Leaving Eiskalt - The Assassin, The Immortal, The Angel, The Plaugelord sail off.

[Enigmatic Immortal]

((Closed to those who were invited, take care to notice that we are to have fun, and only to have fun. Just throw out the posts and let's kill some stuff!))

Ashen grey clouds stalked the sky as the sun set in the Eiskalt sky. The rhapsody of colors made it difficult to enjoy what should have been a peaceful evening. They clashed with another, starking light and void filling shadows illuminating the scenery of the once beautiful nation. It was like the heavens had showed the people of the iceland what was reflected to them a chaotic, dirty mess of clashing beauty.

Two specs walked along the frozen tundra towards the last port of sail in the region. It was a small hovel like location near the mountains, a fishing village dedicated to the gathering of food for barter. The war had taken different emotional tolls upon both warriors, each involved in their own web of intrigue, violence, and bloodshed.

Of them walked Lichensith Ulroké, the leader of the Order of the Crimson Hand. He had pushed many of the Ixians to breaking points, fighting them and maneuvering his troops to different fields to harry their defense of the good people. It was a constant war he fought, but his time had been spent on his own pet project, the one who walked next to him.

Clad in a trenchcoat with no sleeves nor belt strap to keep him cool was the enigmatic immortal, Jensen Ambrose. His face was set in a permanent scowl, his altercation with the Avatar of Blessed Torture, Katherine Remi, leaving scars that were deeper than any wound he ever felt. He was close to shattering his precious psyche and his lack of control had nearly killed Astarelle Set'roh. Together they both formed up a strong enough defense to repel the crimson angel. Though in the process an innocent life had been kidnapped by the thrice damned Cult of Blessed Torture.

His humors melted into a pot of self loathing and simmering rage, the immortal had fallen back out of grace when he was given orders by the head of the Ixians to return home. Instead, Jensen sought out the one in the sea of madness who was crazy enough to know the way, Lye, and consorted once again with a well known enemy to the Ixian Knights.

"The village we go to has a hidden secret," he spoke into the cold, his breath whisping out vapor in front of him. He pulled up a flask of some liquid, taking a drought and offering some to the immortal. Jensen ignored the offering instead leaning a leg against a protruding rock, stretching his limbs out. "The flagship of the Cult of Blessed Torture was reported to have been found hiding in the cove. It's damage is significant, but still sea worthy. No doubt Katherine intended to wreck havoc across the plains of Eiskalt and return to steal away into the night."

Jensen's fingers gripped themselves tightly, his eyes narrowing in concentration as he recalled the woman tossing him from the air back to the ground with earth shattering force. His body nearly died of overkill in that engagement, a prospect he wasn't too fond of. With his Breath of the Undying resting within his soul, it would take a significant death to keep him down for any length. To think she so easily neared that threshold concerned him.

"So what do we do with this information? Wait around for her to show up?" Jensen snapped. Lye lifted a placating hand to calm the irritated immortal. Jensen took a long breath and exhaled to calm himself.

"Remember that I am not the enemy here, Jensen," Lye said matter-of-factly, eyes looking deep into Jensen's. "I am not the one who sought me out." Jensen gave him a straight look back, his muscles tensing as the wind picked up around them, but neither backed down from the other. Jensen instead nodded once, and Lye eased off with a casual smile. "I have conflicting reports of the situation. Some say Katherine is on her way, others say Madison Freebird, the orchestrater of these poisonous winds," he gestured all around them. "Is also on route looking for an escape considering her war crimes against Eiskalt. Some say that the Ixian Knights found the Blood Cry hiding in the cave mouths and towed it to the port. It's only a few miles away. I'll go and check the information, alone, and report back."

"Why alone?" Jensen asked, looking with suspicion to his comrade. Lye patted Jensen in a psuedo friendly manner, clasping hard with each pat that it made an echo around them.

"Because i'm not at the point where anywhere my face turns up people talk. You are too recognizable my friend. Better to let someone slip in undetected before we let the cat out of the bag that you are here. It could tip off the Cult."

Jensen made to retort, but his face contorted in a frown. "I hate to admit it..." he began with a mumble, but spoke more officially. "But you're right. You got an hour or so before I start heading over. See that little outpost over there?" Jensen pointed with his dagger. Lye followed the trail and spotted the feint flapping of an Ixian flag. He nodded and spoke casually.

"We meet at the top. See you soon Immortal."

Jensen watched as the Crimson Assassin moved on, not sure what to think of the current events, but feeling his blood start to pump in anticipation of battle.

((Lye or Madison is up next! Let's do this, wut wut!))

[BlackAndBlueEyes]

The Ill Omen was a fitting name for the inn, especially for its patrons on this particular day. It took the three of us no time at all to clear everyone out, through fear or through bloodshed. I would've much preferred the former; my associates, on the other hand...

"You know," I remarked from behind the bar as I lined up three shot glasses and uncorked a bottle of whiskey, "now we're just going to have more trouble on our hands as soon as one of those other people find someone from the local guard."

The scruffy, scarred, sleazy greaseball of a merc who managed to survive the operation within the refugee camp and the ambushes we faced afterwards on our trek north was busy trying to loosen his dagger from the eye socket of the establishment's former bartender, who sat on the floor behind the bar in a bloody, ragged mess. "Well, then they'll just be more fodder for your fancy plague, won't they?" Hedge placed a gloved hand on the dead man's skull, and with a bit of effort, yanked his steel out. The blade scraped along the insides of the barkeep's skull on its way out, dragging bits of bloody goop with it.

"I would've much preferred to have not make as much of a scene," I huffed. "The quieter we are in this dumpy little port town, the easier it will be--"

The merc stood up and turned to face me, snatching the half-empty bottle of whiskey out of my hand and taking a big gulp. With a satisfied sigh, he slammed it down onto the counter. "Quiet's the last thing we can be at this point, Maddy. Stories of you and your little plague have been spreading over the course of the war. People in that camp had to have survived that night, not to mention your little bespectacled friend. Besides," he motioned with a dirty glove at my recent... transformations, "pretty sure you're the only one on this forsaken rock with those vine arms. Some fucker's gonna' recognize you at some point, yeah?"

My gaze fell towards the tangles of vines and briars that were my limbs. "Fair point," I sighed. "But still, I would've preferred that nobody knew that we were in town. Would've made it easier for us to sneak onto an outbound ship or something, to get us the hell out of here."

The Order of the Crimson Hand's mission had gone to shit over the past month of the war in Eiskalt. Lichensith Ulroké was too busy focusing on a handful of members of the Ixian Knights to coordinate the war effort, leaving the majority of the planning and execution to a handful of his direct subordinates. Unfortunately, that only caused the power structure to collapse, and with reports of botched missions coming in with every setting sun, the few Hands that hadn't jumped over this sinking ship of a cause were forced to split off and try to achieve our clan's goals in our own ways.

So now, with whispers floating in the wind of the Ixian Knights' imminent victory, I figured it was time to grab the two surviving members of my own personal crew and get the hell out of here.

...Well, that, and I needed to track down a special somebody in Corone to figure out what the hell was going on with me. Did I tell you that I found a thin vine with small leaves growing out of it in my mane of black hair yesterday morning? It sucked.

"Dinner is served," the jollier of my two companions said as he pulled up a stool and set down a bowl that overflowed with pretzel bits and nuts. To call Diggs jolly is pretty deceptive; while the man was rather fat, kind of balding, and quick with a joke while he pushed his thick glasses up his button nose, he was just as much of a stone-cold killer as myself or Hedge.

I fished out a couple pretzels and popped them in my mouth before sliding over two of the shot glasses, one for each of my companions. I picked up my own, then raised it in the air as a toast. The two mercs, my only friends left in this war-torn country, raised theirs in kind. I paused for a second, searching for the words to begin the toast. "To the souls of our fallen comrades; may they forgive their fearless leader for casting their lives away for nothing."

Hedge was the next to speak. "To Eiskalt; may their towns continue to burn with the flames of war and the plague ruin its harvests for years to come."

Diggs followed suit. "To us; may we have the good luck to get the heck out of here and back to Salvar."

I glanced at my two friends, my mouth twisting into a curt sneer. "To Lichensith; may his luck see that our paths don't cross anytime soon--and to me; may I show proper restraint if they do."

We clinked our glasses together, spilling not a single drop of whiskey before simultaneously downing our drinks. The three of us sighed in unison and set the shot glasses down onto the bar.

"So," Diggs asked as he shoveled a fistful of snacks into his gaping maw, "what's the plan now?"

I happened a glance out the window into the empty streets of the port town. "That's a good question."

[Requiem of Insanity]

"What do you mean my ship is is docked at the port?" Catherine seethed, her temper flaring to the fore as her wings furled upon her shoulders adding to her imposing visage. "I was assured by the captain and the navigator that the ship wouldn't be seen in the cove off the eastern borders."

"My mistress I have no words to to assuage the growing anger you feel," her Cultist spoke quickly, but clearly. In the campaign to Eiskalt, this one man had proven rather useful. His name was Dartanian, a serial killer of small repute in the Alerar area. He was the first to see the opportunity a world ruled by the Dark Mother could bring. His obsession with efficiency and details had made him a perfect choice to consul the rash and impulsive avatar of Blessed Torture.

"Dart, the only reason you draw breath is that I know you would not have the spine to see me unless you have a back up plan."

"Of course, mistress," he said, unable to hide the grin forming in the corner of his mouth. He lifted from his bow and pointed to the small port town. "I have sent in Cultist to the local refugee camp, ones I can trust to do a job."

"Refugee camp?" Catherine asked, her head tilting to the side. She stepped forwards towards the cliff of the mountain they perched upon, her eyes looking more narrowly upon the small fishing port. She had but glanced before seeing her ship, the Blood Cry, tethered to mainland by several tree girth sized ropes and chains. There was a bar not too far off from the main village, and the occasional bartering business and fish house. There was a smiths shop, a den, a few restaurants and a small area of houses grouped together. Then she saw it. "Gates," she muttered irritably. "The Ixians are housing them within their own homes for their 'protection'," she spat the word and clicked her tongue looking back to her equerry.

"It is no surprise the citizens of Eiskalt do not like this feeling, perhaps a little mayhem can get us the opening we need to free the ship." Catherine went to nod when she noticed something out of the corner of her eye. She had missed it several times, about to dismiss it completely, when at last she saw it again. Something black against the white backdrop. A mere dot. She lifted her fingers, snapping the other hand for one of the Cultists to bring her a telescope.

Dartanian ordered one immediately, peering where she pointed. "It is a guard tower," he muttered casually. "Nothing to be alarmed about my mistress," he said looking back to her. Yet her body convulsed with rage as every muscle in her frame went tight like she was knee deep in battle. She snatched the telescope, pushing the Cultist away forcefully so that he hit the rocky wall with enough force to blow his wind out, dropping him. She unfolded the device peering one eye at the tower, adjusting her gaze to remove the fuzzy look.

She hissed violently like a panther.

"Jensen Ambrose is here," she snarled shoving the telescope close and tossing it into Dartanian's hand. Her wings beat outwards, feet floating above the ground pushing dirt and debris aside. Dartanian fished the target out and sighed loudly.

"My mistress, I must-"

"Do not tell me what to do, Dart!" Catherine barked, her gaze turning to match his. Her mouth was posed in a violent growl, teeth gnashing against one another, grinding in anticipation of battle. "If you advise me not to attack Jensen now, then you are a coward and have no purpose being here!"

"My purpose," Dartanian said smoothly, lifting his hands to show he meant no offense. "Was to ensure your safety and that we arrive home to your mother's ascension in one peice. Being the coward I am has so far kept us to this plan. It would be a shame to throw it all away at the last minute."

"Are you saying I cannot defeat him?"

"I am saying he cannot die," he replied coolly. Catherine looked to him like he had just called her a cunt, labeling her a whore child to boot. She was prepared to lift her ax and let his head fall to the grounds below, but she kept her cool when a soft, tiny hand tugged her hand.

"I didn't get to kill my target either," Leila said with a cold harshness, an edge that put the other Cultist to unease to hear a seven year old girl talk so violently. They both had their own separate points; this war was a miserable waste for everyone but the Ixian Knights. Draug went missing, her fleet was trashed, her body was broken, and none of the high priority targets were eliminated. Add on top of that the fact that no matter what Catherine could think of, Dartanian was right, Jensen Ambrose wouldn't stay dead for long. Catherine looked to the newest recruit of the Cult, and with an angry sigh of regret she snapped her ax into the dirt below Dartanian's feet, causing the normally stoic man to jump aside.

"You're right child," Catherine muttered. "Patience," she said the words as if it was anathema to her very existence. "Is the name of this game. Yet I wonder what we will do. If Jensen is there, he will come for me like a bat out of Hadia. Thayne damn his eyes, he will have the chance to do it as well."

"Then perhaps I can show my service to you one more time before we leave Eisklat." the dandyman smiled pointing to the camp. "Allow me to stir the unrest to a boiling point, and let them create a diversion."

"Not enough, we would need a massive distraction. Those Ixians would outnumber the civilians and they are better trained." Leila's hand squeezed Catherine's again, a smile on her childish face.

"Auntie Philomel told me that someone came this way," she said. "Maybe she will help us escape."

"Who?" Dartanian asked, annoyed not to know something.

"The free birdy." There was a moment of silence, before Catherine smiled darkly and took to the skies. Leila giggled as she watched the angel fly, dark haunted menace behind each mirth filled chuckle.

"It shouldn't take me long to find her," Catherine said. "And I think she is -if she's like me- stuck in a precarious situation. But mother always did say the enemy of my enemy is my trusted enemy,"

"How will you find her?" Dartainian shouted to the descending crimson angel.

"By smelling for the blood!" Catherine replied, as if this would be obvious.

[BlackAndBlueEyes]

It took Diggs seconds that dragged on like minutes to ruffle through his book of Eiskalt scouting maps and produce one that very much resembled the little port town we had made our way to. We pushed our empty glasses to the side as my bespectacled associate set it down on the bar between us.

Diggs squinted at the yellowed parchment and muttered to himself as he traced various roads with his fingers, trying to recall from memory the path that brought us to The Ill Omen.

"Right," he said finally as he pushed his glasses up his nose. "So here's where we are." He jabbed a finger at a small square. "From the looks of things, we have quite a path to take if we want to make a break for the docks unnoticed." Diggs traced a path down various lines that designated main and side roads, which made the town appear as if it were laid out like a maze out of a children's book. "We're on the outer edge of what appears to be the shopping district... If we go through these back streets here and cut across this thoroughfare--"

The sudden crack of the tavern's front door being flung open startled the three of us. Before we could turn to fully face the portal, my Crimson Hand mercenaries had their swords drawn, while I had lungs full of the purple-tinted blight I had been spreading all across the war-torn country and four lengths of vines already protruding from my vine-knit wrists and wrapped around the four hilts of my daggers. Standing in the doorway, with the blinding snow shining behind her, stood a very commanding presence. Tall, black-haired, with soul-piercing blue eyes, beautiful and beautifully-built, with the blackened wings of an angel--but emanating an aura of pure hatred and evil. She was fully decked out in armor that was flecked with rust and had the blood of many who fell to her sword smeared across it as if it were a child's fingerpaint project.

Catherine Remi, and unmistakably so. Just thinking of the name sent a small chill down my spine. I had heard stories of her, how she had been... manipulated by her mother, and remade into the avatar of the Cult of Blessed Torture.

I didn't know the whole story, of course--tales of the Cult were always a little too unsettling for me--but I had learned enough to know that the Crimson Angel is not to be fucked with.

"Swords away, boys," I calmly said as Catherine regarded us with a cold gaze and an even colder smile. Hedge hesitated, glancing my way for a split second. "Now," I commanded, my voice harsh.

The mercs did as they were told. They sheathed their steel as I withdrew the tendrils back inside my arms. I nodded towards the angel, addressing her with a curt "hello" as I leaned forward onto the bar, resting my elbows on the sticky wood.

"Freebird," she replied, the icy smile not leaving her face as she entered The Ill Omen, closing the door behind her. Her heels clicked against the wood, each little click sounding with the intensity of a crack of thunder. The chilly air inside the tavern was thick with tension and unease. How did she find us? What was she doing here? Had we done anything wrong do draw her attention?

I kept the blight brewing in my lungs, just in case I needed to act fast. As Catherine approached the bar, I stood up straight and threw my arms out welcomingly. "The great Catherine Remi, I suppose it's a pleasure to finally meet you, and put a face to all the stories I've heard." I'm terrible at bullshitting, and I think she could sense that as well as my uneasiness.

"Spare me the pleasantries," she said with hints of venom and annoyance in her soft voice. "I heard you were in town, after cutting a rather impressive swath across across Eiskalt these past few weeks."

A sort-of-compliment from a Remi. That's one for the scrapbook.

The Crimson Angel continued, "I would be a liar if I said I wasn't slightly impressed with your work. Disease, blights, your cordyceps-infected wildlife attacks... Even your little attack on the refugee camp. Melting a man's face and murdering his already half-dead child; that's pretty cold." Catherine shook her head playfully, her black locks bouncing slightly against the sides of her porcelain face.

I cocked an eyebrow. "You sure know an awful lot about my exploits."

"There have been Cultists scattered around every part of Eiskalt since this silly little conflict began," she stated nonchalantly.

I took a step back and leaned against the back counter, mindful not to trip over the barkeep's rapidly-cooling corpse. "So, what brings you to me?"

The angel pulled out a stool, folding her black wings behind her as she took a seat. "Well, now. Considering how the war's turned out, I would imagine you're in need of a way to escape Eiskalt, yes?" My eyes darted towards Diggs and Hedge, trying to get a read on what they were thinking at that moment, and then back towards Catherine. "As it turns out, I have a ship docked here. But first, I have a little proposition for you..."

[Requiem of Insanity]

“My ship is currently docked at port, but it’s not in the hands of my Cult,” Catherine explained irritably, kicking a stool up to her hands and catching it fluidly, moving towards the bar and dropping it so it creaked the wood. She half leaned on the seat and listened for a moment.

Three heartbeats. Madison’s beat the fastest, but from fear or opportunity, she was not sure. The other two were undoubtedly aware of who Catherine was, and they had yet to make up their minds about they felt about this fact. She knew their situation was very precarious. Do they fend for themselves after being abandoned by the order they served and attempt to flee from the daughter of the most notorious woman on Althanas? Do they join the Cult in a temporary alliance, praying to whatever gods listened that it was truly as black and white as it seemed? Or was there an ulterior motive? Did they have a choice?

Of course they didn’t. They needed to leave, and fast, and the opportunity to do was closing in fast.

Madison Freebird however was a player in this chess game that Crimson Angel couldn’t get a good feel for. Her deeds were monstrous, and even if embellished and blown out of proportion, a fraction of them would still make her turn heads within the Cult. Here would be the moment Aerith would try and convince her to join the Cult. Here would be the moment her grandfather, Jebb, would just gut her and dig a deeper hole. Here is where her mother would give an ultimatum. Catherine looked to Madison who eyed her back, both brains working to figure out all the angles.

“The Ixians have it,” a portly man muttered, his fingers slowly rolling up a map upon a table. Catherine nodded to him in agreement as she turned back to Madison. She was a unique little thing, attractive for sure, but the horrific growth coming out of her arm was something the Avatar of Blessed Torture could live without. She bit her tongue, wincing, drawing blood to keep her growing lust at bay as she observed the wall of drinks behind her. It had occurred to the woman that she had never once took to the bottle in her life. With a shrug, she motioned to Madison to pour a glass. After a moment of hesitation, she slid one of the tumblers along the polished countertop and slowly pulled out a new one for herself, her two mercenaries grabbing their own glasses.

“They do, and there is more. Escape and running is no option. The Ixians have one of their captains coming.”

“So?” Came the blunt reply. “None of them can put a thought between themselves if their lives depended on it. Of the Captains here, only three came. They are all out at the palace, not here in the boonies.”

The whiskey drink burned like hell. Catherine’s face contorted as she looked to it disapprovingly, shoving the glass away as the wound she caused upon herself already healed. The whiskey made her face flush and she irritably pointed to a fruity looking bottle. Madison gave her a coy look, before one of her tentacle limbs wrapped itself around the neck and moved to pour her a new drink.

“Your intelligence is behind. There is a fourth. Have you heard of the wetworks team? Sei’s underground black operations unit?” Their silence indicated they had not. Catherine took a sip of the new drink, and despite herself she smiled enjoying the rather sweet taste. Strawberries!

“What difference would it make? We could probably slip out and escape.”

“If the Ixians report to this man, you couldn’t make enough ground in time.” The glass tilted back and into the throat of the Crimson Angel, red droplets flushing down the side of her cheek. She didn’t bother to clean herself before dropping the cup with a loud chink.

“Another if you would please,” Catherine said to Madison. She turned to the loudmouth. “Jensen Ambrose.” Madison’s twig like hands dropped the cup and nearly the bottle. Catherine’s hand reached out to catch it, using a bit of anger to knock the tumbler against the wall shattering it into glass rain. She took a swig and enjoyed the sweet nectar as her head softly began to swim. “The bastard is here. And I just spotted him not far from the city.”

“There’s no getting out. I fought the guy once, he’s so damn fast.” Madison added. “Our fight in the Citadel was a bit inconclusive, but he moved like water, and sprinted faster than a jackal. So yeah, leaving isn’t much an option. But then what do you propose?”

“Ah, the crux of the matter,” Catherine grinned as she took another sip, finishing the bottle. She lazily tossed it behind her, the wings on her back unfurling and twitching as if they yearned to fly. In a lucid motion she turned back to Madison and debated how to proceed.

“I have no need to draw this fight out anymore. I have business to attend to. I must get to that boat and leave, or chances are I’ll not be able to leave at all. Give me your aid, and you I will grant you safe passage to Salvar or Corone, whichever you prefer. My mother’s ascension is at hand and I must be there. For that to happen I need capable warriors to get me to the ship.”

“Why not use your blasted Cult?” Digg’s mentioned in confusion. “Why use us?”

“Because Cultists are worth as much as shit in a fight,” Catherine felt a giggle come on, and she suppressed it. Then it dawned on her that she maybe drank more than she should have. She beat her wings once as she cleared her throat and elaborated on her last comment. “They cannot fight the trained soldiers of the Ixians and the Town Guard. No doubt Jensen will arrive in moments and also make the fight one sided. I need competent warriors to cut a swath through and get to the ship. The Blood Cry doesn’t need more than four or five people, and I can secure that many if need be. But alone I cannot carry the fight. I don’t doubt I would make them pay, but in the end I will not have my boat, I will not have my clean escape, and I will lose more than gain.”

“Then what is your plan?” Madison asked.

“My Cultists, worthless in a fight as they are, have prepared at this moment to start a major distraction. The refugee camp will soon be swayed to fight against the Ixians to reclaim their hopes and dreams. They will cause enough of a ruckus that we can claim victory. The four of us need to cause enough damage to bring the guards away from the boat and dock. In that moment my remaining men will free the boat, and we will make good our escape. The cannons will easily trash the town on our way out.”

“I see a mutual beneficial agreement here. You need to escape, now, and I do as well. If we work together, and kill everyone we see, our escape is assured. Not even Jensen Ambrose can stop us. And if he tries my ax will lick his throat. So, Madison Freebird, will you accept this offer?”

((In short, for agreeing, Madison gets the Cult for one Favor. This can be for any Plot Device: Supplies, men, experiments, test subjects, or even asking Catherine to come bail her out.))

[Lye]

As the lone assassin trekked cautiously through Eiskalt's endlessly falling powder, he rattled a myriad of thoughts about his skull. For once, his attempts to slither behind Sei Orlouge's commanding grasp on his men aimed to play out perfectly. It was no head of Seth Dahlios, but pulling the strings of an immortal powerhouse like Jensen Ambrose was just the thing to inspire hope. The day where the Ixian Castle walls fell inward upon its men grew near. Though hidden by the thick vlince of his crimson scarf, the assassin could not correct the edges of his mouth which remained curled into a sinister grin.

As he approached the outskirts of the dinky port city, Lye sensed something odd drifting upon the air. The closer he got to the city's streets, the stronger and more fowl the feeling became. unease tried to crawl its way under the killer's skin, but it stopped on the razor's edge for one solitary reason. Mixed with this dark aura, spiraled a familiar scent. So familiar, in fact, that it had been floating upon the chilled arctic air since landfall - Madison Freebird. She had only recently been inducted to Lye's Order and remained apprehensive to the cause. She was quite literally a force of nature, unpredictable, unstoppable, merciless, and a walking hybrid of fungus, vines, and venom.

"This bodes ill..." Lye muttered. He quickened his pace inward.

As his boots transitioned from tundra to filth mottled cobblestone, not a soul could be seen. Some of the building's smokestacks spewed columns of smoke, while others lie dormant as to indicate vacancy or worse. Occasionally, muffled coughs and groans of pain permeated from occupied walls. Freebird's plague clung tightly to those lives it had yet to claim. Abandoned stands full of rotted or frozen foods gave proof that this once busy port of commerce came to a standstill by her handiwork.

The assassin kept to the shadows to avoid prying eyes from any of the opposing factions. In the chaos, Ixians, Cultists, Eiskaltans, and even his own men mixed together in a pool of friend and foe. Allegiances flipped in this war at tandem and even though his informants from the Hands of the Word were of the best, even their information could prove incorrect as it left a messenger's lips. Jensen was proof enough of that.

Lye's footsteps softened. He kept his knees bent and body low. The uncertainty on the air grew thick, and both Madison's aroma and the dark aura intensified. To avoid slithering into a mess unprepared, the killer summoned the shadows to his will. They pulled from the walls, cracks, and vacant houses to cloak his figure and wash his presence from the keen of sight or mind. Luckily, for good reason.

"The Ixian's have it," muttered a voice through nearby walls. Lye stilled his movement. He listened for the source while at the same time readying a calmed hand.

"The Ixians have one of their Captains coming," Lye picked up. They knew about Jensen, and Lye now knew where the source of the chatter spilled. With the grace of a cat, silence of a snake, and caution of a hunter, he advanced toward it to gain more insight. Each soundless step also carried a stronger twinge of something evil. Both Madison and the unknown were up ahead.

"Could it be?" the killer inquired inwardly.

"Jensen Ambrose," the voice spat with enough venom to be palpable. It had to be her. "The bastard is here. And I just spotted him not far from the city." The assassin pressed his hand against the stone masonry of the pub. This woman's voice held a similar tone Lye had heard before; it was the same tone Jensen used when mentioning Catherine's name. Lye swore within the sanctuary of his own thoughts. Both the plague-barer gone rogue and fallen angel of the Cult were within. Lye snarled, and the hairs of his neck stood on end, something that had not happened in several decades.

Though his instinct begged him to return with the news, his curiosity commanded him to remain.

As they continued, Lye's nerve came to rest. Catherine made it clear that her only concern was Jensen, the Ixians holding command of the refuge camp were but a minor distraction already poised to be decimated, and not a word was mentioned else wise. Lye was still an unknown variable. Unfortunately, she sought to turn Madison into an ally to eradicate the puppet the assassin coveted. Lye's brows scrunched while his fist grew tight. They would not spoil his efforts. Lye had to get Madison alone. He had to make sure her allegiances remained with the Order. He had to make sure that the only ones falling face down into the snow were the Ixian rabble and this avatar of evil.

"So, Madison Freebird, will you accept this offer?" This proposition stilled even the wind into silence.

Lye waited. The plaguelord's answer would decide how complex the next several hours would be.

((Making sure you know I have not clocked out of this one. Play it as you will, but I plan to take whatever info back to Jensen with whatever twist is necessary to be advantageous. That, or we begin a conflict now and Jensen gets a dynamic entry mid-scene. >:} ))

[BlackAndBlueEyes]

I looked at Diggs and Hedge for a long second, gauging their feelings on teaming up with Queen Cultist in order to embark on a bloody escape from Eiskalt. The two mercenaries returned my look, hoping to pass the decision back to me. Catherine Remi stared at the wall behind me, looking for another alcoholic beverage to try out.

After several excruciating seconds of silence, I finally made our choice clear. "Let's scram. Before anyone finds us."

We were suited up and out the door less than a minute later. The sun shone down overhead in the crisp, chilly northern air. My breath came out in clear wisps of frozen water vapor as the solar energy soaked into my skin. I felt better than I had in weeks--faster, stronger, smarter. I felt like I was ready to take on not just this dumpy little town, but the entire world! Perhaps it was still the rush of adrenaline from meeting the Crimson Angel and not immediately being run through by her sword.

My right hand went to my side and slid down the leather holster containing my flintlock pistol, aptly titled The Last Resort. If my worst fears were true, and the survivors of our bloody, explosive entrance into the tavern went to fetch help, then I had a distinct feeling that I was going to need to make the gun my first option. The door to the tavern slammed behind me. I turned to see Remi, her cheeks slightly flushed, slipping two bottles into her leather satchel. Her piercing azure gaze bored into my forehead. "Do not judge me, Freebird," she muttered softly as the scabbard of her own murder weapon clinked lightly against her bloodstained armor.

I couldn't help but smirk. The vicious, malicious, dangerous daughter of Cassanda Remi, pocketing some fruity liquors for future consumption. I am such an enabler.

Diggs and Hedge were at my side. The fatter, squatter, and balder of the two was busy adjusting his bags over his shoulder as he slid on his spellcasting gloves. Not only was he deceptively cunning and intelligent, but he knew his away around a fair few lightning and fire spells. Hedge, on my right, was finishing up buckling his leather belt, which kept his six damascus daggers at the ready. The merc was incredibly fast, incredibly brutal, and utterly terrifying to watch in action. Torches and pitchforks held by frightened villagers would prove ineffective in the event he draws his blades.

"Ready?" Diggs adjusted the thick glasses that adorned his face.

Hedge whipped out two of his daggers at incredible speed. "Ready as I'll ever be, yeah."

Thick, noxious miasma filled my lungs with the disease that we had worked hard to spread throughout this dumpy little backwater country. "Let's do this."

The four of us strode in silence as we moved along a route we had previously agreed upon. The town was utterly silent, save for the crunch of our boots in the freshly-fallen snow. Snow that would be tinted crimson with the shed blood of anyone who dared to interrupt our march towards the docks, and the Cult of Blessed Torture's vessel. It was... unsettlingly quiet out. My eyes kept darting to every uncovered window, down every side road and alleyway, expecting an ambush. Those bastards had to have been somewhere... Somebody had to have notified the city guard or something.

Catherine held up her hand and paused. Myself and the two mercs stopped in our tracks. "What is it," I whispered.

The angel's nostrils flared slightly as she looked around in the skies. "They're coming," she cooed. She filled her hand with her blade faster than I could've imagined possible. Her blackened wings unfurled behind her back, ready for the coming bloodshed. To my left, Diggs had followed suit. His leather gloves were crackling electric, the blue and purple bolts dancing around in tight bunches in the palms of his hands. I fished around briefly in my satchel for a small glass vial. I held it up to the sunlight. Within the thin flask was a bitter green liquid.

I tossed the vial to Catherine. She caught it with her free hand and rolled it around in her gloved palm. "What is this?"

"An ingestible vaccine. I don't know what immunities you might have, given the company you keep; but it never hurts to be sure. Things might get ugly here in a minute." A thin trail of purple plague mixed leaked from the corner of my mouth, mixing with the cold Eiskalt air before dissipating into nothingness.

She popped the stopper off and downed the liquid before tossing the empty vial aside. And now I could heard it--the sound of dozens of footsteps crunching snow, getting louder and louder... And then the group rounded the corner.

It was an unimpressive lot, numbering about eighteen or twenty. It was an even mix of city guard and city citizens. The guardsmen had swords and spears, along with fur-lined leather jerkins for protection. The villagers, on the other hand, were woefully under-equipped. Several of them had just the clothes on their back and makeshift weapons--oh, to hell with all this scene-setting.

I filled my hands with pools of acid. As it hit the air, the vile stuff immediately crystallized into sharp amber glass-like shards. I propelled them forth into the crowd, a cloud of shredding death that make quick work of flesh and leather alike. The air was thick with screams of pain and anger and the scent of blood, announcing our arrival.

It was officially on.

[Requiem of Insanity]

On wings born from the darkest sins Catherine rose. Her screech of bloodlust heralded her ascension as she hovered just above Madison’s shoulder. Her mother’s sword, the Butcher’s Bill, ached to taste the sweetest nectar from flensed flesh. Her nostril’s opened taken in the heady scent of poison and and blood, filtering the caustic fumes in favor of the life essence. Her eyes buckled as did her body, trembling from the desire building to a crescendo within. Heart beat rapidly, knuckles turned white, and boots felt light as a feather.

“Blood,”Catherine whispered as her wings beat behind her pushing her forwards. She dived into the mass of bodies, sword claiming an arm in her descent. She skidded on the floor, dirt rolling under her heel as she kicked up dust. Her arm swept upwards in a fierce uppercut, knocking a woman hard in the face that her teeth cracked against each other. Catherine’s fist clenched her shirt, dragging her forwards and impaling her on her sword. The peasants cries shed blood over Catherine’s face, before it was silenced by a shift of the sword rising upwards. Catherine turned and lifted her weapon, dislodging it spilling hot vitae over her wings and back, letting the blood spill all over her as the ground was covered in intestine’s and other gruesome innards.

She had lept forwards, wings carrying her to land before a younger man, maybe seventeen in age. Her sword stabbed his upper thigh, and she back handed him across his jaw letting him fall awkwardly to the side. Catherine twisted the blade loose, shredding his muscles as he collapsed, silenced by an acidic bolt to the face that melted flesh in agonizingly long moments. The crimson angel shrieked to the crowd, dispersing them as she grabbed the boy by his collar and jumped up, letting her wings beat heavily to lift her into the sky. She held him up so they all could see, and with an exertion of strength she tossed the boy up a bit, aimed, and beheaded him. His body landed in a heap and his head rolled not far from the one story drop.

“Praise the dark mother!” A group of people shouted. Villagers, now in a mass panic turned as a fresh wave of cultists all rushed the gate that kept the refugee’s in camp. Ixians lifted up weapons, swords cutting down any who grew near, but the added weight of the Eiskalt native’s in their care was a tipping point. They dragged the guards down, beating them senseless and killing them as they begged for peace.

Catherine dove forwards, landing in the crowd again, her sword cleaving hard into a shoulder and passing through bone out the other side taking off a large portion of a man’s left torso. His blood spilled everywhere and the Avatar of Blessed Torture lifted the sword to her face, smiling brightly as she licked upon the bloody mix of life fluid. She turned to Madison, watching her easily hold her own with her guards, and lifted out her ax, chopping down people in her way. She was a walking engine of destruction, keeping many off her as she used her strength, skill, and pure rage to stem the tide. The hardest part of all this however was not losing control. Giving into the beast inside and brawling with everything in an endless desire to shed blood and drink it. She had to remain focussed if she was to leave. So when she was able to see Madison had breathing room, she shouted to her.

“The distraction is set!” Catherine’s voice called out over the screams of the swirling melee. “Now we have to make haste before-“

Catherine’s words never left her mouth. Her body was lifted up, sideways, her feet dangling out of control as her wings furled upon themselves in panic. Catherine screamed in alarm, losing sight of Madison, but hearing something wholly unsettling in her ears.

Dark, malicious, chuckling.

Catherine snarled as she fought to be free, finding stiff punches to her stomach and elbows to her face as she was dragged down into the ground. She rolled away, a swirling ring of dust hazing her view as her the blue in her eyes burned red. She glared, hearing the heartbeat of the newcomer, growing lowly.

“Time to clip those wings,” the voice said. A sword pierced the veil of dust, switching to a scythe with an audible click before switching back.

Jensen Ambrose waltzed forwards, a malicious sneer on his face as he giggled with sadistic glee.

[Enigmatic Immortal]

Jensen kept his eyes trained on the monster. His freehand holding onto the hilt of a dagger in his back pocket. He growled with the rising tension in his stomach, letting it manifest as laughter. He eyed her, darkly, letting her rise slowly. It wasn’t a sporting chance he gave her, or a desire to let her know she would die on fair terms. No, she was just as quick as he with surprise attacks. He measured her out, observed her.

Then like lightening striking their weapons were locked against one another. Sword on sword, ax on dagger. Her weapon’s bit a notch into both blades of his, the dagger almost losing half its width. She smiled, leaning in as he fought against her titanic might.

“Time for another go, blessed immortal?” she asked, lips pursed in a flirtatious smile. She knew she used the nickname he despised; knowing that he found no blessings in his immortality. But he let the insult pass by him. He couldn’t lose any head games when fighting a member of the Dark Family. Instead he braced a foot back, putting more energy into his weapons to push her off. “Give me all your rage, Jensen Ambrose,” she snarled. “When I drink your blood, I want it hot as fire to gorge myself!”

She tilted her weapons down and shoved him aside, her knee coming in as he tripped forwards. He snaked his way over her, turning his fall into a tumble at the last moment, lurching his descent into a roll and standing up quickly and flipping backwards. His foot caught her in the chest, pushing her away as he landed. He dropped to one knee, and jumped at her, shoulder catching her in the chest pushing her back so she lost her momentum. When he rebounded he turned and spun, turning sword into scythe and aiming for her head.

Both her weapons came up and parried his attack, throwing him aside as she let out a wrathful fit of spite. He faced her, flicking his dagger up to a throwing position and letting it fly. She dodged it, narrowly as her cheek was cut. She looked to the wound as best one can, gingerly touching it. Then like a cook too busy to stop she quickly licked her blood off her fingers and ran at him, smiling.

She was a crazy one, he noted.

Blades danced against one another in the thick of the villagers fighting. The cultists and those they brainwashed joined the melee, followed by the guards of the town who were also Cultists in disguise if Lye’s warnings could be trusted. It was turning into a battle itself, the skirmish phase already over as the war for Eiskalt escalated once again.

Sparks from each collision illuminated the space between Immortal and Angel, the metal ringing echoing into the sky like the sharp blasts of a discordant trumpet. Laughter echoed next to furious shouts, punctuated by grunts and groans from lucky shots and devil may care tossed punches and kicks. Jensen felt his eye puff from one blow that rocked his world, dropping him to a knee as he turned and faded. Catherine spun to decapitate him only to find the slippery Jensen Ambrose worm his way around her weapon and shove his palm right into the left eye. She fell back stunned; arms drooped for a second, before with savage instincts she chopped the air in front of her, regaining her wind. Jensen had to use all his cunning to avoid becoming a soup from her wild blows.

Jensen jumped backwards, landing on his right foot. His left leg came up kicking her blade away with enough force to tip her over. Using all his agility he was known for, the knight pushed himself forwards, stomping his left foot down and kicking up his right knee up. He slammed his knee into Catherine’s stomach, knocking the wind out of her sails as she doubled back. Jensen took his scythe and switched to sword mode, bringing it back for a forward lunge.

Yet his body suddenly tensed as something…vine like, caressed his leg and thigh. He turned his head to see a rather snarky looking face, one full of sass he was all too familiar with. “Freebird,” Jensen sighed.

“Ready for round two?” she teased. Jensen gave her a coy look, about to say something when a stiff punch turned his world into a blurry day dream. Catherine’s body was hovering in his vision, her pointing to Madison, who nodded and pointed to her and the sky. The Angel took off and Jensen swam his thoughts back to cognitive thought as he looked to see Madison behind him.

“NO!” Jensen shouted watching Catherine fly into the sky. “I won’t let her get away!”

“She’s not going far,” Madison commented as more vines wrapped around his shoulders and back. Jensen fought, squirmed, and prepared to get free when suddenly his feet touched air. “You on the other hand…”

“I find the word hand utterly ironic choice of word here,” Jensen giggled, despite himself, using whatever wit and charm he had to buy precious seconds to break free from this grasping hold. Madison chuckled at his comment, but she continued to lift him up over her head.

“What goes up,” Madison taunted. “Well, you know how it goes.” She pushed him as high as he could go. He looked at her, confused, before he glanced back to the sky. In seconds, the world made complete sense.

“FUCK ME!” Jensen hollered as Catherine was speeding back towards him, hand outstretched. He wiggled to be free, getting one hand loose but not fast enough as Catherine’s grip grabbed his head. Madison violently pulled backwards tossing Jensen down in time with Catherine’s descent, slamming the immortal hard into ground. His head was slammed into the dirt, the angel’s body making a tiny tremor of an earthquake that caused Madison to fall next to her. From the small crater Catherine made the two woman rose looking at their handy work.

And Jensen sat in the crater, eyes glossed over, feet cartoonishly stuck out of the hole he was in.