normal circumstances, Jame might have hesitated, but it was cold and he wanted to get back to Raiaera.

The driver of the first cart was a dwarf, a relatively old and wizened creature who seemed just as uncomfortable in the cold as Jame did. The half dragon, running off a combination of magical enhancements and adrenaline looked at the dwarf. “Let me in the caravan…” he offered.

The dwarf chucked. “Lad… this aint a charity mission ‘ere. Yer village destroyed, don’ wanna hear ‘bout it. Been happenin’ a lot lately.”

Jame scowled. He didn’t want any charity, he just wanted to save Raiaera from Xem’zund. With his frustration mounting, he debated jumping onto the wagon and pulling the arrogant dwarf off his seat. There would be resistance from the other wagons, but Jame didn’t care. If he could fight through the undead of Raiaera, he doubted he’d have a problem with a simple convoy.

However, a young boy popped his head out of the trailer, intervening, though it was not clear yet on whose behalf. “Oh but Blackstock, you must not be rude to a guest,” he began. He extended out a hand. “My name is Djakara Fraye, and please, come aboard.”

Jame didn’t like this, the boy was too well spoken to be anyone but the person in charge, and far too young to deserve an important charge. Still, he decided to reason with the kid, if for no other reason, than he didn’t have many other options at the moment. “I need to get to Raiaera,” he said. “Can I come in and warm up for a bit?”

The boy, Djakara seemed to bend over backwards for him. “Of course, of course,” the boy said. He pushed on the dwarf’s shoulder to get him to scoot over so that Jame would have an easier step up. “And I didn’t catch your name…”

“Jame… Jame Whitizard,” the half dragon offered. He looked at the boy carefully, just to make sure that there were no tell tale signs that he was dealing with a patriarch minion. Finding none, he entered the wagon.

Djakara smiled. “Good to meet you,” he said, as the caravan continued on its way.

[Leon Adalbert]

Only a few days had gone by since the caravan's departure from Ettermire, but already Leon missed the ale and the elven women. Not to mention he had none of the comforts of home out in this desolate cold land. Old man probably wanted to keep me out of trouble, he speculated. Still, the merchant's son had decided to make the best of it, keeping himself busy with rousing cardgames amongst the other crew of the caravan.

"Do ye 'ave any...eights?" asked the ruddy-faced dwarf across from him.

"Ah, you have me again," came his response as he pulled three cards from his hand, tossing them in the direction of his diminutive companion. "How do you always know what I have?"

"They be my cards, ye fool. I be knowin' ever' crack and corner," the dwarf laughed. "Ne'er challenge a man ta cards wit' his own deck."

The Adalbert boy laid his hand down. "I guess you're right. I forfeit, then. It was a good game while it lasted, though." He stood, patting the dwarf on the head, grumbles of sizeism and Alerian cowardice coming from below. Taking a few steps toward the front, Leon peeked out from under the canopy. Only one wagon was in front of him, in which Freiherr Djakara sat, guiding the caravan. The wagons had been going more slowly since they left the last city. Something's going on, he thought. And our good Freiherr has something to do with it, I know.

[Godhand]

Alerar. He hated Alerar.

Regular elves, light elves he supposed was the technical term, were aggravating in the sense that they had an enormously inflated pride due to what they thought was their superior heritage. The result of this delusion was that even the lowliest Raiaeran commoner possessed the ego of a much loved courtesan of any human court you could name. This was irritating but understandable when you considered that they had what some would call a proud history.

That mitigating factor was completely erased when the same criticisms were applied to the dark elves. They were just as smug as their brethren but so coy about it that it seemed vaguely insulting. When you also considered that their "proud history" was being exiled from their homeland for leading a failed revolution against their lighter-skinned cousins it took all of one's faculties not to backhand them for their unfounded arrogance.

Thus, being thrust into a writhing nest of them so he could do business with a mystery employer put Godhand something in less than an amiable mood. Still, if he'd managed to contact the mercenary then he more or less knew his stuff and thus had a reason for calling him Alerar. It's technology, in particular, was most likely the end goal of their arrangement. But the air, God the air. It was impossible to breath in the hellish smog of midtown.

When Godhand finally arrived at the canteen where he was to meet his employer, he was outraged to find that it was a child. A kid less than half his Goddamn age. But he kept it in his backpocket. He remembered that saying about how still water runs deep. Wether this kid was a noble's son or a self-made man, if he had the clout to be able to contact him then he probably had the money.

He laid it out nice and simple. Apparently he was a gun-runner for the Alerar council. Godhand had heard about the civil war in Salvar, of course, and knew there was money to be made there. But the sort of mercenaries that prayed for civil war always upset him. Vultures; his profession's answer to ambulance-chasers. If he was going to go to work in a warzone he'd have to be asked by someone higher up than some recruiter. And this was just the man, apparently.

The kid, Djakara, told Godhand about a big shipment of weapons they were leaving to his care. He admitted that while he would normally never, his words, "piss in his own pool", that their utter lack of faith that the weapons would actually reach their intended destination had steeled his resolve. He'd asked Godhand to attack the caravan, kill the guards and scare away any church zealots.

"What's my pay?"

"All the weapons you can carry."

"You sure about that?"

"What?"

"Nothing. You have yourself a deal."

And now he was in the middle of a Salvarian road, watching as the caravans slowly approached. Surely they had spotted him by now. Bundled within thick clothes he must have looked like a highway man. Not too much of a stretch, really. He remembered his final words to his young employer.

"Remember: under no circumstances are you to harm the cargo."

"Relax, kid," He began, "I'm a professional."

[Dark Temptress]

The cold never really bothered her that much, not this kind anyway, not when the winter had yet to set in. She was after all a native to these lands and as such she was quite accustomed to the wind swept plains, and the bitterness and the snow. Only, there was no snow right now, there was just the desolation of that time right before the winter set in, where every withered and died. She kind of liked that state of being. Once it started to snow, the death was covered in something pure and white, masking what winter truly brought. But right before that, when everything was still struggling with its last legs of energy, it seemed truly beautiful and truly alive. For when could anything be more alive then when it struggled?

The weather was not what had taken A’rai from the warmth and the protection of her estate at this hour, no. Something far more interesting and intriguing to her calculating mind was her purpose. She had heard rumours of a shipment of weapons moving through the Salvarian wastelands from Raiaera of all places. They had been spilled by none other than Marcus when she and other members of Kings and Shadows had gathered to discuss several issues, including whether or not they were going to participate in this little war that Salvar had found itself in. Sadly, several of their members were already involved in it and she knew that a few of them had lied about just what side they were fighting on. All had said they fought for the state, for who would fight for the church? Kings and Shadows did not mingle well with the church considering it was a secret organization to help pass the time of bored noblemen by summoning demons and killing for fun.

None had asked her about which side she fought for, for she was a woman after all and women did not belong on the battlefield. They belonged at home, preening and preparing themselves for the return of their husbands as they rode off to do great and noble deeds. Or some kind of laden bull shit like that she never truly believed in. A’rai may be noble by birth but that didn’t mean she did not like getting her hands dirty every now and again. She may not have any skills with a weapon, but she had her own abilities and they included summoning demons among other things, whether or not her fellow society members knew it was beyond her caring. The most interesting piece of information she had learned was that the caravan would be passing right through her father’s lands on it’s way to Knife’s Edge.

So for days now A’rai had been keeping a close watch over the large property that her father owned and managed. He was not in the region right now and so she was free to do as she pleased without his worry and his words. Meaningless, stupid words. One day she wouldn’t have to listen to them anymore, but she was growing restless waiting for that day to come. Finally, she had spotted what she wanted. Though quite small and nothing more than a darkened spec upon the horizon, the seductress knew it was what she was looking for. No one else would be passing by here and judging by their current direction they were heading straight for Holgalov Lake and then onwards to Knife’s Edge. Not that she was planning on allowing the shipment to reach the city.

The Seductress may not like The Church or many of the things that it stood for, but she was also not a large fan of the state considering she had grown up within it her whole life. There was a chance that this shipment could shift the balance of this war and she was not about to let either side have it. The thought of keeping it never truly crossed her mind; there was no gain in it for her. She already had all the money she could ever want for; she just wanted to have an influence on what was going to happen within the region she lived in.

With her cloak wrapped around her person and her hood hanging low over her face, A’rai was nothing more than a darkened silhouette upon the barren landscape, much as the caravan was to her vision. Leaning forward, she ran her gloved hand along the neck of her steed Firnin, receiving a snort that seemed rather loud in the still quiet covering the land. Then she dug her boots into his sides, spurring him on. His pace slow and steady along the rocks and the dried grass, it gave her eyes time to find that which she required. What she needed was a relatively flat piece of land where she could draw her incantation and safely summon the demon to do her bidding.

[Djakara]

Djakara smiled as he looked at Jame. He smiled like a man with purpose, the kind of smile that likely would have made many other people uneasy. However, he could tell that this Jame was so focused on a singular goal that hardly anything else mattered. Now, Djakara wanted to find out what that goal was. Whatever it was, it was something that the young entrepreneur hoped that it would be something that he could use to his advantage.

He already was expecting Godhand Striker, but despite the rumors he had heard about the mercenary, Djakara was somewhat skeptical if he could rely on him. The impatience of Djakara was making him believe that Godhand should have reached them by now, and the stories he had heard about the mercenary’s power were so fantastic that he was certain that they had to have been exaggerated.

Instead, Djakara was going to work what he considered to be a feasible backup plan. If Godhand Striker arrived, Djakara would keep him employed, and had absolutely no qualms about paying him. Five wagons full of top grade Alerar weaponry left enough profit for him regardless of what the muscular mercenary decided to take with him. But now, he had seen the way that this Jame Whitizard had ran towards the caravan, and he could see, with his own eyes, that Jame possessed far more speed than the average Althanian.

“He could take out at least five of them,” Djakara realized. He smiled politely at Jame and offered him an extra blanket. The quick warrior declined. Djakara nodded.

“So what brings you to Salvar?” he asked. “You don’t look like most of the people we encounter with the Civil War? Why do you need to get to Raiaera? Is it that much safer than it is here?”

Djakara could see the mention of the Civil War had surprised Jame, almost as if the warrior had no knowledge of the situation in Salvar. The boy tried to contain his surprise, but he realized now that Jame had no intention of being in Salvar, but had instead, wandered there by accident. “Probably one of those teleportation devices or something,” the boy thought. “They have those all over the place now. He was probably thrown into one by mistake, given the look of him.”

Jame’s reply was quick. “They’ve attacked Raiaera- Xem’zund and his people. I was with Tel Aglarim fighting against them, and someone sent me here for whatever reason. Not sure what, not sure why, but I need to get back to Raiaera, there is still a war too fight there…”

Djakara’s expression was even as he listened to Jame. There were too many things to process in that one statement. Raiaera at war meant only one thing for him: profit. Djakara had no idea who this Xem’zund was, but he didn’t care. Either the Bard Council or Xem’zund would want to buy weapons from him. The things they couldn’t get anywhere else.

With a wry smile, Djakara realized that selling his weapons in Raiaera might be much easier than selling them in Corone. Raiaera was much closer, and Djakara figured it would be easier to book passage on a ship. The more he could cut down on his transport costs, the greater the profit would be for him. Plus, he wondered if he could secure this Jame’s loyalty just by promising that the weapons would arrive in Raiaera. It seemed to be a winning proposition for him.

“I’d like to make an offer to you,” Djakara said. “I have these weapons from Alerar I’m supposed to be bringing to Salvar, but I don’t want them to go there. The Civil War here is not worth the effort. However, your Raiaera is. This Xem’zund needs to be stopped. Problem is, I only have some of the people in this convoy supporting me. Everyone in this wagon does, but outside of the drivers and a dwarf in the second wagon, I don’t have that much support. This is where I need your help. Kill, incapacitate as many people as possible, capture those that need be, we just need to make sure that this convoy reaches Raiaera, alright?”

Djakara smiled. He could see Jame’s face lighting up as he spoke.

(Judge, please consider all posts by Djakara and Call me J to be cowritten)

[Call me J]

Jame was overjoyed at the proposition. He had barely taken the time to warm up before he noticed the crates marked as weapons that were all around him. Though Jame knew better than to say anything about it out loud, his mind had already begun to churn about how he could get them for Raiaera. Now, it seemed that Djakara was thinking the same thing. “It’s good luck I met you,” Jame said as he clasped Djakara’s hand during their handshake. “Very good that I met you…”

The half dragon looked out from the back of the wagon at the next series of wagons. With four wagons, he imagined it couldn’t be much harder than the undead. While the half dragon was rarely militaristic, the boon of Aglarlin that was still fresh in his body made him want to use his power. Arrogance had caused him to be tossed into Salvar, but that was a mistake that he could now make amends for. He knew it was only academic how many of the undead he managed to kill. Xem’zund was capable of reanimating them, and given what Jame knew about the Forgotten One’s motives, he probably would. Weapons, however, might just give Raiaera the edge they would need when Xem’zund turned on Anebrilith or Valinatal, whatever his next target was going to be.

“So we have a deal then,” Djakara said. Jame nodded. With that, Djakara moved up to the wagon’s dwarven driver, and whispered a few words in his ear. A few seconds later, the entire convoy came to a halt.

There was the beginning of a panic in the air. Jame could sense it, and he could tell by the excitement emanating from Djakara that the boy was as well. The half dragon just followed his young coconspirator as the two of them stepped down from their wagon and moved towards the second one in the convoy. The buzz of confusion emerging from most of the guards was almost deafening, but somehow, Djakara managed to speak above it all.

“This is a mutiny!” he said. “Salvar has no need for these weapons when its own hubris has caused its problems. We’re taking them to Raiaera- for profit. If you want to get paid, listen to me and do what I say. Otherwise, you’re welcome to resist, but see where that gets you.”

Jame watched, impressed with the way the entire situation was going. He saw as a group of four guards walking by the second caravan fired their crossbows. Immediately, the half dragon grabbed Djakara and hit the floor. Once he had ensured the bolts had passed him, he let his skin transform so that he was covered with dragon scales. Then, without another moment’s hesitation, he leapt forward. With his enhanced speed, he was little more than a blur, and the sidekick that he had planted upon the first of the guards had occurred before the soldier had even had the chance to reload his weapon.

With one on the ground, Jame took care of the other on the left side just as quickly. Without even reaching for one of his weapons, the half dragon pulled the crossbow out from the guard’s hands before the poor soldier had even had a chance to fire a second time, and then, after a quick kick to the gut, Jame slammed the guard to the ground.

The half dragon was showing some mercy in his attacks, primarily because he could afford to. Four guards watching a caravan weren’t going to be much of a problem for him now. Even the other two guards that had come around and managed to get off shots didn’t do anything to him. Both of them ricocheted off his dragon scales, and then, Jame was able to lift both of them up by their necks and send them down to the ground with a slam. He had done this so that the guards in the other caravans could see.

“You can help Djakara or fight me!” he warned to the guards by the third wagon.

His threat had no effect. Either by blind patriotism or hubris they still charged towards him, though these guards had eschewed their crossbows in favor of swords. He could hear the sounds of violence coming from the wagons in the back, and he smiled. The weapons would be going to Raiaera soon enough.

(What Jak said)

[Leon Adalbert]

Chaos erupted around the young merchant as several guards from his wagon were knocked out by a silver-haired, dragon-scaled mystery man. One by one, the crossbowmen were subdued, and more Alerarian soldiers rushed into the wagon, swords drawn.

Leon reached for his own blade, fumbling with the pommel before getting it halfway out. Before he could fully arm himself, however, he caught a face full of weathered playing cards, and through the mass of paper, he caught a glimpse of a steel bludgeon flying at his face as it pivoted on a much lower point than expected. "King's crown!" he swore. He barely had time to dodge the blow, tumbling into a large crate with a crash.

Weapons scattered about the floor of the wagon. Pistols, rifles, swords, axes, and small metal balls. The Adalbert boy grabbed at a small flintlock pistol, stuffing a bullet into it as quickly as he could. He swung the firearm around to aim at the diminutive warrior, cocking the hammer as he did. The dwarf was still pulling his own warhammer free from the canvas where it had gotten caught when Leon pulled the trigger. Click! Nothing happened. Cocking and pulling again, his efforts were rewarded with yet another benign click.

"Yer a fool, boy. A gun needs more'n a bullet ta shoot," the dwarf sneered, tossing a small bag at the merchant's son in mockery. "It needs powder ta fire." With that, the warrior struck him about his side with a powerful swing. His breath was thrown from him, and he curled in pain, tears coming unbidden to his clenched eyes. He could say nothing, do nothing, as the dwarf bound him there, leaving the pistol in his hand to remind him of his idiocy.

[Crimson Rose]

Mariah's cloak flew behind her like a lost bird plummeted from its coarse. Her body was shivering as she trudged through freezing winds. She still couldn't believe she had lost her way. Before she had been following a guide, a guide hired specifically to lead her to house where she was supposed to meet a businessman. A businessman who had a bag full of herbs for her to buy. She was supposed to pick these healing items up, then head back to the dock to catch the ferry back to Lavinya.

However, she had failed, her guide had disappeared into some warm tavern, once this icy wind had picked up. She had managed to make it to the tavern, but then she had lost him in the crowd. Now...she had chosen to do something crazy. The red haired lass had tried to find her way to the building where the store was, but she had only gotten lost. Now in the midst of frozen tears and icy blue wind, she was traveling across a cold path that was nearly frozen.

Her eyes were stinging as she held up her un gloved hand, she was trying to see in front of her, but all she saw was a black speck. A black speck that was slowly moving away from the city. Blinking a bit as she saw flashes of light, she thought A caravan...that must be a caravan! I can warm up there!

The red eyed thief then pressed her way forward, pulling her cloak around her to shield her from the cold. As the black dot begin to form into five wagons, she grinned. Heading towards the first one, she waved at the empty driver's seat shouting "Hey! Is anyone there?" When no one answered, Mariah through away her precautions and moved closer. Seeing a young dark skinned boy shouting orders she calls 'Hey! Are you in charge? Can I warm up here?"

When he didn't answer she moved to tap him on the shoulder muttering "Hey did you..." pausing as her elbow brushed against a wooden crate she saw the word Alerar weapons labeled on it. Covering her mouth at this she called loudly "Sir...where are you bringing these weapons?"

[Godhand]

Goddamnit. He hated working with people from outside the organization. The slightest bump or shortest delay and they ended up flipping out and trying to do everything themselves. This of course blew the element of surprise, alerted everybody to their presence and made clear their objective. The dumb bastard hadn't even stabbed anybody or anything. He had just announced their intentions, clear as day. He might as well have grabbed a megaphone and yelled hijackers ahoy.

And then, of course, they swarmed him. Anybody would after that little display. So Godhand, a good forty or fifty yards from the wagon convoy, had to really hustle if he wanted to get there before they brutalized his employer. The mercenary leaped through the air, braving the chilly Salvar winds that only got harsher the farther from the ground he rose. But it was the quickest way to get there and now was no time to play it cool. Not while his Majesty's finest were working out on his current boss.

The compressed and semifrozen road-soil beneath him buckled as he landed from his long leap. The guards didn't notice him; they were all rushing back to the furthest caravan to try and subdue their boss-turned-traitor. This left Godhand with a unique opportunity that he was quick to exploit. The swordsman leaped once more before landing on the back of the front runner, crushing his spine as he landed and driving his limp body into the cold ground with the impact. The remaining guards froze at the vicious attack and their new opponent, deciding against attacking Djakara in light of this new threat.

Godhand calmly stepped off the dead guard's back before entering the Xinyi Lihue Quan - Iron Fist stance, the ground beneath him seeming to shift and complain as he drove his heels into it to solidify his footing. With his center of gravity secured a peculiar aura began to radiate from him, perceptible to all but experienced martial artists only as a sense of sheer menace rolling off of him. The bravest of them attacked first, all noise and fury as he dashed at him; he was brandishing his sword wildly and indicating an obvious vertical slash. But the mercenary was far quicker, instantly taking a short step forward and driving his palm into the soldier's face. Godhand felt the bone crumble beneath his skin and collapse inward before his body even hit the ground.

This scared his companions enough that they took a couple of steps back, but it was too late. Godhand was in far too foul a mood to take any prisoners, especially dark elves. They'd gut him in an instant given half the chance. Besides, he couldn't let them run back to the monarchy to tell them just who it was that ripped them off, now could he? The mercenary jumped forward once more, aiming at another hapless guard. He tried to raise his sword to block the monster, try to get him to cut himself in the fall. But it was no use; Godhand masterfully shifted his center of gravity to alter his position. Instead of a two-pronged missile kick he instead landed with one foot gingerly on the opposite side of his elbow and the other on his shoulder. The man didn't even have time to look up before Godhand drove his chin into his chest with another flat palm strike to the top of the head. The guard swayed for a moment as if unsure and then fell backwards, leaving the gunman on his feet.

Another soldier rushed forward with a sword strike but Godhand was still crouched after his earlier attack and while blocking the overhead strike with a strategically positioned forearm he lunged forward with a savage punch to the man's chest. His heart burst instantaneously. The mercenary ignored the guard's flailing corpse and instead rushed forth once again, shattering yet another skull with a high lateral chop. More blades came forth but he either destroyed them with a single blow or blocked them by pushing them away by their flat sides. Several more spinning kicks and throat strikes later and he was the last man standing amid a small field of dead, completely unharmed. Djakara had taken some men for his part with a bit of help from a mystery contender. Godhand walked forward and paused when he reached his employer, the menacing aura still clinging to him.

"What the Hell is wrong with you!? I thought I told you I was a professional! Thanks to you, I've..." He hissed as he looked at the cadavers behind him, "racked up a huge goddamn body count on what should have been a simple shock-and-awe operation!"