Gaolhouse Rock (closed)

[Otto]

This is a closed thread. Aurelianus is excepted.

WARNING: this thread may contain adult themes. If you are uncomfortable with coarse language, strong violence, sexual references and such, you may wish to avoid this one.

---

Narrow eyes snapped up and down the guard's frame. Their owner - a bald, middle aged monk - shuffled a couple of letters around in his hands.

"Name?" He asked the orc who stood before him.

"Otto Bastum," replied the guard.

"Unit and subunit?"

"Fourth Infantry Division, Logistics Battalion Fourteen."

"How heavy is your duty to Corone?"

"As light as a feather."

"Well, that about sorts it," the monk finished. He glanced briefly at the Cororne Armed Force insignia embroidered onto Otto's scarlet tabard: a feather and a sword. "Sergeant Kaphyka is waiting for you in the east corridor. Follow me, please."

Otto gave the skinny fellow a nod and fell in step. That little security check had been considered necessary because of the simulation he was heading to now - a faithful copy of one of Radasanthia's major jails. Otto was to be temporarily assigned there as a junior warden until replacements came back from the latest action in the campaign against the Rangers. So, in preparation, he a couple of his fellow recruits were ordered to the Citadel to run through a training regime for the placement. Otto expected it to turn rather hectic since a standard induction could have easily been facilitated on site; they sent you to the Citadel for realistic combat experience and endurance training, where the swords were always sharp and mistakes cost you dearly. This run at the Citadel would almost certainly be to train the recruits under various states degraded security. It was probably too hard to do that at the actual jail without the inmates getting carried away.

The pair stopped in front of a tall wooden door and the monk produced a heavy keyring from his belt. Otto, who had strict orders to arrive on time, observed his guide fumbled fruitlessly through the myriad keys on the hoop, eventually sighing with relief when a click heralded the lock's surrender. The monk pushed the door open for Otto but didn't accompany the orc across the threshold.

"Have a pleasant day," said the man as he closed the door, and the lock snicked back in to place. Otto turned around and took in the his surroundings: another long corridor, practically indistinguishable from the other passages through the Citadel, and empty save for two uniformed figures located past several doors down the hall. One was Kaphyka: tall and lean under a mail shirt and leggings, he also wore thick leather bracers, gloves, and boots, but no helm, with a steel longsword on his left hip and a dagger on his right. The other was a fellow recuit armoured in a similar manner save for an iron bascinet, a leather buckler, and an iron short sword. Otto faced his sergeant and snapped a salute, which Kaphyka returned.

"Not surprised to see you're last. Inside, now! Rurin," he added, now directed at the other recruit. "Stand guard and make sure anyone trying to get inside has clearance before you let them."

"Sir!" she barked back.

Otto stepped through the portal.

---

The ground floor:

Room guide:			Stair guide:
I. External stables	VIII. Inmate Processing		i. stairs up to first floor of barracks: kitchen, laundry, dorm, wall access	iii. stairs up to first floor of prison building: cell blocks I.I through I.IV, library, guard post
II. Main Gate	IX. Guard Post		ii. stairs down to dungeons	iv. stairs down to chapel cellar, crypts
III. Barracks	X. Cell Blocks G.I through G.IV, left to right
IV. Armoury	XI. Prison Laundry
V. Smithy	XII. Prison Kitchens
VI. Training Yard	XIII. Chapel
VII. Internal Gate	XIV. Garden

---

... and out on to the wooden floorboards of a long antechamber. There were three other soldiers already here; they looked like recruits, clad in rough leather buff coats, scarlet gambesons, and iron helms. Two had an iron broadsword each, the other one bore a mace, and all three had a surplus dagger at their belts. A straight run of plank stairs led upwards on his left and a brick wall to his right had a cork board hung up between a couple of barred windows. In the feeble light he could see a crude floor plan had been pinned to it, and upon inspection it turned out to be the prison's. From what he could tell, a solid line through a doorway marked the threshold between the inside of a building and it's exterior. Some of the proportions seemed circumspect, as though copied by an amateur from the original plans. The plan would still do as a rough guide, in any case. While Otto identified their current location as being within the barracks, Kaphyka entered the room and shut the door back to the Citadel behind him. The four recruits immediately formed up in a line to face their superior, standing to attention.

"I am sergeant Muirin Kaphyka," he said. The words were clipped and sharp. "I have been a senior warden at this prison for the last five years, and I will be running through a number of high-risk scenarios with you today. But first, we will make a tour of the facilities. Follow me, and move out!"

Kaphyka whipped them up to a jogging pace, directing them through the inner gates and in to processing. "This is processing!" he barely had time to yell before they had passed through. He did the same for the guard post ("This is the ground floor guard post! Note the ladder in the corner leading to the first floor!"), the laundry, kitchen and the four ground level cell blocks. At the end, Kaphyka stopped them in the corridor just between processing and block G.I and let the trainees catch a few lungfuls of air. Otto took the time to reflect on what he saw: each cell had consisted of stout iron bars running from floor to ceiling around the front and sides, and the only solid wall for each cell was the stone one that they backed on to. And in each small room, a grey-faced apparitions had stared blankly back at the recruits as they had jogged on by.

"Alright, now we begin! William," Kaphyka barked. William - one of the fellows with a sword - snapped to attention. "You're up. We'll start off nice and light - go through that door and patrol up and down block G.I. I'm closing the door so you get the feel for what it's like to do your rounds solo. Return here once you've completed one round of the corridor. The rest of you, get in to position outside of the other cell blocks, and follow suit! Go!"

With another salute, they all set off. William disappeared behind the heavy door to block G.I, and Otto took the next one down. He stepped through into the torch-harried gloom of G.II, and the door slammed shut behind him.

[Aurelianus Drak'shal]

Today was going to be a good day.

Aurelianus could tell; he'd woken up in the bed of one of his favourite whores in Radasanth, not even hungover after the previous night's bub-rampage, got a freebie from her, found two gold coins in his boot when he got dressed, and managed to lift a few hand-rolled cigarettes from one of the sod's guarding the brothel's door.

And that was just for starters.

Later, when Aurelius had headed to a local tavern to scan the latest chant, his morning had gotten considerably brighter. Some berk, a menial seconded to the Corone Armed Forces, had come in after his shift ended; he was already half-cut, reeking of bub. In no time at all, the tiefling had the man at a small booth in the corner of the room, chatting amiably with him. The bald, scrawny little berk, his mouth full of rotting tooth stumps, eyes watery and yellowed, had leaned in close, hiccuping his thanks to the "kind friend" who was plying him with drink, and continued to talk about his work. He never even came close to realising the Anarchist was simply trying to find out everything he knew about the CAF, and it's current movements. They were the main form of law enforcement within the country, garrisoning every major town and city, their soldiers tackling every problem- from bar fights, to murders; so it was no surprise Aurelius had come into contact with them more than a few times. And lately, the Anarchist was getting sick of having the scarlet-coated soldiers interfere in his business.

Ever since he'd arrived on Althanas, through the roiling miasma of the Nexus, the Anarchist had been scanning every country he traveled to, marking the myriad organisations in each one; from the Church of The Ethereal Sway in Salvar, to the Assembly and it's various military wings here in Corone, to other, more clandestine outfits, like the Skinner Queen in Ettermire, who he had managed to escape only narrowly less than a month ago. The burns down the right side of his body had mostly healed, but the tiefling still couldn't resist a chuckle when he thought about how he'd given the Queen of The Pit the laugh, in her own kip. He idly ran a finger down his alabaster cheek, marbled as it was with black veins, feeling the slight roughness of the skin.

So far, he had learned nothing he didn't already know- the bastards had to be brought down, all of them. They bound every body they could get their claws into, keeping them blind to the truth of their existence, simply to keep their own little piece of whatever profit they could nab. And as long as they stayed in power, more sods would be crushed under their heels. That was where he and his brethren came in- they infiltrated the larger organisations, getting their men deep inside the infrastructures, collapsing them from within. The factioneers who didn't have the aptitude for the subtle approach, well.. they ended up deaders quick as quick.

But as yet, on this Powers-forsaken world, there were no other members of the Revolutionary League. Aurelianus Drak'shal was working alone. Which meant he had to pick and choose his targets a lot more carefully than he normally would. Of course, there were other outfits that operated behind the scenes, heading for the same end- and Aurelius had a few contacts in most of them, furthering his own goals in return for the occasional hired muscle job, or smuggling routine. It was always his first port of call whenever he traveled somewhere new; make contacts, gather resources, and scan the chant on who the high-ups were.

But it wasn't always as much fun as the half-demon might have hoped- now, for example.

After two hours trying to worm any kind of useful information from the reeking little menial, it appeared he knew nothing. The half-breed was getting ready to off him when the man slurred something else. The tiefling, even with his heightened senses, struggled to hear the man over the hubbub of the tavern. Leaning closer, trying to block his nose from the stench of his drinking buddy's pit of a mouth, Aurelius parked his ears.

"What did you say, cutter?" he had hissed, a smile creeping up the corners of his mouth.

"... said.. said they have those boys.. in Citadel," the man slurred, his head lolling toward the table. "Got 'em.. training, in there.. some of the new recruits.." he muttered, his forehead landing on the scarred wooden table, instantly asleep. These sods can't 'andle their bub, he sneered, gulping down his Aleraran T'keela. A quick glance around told Aurelius that no-one was watching them. He smirked to himself, his fangs glinting in the dim light of the pub interior. Making sure no-one marked him, the guttersnipe drew one of his Baatorian blades, keeping the blade under the table, out of view. With a quick motion, he slashed the man's throat, ending his drunken snores instantly. With the rest of the noise in the room, no-one noticed. Wiping the serrated blade clean on the man's jerkin, he re-sheathed it at his back, the myriad talismans and assorted mystical charms tied round his wrists jingling softly.

So, the lads in red are 'avin' a trainin' exercise? he mused, already wondering how he could make some fun for himself. Well, can't make the wankers stay in the dead-book there, but I can 'ave fun tryin'. It was true, as soon as he killed any of the recruits in the Citadel, they would be brought back by the Ai'brone monks who ran the show there, but he could still cause mayhem in their little training exercise.

Getting up from the table, Drak'shal stalked from the tavern, throwing on his heavy leather coat as he walked. It was ten minutes after he left before anyone noticed the pool of blood spreading out from the menial's slashed carotids.

***

An hour later, and the leather-clad plane-touched was waltzing through the doors of the Citadel, smoking away as he sauntered into the cool, marble antechamber; this was where people came to sign up for an arena, or to be taken to one at random by an attendant monk.

Luckily for the tiefling, chant traveled fast in a place like this, and after chatting away with some of the other guests- both here to fight, and the cowardly bastards here to spectate- it hadn't taken the canny, snake-tongued devil long to find out where the Armed Forces were holding their training exercise. By all accounts, they were making no effort to hide what they were doing; to the criminally-inclined Anarchist, not keeping your activities dark- that was to say, secret- was just sheer stupidity. But, musn't grumble, he reasoned with a shrug, causing the blades covering his armour to scratch loudly inside his coat, at least they're makin' it easier for me. Before heading off to find the room, however, Aurelius "accidentally" bumped into one of the monks (unburdening the man of his keys) and swung by the property room. Here, they allowed people to store things they didn't want to take into the arena with them (cloaks, backpacks, extra weapons, and the like). Here, he left his heavy, armoured coat, with the express instructions to keep it safe. The warlock had made it graphically clear to the boy attending the lockers what would happen if any damage befell his beloved coat. Shivering, not able to meet the serpentine eyes of the monster before him, the kid had nodded his understanding.

Aurelius searched the hallways and corridors, up flights of stairs, and taking turns at intersections seemingly at random. But, keeping his pointed, well-pierced ears parked for any signs of life, and knowing roughly where he was heading, he found his door in no time. Without his coat, his full suit of armour could be seen, complete with overlapping leather plates, dozens of straps and buckles, and above all, the nasty hooks, blades and spikes adorning every surface of the armour. It was as much a weapon as any of Aurelianus' other blades, and more than one sod had ended up maimed after getting too close to the planetouched gutter-spawn. The only part of his body not protected by steel and leather, was his right arm, left bare for no apparent reason- save, of course, for his wand bracer. Covering his almost albino-pale flesh were his tattoos. In short, he was not the kind of person the female guard posted outside the room wanted to see strolling towards her.

Shaking the red-black quills out of his eyes, Aurelius ran a hand through them, flicking away his cigarette with the other. The guard stood at attention, eyeing the tiefling as he got closer, readying her sword. She whipped the blade out of its scabbard when Aurelius got too close for comfort, holding the blade out level between them.

Chit's quick, I'll give 'er that, he thought, raising his hands and coming to a halt.

"'Scuse me, luv," he smiled, trying to sound friendly. "Didn't mean to startle you. I've got a fight to get to, through that door," he nodded in the direction of the one the guards had entered through earlier.

The girl turned her head toward the other end of the corridor, taking her eyes off of the.. man before her. It was the last mistake she ever made.

Darting forward, fast as a snake, Aurelius batted the sword aside with one forearm, lashing out with his other in a vicious cross to the chit's jaw- but she'd seen it coming, and tried to dive back out of the way. She was a second too slow, and the tiefling's fist cracked across her bone-box, splitting her lip. Her helmet flew off, letting her long blonde hair whip out in all directions, even as she staggered from the force of the blow, hand clutched to her mouth. She tried to bring her sword to bear, but with her opponent this close, she couldn't manage it. Instead, she dropped the heavy steel blade, and grabbed the dagger at her belt.

But Drak'shal wasn't done- he grabbed her wrist in a vice-lke grip, forcing it to stay where it was, hand wrapped around the dagger's handle, but unable to draw it. She looked up in that last moment, her eyes meeting the black and gold gaze of the half-breed. They said everything she couldn't- please, don't kill me. He landed a vicious knee into her gut, knocking the breath from her lungs even as the blades affixed there tore into her tender flesh. The guard might have screamed, but as soon as the hit landed, Aurelius had grabbed the chit's head in both hands. Giving it a vicious twist, he snapped her neck with a deliciously audible, and wet crunch. Her body flopped to the ground, quite thoroughly dead.

Least one of the bastards won't be comin' back at the end of the day, he smirked, slipping through the door she'd been guarding, dragging her body with him. He didn't want anyone tumbling on to the fact something was up too soon- that would spoil all the fun he had planned.

The moment he closed the door behind him, Aurelianus felt that odd sense of dislocation, his equilibrium knocked off kilter for a heartbeat. But then reality.. or at least, what the Ai'brone conjured up as reality in these little pocket dimensions, asserted itself. A quick scan of hs surroundings showed a simple room, with bunks and footlockers lining the walls in neat little rows. Rolling the dead chit under one of the nearest bunks, Aurelius stalked quietly out of the room, heading down the hall he found himself in, to the door at the other end- presumably the exit. Poking his head out, the tiefling marked a few buildings across from him, one with smoke coiling out of the chimney. To his right was a large gate set in a high wall, with the same to his left. He could see a building behind the wall to his left, and quickly noted the bars across the visible windows.

Oh pike me, it's only a bloody prison, ain't it! he smirked from ear to ear, thanking the Powers for his good fortune. Not only was he going to get to have fun murdering-- however temporarily-- the guards training within, but he got to do it and incite a full-blown riot!

Well, the first thing he had to do was make sure none of his playthings got away from him before he'd had his fun. So, with that in mind, the warlock turned back into what he guessed must be the barracks building. Hurling a few balls of Hellfire into the wooden walls and ceiling, Aurelius made sure the place was burning nicely, before he went outside, doing the same thing to the exterior. In only a few minutes, coiling black flames were consuming the barracks, sending plumes of thick smoke into the startlingly blue sky.

Now, there was no exit to be had, the door sealed inside the burning building. The only way anyone was leaving this arena was to end up in the dead-book.

"Suits me just fine," Aurelius thought merrily, heading off to the prison building.

[Otto]

"Here, piggy-piggy-piggy!"

Otto raised his shield just in time - once again - and the chamber pot clattered against it's oaken face, splattering a fetid mess around his boots. The inmate, vexed at this failed assault, followed up the move by launching a solid globule of spit at the orc which landed on his helm with a ping. Otto was unsure on how to respond... Kaphyka hadn't given them any orders other than to make one round up and down the block, and in any case these prisoners were all just part of an illusion, no matter how lifelike they appeared to be. He felt that last point should have counted for more, but as it was, his anger at the apparitions had been stoked by the perpetual bombardment of bodily excreta. Otto wrinkled his nose; the smell of it alone was certainly real enough.

A couple of minutes later, the door to the southern corridor opened and Otto stepped out of G.II. The rest of the group must have set a brisker pace than he, because they were all waiting for him, standing at ease to his right. Perhaps the other blocks had been provided with a surplus of chamber pots.

"You look happy as a pig in the proverbial," Kaphyka remarked, noting the state of Otto's boots. "So now you know what to expect on a daily basis. Granted, it's not so bad as that most times, but you'll be wanting to keep your guard up. Now, sadly, inmates are not confined to those cells all hours of the day. The prison has a garden, a chapel, a library, and a laundry. Inmates are permitted, normally, three hours leisure time per day. You will be overseeing five inmates during - something the matter, soldier?"

Otto had taken his hammer from his hip and was gripping it in his right hand. The orc hefted it uncertainly in the face of Kaphyka transfixing glare.

"I... was preparing for the next exercise, sir," he replied.

"That's a weapon of death, man, not subjugation. You usually take that with you on a sojourn among the flower beds?"

"They set fire to the garden as well, sir?"

Kaphyka did not like to be confused. It compromised efficiency. The old dog was a veteran several times over and put great stock in the power of clear communication, since it had all too often spelt life or death in the chaos of a battle. The words he uttered next dripped with unspoken threats, to be fully realised if Otto did not begin to make sense.

"Speak plainly, soldier."

Otto hesitated under the oral venom, and took a moment to form his next sentence very, very carefully.

"I can smell smoke, sir. I thought the next exercise involved something, uh, drastic. Sir."

Kaphyka looked around. "Anyone else sense a fire?" he asked. The other recruits chorused a "No, sir," but before Kaphyka could close that line of conversation, Otto spoke up once again.

"Permission to speak freely, sir?"

"Denied."

Well, that was that. Kaphyka was making sure Otto knew his place. The Orc started, grudgingly, to put his weapon back... but then, he remembered the night in the river, when he had washed away the old complacence with his lot, and let it flow with the Nieme's frigid waters. He nodded at the sergeant and continued regardless - his little power trip be damned, Otto thought.

"Sir, this morning you had a cooked breakfast of eggs, onions, and fried black pudding. Carrin," he added, turning to a sword-bearing recruit, "was grooming horses some time in the last day for... yes, the officers - the saddle horses have different odours to the pack ones - and Becker has recently had asparagus." The woman with the mace nodded a mildly shocked confirmation to his claim, and Otto turned to face Kaphyka again.

"Sir, this nose does not lie."

Kaphyka's face was an unreadable mask. But it paid off: their sergeant was far too experienced to comfortably ignore the things that troubled him... and the implications of what Otto had said troubled him indeed. Nothing went wrong in a Citadel battle, not without an active hand behind it.

"Weapons out, everybody" the sergeant said. "Otto and Carrin, you're in front with me. Becker, Tallow, form rearguard. We'll make a tour along the walls to see if Otto's blowing smoke up our arses or not."

Kaphyka set out for the open air through Processing, with his fledgeling wardens in tow.

[Aurelianus Drak'shal]

With the barracks burning away behind him, Aurelius knew the recruits would be coming to investigate. If things were going to go how he wanted, the tiefling had to make sure he wasn't here when they arrived. So, with that in mind, he scanned the other buildings, wondering what direction they'd be coming from.

Looking around him he knew if they'd been in either of the two buildings in front of him, the smithy, and it's adjoining small stone hut, the guards would have been on the scene already. And they weren't likely to be training outside the prison grounds- so that narrowed down the options considerably. Nodding to himself, pleased with his deductive reasoning, the planetouched decided on what to do next. He didn't like going into a fight without knowing how many berks he was up against- not that it had ever stopped him before- so he had to find somewhere to watch them, unnoticed. Glancing up at the fifteen-foot-high wall surrounding the perimeter a grin slid across his face, fangs displayed in a vicious smirk.

That'll do nicely, he thought.

Before he headed up to the top of the wall, the warlock decided to make even more sure his playmates weren't going anywhere he didn't want them to; with that in mind, he jogged quickly over to the building next to the smithy. Hauling open the solid-wood door, the tiefling found he was right in his assumption- the small building was an armoury; complete with workbenches for shaping and fitting armour, grinding wheels for honing sword edges, and all manner of other things needed for armour and weapon maintenance. And, just as the red-haired hellraiser had hoped, there were racks full of weapons. Very aware of how limited his time was, Aurelianus grabbed a handful of spears, and a few heavy steel battleaxes, before running back out the door toward the gate leading into the prison. It was made of two huge slabs of oak, nearly as tall as the rest of the surrounding wall. Each of the sections was at least six inches thick, banded and riveted with iron for extra strength. But, unlike most fortress gates, it had a heavy wooden beam on both sides. They slid into a pair of metal brackets to brace the door, but seeing as the prison could face potential attack from within and without, the doors could be barred from within and without.

He could already faintly hear the heavy footfalls of the armoured trainees, as they emerged from the main entrance of the gaol-proper.

Taking the weapons in hand, he got to work- to start, he thrust the spears into the ground as hard as he could manage, even throwing an Eldritch Blast behind each one to make sure it was stuck deep in the hard-packed earth. In moments, there were six spears hammered into the ground in front of the gates, at an angle that would hopefully hamper anyone trying to open them. Then he slid the thick wooden beam into its mounting brackets, swearing as he nipped the skin of his fingers between the metal and oak. And just to make completely sure it wouldn't be easy, the half-breed hefted the battleaxes; taking a huge swing, he buried each into the wood horizontally across the gates, where the two large doors actually met. Satisfied that should slow down any escape attempts, he turned back to the smithy building.

The heat from the burning barracks prickled at the back of his neck, but Aurelius ignored it for now. Taking a run up, he sprinted at the single-storey smithy, springing into a jump at the last second. His boots hit the rough stone of the wall, and he managed to propel himself up a few more steps before gravity tried to take hold. But, the Cager had been doing these sort of acrobatics for years, in all manner of environments- originally to escape any guards, or other Hive-gangers trying to nick him. Kicking off from the wall, the half-demon grabbed the edge of the sloping roof, his fingers finding purchase on the rough slates.

The surface of the roof was warm, with the sun blazing down overhead. Aurelius swung his body outwards from the wall, using the momentum and his toned arms to throw himself up onto the roof, touching down with a bladed knee. Not slowing down, the tiefling turned to the perimeter wall. It was only about six feet tall from up here, so it didn't take any effort for Aurelianus to run up it, and grab the crenallations ringing the top of the stone. Keeping low as he crested the battlements of the wall, the half-breed rolled onto the walkway. He could hear the recruit soldiers in the yard below, their muttering barely perceptible even to his extremely sharp senses. Keeping out of sight, ducking low, Aurelius made his way quickly along the wall, heading for the corner he could see up ahead.

But, as the voices of the recruits got closer, he couldn't resist getting a cheap shot on them.

Reaching up to the holster under his left arm, Aurelius drew a trio of three-bladed shurikens, passing them to his left hand, holding them tightly between his fingers. Another three went into his right hand, their razor-keen, serrated edges catching the sunlight.

He waited for a few heartbeats, letting the sound of footfalls on the hard, dusty earth get closer. He could hear one- a veteran judging by the clipped tones and rough edge to his voice- barking orders at the other cadets. As soon as he heard the voice, Aurelianus smiled viciously- That's the sod I want to nick. Without 'im, the rest'll be running around like 'eadless chickens. The thought unleashed a feral joy in the tiefling's heart. It had been too long since he had been able to cut loose like this. Almost a month had passed since his last Citadel battle, and the fact this one would pike up a Coronian Armed Forces training exercise was just the icing on the cake.

Counting down under his breath, Aurelius waited until he could make out the old soldier's voice clearly before he attacked.

Standing up from behind the crenallated battlement, the half-breed fighter raised his left arm, the blades along his segmented armour glinting in the afternoon sun, before whipping his hand toward the guards in the yard below. A blast of pure arcane energy went after them, speeding up the weapons. The second they had left his hand, the planetouched hurled the second trio from his right hand, an Eldritch Blast behind them too. But, as he had expected, without having time to properly aim, the projectiles weren't as accurate as he had wished.

Still, the six bladed discs did a decent bit of damage. The first one, in particular, was almost bang-on target- it took the guards by surprise, whistling past the group of soldiers. It passed in front of a guard with his sword held loosely in his hand. He stumbled as the whirring blades passed by him almost too fast to follow with the naked eye, making the veteran spin on his heel to reprimand the clumsy greenhorn. The other guards saw the puff of dust as it finally halted, smacking into the ground next to them with force. The sword wielding guard looked to his sergeant in surprise, but as he did, a thin red line appeared across his throat. Even as he opened his mouth to speak, his face a mask of incomprehension, the slash across his throat opened fully, blood flooding darkly down the front of his gambeson and jerkin, his severed windpipe visible through the neat laceration.

But the rest of the flying chivs were only a second or two behind, hitting the unprepared rookies before their comrade was even dead.

One of the shurikens ricocheted from the helmet of the only non-human in the group, leaving him unharmed, much to Dark'shal's chagrin. Another two buried themselves deep into the leg of one of the guard's bringing up the rear of the little group, dropping the sod screaming to the ground, blood flowing from the wounds in scarlet gushes; and the final two of them ended up embedded in the veteran's chest, parting the boiled leather of his armour and knocking him back onto a knee. But, even as Aurelius ducked back into cover, he knew they hadn't taken the old bastard down.

Aurelius couldn't help but chuckle- even the brief glimpse he'd managed had shown him how much carnage he'd inflicted in his opening salvo. This blossomed up into full-throated laughter when he heard the dull thud below; the sound of the guard with the slashed throat finally falling to the ground, a deader.

The sound of his sadistic, mocking laughter rang out over the prison grounds.

[Otto]

Kaphyka motioned for Otto to step up to the thick double doors which separated Processing from the outside world. He could smell the beginnings of anxiety coming off of the other recruits, and if the slight giddiness in his stomach was any measure, from himself as well. The orc took a deep breath, hefted his shield, pushed open the left door and stepped outside. Carrin followed suit with the adjacent door while Kaphyka marched forward between the vanguards.

"Bloody hell..." mumbled Carrin. Otto sneezed.

The open air was hazy from the smoke billowing up on the other side of the inner wall. Tongues of flame could just be seen above the stonework; the barracks was definitely on fire, and by the looks of it the upper floor had joined in on the action. The junior guards exchanged a few apprehensive looks.

"Keep formation," growled the sergeant, moving forward. Otto kept his shield at the ready and fell in line whilst scanning the area in the short distance between the gaol building and the inner gatehouse. He was looking back towards the column of smoke when things really took a turn for the worse.

From the periphery he saw Carrin stagger, and Kaphyka spun around on the lad. Otto had a half-second to register Carrin's throat part sickeningly, before something skimmed off the top of his own helm. Then someone screamed behind him - Tallow - and Kaphyka dropped to a knee, the leather buff coat sundered by two deep gashes to expose the glint of steel mail beneath. A rich, ferrous bouquet wafted up in dark waves around the orc and overpowered even the choking stink of smoke. He swung the shield back and forth but had no idea where the barrage had originated from save from somewhere up above.

"Get back! Back!" Kaphyka had righted himself and had grabbed one of Tallow's arms while Becker seized the other; the sergeant was yelling over the young man's painful growls as the two of them dragged their fellow back inside of the gaol. He pointed with his free hand up to the inner wall. "There!"

Otto followed Kaphyka's digit and saw something slip behind the parapets. The orc leapt to the side, and placed himself directly between their ambusher and the other soldiers. As he moved, he kept his shield raised high, but found himself stumbling with the last step. Otto regained his balance and looked down upon the vacant eyes of Carrin Fitch; the orc had put a heavy boot on the lad's bloodied throat by accident, and he watched as red liquid welled up around the leather. Then someone shouted at him, and he remembered where he was. He continued to fall back with the others until they were safely inside, at which point Kaphyka slammed the door shut, and locked it with one of his numerous keys.

"Otto, to the front," the sergeant said as he slung Tallow's arm about his shoulder. Again, Becker followed suit and soon they were supporting the grimacing recruit between them. "Head to the guard house."

The group moved out of processing and took a right, Tallow hopping along on his one good leg between two others and Otto striding ahead with his hammer in hand; as he walked, the orc left a single line of bloodied bootprints on the stone floor. Once inside the guard post, Becker sat her injured comrade upon a chair and raised the ravaged leg up onto a table, while Kaphyka directed Otto to bar the ground level doors and the sergeant flew up the ladder to do the same on the upper floor. When Kaphyka came back down, Otto had put some lengths of linen gauze on the table which Becker was using to make a tourniquet above the wounds on Tallow's leg. There was also a pair of blackened tongs by the bandages, taken from the fireplace against the eastern wall.

"Going to pull them out, recruit?" Kaphyka asked.

"Yes sir," replied Becker.

"Don't," he ordered the woman. His hand opened up above the table and a couple of red-marked metal discs fell on it's wooden surface. The shurikens must have been stuck in Kaphyka's vest. "They're barbed. Best thing you can do is leave them in for now and just wrap it up. I'll bet you're glad none of this is real, eh, Fats?"

William Tallow groaned, if not from the pain then from the sergeant's forcedly jovial use of his nickname. Becker nodded, put the tongs down, and proceeded to dress the wounds.

"This isn't part of the training plan, is it, sir?" Otto asked.

"That's correct, soldier. Well done."

Kaphyka stalked over to the empty hearth and stared into the cold ashes.

"Did that nose of yours pick up anything useful outside there, Bastard?"

"No sir," Otto replied. "Just smoke, sir. And blood."

Kaphyka sighed. "Alright, then. This is what we know: Carrin's out of the game, there's at least one intruder here who is a proficient marksman and wants to kill us, the exit has been compromised until the barracks stops burning - gods know how long that might be - and we can't call for help."

This was news to them. "Sir... aren't the monks keeping tabs on the exercise?" Becker asked, but Kaphyka shook his head.

"It's for the same reason we didn't make this open to the public. The Brass want details about the prison and procedures kept secret so as to maintain the integrity of security here. Obviously we had to trust a few with the creation of this exercise, but it was decided to at least run it without them looking in on us."

"Surely you can terminate the exercise, sir", Tallow said through clenched teeth.

"What, so you can get killed for real? Hah! I can, but I won't. No, we'll take this bastard out, and nab him in the infirmary". Kaphyka paused to think their predicament through a little. "We have to assume that Carrin will have enough sense raise the alarm when he comes to. I don't know how long that will take either, though. But in the mean time we need to fortify ourselves. And then maybe... we can reverse the tables. But first we need to implement lockdown. Becker, stay here with Tallow. Otto, come with me - we'll do the north rear exit first then swing through G.IV back to Processing. Damned if I'm going outside again but we can go over the counter to reach the door to Processing from the inside. Let's go."

Otto freed his spear and passed it to the slightly waxen-faced Tallow. "That sword won't be worth a damn if you can't move around," said the orc, "but this should give you a bit more reach."

The man gripped the shaft firmly in his hands. "Thanks," he said. "I'd prefer a crossbow if you find one, though."

"We'll have to see about getting to the armoury another time," Kaphyka snapped. "Move out now, soldier."

Otto squared up to the north door and readied himself for a sudden attack as Kaphyka raised the bar. The door swung out to an empty corridor, and Otto relaxed a little. Then he and the sergeant crossed the threshold.

"Good luck," Becker said behind them as she closed the door. There was a scrape and a thud as the crossbeam swung back in to place.

[Aurelianus Drak'shal]

When his laughter finally subsided, a good few moments later, the tiefling realised he should get moving. If he sat here too long, there was every possibility the guards could flank him. And he didn't fancy having to leap from a fifteen foot wall to solid earth below, even with his skills.

Hells, I'll kill a body in a fair fight... or if I think 'e's gonna start a fair fight, he thought, grinning wickedly. But that was *a* body, not three. And even though two of them were rookies, the half-breed knew he couldn't take on the remaining three scarlet-coats at once. It was a slight sting to his mighty ego, but the Anarchist ignored it, clamping down on the impulses with bands of iron will. Instead of trying to take them all out at once to prove his ego wrong, he would be a canny sod. As a plan formed in his brain-box, a snake-like grin slid over his alabaster features.

But, for now, he had to move his arse out of here.

The warlock risked another peek over the parapet, marking the remaining guards dragging the wounded soldier between them, while the Orc played sternguard, keeping his shield held high. But he didn't have anything to fear- the plane-touched didn't want to kill them all just yet. He wanted to prolong his fun as much as possible. Bit of foreplay, before the main event, he thought, licking his lips in anticipation. He waited until he heard the main door to the prison slam shut before he stood up fully, wondering how he should play his next card. His gaze was drawn to the dead recruit, blood still flooding from his severed throat in a ruby river, the Cager knew he was playing on borrowed time- anyone who ended up dead here would wake up in the sterile little infirmary the Ai'brone kept in the building, as soon as their wounds had been repaired. Well then, let's make their job a tad harder. He brought Shahab's Lash into his palms, the two swirling balls of Hellfire floating gently. With a gesture, he sent both screaming down into the corpse below, setting the deader ablaze instantly. Satisfied he'd bought himself a little bit more breathing space, he headed further around the wall, looking for a way in to the main building.

The barracks was still blazing away on the other side of the inner wall, fire as black as his own soul licking up at the perfect blue sky, choking the air with heat and ash. If this had been anywhere in the real world, the pillar of smoke rising ever higher would have been visible for miles. With every step he took away from the inferno, the heat blasting against his back lessened.

***

A few minutes later, he was on the ground, slipping into the prison through the northeast door. It took a few moments for his eyes to adjust from the dazzling sun outside, to the gloomy prison interior. As soon as he closed it behind him, he heard the sound of doors opening, down the corridor to his left.

Shit! he snarled mentally. He knew at least one of the guards had a wounded leg, and since the Corone Armed Forces actually valued their men, they wouldn't leave him unguarded- that just left two healthy, unharmed soldiers. Knowing now wasn't the time for a fair fight, he darted into the hall in front of him, getting out of sight just as the pair emerged onto the corridor. He tried taking the first door to his left. The Powers were obviously not on his side, however, and he cursed to himself when he tried the handle; it was locked. Glancing over his shoulder, the tiefling knew he had very little time when he heard the footfalls echoing off the stone walls. Another curse slid from between clenched fangs a moment later when he realised he didn't even have his lockpicks- he had left them in an inner pocket of his coat; sitting back in the Citadel's property room. Bollocks!

As the boots got closer, Aurelius realised he had no choice but to take the pair on when they appeared. They were too close for him to run, and he had nowhere to hide. He also noticed, judging by the heavier tromp of one set of footfalls, that the Orc was one of the soldiers round the corner- if that was the case, his hammer wouldn't be as useful in the enclosed confines of the corridor. The rich, thick scent of blood on the air touched his senses, making the plane-touched's mouth water- the only other berk wounded was the veteran... Looks like I'll get to nick the bloke after all, he grinned viciously.

Slowly, patiently, he slid one of his Baatorian knives from the sheath at his back, the green-steel looking dark, almost black in the dim light. He pressed his back to the wall, well-practiced enough to avoid scraping the blades across the rough stonework. The former Hive-ganger could feel the coolness of the grey bricks at his back as he edged as close to the corner as he could. The knife in his hands was kept raised, his grip reversed, arm crossed over his chest so it was next to his left ear. His left hand was open, held across his stomach facing the corner, ready to summon the power of Shahab's Lash- a blast of Hellfire in a place as narrow as this would hopefully be devastating to his opponents.

His breathing slowed, forked tongue running across dry lips. This was the moment he lived for. The thrill right before you made some poor sod a deader; the adrenaline rush as you struck, the moment of realisation, where the poor bugger finally realises he's a corpse... it was utterly delicious.

Counting down the heartbeats, the lurking half-breed waited as long as he dared. Another few steps, and the soldiers would be upon him.

The second before the Orc and his commanding officer rounded the turn, Aurelianus opened up; he launched a roaring gout of Hellfire from his left hand, filling the corridor for a few brief seconds. But it wasn't supposed to injure either of his opponents too greatly, merely distract them. As soon as the flames left his hand, the tiefling swung his right arm out, knife blade flashing out in an instant. He felt the solid impact as the green-steel tore into flesh, but he didn't know which of the two he'd managed to hit, or how lethal the wound was.

The guttersnipe gave his knife a vicious twist, before ripping the serrated weapon out of whatever sod he had stabbed. Backing up a few paces, he drew his other knife, serpentine eyes locked on the corner of the corridor, the stonework still burning in small patches where the Hellfire was pooling.

Time to play.

[Otto]

Their footsteps seemed to be the only source of noise in the corridor. Otto's heavy boots rang like hammers on the stone floor, while Kaphyka's tough heels clicked smartly along. Narrow, high set windows on the east wall let some second-hand sunlight in between the bars, which picked up specks of dust drifting lazily along the grey passage. Otto moved in front, shield and hammer ready to flick into place in a moment's notice, while the sergeant's sword sent reflected patterns of light dancing on the ceiling.

Something had been sitting restlessly on Otto's mind. "Sir", he began, waiting for a response.

"What?", Otto imagined the sergeant shooting him a warning look, but there was no hiding the noise they had been making by walking over the flagstones. Talking wouldn't give their location away any more than they already had.

"To get in here, he - they - would have had to go through Rurin...".

He heard Kaphyka give a short sigh. "Yes".

That was that. They'd both been in the war; they knew very well that the simplest explanations were usually the right ones, even if they were the more terrible.

"Eyes ahead, Otto", Kaphyka prompted.

The orc refocused on their destination: the north-east door at the end of the corridor. As they approached, the slightly mildewed smell of the grey stones picked up a stronger touch of grass and pollen from... the... outside...

Shit -

He swung the shield up and stepped in front of Kaphyka's at the first sign of movement. Oak was blasted with black fire, and the smell of smoke grew slightly stronger. Otto didn't wait for the barrage to let up; he immediately ran forwards at the source of the magic with his shield locked in position - but, blinded, misjudged the angle. The mail on his bicep offered brief resistance before it gave way in defeat, and something cold and hard plunged deep into his flesh. The agony as steel twisted and tore his flesh down to the bone almost paralysed him; too late he recovered, flicking the hammer out in front. The swing went wild and met empty air, their ambusher having nimbly leapt back from his assault. Otto reined himself in before he charged in to another dagger, and assessed the figure before him.

So, this is our hunter.

Spiky hair, black-veined pale skin, heavily pierced, and undeniably inhuman. Otto was only half-concerned with the fell heritage of his foe, being focused more upon the throbbing in his left arm. He clenched his fist, and a deep jolt of pain screamed through the ravaged muscle. When he tried to raise the shield he could only manage to bring it up to stomach height. Black fire still crackled on its surface; gritting his teeth against the agony, Otto pressed it flat against the stonework wall and the flames hissed out. While assassin and guard eyed each other off, Otto grumbled to the patch of corridor behind him.

"You alright, sergeant?", he asked.

"Never better", said Kaphyka. His voice came as a huge relief; wounded, Otto did not like his odds against their assailant should he have to fight alone. Kaphyka stepped up beside him with his sword trained on the tiefling. Otto gave his hammer a twirl; at least his other arm was working fine.

"Orders, sir?".

Kaphyka shook his head slightly. "We're fine here. Be a good lad and cover the exits, will you?".

Otto moved to Arelius' left, towards the cell blocks, stairs and other rooms. The latter of these were still unlocked from the introductory run-through. Meanwhile, Kaphyka went to move towards the exit door, with his sword pointed at Aurelius' chest.

[Aurelianus Drak'shal]

Aurelius scanned both of his opponents in a heartbeat, marking the vicious, gaping wound on the Orc's bicep. His blood flowed thickly down the remains of the chainmail-sleeve, filling the tiefling's senses with the rich, almost spicy scent of Orc vitae.

A mocking smirk creased the corners of his mouth, and his mouth watered.

The other soldier, the veteran, was unharmed. Judging by the Hellfire the Orc still had spattering his shield, he'd been canny enough to see the attack coming, and had saved himself and the older cutter. Well good for 'im, Aurelius chuckled. He twirled the knife in his right hand with a practiced flick, sending a spray of red droplets arcing up the wall, leaving the blade relatively clean. The almost tense silence was broken a second later, when the green-skin- well, grey skin- extinguished the fire smouldering on his shield-face. An' look at that, he smiled darkly, seeing how badly he'd managed to nick the rookie, poor bugger can barely 'eft 'is shield.

The tiefling kept on the balls of his feet, his eyes darting between the soldiers, wondering which was more likely to attack first. But, as the Orc did as he was told, covering the other exits, Aurelius turned his attention to the sergeant.

The older man stood, not bothered by the gashes on his chest, his sword pointed at the killer's chest.

He stood proud, and ramrod straight- he was armoured like any of a thousand soldiers in the Corone Armed Forces; sword scabbard and dagger, leather buff coat over steel mail and thick bracers and greaves. Hells, if 'e bends over, 'e might snap the stick up 'is arse, the plane-touched chuckled again, the only sound in the narrow corridor, except the tusker's heavy breathing. He was trying to put a brave face on it, but Aurelianus knew that gash in his arm had to hurt like a bastard.

With no warning, quick as the serpent he so closely resembled, Aurelius attacked.

He took a quick run at the Orc, leaping into the air after three steps, and flying at the grey-skinned tusker. As expected, instinct kicked in and the rookie soldier tried to bring up his shield to defend against the flying kick- he growled as the wound in his arm unleashed a fresh pulse of blood. As the Anarchist had observed, he couldn't lift the heavy disc of oak and steel above his stomach. He did lash out with his hammer, but the Cager was no stranger to close-quarters fighting, and deflected the swing with an Eldritch Blast, the hammer sailing over his head by scant centimetres. His quills rustled in the wake of the heavy weapon.

Aurelius' hob-nailed boot hammered into the Orc's chest, thick leather meeting solid muscle with a resounding thump. It staggered the broad-framed bastard, but the half-demon hadn't intended the kick to injure his opponent.

Instead, he was using the Orc as a springboard- flexing his knee as soon as the hit landed, Aurelianus launched himself off the grey-skin's chest toward the sergeant. Airborne, the inhuman malcontent's Baatorian knife flashed out in an arc, as he covered the distance between them in a second.

The veteran saw it coming; he brought his sword up to parry the attack, steel whipping up almost as fast as Aurelius' own chiv. But Drak'shal had anticipated that- the moment before the weapons met, the half-breed yanked his blade back, turning his shoulder into the charge. His opponent, expecting the resistance of steel on steel, overbalanced a little. He stumbled forward a half-step before Aurelius barreled into him, bladed armour tearing at the veteran soldier's leather buff coat. The two went down in a tangle, but this was where Aurelianus excelled- up close and bloody.

The warlock lashed out, the pommel of his knife shattering the bridge of the old cutter's nose. A fine mist of blood sprayed across the tiefling's alabaster skin, and his eyes shone with unbridled bloodlust. Whipping his head closer, he ripped into his opponent's ear with his fangs, swallowing a chunk of flesh, his forked tongue tasting the blood on his lips.

But, he didn't want the fun to end too quickly.

He threw himself off of the trained soldier, surreptitiously snatching the dagger from his enemy's right hip as he rolled back a few feet; stopping next to the North-Eastern door, his back to the corridor the pair had come up from. He came up in a crouch, Baatorian knife held in front of him as a guard.

The sergeant dragged himself upright, one hand clamped to the bloody remains of his ear. Before he had even fully regained his feet, however, Aurelius' left hand lashed out; putting an Eldritch Blast behind it, the tiefling hurled the soldier's dagger. It crossed the space between himself and the Orc in a heartbeat..

[Otto]

Radasanth may have been considered a racial mixing pot, but some things were better off away from public sight even so. Otto was wondering what sort of abominations had featured as the tiefling's forebears, whether they lurked somewhere in Radasanth - and if so, where. There was obviously some human heritage there, too, but it did little to downplay the effect of the other...

Otto was too focused on such thoughts to truly stay within the moment. When the tiefling charged, Otto's knee jerk reaction was to try and bring the shield up; obviously, this move was not particularly well thought-out. His shield rose a few inches before his arm gave out, so he tried to compensate by throwing out a swing - but the required change of stance, from failed block to preemptive strike, gave his assailant plenty of time to deflect the attack. A solid kick drove the wind from Otto's chest, and almost toppled him. While he staggered back, Otto saw - unfolding with terrible speed - Aurelius leap towards the sergeant. For one hopeful second, Otto thought his superior had the upper hand, but the tiefling was far too wily for that. They both went down, and there was a crunch and a growl of pain from the soldier. Then, every bit as quickly as he had fallen, Aurelius jumped up and spun around. Otto stepped forward just as he saw the glint of steel in the tiefling's hand; it arced around, and the metal sleeked through the air, right towards the orc's face...

Pain or no, Otto didn't make the same mistake twice. He snarled wordlessly, and flicked his right arm out. The clattering of metal rang through the junction as he hammered the airborne dagger right out of the air. In that heartbeat, the orc's eyes did not stray from those of the tiefling's; this was reflex at play, and Otto could do as much in his sleep should he still hold a hammer. He reached Kaphyka in a couple more strides, and halted there while the sergeant pulled himself up.

"Still alright, sir?" queried Otto. As he had crossed the gap, he had seen the bloodied rag of flesh which was what remained of the man's ear.

"Whad? Speag ub, man".

Despite everything, Otto had to chuckle... and with that, the growing knot of fear and tension relaxed. Kaphyka was not just a tough old soldier; it seemed that he had earned his little bit of command, too. Otto's feet dug into the flagstones, and he tensed his legs, ready to charge - but just as he was about to fling himself at the tiefling, Kaphyka reined him in with a growl. It appeared that the previous order still stood.

What's he playing at? Otto wondered, then pushed it from his mind. He could not afford to distract himself once again.

[Aurelianus Drak'shal]

All bunnying done with the permission of my opponent.

The rich, heady flavour of the blood set the tiefling's nerves alight, every one of his senses singing in carnal delight. Hot adrenaline surged through his system, almost stinging as it coursed through each vein and artery. Grinning at his opponents through blood-stained fangs, Aurelius suppressed a shiver of pleasure.

He cracked his neck to either side, loosening up a bit more, keeping his weight spread evenly over his feet, waiting for the Orc's counter-attack. The big basher was quick, and handy with his hammer- strong too, judging by the shattered remains of the sergeant's dagger- but it was still a large weapon. Aurelius' knives held the advantage of speed, even if he was outclassed on reach; and as long as the Orc couldn't land a hit on him, he had nothing to worry about. He tensed as the grey-skin prepared to attack, his knuckles tightening around the haft of of his warhammer. Come on then, mate. We'll see 'ow good you really are, the plane-touched smirked to himself, again whipping his wrist round in quick circles. But as the veteran shook himself off, letting his hand finally drop away from the bloody remnants of his ear. The sight of the nasty wound elicited a chuckle from the sadistic half-breed, his shoulders shaking with quiet mirth.

But, the old cutter reined in the rookie with a growl.

Aurelius marked the look of confusion on the Orc's face, and smirked knowingly. Clever old bastard's playin' for time, he mused. Well, the tiefling was already well aware of how limited a window he had, and he didn't plan to waste all of it toying with this pair of sods.

A lascivious light crept into Aurelius' demonic eyes- there was still the last remaining chit to have some fun with. With that thought in mind, he decided to quit toying with the soldiers, and just pen them in the Dead-Book. He turned his head, the three obsidian rings in his right eyebrow glinting under his nest of red quills. The golden-yellow irises locked on to the Orc, slit pupils narrowing as he sized up his opponent. His superior officer had given the basher a direct order not to step in to the fight, but the tattooed miscreant couldn't help but wonder if he would stick to that when the hellraiser had the upper hand against the old sod. And he would have the upper hand. Shrugging, his bladed and barbed armour glinting with reflected sunlight, he decided it didn't matter either way- Drak'shal had penned dozens of berks in the Dead-Book, and these two "law"-abiding wankers would be no different.

Well, age before beauty, he grinned, before realising neither of his opponents were likely to win any beauty pageants anytime soon. A tense second passed, while the sergeant waited for the Orc to back down, and return to his post. Finally, relenting, the wounded soldier did as he was told, like a good lapdog.

The Anarchist turned his attention back to the grizzled berk, watching the blood dribbling sluggishly down the side of his brain-box, darkening the collar of his coat, staining his gleaming mail. He was swaying almost imperceptibly, but the natural born killer picked up on it immediately. The old man's injuries were getting to him, no matter how hard he tried to ignore them; blood was flowing from the gaping tear where his ear used to perch, and he was breathing heavily through his mouth, trying to ignore the smashed cartilage in his nose.

"At least they managed to breed one tough sod on this rock," Aurelius thought. His respect for the old cutter rose a fraction. "I was startin' to think I'd never get a decent challenge," he smiled amicably. The smile never reached his eyes.

He twirled his knife around his fingers a few times, his cold gaze never leaving his opponents. Just in case reinforcements were on route, he kept his pointed ears parked, but all he could scan was the usual hubbub of a prison.

"I'm Aurelius, by the by," he added, almost as an afterthought.

The soldier raised his chin, trying to stare down the tiefling. "Kaphyka," he growled in response, flexing his fingers on the grip of his sword.

Without another word, the tiefling attacked.

Darting forward, the walking knife-rack that was Aurelianus struck high with his green-steel knife, the serrations gleaming darkly in the dimly lit confines of the corridor. As expected, Kaphyka whipped his own weapon up, parrying the weapon cleanly. He took on an easy stance, backing up a pace; he was going to try and keep Aurelius at arm's length, where his swords reach would be the most advantageous. Pike that, the Cager chided mentally.

The pair traded blows for another minute or two, each probing the other's defenses, trying to find a weak spot, a chink in their armour. The veteran was good with a sword, Aurelius admitted, but he lacked the same vicious edge that the tiefling had maintained since birth. The leather-clad guttersnipe feigned a stumble, falling forward onto his left hand, staggering toward Kaphyka. Grinning with elation, the soldier rushed forward, his sword thrusting out to impale the bastard who had murdered one of his soldiers. He let out a triumphant yell, thrusting his weapon out in what would be a killing stroke... but he had walked straight into Aurelius' waiting arms.

Or legs, as it happened.

But, even as he went to execute his plan of attack, the Orc tumbled to his real intentions; seeing the feint for what it was, he decided to ignore the older man's orders, and stepped in with a swing of his hammer; as he did so, he put off Kaphyka's attack. He couldn't risk accidentally stabbing Otto, who had unknowingly saving his sergeant's life.. at least for a few more moments. However, because he was reacting to the quicker, nimbler half-demon, he couldn't put nearly as much force as he wanted behind it- that being said, the Orc knew it would crush ribs on impact.

As he had "fallen" towards the hammer, Aurelius had reacted without thought, his instincts kicking in- more times than he cared to count, his reflexes and unthinking responses had kept his arse out of the Dead-Book. His acrobatics, as he had demonstrated earlier when scaling the walls, had many other applications; this was one of them.

As the heavy steel head approached with all the inevitable momentum of a rampaging rhinox, the tiefling had skidded low, toward the Orc, arching forwards in the same movement. The attack was high, aiming for either the head or chest, which worked perfectly for Aurelianus. He tossed his Baatorian blade lightly forward, to free up his hands, lashing out to grip the haft of the warhammer as it whistled past, while avoiding the head- as his hands met the solid wood, he let his torso go loose, arching his back as he swung under the hammer, utilising the momentum of the blow, his arm muscles straining against the force of the Orc's attack. Using the hammer's shaft as an anchor, the tiefling swung his legs forward, taking the sergeant completely off guard when the hobnailed boots cannoned into his chin in quick succession. Aurelius, happy with the fact he had managed to salvage his assault, didn't stop to think, only releasing his grip when the swing had carried him almost vertically upside down. Tucking his legs, the agile Cager managed to turn the movement into a neat flip, landing on his feet in front of the staggered Kaphyka, crouched low.

His first Baatorian knife landed off to the side with the soft clatter of metal on stone, out of reach, but it didn't matter- Drak'shal had more.

Even as the Orc registered the fact he had missed his enemy, Aurelius surged forward, whipping his other serrated green-steel knife out of its sheath in a practiced, fluid motion. Muirin Kaphyka saw his death- albeit temporary- approaching with grim finality. He could make out every detail of the abomination in front of him in vivid detail, could even see Otto trying to turn for a reverse swing. But he could see it was too slow.

He shuddered, knowing that even in the Citadel, the deaths you suffered still felt real.

But even as the tiefling's Hell-forged knife sank in to the soft flesh under his jaw, lancing up through the palette at the roof of his mouth, Kaphyka smiled. The knife tore through his flesh, and sank deep into his brain in one violent thrust. He shivered, his body heaving as it tried to understand the massive trauma it had just suffered, but it was never going to be enough.

Aurelius smiled viciously, elated at the death of the sergeant. He gave the blade one last twist, before ripping it out in a shower of gore, snatching the ring of keys from the man's belt simultaneously. The half-breed dived forward, getting out of reach of any follow up the Orc might make at his back, and by the time he rolled to his feet, further up the Northern East-to-West Corridor, Kaphyka's corpse collapsed to the ground, face down in a rapidly expanding pool of blood. The copper-stink of it was thick in the corridor.

Well, that's another addle-cove dead--

Realisation hit the murderer like a thunderbolt.

He had killed sergeant Kaphyka.. which here in the Citadel meant..

"Oh, you pikin' canny bastard!" he snarled, glaring at the corpse, swearing it almost looked smug, even in death.

He had been blinded by bloodlust, and had set free the only person in here who knew what was going on, and had the smarts to actually do something about it. In that one stab, he had managed to top the scales firmly against his favour.

After a second, Aurelianus shook his head softly, and couldn't help but laugh- he had been outwitted. He flicked his eyes back up to the grey-skin, chuckling at his own stupidity.

"Your man peeled me, good and proper," he admitted with a grin. "You be sure an' tell 'im it won't 'appen again."

With that, the plane-touched sheathed his Baatorian knife, instead drawing the heavy steel cleaver strapped to his right calf. Giving the weapon a few experimental swings, he shook out the sting from his stretched muscles, strained with the risky acrobatics, and nodded his horned brain-box at the Coronian Soldier before him.

"C'mon then, lad. Sadly now, I 'aven't got all day to piss about. Gimme what you got," he smirked, taking up a fighting stance again.