The Medicine Show.

[Silas]

"Step right up! Step right up!" His call could be heard across town. Such were the powerful lungs of a true salesman. "I've got ointments that'll heal ya! Potions that'll make you taller and help your hair grow and do the same for your pets and plants! You can't get savings like this anywhere else! Step right up!"

It had been a long day, but he didnt let it show. His performance was as energetic as it ever was. "That's right, you heard me correctly. Your ears are most certainly not playing tricks with ya! Just have a look at what I've got here!" His boots thumped along the stage before he slapped the surface of the table with his cane. "These potions can be yours, and for cheap!"

He smiled to the audience. "Oh, I know what you're surely thinking. 'Oh, Silas, how can I be sure that this product will work?' Well I'll tell you! I, Silas Anselm, personally stand by every single bottle that I sell. If my product does not work properly when used as directed, I will personally dole out the refund from this box!" His cane tapped against the metal, padlocked box that sat with the sample bottles on the table.

"Now! Let me introduce you to my finely crafted products. First on the list is the healing salve." He picked up the stumpy jar of ointment with his left hand. "Rub it on your minor wounds, and it'll take care of 'em. Rub it on a sore, or a blister, and it'll be gone before you know it!" He grinned to the crowd, slapping the jar of ointment onto the sturdy wooden table. He was gathering a fair amount of potential customers to his humble stage. "And it's yours, for merely a few coins!"

He was on fire today, in the zone. He could feel it. He was going to make some money today. "What's next, you wonder? Only the amazing Green Thumb Tonic! Mix it with your fertilizer, and you'll be growing tomatoes bigger than your head before you know it! Got a scrawny pup you want to beef up into a gaurd dog? Just pour a bit into his water dish! Hell, it can even help ya put on a few inches! No longer will you have to use a stool to reach the top shelf! Thinning hair? No problem! Quit using your useless shampoo, and start washing your hair with this! That's right, and I'm actually selling this amazing product. I can barely believe it myself!"

He reached under the tablecloth, drawing a potted plant from underneith. "I can see that there are some out there that don't believe me. Some of you look a bit skeptical. Well, here is proof!" Silas took hold of the cork and yanked it from the bottle. He held the bottle over the half dead flower and poured a splash over it. Almost immediately there was a noticable change. Brown leaves turned radiant green. The slumping stem stood up straight and strong, reaching towards the sky as the flower went into full bloom, its petals grinning happily at the shining sun. After a few more seconds passed, the plant began to grow taller, its stem thickening. The bloom even seemed to be larger and fuller. "Now, how is that for proof, ladies and gentlemen?"

[Striker]

Striker watched, arms folded. Oh sure, plants were growing now, but that’s hardly what interested him. No, what interested him was the box of money. More specifically, the box of money that didn’t have a very stern looking individual with a weapon standing next to it. He would have to stop selling at some point, and when he did, it was time to start shaking him down for employment. Best case scenario, another job. Worst-case scenario, he finds out when he is leaving and where he is going. There is always more than one way to get inside those boxes, after all, but it’s so much easier when they’re paying you willingly…

[Silas]

The show soon ended, and convinced customers were crowded around a small table beside the stage. Silas sat there, exchanging bottles for coins. "Thank you very much, I hope you enjoy your purchase," he said to each person who greased his palm. The alchemist couldn't help but think to himself suckers. He simply smiled wider.

Everyone would be satisfied with the product, of course. But it certainly wasn't as concentrated of a dose as he poured on that flower. He made the potion's limitations clear on the bottle's label, to avoid legal or physical action, but disclaimers didn't always placate an angry mob.

"Thank you, sir. Have a fine day," he said to a customer. He slipped the money into his box and took a quick look at the dwindling line. There wasn't anything to complain about, of course. He had made enough to get himself a room somewhere and buy supplies.

He exchanged another bottle of tonic for the chiming of coins falling into his palm. His eyes glanced around, falling on what looked like...a large humanoid cat...with a very large weapon. The creature looked like he had been in a fight recently, and his yellow eyes were watching him.

Silas, who had for most of his life persued the goal of not getting his skull broken over money, suddenly felt a rush of paranoia. He sold another few bottles and told the few remaining people that he had ran out of the tonic. And so he began to close up shop as quickly as possible.

[Striker]

Striker walked up the cart. This couldn’t be too hard, right? I mean, this was the first time he’d ever approached a cart about working for it, instead of… well… taking all of its stuff and leaving the owner for dead. But he knew he was a pretty charismatic animal. Couldn’t be too hard to convince this fella that he needed Striker’s help. Well… here goes nothing. Just go with the plan you thought up earlier, and it couldn’t fail!

Striker cleared his throat.

“Ahem. Hello, sir,” Striker began his awkward and stilted speech, “My name is Striker. I would like to offer my services to you as a bodyguard. Many merchants who need to travel along these roads have trouble with bandits, as well as thieves in the night while they stay in town. For a small fee I would be willing to dedicate my services to the protection of your…”

The human was staring at him. In fact, a couple of passerby’s were staring at him too. This was not going well. Okay, ditch the plan.

“Look, fella. You got a box full of money and you just told an entire crowd what it looks like. If you stay careful in town you shouldn’t have too big of a problem. This is Scara Brae, after all. The only hoods around these parts are the Scara Scourge and they don’t often do light-fingered stuff like that box. But you’re gonna have to leave town sometime, and given the way you’re packing it’s probably tonight. A lot of folks in this town don’t live in town. Some of them live in the woods, with their friends. And when they see your cart traveling again, they’re going to want a piece of the action.”

“Now, it’ll probably just be a ‘toll’, because that’s the safest way to play this game. A lot of young bucks try that gimmick for a long time. But eventually some will get older, and get a little less patient. You only have to try to shake down one mage before you realize you need to give yourself the first strike. So maybe you’ll find a lone wolf, and they’re even scarier because they just want your loot. Probably jump down from the trees or some bravado crap like that and try to knock you off your ride here. And while you’re picking yourself up, all they have to do is give the horses a little encouragement and you’re left poorer than the dirt you’ll be brushing off.”

“I know this, because I’ve been doing it for years. Now, if you’re really lucky, you’ll come across someone like me, who’ll see you have no bodyguard and offer to do it for you, at vastly inflated prices, because they know there are bandits around the next corner, and you’ll still have your money – and most importantly your pride – when you get to the next town.”

“And, I have good news for you fella. You’re really lucky. Because you just ran into the last kind of bandit. I mean, sure, there are better warriors out there, but none of them are going to be in your price range with these dog and pony show potions you’ve been selling today. And maybe you can pick up some punk kid in a bar with a sword who’s been trained for years and knows only the sword. But you don’t want him. Because I know my weapon and I also know the people who will be bothering you tonight, and I’m better at that game than they are.”

“I do good work. I’ll help with odd jobs. I mean, maintaining a cart like that ain’t easy. A lot of bodyguards will just stare sternly into the distance while you do all the leg work. Hell, I’ll even be a prop in this little show of yours. I can feed myself out in the woods – I can probably feed you too. Elk are getting fat this spring, and I’m a fair shot with a bow. If you find out about any especially well-paying jobs, I’m willing to get sidetracked and help you stay alive when things go sour, which they always do.”

“Now, when you leave tonight, for wherever you’re going, you can either pay me now and I’ll see you to the next town and leave you there. Or, if you want to, we can talk long term. I keep your body and that box from disappearing in the night, and you give me a little something-something from the money you make at the end of the day.”

Striker paused for breath. Where was this coming from? He’d thought he would have to plan this. Hell, he’d thought this would be hard. He couldn’t tell if the merchant was horrified or fascinated or just bored, but it was too late now to stop.

“Now, I didn’t pick you out of a hat. You get money at the end of the day, you know your job pretty well, and it looks like in that little bag of tricks you can do a lot to keeping me alive. I mean, c’mon. What’s the scribe down the street going to do, write the cuts away? If it comes to it, which it always does, I’ll pay you for your little potions out of my cut. But the better you keep me alive, the better I can keep you alive. Everybody wins.”

“I want this job, and I want it from you.”

Striker leaned against his halberd, shirtless and still raced from cuts he caught in a bar-fight the day before at the peaceful promenade. Well, he’d done his part. Time to find out if it’d worked…

[Silas]

Silas, of course, was packing up so quickly for a reason. He didn't want to find his way to the business end of that halberd the cat-man held. So, when the creature approached, the alchemist wasn't exactly...calm about it. In fact, you could say he was being a bit jumpy. Before Striker spoke, Silas pulled a bottle from his satchel marked "Smoke Bomb". He wound up to pitch it at the man, but when he started speaking in a civilized tone of voice, he came to his senses. As the walking talking cat spoke about employment, Silas lowered his weapon, blinked a few times in surprise, and listened.

As the cat spoke, he slid the bottle back into its place. A job. He wanted a job. The cat-man who Silas thought was going to kill him wanted a job. The one who he thought would hack him up with that menacing halberd wanted a job from him. He rubbed his face for a moment while the big, scary cat-man finished up.

"Striker...I...erm...So, Striker's your name, then...Well...I..." He took a deep breath, turned around for a moment, and turned around, his nerves now calmed by the contents of a glass flask that could be seen as it returned to his coat pocket. "I've been doing this for quite some time, Mister Striker, and I have not needed such services yet. And how am I to trust that, if I do take you up on your offer, that you won't simply kill me, throw my remains to the wolves, and take my cart and its contents and hock it at some dingy pawn shop? And take the blood-stained cash, of course. I have not survived this long by being a fool, sir."

Silas returned to putting away his things and breaking down the stage. "So, if you can think of a way of proving your loyalty to your possible future employer, meaning me, I will consider your offer. Otherwise, I'd rather not end up as dinner for a family of rats in a darkened alley, betrayed by the one who I thought was my bodygaurd. Kings have been betrayed by their gaurds, Mister Striker, so how should I have better luck?"

He cast a nervous glance to the imposing figure of the bandit cat-man. Of course...he could still simply hack Silas up right here and now, take the money, and run, but atleast Silas would not have to go through another betrayal by a business partner. "But...We can discuss this more over a drink. What do you say? If you help me pack up, I'll even give you some money right now."

[Striker]

Striker considered the idea. Betrayal. How had he not considered that before? I mean, word gets around and he would probably never get work as a Bodyguard again, but that would have been the easiest way to get a whole cart of... well, really, who cares what? Too little, too late. He was here for real work, and real work he would have. This much harder though – it was so much easier to kill someone for his money. Talking them out of it was proving to be a different game entirely.

He leaned the halberd against the wall. “Nothing in halves. I’ll help you pack, but I’m not taking your money until we’re working together.” He picked up a crate rattling with glass vials and put it in the back of the cart.

“You said your name is Silas, right?” Striker said, as he grabbed a basket full of assorted packets of leaves. “Looks like you brought most of the forest with you when you came into town.” With a thud, he dropped the basket and pushed it into the back. “Don’t see a lot of these around Scara.” Picking up another crate of glass, he turned to a small, airtight sealed vial. “Oh, except for these.” He stared at the dried blue flower encased in glass. “I’ve only seen these around the Brae. There is one field a few miles out that has these flowers by the bunch, all blue and purple. I just thought it was a clearing, but when I woke up, I was surrounded by these things. They look amazing in the dawn. I stayed around there a few days longer than I shoulda, just so I could wake up there every day.”

Striker shrugged, and placed the vial on top of a crate, and went for another basket, his thoughts distracted with what hook he possibly had that could force this cynical bastard to hire him. Everybody wants something, and if it isn’t safety he wants, then what could is possibly be?

[Silas]

At the meantion of the flowers, Silas's mouth dropped open. Then closed. Then opened agian. He was shocked, and couldn't find words to say. "You...I...the flower..." he closed his eyes, snatched up the glass vial and held it up, looking to the cat-man with his eyes wide with excitement and disbelief. "You know where a whole field of these flowers are? A field? A whole damned field!"

He paced around for a moment, staring at the flower. "A whole...field." He took a breath, deep and slow, and turned around to look at Striker again. He was probably a ridiculous sight, making such a scene about a single dried flower in glass. Yet, he had his reasons. "Take...Take me to them," he said to Striker. Catching a strange look from the cat-man, he sighed and rephrased his sentence. "Take me to them...and you have yourself a deal."

He extended his gloved right hand to Striker, seeking a handshake to seal the deal. What's the worst that could happen? Well, Silas detailed the worst that could happen, but this was more important than the fear of getting hacked to bits. This was a cure, or atleast part of it. He would need a good bit of the essence of that flower for the most important potion he would ever make. "Hopefully, this will be the beginning of an equally beneficial and long lasting partnership." He smiled a bit. This could be a mistake, trusting this complete stranger, but those flowers were well worth the risk.

[Striker]

Striker kept working as the man babbled about flowers, up until his offer. Gently setting the crate of Vials in the back of the cart, he grinned toothy. He wiped his brow, and looked at Silas’ outstretched hand.

“Glad to hear it!” he shook the outstretched hand vigorously. “We can discuss the figures when we get your flowers, no point in ruining a perfectly good day with that kind of talk. Let’s get this show on the road!”

Striker started grabbing the remaining crates with newfound vigor, slinging one under each arm. Slowly, the cart settled into the old familiar weight. Striker leapt onto the cart.

“It’s not far from here, due south. As soon as we get outside the gates, I can find it easy! We need to get going, though. Don’t want to lose any more light.”

Employment. And he hadn’t even had to kill another bodyguard to get it! Striker gave Silas another look. What he saw was ambition, in human form. The way he suddenly looked at Striker, now that he was useful. An ambitious man. An ambitious man cannot go many places without some steel behind him. This could be the start of a very profitable relationship, as long as this Silas knew that simple fact. If he forgot, well, Striker might find himself in a much-compromised position.

Oh well. Nothing ventured, nothing gained. Striker would just have to keep a close eye on him. Careful attention could tell him if and when Silas was going to turn on him before Silas knew it himself…

[Silas]

Silas winced a bit at the handshake. Very...firm on the sores. He held his hand behind his back for a moment, trying to put the pain out of his mind. "Not far from here, eh? Well that's good news." It was very good news indeed. If what this massive cat told him was correct, Silas might be well on his way to a cure. A cure for the affliction that plagued his right arm.

The alchemist pulled himself up into the front seat of the wagon with his left hand and grabbed the reins. "Alright, Striker, tell me where to go." He snapped the reins to get the horse moving.

"Just how far away is it?" he asked, looking up into the sky. He hoped that there was enough daylight left to burn with this little quest. He'd hate to have any trouble from bandits or wolves or whatever else killed you in the night around here. But, if a problem arose, he did have a hulking cat riding shotgun with a wicked halberd.

He glanced over at his newfound companion, knowing that this deal would probably be the best for both of them. Striker would get a steady pay check without having to murder someone for it, and Silas would have peace of mind for once in his life. It was a win-win situation if his suspicions were proven foolish.

[Striker]

Striker leaned back against the worn wood of the cart and luxuriated in his legality. On the way into town, through this same gate, he'd had to avoid eye contact with the guard. Today, he practically stared the man down. While the afternoon sun was still high in the sky, hardly a shaft of light pierced the thick fir of the old-wood forest to the south.

"Just keep heading south. This road shouldn't fork for another twenty miles, and we'll hit our mark long before then."

Ah yes, the mark. Striker only hoped that the iron shackles nailed into that tree hadn't rusted away. That morning, Striker had woken up surrounded by more than beautiful flowers. He had a lot of time to enjoy the beauty of those flowers with that tree. Over three days, in fact, until he'd convinced some traveller that he'd been attacked by bandits.

Which had been one hundred percent true, and just because this was a competative business does not make their actions any less of a crime!

Ah, yes. Young "swordmaster" Nelson, and his band of brigands. The young errant nobility wanted a spot of turf to call his own, and Striker got to be the example. Surely they'd have moved on by now, or been wiped out. This spot was too close to town. Too hard to defend. Either they were gone, or they weren't working.

But that's not what Striker hoped. In his secret heart of hearts, Striker hoped that Nelson was still there, even after two years. Three days of getting friendly with a tree gives you a lot of time to think about a man like Nelson. Short, nasally, swinging that dull hunk of iron like it was a magic wand.

But no, there was no way. People like Nelson couldn't stay in this game. Surely, after a few weeks his boys had walked out on him. I mean, why would they stay? His stunning personality? There might be other bandits on or around that clearing, but not Nelson.

Striker spit, as his dreams of petty venegance swirled through his head. They had been riding south at a healthy canter for thirty minunutes, making half-distracted idle chat on the nature of potions and the sale thereof when a wide fir tree, ancient and huge, loomed toward them along the right of the road. There, sticking out of the sides, were the remains of a pair of very rusty shackles which had slowly sunk into the bark of the tree over two years.

"That's us, on the right. If you look closely through the trees you can see a little dash of blue, way off? That's where we're headed."

As Silas managed the somewhat awkward feat of turning a horse and cart combination, Striker began to worry. It was barely visible, but there was a path leading in. People had been walking this way, and not too long ago. Holding his halberd and swallowing anxiety, Striker watched the blue get closer and closer. While Silas kept watch on the road, keeping an eye out for any stumps or big rocks that would turn the whole carriage asunder, Striker was so tense you could have bounced a gold coin off of him.

He didn't see any tents - a good sign. There wasn't smoke or burning meat on the wind, another good sign. Still, something felt very wrong about the whole area. It felt occupied. Owned, even, like somebody had gone through the place and redecorated to their liking.

Just as long as the flowers were still there... As the cart pulled up next to the clearing, Striker leapt from the cart, halberd at the ready. "We'd best move quickly," Striker warned, speaking softer than Silas had thought the beast was capable, "I don't like it here."

Silas had made it clear what these flowers were worth to him. Better to let him do this himself. Striker was content to do his own work, peering into the woods and listening for even the slightest snap of a twig, and following Silas at a safe distance. He'd seen people like Silas reading a book so closely that a drunken ogre could have walked up and eaten him. A book of all things! One look at Silas told Striker all he needed to know. The man might be of some help in a fight, that remained to be seen, but he sure wouldn't know there was a fight until it was over.

Oh well, Striker mused as he held the halberd low and followed Silas about his work. Nobody to pay you if everyone's dead.

[Silas]

Silas looked at his newfound companion. "I'm going as fast as I can. You wouldn't want the whole thing to turn over on us, would you? Of course not. I'm not exactly enjoying that damned racket the woodpeckers are making either, but you don't hear me complaining about it." Silas cracked the reins to keep the horse's pace up. "Plug your ears and it won't bother you as much. We'll be there before you know it."

A sigh escaped his lips as yet another one of those birds started hammering away at a tree with his beak. The early afternoon sun came through the canopy in radiant shafts of golden light, but the exquisite beauty of the scene could not make up for the din those horrible creatures were causing.

The blue in the distance kept growing and growing, but even through the building excitement, Silas could feel something strange in the air. He looked to his partner, who also seemed a bit nervous. Maybe the cat was just rubbing off on him. He shook his head and continued to ride.

He couldn't believe it. He had been by this road before and he saw nothing. But now there was a whole field of precious blue flowers. He smiled, his eyes growing wide and excited as they pulled up in front of the field. He grinned, hopping off the bench and running to the back of the cart. He rummaged around before finding a burlap sack to put the flowers in. "I cannot believe it! Look at them all. It's gorgeous!"

The alchemist all but dove into the field of flowers, picking them from the ground and putting them into the sack. He was like a fat kid at a pinata party, greedily snatching up all the blue flowers he saw. It would take a lot to extract the amount of essence he would need for the recipie.

He sneezed. Spring had washed over the land not too long ago, so pollen still clogged the air and his sinuses. "Bah, bloody hell!" *Achoo!* He sneezed again, but didn't slow down. He rubbed his nose and continued picking. A few more sneezes followed, and he began muttering curses under his breath, but he showed no signs of stopping.

[Fight OH]

The voices reaching out after her swift footsteps over the forest twigs and shrubs were lost somewhere in the branches that had whipped at her skin as she tore through them. Last she heard they were shouting ‘ You’re under arrest.” and Acellya didn’t like the sound of that. They’d catch her eventually, there was one of her that could only run so far, and several of them who could probably run around the same distance, maybe not at the same speed but in the end it didn’t really matter. God how that arrow graze on her arm was beginning to sting.

Any ordinary market guards with tummies too big to fit one and a half bodies into a market isle were one thing, but the CAPTAIN of the guards? Well now Acellya felt flattered.

“ Damn…,” The curse slipped out of her gritted teeth, breathlessly. She had no breath to spare. Her lungs were pumping air so hard it burned, and the muscles in her legs were no better. How long had she been running, she didn’t know. She was out of options, out of time, out of luck. That is, until she heard the murmurs of voices up ahead. Two voices to be exact. And as she closed in on the two voices they became the two voices of two men. Unfortunate for them they were about to make Acellya’s fortune take a turn for the better.

Almost comically Acellya burst forth from the small wall of rather thick forest shrubbery. Her feet planted themselves down just beside the bed of flowers. She took a step towards Striker and Silas, a sly smirk upon that beautiful face of hers. But it was her feet which were threatening. In one step she nearly wiped out one of those precious flowers, it seemed to cower as her foot lowered itself not a centimeter away. But oblivious to the precious treasure she nearly crushed Acellya saw two get free from jail cards standing right before her. Even better, one of them was armed.

“ You have no idea how grateful I am two the both of you. I promise you, I won’t forget your selfless actions,” all this she said with a smile and a coy wink. But her hand was already drawing out a blade from her own sheath. Behind her burst forth 5 men, all in uniform, one more decorated than the others, but all were out of breath. Acellya’s chest rose and fell deeply, but she wasn’t wincing because of it.

“ You…! You men, apprehend that woman. She’s a wanted criminal! By order of-” huffed the decorated one, who was regaining his composure faster than the others.

“ Sorry Captain, you’ve misunderstood the situation,” Acellya twirled her wrist and blade once, changing her grip to a more comfortable position. “ These are my men,” playing the poker face she cocked her head back towards Silas and Striker.

“ Your men? Well then I suppose we’ll be killing three birds with on stone,” the captain motioned for his men to advance. The four lesser guards unsheathed their standard short swords and charged in right through the flower patch. Two busied themselves with Striker while the third and fourth pulled their attention to Acellya and Silas respectively. The captain drew out his rapier and decided on Acellya, who at the moment, was locked in blades with the third.

[Silas]

Silas couldn't do anything but let his mouth drop. He stared at the woman who, after almost killing a piece of his cure, had forced them into service of her cause. "Wha-...Who...You bitch!" He drew his knife and glared at her, threatening her with it, paying no heed to the gaurds that sought to murder him where he stood.

Silas was about to jump on the woman as she locked blades with the other, but the gaurd who had chosen him as a target started in with his blade up. "You stay out of this!" he barked, dropping his sack of flowers and pulling the bottle marked "Smoke Bomb" from the satchel that hung at his side.

Silas pitched it at his foe and the bottle broke, covering the gaurd in a strange, greasy liquid. It would irritate the skin slightly, but the real effect was the smoke that spewed into the air, smelling of a mix of rotten eggs and farm-fresh horse manure. "Take that, ya bastard!"

As the man stumbled around, trying in vain to clear the air around him from the black smoke that billowed from the liquid that covered him, he came far too close to crushing the flowers. To divert his path, Silas lept through the air, tackling him to the ground. The flowers were saved.

He quickly rolled off, gasping and dry-heaving from having to breathe in that wretched smoke. He glared at the one who had brought all of this trouble on them. "We're going to have words after this, woman! You hear me?! Words! Angry ones!"

The smoke covered man was trying to get up. Needless to say, with all the coughing and weezing and wretching in the grass, it was a bit difficult. He kept rolling around, falling over, and trying to get up again. Through his anguished cries, he could hear something about the stuff being in his eyes. But his falling over and rolling around was bringing him closer and closer to the flowers. "No!" he cried, running over and pushing the gaurd off his feet again. "Stop! Moving!" he said, punctuating each word with a kick to the man's side.

He looked to his hands, wisps of smoke climbing off of them. The smell was all over him. "Blegh!" he flapped his hands around and tried to rub the stuff off on his clothing, but the small wisps of smoke curled off of his whole front side. "Great, now I'm going to have to wash my clothing too," he muttered angrily.

[Striker]

"Selfless actions? What are you talking..."

Oh. Uniforms. Uniforms always ment bad news. The people inside of the uniforms weren't any trouble, but uniforms always seemed to act like a hydra. Cut one down, and a few days later two would be looking for you. They were like an old sparring buddy, only you never had to worry about keeping him alive. He'd be back no matter what you did to him.

And here he was again. And he looked mad.

Wait. Wait just a damned second. Striker wasn't even doing anything wrong! They didn't even recognize him! Should he risk his own life to end the lives of five honest men?

At least once in his life, any bandit should be faced with this ethical dilemma. It is what makes them human, after all. Fundamentally, there is something wrong about what they do to make a living. Striker held his Halberd in a defensive stance, plagued with the spectrum of right and wrong. To turn in a stranger to the law? Or to kill five men? Either way, he ran the risk of getting cut down himself.

Two guards were approaching him, weapons drawn. His heavy boots crunching across the clearing, Striker was too far away to prevent him from carelessly planting a foot into the field of flowers, crushing at least eight of the beautiful stalks. And at that very moment, the world came into a sharp focus. Flowers were money. Half of those flowers were Striker's money. That idiot guard just stepped on his money, in an attempt to kill him!

Rushing forward, Striker slapped the man across the face with the flat of the halberd blade in a swooping arc. He sailed backwards, flying well clear of the flowerbed. The beast swung his halberd over his head and assumed a very aggressive position.

"None of you," Striker stared at the girl, "Not one of you steps on these flowers! If anyone steps on something even thinks about stepping on something blue, then the foot you do it with is mine, understand?"

Striker looked down. Aw, hell. That fat, stupid guard really had done a number on them. Ruined. The audacity! Striker was so mad his fur was standing on end. Out of the corner of his eye, Silas was waving his arms like an octopus, but seemed to be holding his own for now.

"And you clumsy oafs owe us some serious gold! Right now! If you won't give it up peacefully, I'll beat it out of you! I'll knock you so hard, you'll wake up in a tree, if you wake up at all!"

The two guards looked at each other. Then they looked at Striker. Back to each other. Back to striker.

"You want us to do what?" the bloodied guard cried out, his face slowly turning red from the impact of flat steel on his face.

Wrong answer. Striker leapt forward, swinging the polearm over his head. The sheer strength and weight off the weapon completely nullified the guard's improvised defence, and the axe blade slammed right plast the blade held high and dug into the man's skullcap. While the guard fell, Striker suddenly discovered he had a very large problem. The weapon was stuck in the man's head and helmet. While the second guard lashed out with his longsword to cut the cat-man down, it was all he could do to put the reinforced handle between him and his opponent.

Heaving, Striker lifted the weapon, hoping the weight of the man would dislodge him. No luck. Straining to keep his weapon up, the dead guard hung like a puppet between him and his foe. There was no way he could fight like this. He could already feel his arms starting to twitch.

"Hey! Anybody! A little help?"

[Fight OH]

All the commotion was perfect, exactly what Acellya had hoped for. This way, if things started to look bleak for the two involuntary volunteers she’d recruited she could high tail it out of there mostly unnoticed. But by the looks of things, they were holding their own. Even better.

The sword she’d clashed with fell in one solid thud upon the soft grass beneath their trampling feet. The guard just didn’t feel he could hold onto it after Acellya’s knee made twice collision with his ‘goods’. Her free hand took a fistful of his uniform’s shoulder and proceeded to move the weakened man at her own will, repeatedly, into her knee. The last blow of 3 additional knees to the groin was a hard thrust of the knee into the man’s jaw bone. The broken man dropped to the ground, mostly unconscious for multiple reasons.

“ We’ll have as many words as you’d like,” laughed Acellya, finding humor in all of this. She didn’t think she could have picked a better pair.

She felt it come from behind her, but it was too late. She’d been careless and let the captain get behind her. There was a nasty sounding crack of bones followed by an agonizing cry by Acellya. The pain was so intense she had no choice but to let her knees fall to the grassy floor. Forget the arrow graze, she’d take a thousand of those over this. It was broken, she knew it was broken, probably in ten places by the feel of things, of course she could be over exaggerating. But her shoulder hurt like nothing else.

“ You should have given up back when I was willing to take you unharmed, “ Spat the Captain, visibly upset over her actions towards his fallen comrade. Like a hyena closing in on its fallen prey the captain continued to stalk around her, admiring his work. “ It’s over, you are under arrest, Acellya Windgate.”

“ It’s not over.” A cliché line, she knew that, but it seemed appropriate. It sounded more heroic through a pained voice, she thought. She was getting used to the dull throbbing now, not to say it didn’t make her want to scream out a chain of expletives, but at least now her head was on straight and there was more she was aware of than the broken bones in her shoulder. In fact, she was quite aware of the captain kneeling down so he could be eye level with her. Acellya had no intention of looking at that ugly mug, but as expected the captain’s rough hand cradled her soft chin, tilting her face upwards so she really had no choice.

“ What a waste.” He said examining just how fair of face Acellya truly was.

“ I couldn’t have said it better myself,” She made a well aimed shot of spit into his left eye. Really, it only made him more angry. It all went black for the young lady. It turned out the captain had a quick fist and made a jab to Acellya’s stomach.

Her limp body fell forward into his arms, and he let her slid down into the bed of grass, her face calm like sleep. “ Your leader’s been defeated. Give up, and we may consider letting you off with a few years of hard labor. But the woman’s going straight back home, a criminal with that kind of price shouldn’t be out on the streets.”

[Silas]

While Striker was getting a man stuck on his halberd and the woman was getting what was coming to her in the form of a fist to the face, Silas was still running around the human tire-fire, trying to keep him from falling on the flowers. This amounted to the poor gaurd being kicked, tackled, and beaten from one end of the field to the other, and back again. It was probably very inhumane to do such a thing to a man that had already nearly puked out a length of intestine and who was likely suffocating under that stinking cloud, but Silas wasn't in a kind and caring mood. In truth, he was in a very unhappy mood.

"You rat faced bastard!" he yelled, kicking the man in the side so that he didn't fall and crush one of the valuable flowers. "Your mother was a leper and a sow!" Another kick found the man's ribs. Silas wasn't even paying attention to the plight of the others. He was only worried about keeping this one man from wrecking his precious foliage.

It was amazing that after all this punishment, the man he was fighting was still atleast somewhat concious. "Why won't you just die? You're not doing any good to anyone else and if you keep on moving around, you'll hurt one of those damned flowers and..." he pushed the man over again with his boot. "And then I'll just have to kill you! And I really don't want to deal with that today. Alright?"

The man responded with a groan. Silas was surprised that he even responded at all. Of course, the smoke was beginning to clear. Instead of a smog monster, he looked like a man with something smoldering under his armor. And being the trooper that he was, since the gaurd could breathe again he was trying to stand up. Well, Silas wouldn't have any of that. He picked up a hefty rock from the dirt at his feet and finally knocked the man cold with it.

The alchemist dropped the bloodied stone, dusting the fresh dirt off his hands. He finally took in the whole situation. As he was finishing up with the cannon fodder, the captain of the gaurd was finishing up with that vile woman. He didn't feel the slightest hint of pity for her, and was honestly willing to let the man take her until he addressed Striker and himself.

Oh, the nerve of this man! "Our leader? You dumb pig! She bloody used us! And you think you're going to press us into slavery? Well you've got another thing co-...wait, what was that you said about a price? A price, you say? For her? A price on her head? A large one?" Silas pondered this for a moment, rubbing his beard in thought. He then turned his head and looked to his partner. "Striker. Kill him."

[Striker]

"I'm workin' on it, boss!" Striker cried as he made an experimental stab with the spear tip. This was going poorly for both combatants. The guard was making all the right movements, but his face was just... gone. Like a piece of slate. The sluggish weapon, weighed down with a man size puppet, was far too slow to allow the guard to hit him, and even if it did the speartip probably wouldn't even pierce leather armor.

And then, something altogether strange happened. Striker's opponent opened his mouth wide, and began crying. This was not the modest crying of someone who had, say, lost a loved one. He was screaming, bawling, and swinging. Slashing at his bobbing comrade, Striker had to leap back to get out of the sword's range.

He could feel flowers pressed against the back of his feet. He was right on the edge. There would be no retreating, and no attacking. Unless...

Swinging the pole over his head in a huge arc, Striker struggled to build up momentum. The timing had to be perfect. As the screaming guard rushed at him, Striker brought the weapon around one more time.

The recently deceased guard swung wide and limp, striking the guard with both of his legs at once. His living friend was knocked back, but the damage that had been done was hardly physical. After the blow, he just sat back down, a catatonic with a headache. Striker didn't waste time. Planting his foot on the dead man's shoulder, he pulled up.

Okay, well, the weapon was freed. For the most part, at least. The guard's neck had been slashed open when his friend had gone ballistic, and Physics decided it was easier for the neck to give way than the helmet. Striker shrugged. Walking over to his boss, he idly stuck the mad guard in the neck with the speartip.

"Alright, you mother-raping idiot, if you want to end up like your friend here," he shook the head at the end of his pole. It stayed fixed, but his loose hanging jaw was beginning to fall apart, "Then let's dance, eh?" Holding the hook end out, Striker readied himself.

The captain was disgusted. These criminals were the most rediculous trio he had ever seen. They weren't even proper villains, who one could trust to perform evil for evil's sake. These were just incompetants who wanted the money, and were willing to kill him to get it. In a way, that made them worse than a villain. At least they had something to believe in, even if it was evil...

"Oh no," the captain said, grim "You die here. All of you. En garde!" He lashed out with his rapier, with a speed Striker had hardly expected. It was all he could do to put the pole between himself and the blade. Parrying, Striker lashed out with the axe blade he was so used to being a fight ender. The blow struck, but only with the bloody neck-stump of an honest guardsman. The captain lashed out with a kick to the gut that knocked Striker to the ground, and held his rapier at the ready.

"I'd bring you in, but nobody would believe me if I told them what you two are capable of. Much better to see you dead. At least then I might be able to sleep at night..."

Striker looked up. There was nothing he could do, that rapier was deadly fast, and he was far too tired to bring his halbered around. That didn't stop him from trying though, and the captain parried it neatly out of his hands, sending it falling to the ground a few feet away. Checkmate, lights out. Striker gritted his teeth and grabbed at the dirt, as if it would keep him from shedding his mortal coil.

[Silas]

"Well work faster!" he said as his bodygaurd used a man as a flesh flail. Striker took out the final underling fairly quickly, while the man was destracted by his task of hacking away at his deceased friend's body. Silas winced as the corpse's head was savagely torn off of it's body. He couldn't help but watch the fight, as horrific as it was, but maybe he should've been paying more attention to the man who threatened him with slavery.

Silas smiled as Striker made his way over to the captain of these gaurds. He even began to review his victory speech in his head. However, it seemed that he was counting his chickens far before they hatched.

Well, at least this man was not completely like the wretched bastards that he usually encountered in such positions as gaurd captain. He seemed honorable, and genuinely disgusted with Silas and Striker's actions. Well, who cared what the pig thought? He was going to die soon anyway, right? Or maybe not. Doubt came into Silas's mind as his employee fell down and the point of a sword was pressed into his neck.

It was a bad sign, to be sure. If Striker couldn't win against the man, Silas was sure that he didn't have a chance. His first thought was to run away into the woods screaming like a little girl. But what, then, would happen to Striker? Well, he had only met the man today. Why should Silas give a damn if the cat died as long as he got away with all of his blood still in his veins?

Yet, he did care. Or maybe he just didn't want to run away. There seemed to be a fair amount of money to be made from offing the captain, and he still needed to pick the flowers, and if he ran he would lose his cart, his horse, and all of his belongings. And he didn't want that. Of course, he also genuinely liked the cat-man, and knew that his survival would be much easier with a hulking bodygaurd.

It took a moment or two to weigh the pros and cons and act on his decision, but when he did decide to act, he acted fast. He snatched up his knife from the ground and ran at that damned captain, leaping onto his back.

Silas's first thought was to simply cut the man's throat, but that proved to be difficult. First, the helmet was in the way, and second, the chain mail was in the way. He couldn't just cut through chain mail, he'd have to puncture it. And he didn't have the right weapon on him to stab someone. So, he dropped the knife and just started wildly yelling, punching, bashing, slapping and clawing. There was a half-hearted attempt to remove the man's helmet, but just causing general disorientation, irritation, and hopefully some pain was his primary objective.

"Striker! Do something!" he barked as his foe was punching and pulling at him, trying to get him off. Silas held on tight, struggling to yank of the helmet with one hand. "C'mon! Get off your ass and hurt him!" Finally, the helmet came off and Silas commenced the yelling, punching, bashing, slapping, and, of course, clawing while he waited for Striker to act.

[Striker]

The captain's rapier was sharp. Mythically so, the kind of sharp that makes you think it is slicing hydrogen molecules in twain on its deadly path. This path, however, did not go as the captain had intended, sliding through Striker's left shoulder with ease as Silas put on the least dignified show of armed resistance in recent history. This would not last long. The captain wasn't expecting this out of Silas, who was obviously the type to pay people to do this for him. Hell, Striker wasn't expecting it either. This show wouldn't last long though. The captain was a military man, after all. Dealing with this kind of interferance was his job. Best not to waste time.

Reaching out with his good right arm, Striker found his halberd. Awkward to work from this position, but he braced himself for the impact as he drove the spear shaft upwards, toward his previously sneering foe. A glancing hit, yes, and almost entirely absorbed by the veil of chainmail protecting the man, but it was enough. He had knocked the wind out of the man, and that bought him rather a lot more time.

But time to do what? He was still pinned to the earth by this damned fancy-pants nobility sword! Pulling himself up along the blade, Striker built up enough momentum to get the Halberd's hook behind the man. He pulled down and kicked up as the point drove itself into his kidney. Bracing himself against the earth, Striker used all his strength to keep his foe in this vice.

It was five minutes before Striker could relax again. Reaching up, he pulled the rapier out of his shoulder, wincing with pain as he did so. Finally it came, and he tossed it aside, still gasping for breath. What a mess. There was blood everywhere, and most of it belonged to that captain. Pressing down on the wound, Striker slowly stood up.

"Okay," he said between breaths, "Thanks. I thought he had me there. You keep working on the flowers." He looked down. The blood was beginning to stick fur together. "I need to find a lake or something."

Struggling to keep his balance, the blood-drenched fighter looked over at the knocked out girl. "And what are we doing with her?"

[Silas]

While Striker was trying to figure out what to do through the pain burning in his shoulder, Silas was still trying his crazed sissy fighting techniques against the captain, who was throwing fists at him and trying to grab on to whatever he could. A few good blows were struck to the side of Silas's head and he nearly lost his grip. It was when the spear shaft rammed into the man's abdomen that the alchemist finally fell off. His arms were tired from all the swatting and his head was spinning from the blows it recieved, but he could revel in the sight of his enemy getting a spike through his kidney.

He pulled himself to his feet and thought about Striker's question for a moment. "I'm not sure, but I'm willing to wager that the plan will involve getting that money," he said with a greedy smile as he stepped over the bodies to get to the captain. "As for the short term, I suggest we slap...these on her." Silas had been rummaging around the pouches and pockets of the Captain of the Gaurd's uniform and found a pair of iron manacles. He smirked to his partner and stepped over to the unconcious woman. The manacles were locked onto her wrists. The chain was wrapped around a tree to keep her in place.

"I cannot believe this damned woman, bringing us into her fight." He shook his head and returned to looting the bodies. The scabard of the rapier was lifted from the captain, and the blade was returned to it before Silas pitched it into the back of his wagon. "The nerve of her." He poked around the belts and pouches and packs that the captain and his men carried, taking anything that seemed to be of any value. What a rat he was, but at least he was making money.

After the bodies were looted without any respect for the dead, Silas returned to his work, picking flowers from that beautiful field of blue. "I'm saying it right now, Striker. You are most certainly hired. I'd be a fool to say that you had not earned my trust."

[Striker]

Striker reached down and ripped off the captain's shirt, looping it over his shoulder, and gritting his teeth as it tightened. It looked like he would be relying on his right arm for a while - only a small problem with his weapon of choice. Stretching what muscles had not recently received a rather aggressive acupuncture treatment, Striker looked over the bloody scene. Uniforms everywhere - Dead, but not gone - someone would come back to fill them. A young woman chained up, a fact that simply did not sit well with Striker. Okay, sure, she used them to deflect the law, but Striker would have used that trick himself if he were a quicker thinker. He hadn't had a chance to see her really fight, but he simply didn't feel... good... about tossing her back into the fray.

Striker picked up the rapier and made a few experimental swipes in the air with it. It felt... light. Too light. Like there wasn't even a weapon there. Unsatisfying. He shrugged and regretted it immediately, a reminder of what the blade could do. He shrugged, and tossed it into the back of the cart. The potion salesman could use a weapon.

As he walked back to pick up the girl, Striker turned to Silas. "It's good to know we'll be working together, but we should talk about this over some drinks. For the time being, let's get paid. You keep working on the flowers. I'll... clean up." He grunted, picking up the young woman with his good arm. "If we're interrupted again, surrounded by this uniform cemetery, I don't think we'll be in much of a position to negotiate, and that looks like it'll take some time." The wounds shooting lighting through Striker was making him all business for now, and it bothered him. He'd just survived, after all, and it sounded like he'd landed himself a much steadier job than he had anticipated. Striker’s tail flitted around. Mixed feelings at this discovery? Better to focus on the task at hand…

Woman in cart, check. Check the guards – a few pouches with lunch money, four swords, the woman’s blades, and one guard’s uniform that looked like it might fit me. Silas, quit looking at me and get back to the flowers. Okay, five bodies. Part of one is still stuck to the halberd, which needs to be dealt with. Best to start with the uniform I’m “borrowing”. That would most certainly be difficult to explain. Water sounds like it’s running from the east, so better get him moving and… he’s still alive. Best take care of that.

Four trips to the river and a quick bath to scrub out the vast quantities of blood slowly caking Striker’s fur, and he was back to the clearing, watching Silas work his science. “So… what do these flowers do anyways?”

[Fight OH]

It smelled cluttered, if there was a smell for cluttered. It was mildly warm in the back of the cart with all of Silas’ random knickknacks and potions, correction, uncomfortably warm. Acellya’s head nodded back into consciousness in a rather quick manner. There was no few moments in between unconsciousness and consciousness, just a quick blink back into it.

“ What the hell is this?” The first words and thought that really popped into her head, mainly because of the shackles on her wrists. She tested them to see how far they’d let her move by pulling her arms out to her sides, or at least trying. Not very far. These weren’t the cheap kind, they were the real deal. And her weapon? Obviously not with her. But there was no need to panic, she could see around her there were obviously many things she could use to get rid of the cuffs. She was no lock pick, but she was sure she could smash them apart somehow, or maybe saw them apart.

Shifting her weight from her bottom onto her knees she began squinting her eyes in the dim light to see what was available. Everything was in chests, no use to her unless she could get them open. But that’s about the time she noticed that the bigger ones weren’t locked, just the small metal one. The owner must have been careless, and obviously not familiar with taking prisoners. This couldn’t have been the captain’s doing. Did those two flower pickers really defeat the guards? A smirk spread onto her face and she felt a new respect for the two men she’d chosen to screw over. But, putting her in shackles wasn’t necessary.

She sat back down and used her feet to unlatch then lift the lid of the chest. There was a hair brush along with other nonsense inside. But the important thing was that the lid was fairly heavy. She turned her back tot h e open trunk and set the chain link attaching the cuffs together on the corner edge of the trunk. With her hands out of the way she gave the trunk a little kick and the lid fell back down onto the chain. She heard a clank, and pulled her hands forward to see if she’d been freed. There was some resistance, but she could tell it was ready to break, so she just pulled a little harder, then Snap! The cuffs were still around her wrists but at least now they weren’t linked behind her back.

Now, her weapon. With both hands she began rummaging. She expected her weapon to be hidden well, but to her disappointment, she couldn’t seem to find it anywhere. The men must have still had it. No problem. That little silver box was locked tightly for a reason. She took it up in her arms, it was a little heavy, but nothing she couldn’t manage. Before showing herself she peeked out of the cart, and could see the two men still picking flowers. Who the hell were they?

With a sigh Acellya kicked her legs out over the edge of the cart, pushing aside the door. She crossed one leg over the other and held the silver box in her lap like she would an infant. And with an entirely confident voice she shouted out to the two in the flowers.

“ I knew I could count on the two of you. I thank you, but you’ll have to pardon my rudeness. Where’s my weapon?”

[Silas]

A glance was given to the bodygaurd as Silas filled his bag. "Well, you see, I have this affliction...Well, I won't go into gruesome details, but I need these flowers for a cure." He seemed tense relating the quick story, as if speaking of the sores on his arm scratched at a sore closer to his heart. They had only known each other for the lesser part of a day and even though they had gone through a life threatening experience, Silas still wasn't ready to pour his heart out to this cat-man.

Silas stopped when he heard the voice. No, that could be. Could it? He turned around to look at the woman that he thought would be unconcious in his cart. But she was not unconcious. She was awake, and unrestrained. He blinked, turned around, looked back at her, opened his mouth to say something, but had nothing to say. He raised and dropped his hands and scratched a bit at his beard before admitting, "Well, that did not seem to go as planned."

He continued a moment until his burlap sack was sufficently full of flowers, before he walked over to the cart, tossed the bag in, grabbed the box of money, and yanked it from her grasp. "Not yours," scolded Silas, wagging his index finger. "And I'll give you your weapon when you tell me just who the hell you are and prove to me that you're not just going to cut me down where I stand."

There wasn't much that he himself could do to her, of course, but he did have a very large bodygaurd who had the use of atleast one muscular limb. He figured that was enough. "By the way, how're you feeling? You seemed to take quite a beating." The alchemist walked over to Striker and held out the metal box. "Hold this for a moment, will you?" He turned his attention back to the girl. "What were those men after you for anyway? Did you insult one of their mothers?"

[Striker]

A cure? For his own disease? Not a chance. Some of these damned flowers had better turn into cash money, or there would be a very strongly worded conversation about the… nature of Striker’s employment.

Striker, however, decided it could wait. The man had to eat, money would come, and there is plenty of ways to earn it. In addition, the prisoner had managed to get herself out. Armed? No – she had left the cart without borrowing any of the guards’ tools. Good news, but better to stop a fight before it began – and the woman invariably killed Silas. Staff end first, Striker pushed his weapon between the two arguing parties. Twisting the staff to separate them, Striker barged into the woman, planting himself neatly between her and Silas, leaving the man holding the box. She could be the greatest swordsman in Althanas, but there was no way she could take Striker down unarmed, even with one arm tied behind his back. He stared down at her, silently, and waiting for an answer to Silas’ questions.

[Fight OH]

She let the box go with no resistance, mainly because she felt like this was more entertainment than it was a threat. She held her hands in place for a few moments after the box was removed, then finally dropped them to her sides, watching Silas baby the box. She could wait to get her weapon, she decided. To her it seem Silas was definitely nothing to feel threatened by. And that big cat man… well he looked intimidating, but everything looked intimidating if you took it that way.

The rapid fire of questions gave Acellya virtually no time to answer them as they came. And what was more, just as she opened her mouth to make a few explanations the cat-man made himself a very solid wall between she and the flower man. She wasn’t looking at Silas anymore but a chest full of orange and white fur.

“ You think I could hurt him without my weapons?” Acellya asked rhetorically while folding her arms. The answer was, ‘yes’, yes Acellya could have done a number on Silas even without her weapons. But, that wasn’t her intention at all. “ Look, you can calm down, Tiger. I’ll answer whatever questions you have, because I’m sure we’re not going anywhere until the both of us are satisfied. That means your man gets his answers and I get my sword.”

She took a step back from Striker, not because she was intimidated, but because she offered a bow. “ My name is Acellya Windgate. You gentlemen happened to be conveniently in position to get me out of a small bind. You see those men were after me because of a silly little bounty. Nothing really,” she shrugged. “ A few gold pieces over a stolen apple or two, seems like petty crimes aren’t so petty anymore.” She paused for a moment to see if they believed her bull s*** story. She had a bounty alright, and she was sure the two of them knew that. But she’d have to make sure they didn’t get any wise ideas. After a moment of silence and examination of facial expression Acellya offered a light hearted smile.

“ And I’m fine, thanks for asking. Are you a doctor? I see in the back of your cart, “ she nodded her head back. “ There’s some trunks of potions… Of course, that’s none of my business,” she continued to smile, as real as any, “ So, why don’t we call it a day, and be glad we met. My weapon, sir?” She extended her hands towards Silas and Striker.

[Silas]

"Ah yes, a tiny bounty that would send a squad of armed gaurds to bring you in and give them license to kill anyone who tried to stop them. I'm sure such an act would be done for so little money." Silas wasn't stupid. He was a liar, a cheat, a miser, and many other negative adjectives, but stupid was not on the list. He shook his head. "No, no, I'm sure it's a sizable bounty. Even the Captain mentioned it. Which is why he's dead." A smirk came to Silas's lips. "Didn't want any competition for that cash."

He clasped his hands behind his back and looked to the girl with those green eyes of his. His head was pounding, but his thoughts were clear, and his mind was calm, maybe even cold. "Miss Windgate, you are going to make us some money today. I mean, you did bring us into this unwillingly. We deserve some recompense for saving your ass, don't you think?"

His smirk grew into a smile. "But you have very little say in the matter. I'll put it to you plainly. We are going to turn you in. You can either cooperate and go quietly and no harm will be done to you, or you can be knocked unconscious and we can dig up some more restraints for you. The choice is yours in that matter."

The alchemist watched her for a moment and sighed. "Of course, it's a very raw deal for you. We save you simply to throw you to the wolves? Surely I'm kinder than that, right? Well, maybe I am."

A plan was beginning to form in his mind. The reward would be a fair amount of money, he figured. Even if it wasn't a fair amount of money, it was free money, and any money that is essentially free is good. However, if he let them toss her in the brig, he would not only be throwing away an asset, but also making an enemy, and those were never a positive thing. But he wanted her to experience some form of punishment for dragging them into her problems, and he wanted that reward money, so the solution would have to be complex. Maybe even nonsensical.

"Here...is what I propose to you, Acellya. You cooperate with us, let us take you in, and we earn that reward money. In return, we will break you out of prison. After that, we can either go our separate ways, or you can travel with us. So, the choice is yours. Either cooperate, and get out within hours of your capture, or resist, and rot in jail."

[Striker]

Striker nodded. Yeah, of course! The bounty had to be huge! Otherwise why would the captain of come? And she had played them for fools. Still, the idea of walking back into town right after killing the captain of the guard sat poorly with him. As well as throwing the poor young woman into the same pit with people like... well, people like himself, for instance, was just wrong.

But, what are you going to do? A little money goes a long way, and a lot of it goes further. Oh well, the poor girl can handle herself... wait, what?

Striker snapped back into attention, distracted by his own rationalizations. What was Silas saying?

Looking at his new partner, he groaned inward. Oh lord, the man was serious. Ambition was one thing, but this would land the three of them in the same cell!

"Um... Silas? I hope you don't mind telling me how we're going to..." The sound of gears beginning to turn silenced Striker. I mean, what if they could pull it off? All that money, without losing a bit of sleep - and Striker had seen the inside of a prison armory - a long story - and the more he thought about the idea the more he started to like it.

"Well, that guard uniform did look like it would fit me..."

[Fight OH]

Acellya’s smile faded until it no longer existed. But in it’s place was a slightly dropped jaw and entirely puzzled eyes. She didn’t want these guys to get any wise ideas, but they’d shot right past that and went straight to crazy. Were they serious? Were they sane? Turning her in for money was one thing, but then breaking her back out? Where was the logic? She had to put a stop to this crazy talk before anything else jumped over the edge.

“ Stop,” She held up on hand, palm out. “ Just stop right there.” Before she said anything more she had to take a breath, a deep one. Now, Silas was right, she was in no situation to make any decisions, but there was just something so… “ Ludicrous. You’re plan is complete ludicrous. You want to take me to jail, just to break me out again? You want me to cooperate through that, then travel with you?” repeating the plan was really just for Acellya to make sure she had heard the man right, because there was always a chance of misunderstanding.

Unable to think of the words to express her failure to understand how the gears in this man’s head worked she could only think to herself. What had she gotten herself into? Was it a trick? Get her to go peacefully just to leave her in the jail to rot anyways? No, this man looked genuinely inspired by his ridiculous plan. Was he THAT money driven?
He was. And like he’d said before. She was going to the jail one way or another. She didn’t like the idea of things not being favorable for her, not one bit. She’d have to turn a few things around, even if she was the captive.

“ Alright,” She regained her composure and brushed a lock of pink bang out of her face. “ You want to collect my bounty and you want me to travel with you as perhaps a second…,” She looked over Striker to figure out exactly what he was doing with a guy like Silas anyway. “ Body guard,” she guessed. “ I can cooperate with that. If you have a plan that is. But! What’s in it for me?”

Her questions was straight forward. She wanted something out of this deal, something more that the prospect of being let out unharmed. Because really, those silly local jails couldn’t hold her all that long anyways.

“ The way I see it, you can knock me out for days if you’d like but I’m going to wake up. And when I wake up, there’s going to be questions asked, and I’ll tell you now… I have all sorts of answers I could give them, and all sorts of names I could drop, Silas.” She smiled sideways at Striker for dropping just the name she needed to make this work for her. “ No one would have to be curious about what happened to these guards. I have all the answers.” She could be all business too, but her guard was set on high right then. She kept her senses sharp, just in case the tiger decided to make a swing at her.

“ I want a third of the reward money.”

[Silas]

Silas listened to her, but his smile tensed when she asked for a whole third of the reward. "No," he said simply. She certainly had courage asking that, and Silas respected that, but that was not something he was going to do. "You are not in any position to negotiate.

"You want to know what you get out of this? For one thing, you get your freedom. For another, if you let us break you out, you'll have employment. Not only will working for me give you a source of regular income, it will also provide perfect cover for you, a fugitive. The reward is ours, either way. Striker and I will split it, and some part of it may go to your first payment for working for me. Look as it as our payment for saving your ass." He leaned on the cart. "So, what's your choice? Freedom or imprisonment?"

He could scarcely believe that she actually thought she could negotiate such a thing. It was a surprise that she would even think of it with her freedom in the balance. But, she seemed to be a crafty girl. It wouldn't be too out of character for such a person. Heck, Silas himself would probably try the same thing in her position, so he couldn't hold it against her.

[Striker]

Striker stood literally in the center of negotiations. He sighed. Everybody wants more than his or her cut.
“Silas, she’s right. Even if you change your name, uniforms are going to follow through on the description of the men who killed their captain. Last I saw, the first thing you do in a town is declare that you’re in it. That’s a problem. A big problem. Not impossible to deal with, but if we can avoid it, we should. If we’re going to be working together, this is not something I want to deal with.”
He peered down at Acellya, grinning a little. “Anyways, we can trust her. If she talks, our jailbreak will not work, and all three of us will end up in jail. They’ll promise freedom, of course, in exchange for your help, but we all know they lie like dogs.” Striker spit on the ground, and thought a bit longer. “We do have your weapons, but we’ll probably need to fight our way out of jail, when things go wrong. That means, as soon as your cell opens, you will need to be armed. It’d take all three of us to fight our way out, and the only way that works is if we move fast.”
“But, at the end of the day, we’re doing you no small favor, springing you out of the big house when we could just, y’know, walk away. You want your third? You got to work. What can you offer us, to make this worth a cut of our money?”
Everyone had something to offer. Everyone knew where a secret treasure was buried, or knew where a rich man hid his cash. Even if they didn’t know its value, like Striker’s flower patch. Truth be told, Striker would rather kill someone than leave him or her to die, and he wanted to make this work, but there wasn’t much point in making this work if the woman didn’t intend to pull her weight. What made her worth bringing along?

[Fight OH]

“ Aside from obviously being the best looking face here?”

Acellya could play this game. They wanted reasons? She’d give them reasons, reasons they wouldn’t be able to reason against. “ Look, I don’ t care how clever you are,” she looked to Silas, “ Or how strong you are,” then to Striker. “ In a world like this brains and brawn are only two thirds of what it takes take make it big.”

Placing her hands on her hips she let the logic sink in for a moment. She hoped they followed. “ Beauty, that’s the one third everyone likes to forget about, and that’s their fatal error.” Acellya was bold to say they weren’t beautiful, but she had a point. The lady was shaped perfectly and had the soft facial features that probably didn’t belong with her personality type. “ And don’t tell me that beauty only lasts so long,” she brushed some pink locks behind a slightly pointed ear. If they were smart they’d get the picture. She was part elvaan, she’d barely age a day when they grew wrinkles and stiff backs. Feeling that it was time to bring out the big guns she took a sudden serious face.

“ But I suppose I would eventually have to pay you back for saving my life. I can’t offer you anything of material value right now, but…,” that ‘but’ she let hang in the air. After her moment of dramatic pause she continued with a somber face. “ There is no crime I have committed. I’m being pursued to be brought back to my home nation in order to be executed for treason. You see, I am the King’s first daughter, and thus the rightful heir. But there are some in my family who would rather see me dead than ruling over them. I’ve been framed and all I could do was run. But mark my words. I will return someday and prove my innocence and reclaim the throne. I suppose then I could truly pay you back…,” her eyes were hardened, and there was no smirk on her lips.

After a few moments of what seemed like inner thought Acellya shook her head. “ but that’s not much help right now, is it? And you’d have to trust me, wouldn’t you?” shrugging her shoulders she made a small sigh as if dismissing the whole idea. “ For now all I can offer is the face you see here, the capabilities and cleverness behind it. I can’t see a better trio.”

She waited for their answer.

[Silas]

Silas listened seriously, quietly, but at the end of her speech his expressionless face cracked into a smile, then a hidden snicker, then a chuckle, and that chuckle soon rose into roaring laughter. He laughed for a few moments before calming himself and shaking his head. "Lady, you're crazier than he is." He gestured to Striker.

"To be honest, I highly doubt you're descended from a king. Forgive my cynical nature if you truely are a princess, but for now, I'll pass that off as a load of bull. So all you've got to offer us is a pretty face, eh? Well, I guess that's better than nothin'. Certainly not enough to justify allowing you to have a third of the reward after you nearly got us killed, but I guess if my bodygaurd is on your side, it's not a wise idea to piss him off." He sighed and threw up his hands. "You better be damn worth it."

Silas was a bit irritated at the turn of events, but there wasn't much he could do about it. He climbed into the front seat of the cart. "Good thing nothing happened to the horse. We'd be in quite a mess. Acellya, you might want to put on some kind of restraint. We wouldn't want to give the village the wrong idea, would we? And...it might be a good idea to conceal anything we took from those corpses that might link us to them. We don't have to leave it...just hide it.

"We'll bring a weapon for you when we come. If possible, it'll be yours. But, I'm not going to give it to you just yet." He was still sour over losing a third of the reward to her. It changed the whole 'going to prison' thing into a way to get her rewarded rather than penance for nearly getting them both murdered. He wasted a good smoke bomb on that damned idiot. "You better be grateful, and, I'll say it again, you better be worth it."

[Striker]

Striker grinned at Acellya. Oh, a princess are we? couldn't settle for petty nobility. Hell, not even just a princess but the heir to the throne, even! Which throne? Striker didn't care. If it was true, then they would work that out when they got there. If it wasn't true (which, of course, it wasn't), well, the remainder of what she said was obvious. If this arrangement was going to work out, there was an element that needed to be addressed. Striker had spent the vast majority of his sordid career simply unhorsing the wealthy for the travelling money. Earlier in the day, Striker had assumed Silas to be no more dishonest than any other traveling salesman. This had turned out to be somewhat inaccurate. Already he had leapt head-first into a plot to bilk the guard out of a fat bounty - a plot which he was willing to murder for. But something about the situation told Striker that, left alone, the two of them would be selling bogus potions and doing odd jobs for little more money than he was making now. An odd train of thought, considering that at noon, Striker had decided to go legal, become a bodyguard, take his five percent off of a wealthy trader. Now, almost six hours later, he was becoming a better criminal than he ever had before, and talking in thirds!

Is this really what I want? Striker mulled over the question while Silas complained. It didn't take long. Striker wanted this, and he wanted it hard. He had promised to protect the man for a shred of the profits. He'd gladly help him work for his third. And, really, in his secret heart of hearts, Striker wasn't sure if he really wanted to work with Acellya any more than Silas. After all, they did clean up her mess, and it looked like they were about to do it again. Just as long as Striker got his third of the bounty (which had better be massive, after all the trouble they were going through to get it), the real appeal wasn't even the money.

They were going to break out of prison.

Now, granted, they weren't in a prison - at least, not yet. Nor did they need to be in prison - it was as easy to avoid as walking away. But Striker had spent a fair amount of time in small, village prisons. He'd never gotten sent up for anything more severe than banditry, but the good ol' four stone walls had been a spiteful companion to the cat. Not once had he broken out of prison, but all those nights on a hard bunk next to barred windows he had dreamed of it.

Sometimes, he even dreamed of it on nights under the open stars of the forest. Sometimes, it was like he was still there. But never again! He would break out of prison yet, even if it meant breaking in first! The girl could do what she wanted, as long as she worked for her third she could have it, and if she wanted to tag along, well, either she was useful or she wasn't. And if she wasn't, well, no hard feelings, see you later. It was well worth the coins she would be taking to give him the chance to finally be free on his own terms.

Tossing his halberd back in the cart, Striker came back to the scene at hand. The sun was starting to sink low, and it would be best to be getting back to Scara Brae. Striker scanned the clearing again, his fur standing on end in waves with excitement. Well, there had obviously been a fight, but nobody was left behind, except those parties now making peace with the riverbed. Striker checked the bandage he'd put over his shoulder. That rapier was thin, but he'd made a few trips up and down it to see him through the conflict. His mobility was starting to come back, though, and the bleeding had... well, the bleeding had slowed. He poked the hole. That proved to be a mistake. While electric arrows of pain shot up and down his arm, Striker tied the bandage back over his shoulder, gritting his teeth through the pain.

Leaping into the back of the cart to pack the swords away, he called over his shoulder to Acellya, "I'm Striker. Now, let's get to work. We have a busy night ahead of us."

[Fight OH]

Prove she was worth it? Acellya held back her chuckle. She hadn’t really relied on them believing her about being a princess, who would. She wouldn’t even believe herself, but it was worth a try. She wasn’t about to tell them she was framed for a murder. Whereas they’d just killed a handful of guards, that was in self defense, she didn’t know how they’d feel about the idea of helping a potential premeditated murderer. The ironic thing was her explanation of beauty was supposed to be the part that merited a chuckle. Oh well. She was in an that was what mattered. Prove she was worth it? What a funny thought.

“ Striker,” she repeated. “ Well then, that’s Striker, Silas, and Acellya.” she made a well placed smile. “ not a bad team.”

Knowing well Silas was staring daggers she thought about the possible ways to make things smoother for herself. She was on thin ice, it was easy to tell. Careful not to hurt any of the precious flowers she took a step back towards the cart, examining the broken cuffs around her wrists. “ Say, Striker, you wouldn’t mind pinching that link back together, would you?” She held out her hands so the link on each cuff dangled freely. It was the left cuff which had the broken chain link.

“ I’ll tell you both this now. They want me alive. That means if you get caught, the ones they’re going to kill is you.” Acellya cast a glance over her shoulder at Silas. “ I could tell you a thing or two about a break out. By the looks of things you’ll need it.” So much for getting on his good side.

[Silas]

The pain in his arm had been steadily growing over the course of the battle's aftermath. Now, the blazing pain that coursed through his right arm had reached a pinnacle. His gloved hand trembled and his teeth were clinched together as the other two spoke. This certainly didn't help his mood. The other hand reached into his jacket and removed the glass flask he had taken a sip from to calm his nerves earlier. The cork was pulled out with his teeth and held in the same hand as took a drink from it. The pain began to gently dull. He took a deep breath in relief.

"I already have a plan in my head, but go ahead and give us some pointers," he said, an edge still in his voice as he spoke to her. He slid the flask back into his coat pocket and picked up the reins. "Is everybody ready?"

He looked to the other two, and something struck him as he looked at Striker. The bandage. How could he forget? Striker had gotten cut, and bad. Silas reached into the satchel hanging from his shoulder and produced a jar of his healing salve. He held it out to the cat-man with what passed for a smile in his bad mood. "Rub some of that on the wound, and it'll help heal it up. Can't have a cut like that slowing you down when we go in, right?"

Once Striker took the salve, the alchemist cracked the reins and the horse started moving. He couldn't believe he was doing this. Just hours before he was a traveling salesman with nothing but petty crime and a single murder on his conscience. Now, he had been involved in knocking off some gaurds, and he was riding towards a prison that he was going to break a woman out of while screwing that same prison out of a reward. It was a big change for such a short time, but he felt comfortable with it. Maybe this traveling show of his could be a good cover for a group of career criminals. That, however, was not what he should think about right now. He needed to focus on the job, and his plan of action.

He was sure that this was the best thing to do, and he had the tools to pull it off. Or, atleast he had the tool. A potion to be exact. The bottle labeled "Shadow Water" rested alone in his satchel. He could drink it down and fade from view. If Striker went into the prison in his gaurd uniform, he could distract them while Silas snuck through unnoticed. He'd have to steal the prison keys, get the girl out, and get the hell out of there. Maybe he'd have time to loot the place, but he wasn't sure if he should push his luck.

[Striker]

Striker massaged his wound with the potion. At least it had stopped bleeding, but the whole muscle group felt sore as anything. He cracked his knuckles, and focused on the manicle that Acellya had undone. Pressing both thumbs to the offending link, he pressed as hard as he could. Ah satisfaction as the metal slowly gave, closing shut. Beads of sweat running down his forehead, Striker looked out the back of the cart. Seems they're already headed back.

"So, how's this going to work?" Striker catalogued their options aloud, "Well, I'm pretty sure that guard uniform will fit me well... Silas, if you drop her off and take the money, they won't recognize me when I come in. In disguise, y'see. I can smuggle your sword in, Acellya, and when I get a key and open up your door, I'll give you your blade. Maybe if Silas sets up a distraction, like a fire or somethin', we'll catch those guards with their pants down and fight our way out no problem. Silas, you have the cart ready, and we blow out of town!"

After all, how hard could it be to stab a few guards in the back? With the element of surprise on their side, nothing could go wrong! Striker was rather proud of the plan. It was, after all, his first that involved more than two steps. And, the best part was it even had a fallback.

"And if things go wrong, well, we just fight our way in, and fight our way out the hard way."

Genius.

[Fight OH]

Oh My. Was all Acellya could think. What a mess this was. Did the tiger honestly believe he was inconspicuous in a uniform? Oh the thought of the whole thing made her uneasy. If this was the route they were taking she was sure as hell going to make her own plan. Besides, Silas had a plan in his head and it didn’t seem like he was eager to hear her ‘pointers’.

“ It seems to me the two of you have it figured out, and thankyou” Acellya said to Striker, but wondered what it was they were rubbing on their wounds. It was ironic, she thought, that all three of them had been injured in the shoulder. The pain in hers had dulled now, it wasn’t broken like she’s previously thought, rather, abruptly cracked. But! If she’d like to be using her sword she might want it healed too. “ Oh, if you don’t mind. It’d be for the best if I were in top fighting condition too, seems my shoulder is out of sorts as well.” She smiled in Silas’ direction. It was like this woman kept taking and taking but was showing no sign of repayment. Was she really worth it? At this point, it didn’t seem like it.

[Silas]

Silas smiled a bit, looking to Striker. "Sounds like that plan needs a little ironing out," he said, looking to Acellya. He gave her a look that basically told her not to fear. He had a better plan up his sleeve, though it would invole Striker going into the place in a guard suit. He took the jar of salve from the cat-man once he was done with it and handed it to Acellya. "Take, take, take. I really hope I'm not making a mistake by letting you keep your freedom." He tried to take the edge out of his voice. He meant this as a joke, and tried to show it in his tone, but he was still less than happy with her.

The cart started to move, and all Silas could think about was how he was going to get this to work. Would just letting Striker take care of the gaurds in front work? It would certainly serve as a good distraction, but could he survive it with all limbs intact? Maybe they needed an exit strategy. "So, Striker...tell me how this prison is laid out. You said you've been there, right?" He had to think of a way to get everyone out alive.

The ride to the town was uneventful. They sat mainly in silence, every once in a while discussing bits of the plan. The sun dropped considerably since they left. It now was dropping below the horizon, a smoldering ember on the edge of the darkening sky.

"Striker, you stay with the cart. I'll take her in. Acellya, you're going to just have to sit in the cell for an hour or two before we come get you. We want them to be tired when we strike." He had a nervous feeling about all of this. Would it work? Would it fail miserably?

Such thoughts do no good, he told himself. It was better to think positively. He and Striker would iron out any other details of the plan before they made their move. He looked to the girl again. He still did not trust her farther than he could throw her, but he would have to take a chance. "Do you have anything to add?"

[Striker]

Striker leaned against the cart, watching the crimson sunset sink into the horizon. His shoulder was still giving him hell, but he could overlook it. The jail was a squat brick-and-mortar building that stood a little ways out of town, near the guard’s barracks. Aglow with reds and purples, Striker and the cart waited while the world slowly grew dark.

With widening pupils, the cat-man walked back to the trunk of the traveling medicine show. The uniform was not, in fact, a good fit. It was a little tight across the chest, and a little tight across the back. The helmet sat at an odd angle over his ears, and the pants… well the pants felt quite nice, actually. Maybe he would hold on to those. Slipping the boots on, Striker played with the helmet, wondering if it would be easier to leave it out of the equation, and dreaming of just how much money they would get for Acellya’s head.

[Fight OH]

“ I’m ready whenever you are,” Acellya had remained mostly silent for the ride. She had her own plan to formulate because she had to be honest and say she didn’t trust theirs. It wasn’t that they were going to back stab her, at least she didn’t think so, it was that she didn’t want to rely on what cleverness they had to offer. The rhyme of turning wheels was bothersome at first but after a while became a drone in the back of her mind while she cooked up her ingenious plan.

“ If you don’t show up after an hour you can expect me to start talking,” and by ‘talking’ she meant dropping names. She didn’t trust Silas as far as she could throw him… Striker seemed harmless enough, ironically. She wanted to make sure she had something that would ensure Silas’ end of the plan. If Acellya went down he was going with her. Misery does love the company.

[Silas]

"Acellya, you can stop threatening us with speaking to the authorities," Silas said, sighing a bit. "If it truly came to that, who would believe you, a wanted criminal, over me, a man with a semi-respectable occupation and the one who apprehended you and turned you in?"

The alchemist drove the cart into an alleyway not too far from the prison and climbed down from his perch. "Besides, if I wanted to simply leave you in prison, I wouldn't have to keep up some bullshit ruse of me intending to break you out, now would I?" He looked at his pocket watch for a moment before returning it to its place.

"Remember to look very unhappy," he told her, pulling his knife from his side. He had no intention of hurting her, but as a showman, he knew the power of an image, and Acellya couldn't seem like she was coming willingly. Silas looked to Striker and smiled. "See you soon with a bag of money. Gaurd the cart."

Turning his attention back to the woman, he reached up to help her from the cart. "You shouldn't have to be in there too long. It'll be best to let things settle for a while, though."

[Striker]

Sergeant O'Doule was a well built man, about five foot ten inches standing, his uniform buttoned and tied in perfect military fashion. Leaning back with his feet on the desk, and the back of the chair resting neatly against the wall, O'Doule was the kind of man who would read the newspaper every day, even though all the local printing press had to offer was a single page. From this newspaper, the sergeant looked up, ink from the print clinging to his fingers.

His tobacco pipe was halfway out of his mouth to ask Silas what in the hell he was bothering him with, when he got a better look at Acellya. The man's mind ticked back to earlier that day. The captain was making a lot of fuss. He was waving that picture around, and yelling at everybody. There was a lot of money on the line, too. That much he knew. Stumbling to his feet, the chair he was resting in clattered to the floor as he stood tall.

"Ah, yes! I see you've caught..." Improvise, O'Doule! "...er... the... scarlet theif!" Good work. Grabbing his standard issue guard shortsword, the sergant held it out in front of him like some kind of experiment. "Best keep an eye on that one! She'll slip out from under you quick as a whip!"

What in the hell had the captain been talking about, when he was showing that picture around? Going on about orders from 'the top' again. None of these big-time criminals ever came to Scara Brae. At least, not until today. Grabbing the ring of keys, he walked through the extremely modest criminal housing facility, sporting four jail cells, but one was the drunk tank. Still, O'Doule elected to choose the farthest cell along the hall. You never can tell, with these criminals. Especially when you were trying to ignore eye contact with the captain. Orders from the top.

Refreshingly far from the vomit smell of the official Scara Brae drunk tank, Acellya's cell featured a single, hardwood bed and a bucket. Four stone walls, an earthen floor, and a wooden roof. Scratchings on the wall could provide an archive of the previous tenants, and hours of vulgar reading. And, of course, it wouldn't be a jail cell without a single window, crossed with iron bars.

But it wasn't the drunk tank, which upon further inspection was indeed occupied, no telling if the contents were alive or dead. O'Doule turned the key, and the rusty iron door swung open with a god-forsaken screetch.

"Well, um, scoundrel. In you go."

[Fight OH]

Make it believable. Right.

Acellya played along, letting the Sergeant usher her to the flimsy cell. What a joke. At the last moment, just before she entered, se was sure to cast a glance over her shoulder.

“ You’re awfully brave to be pointing that sword around,” It was all just a lot of fun for her. She knew this man was nervous, she could see it in the way his arm held his sword like it was the only thing separating him and instant death. What rumors had been flying about? Scarlet thief? She’d have to ask around about that one. To startle the man She gave her foot a little stomp and jerked forward as if she might attack.

The Sergeant fumbled with his blade, and practically jumped backwards. “ W-we’ll have none of that!” he finally got his hand to stop trembling and took the blade firmly. “ In with you!”

Acellya took her sweet time getting into the cell, but once she did the barred door slammed quickly behind her. O’ Doule quickly locked the door and took a step back. “ She’s got trick fingers, being a thief and all. Don’t want to stand too close, heh,” he offered a light chuckle. “ she might steal a key!” Really, he just wanted to keep his distance from that cell. He’d heard she’d killed a king. No details were offered but he couldn’t imagine how many royal guards she’d have to get through… Oh the thought made him light headed.

“Well, I thank you men. You’ve done a great service here. Too many thieves out and about. So let’s get you your reward and we’ll all be on our way.” o’Doule was practically laughing on the inside. These suckers had no idea just who they’d turned in. All they knew was she was some petty thief. Hah!

“ Well here it is,” he set the chest upon his small desk. The chest was decently sized, quite a few gold coins could be in there. “ Your reward…,” he eyed them, to see if they’d venture to open it now. Best they didn’t.

Acellya took a seat upon the wooden bed, and wondered how long she should wait before she started pretending to be upset about being locked up. She’d wait for another 15 minutes, then start threatening O’ Doule… yes, that sounded about right.

[Silas]

Silas felt a feeling of victory as he handed over the woman to this gaurd. After the hand-off was made, he returned his knife to it's sheath. "Well, sir, I was just doing my civic duty," he said with a smile. "We cannot have criminals such as her running about, now can we?" He followed the gaurd as he took Acellya to her cell, those green eyes making note of everything about the building.

It looked like the least secure place ever built to house prisoners. He marveled at the shoddily built cells and relatively thin stone walls. If they only had a sturdy battering ram and a few others, there wouldn't even be a need to make use of Silas's plan. The walls would just be broken down and the girl spirited off. "Yes, steal a key, or harm one of you fine gaurds. And that would certainly be unacceptable." Fine gaurds indeed. By the looks of the facilities used by these so-called peacekeepers, he easily understood how the Scourge could gain as much influence as they have. He made sure to take note of where the gaurd kept the keyring, and which key he used to lock the door.

Now came the part he had been waiting for. As he followed O'Doule back down the hallway a smile came to his face as he eagerly awaited the reward. So far so good. Everything was going as planned so far. What a sucker. He had no idea what was going to happen tonight.

"As I said before, sir, I'm just happy to be of help, keeping the streets clean of dangerous criminals such as this vile woman." The reward was in a chest? He couldn't help but lick his lips in excitement. A chest of gold? Maybe it was jewels. Or silver. A chest of silver this size would be quite an award as well.

A leather-gloved hand slid over the tough, rough-hewn wood before he picked up the chest himself. It felt heavy, but that could be just the wood its self. Nothing jingled inside, but the coins could be arranged in a way to make little sound, or maybe they were in a leather bag, or they could even be bars of pure precious metal. His eyes sparkled with delight as his mind whirled with speculation. "Thank you very much, sir. And good luck to you," he said. Of course, the wish of luck was a lie. He was breaking the prisoner out in just a matter of time, and he didn't want Lady Luck to be on the side of the gaurds rather than his own.

Silas turned on his heel and made his way out of the prison door. He had to restrain himself from dancing as he walked to the cart. The thought of simply taking off without that wretched woman ran through his head, but they were quickly dispelled. There was no reason to make himself an enemy who was good with a sword and might get herself out of prison anyway. That was a good way to find himself killed in the night by a very unhappy elven woman. As much as he disliked and distrusted her, and as much as he would have liked to laugh at her as the cell door closed on her forever, such a course of action simply was not intelligent.

The cart was only a block away, but he walked carefully in the dying light. In the direction of the setting sun, there was still some red in the sky, but for the most part it was already night. No one had come around to light the torches, so it took a bit longer for Silas to make his way to the cart again in the muddy, rocky street. When he did, he heaved the chest into the cart, grinning to his partner. "Phase one of the plan is complete. Time to move on to phase two. The escape."

[Striker]

Striker looked up from the helmet. What had started as an attempt to make the iron structure conform to his rather odd features had ended in a very therapeutic exercise in releasing the Cat’s frustration. The helmet, if you could call it that at this point, had been twisted and bent to the point where it was closer to a piece of art far before its time than a piece of armor. Looks like we’re not going with the helmet after all.

“Nice box.” Striker said, “Hope you have someplace in that cart that’s secure.”

Now, Striker knew that Silas was weak, but he certainly wasn’t infirm. The way he almost struggled with the box told Striker all he needed to know. Tonight, they were getting paid.

It was an uncomfortable wait, the thirty minutes he spent watching the horizon consume the sun until all that was left was deep purple light pollution and a fat half-moon. Silas was saying something about going now, but Striker was waiting for a signal.

And there it was. The first star of the night, lit like a merry torch. Striker picked up his halberd, leaving his bow in the cart, and walked calmly into the guardhouse. Just say it like you planned it, and they would be handing the girl over easy.

“You shut up in there! Shut up! You are only making it worse for yourself! When the captain comes back tonight, he’ll have something to say about this, I tell you what!”

The sergeant apparently felt unprepared to deal with the issue of his quarry. In the room, were two other guards, privates by the looks of them, looking at each other and trying not to laugh. All three of them were between Striker and Acellya, but he didn’t have to think like that any more. Not with a plan.

“What… who the hell are you?”

Showtime.

“Sergeant Fletcher reporting for duty, sir! I have come to transfer the prisoner to the capital!”

There was a stony silence as the three guards stared at him.

“We… never sent a request for a transfer.”

Another silence, as Striker considered this.

“This is an order from the capital. This very dangerous criminal must be transferred to… better facilities, before she escapes!”

The return had been sent. The O’Doule considered this.

“Well then, Fletcher, where are your papers?”

“er… There is to be no record of this transfer. Orders from the capital.”

“And if you’re from the capital why are you wearing one of our uniforms?” a nasally voice piped up from the privates.

“Ah… that would be… to keep… the illusion of disguise! No one can know she is going to the capital except members of the guard!”

“Ah, and that would be why it obviously doesn’t fit you?” Weaseling sarcasm, but when Striker looked over both of the privates seemed dead serious. An important skill, when you are at the bottom.

This had started to go awry. Striker looked at the sergeant, as hard as he could possibly look at the man.

“You don’t understand, sir. This woman will escape from these facilities. And she will do it tonight. If you do not let her come with me right now, there will be consequences! Very important people want this woman, and not all of them want her in jail!”

The sergeant put the key ring on the table, “Why?”

Ah, well, that was a good question wasn’t it. Oh well. Might as well tell the story that Acellya had told her.

“That woman is future royalty. A princess. There are very large political—“

Striker was cut off. Waves of laughter crashed against Striker’s attempt to make this work. Both privates and the O’Doule were almost falling over with the humor of it all.

This probably meant they would not let Striker have Acellya.

Which meant that the fury boiling in the pit of Striker’s stomach was about to turn into a backup plan. Swinging the staff end of his halberd with vicious speed, the cracked the sergeant in the side of the head, knocking him clean out of his chair and onto the floor. The whole range of motion required for the strike ripped the shirt he was wearing to tatters. Oh well, it was uncomfortable anyways.

“I’m taking the woman.” Striker said through gritted teeth as the two privates stumbled over each other to grab their swords, “and I dare one of you to try and stop me!”

[Fight OH]

“ Don’t take me back there, oh I couldn’t bear to face such a sentence,” Acellya said half heartedly while reading the interesting messages written by the cell’s previous occupants. Turning her head to the side slightly she read a vertical line. ‘ There is a loose block 3 down and 5 to the left.’ Well you couldn’t be much more specific than that.

“ I’ll kill your when I get out of here..,” She added with no real angry emphasis. Her mind was preoccupied counting the large stone blocks that made up the cell. From the marked block she counted 3 down and 5 to the left. Nudging it with her toe the block gave a little. Well this was wonderful news. She had half a mind to just leave right then, but the diversion came.

Acellya heard the guards stop their bickering That meant Striker must have arrived, and by their skeptical words, she didn’t have to even look in the general direction to know that the uniform most definitely did not fit the tiger. Suddenly she became extremely grateful for that loose block. A sigh escaped her lips, knowing full well this was going to be a disaster. Now it was all a matter of waiting to see how big of a disaster.


“ Get him!” the remaining guards in the small jail house rushed Striker, their sword awkwardly swinging for flesh, hopefully not their own comrades. All the commotion from inside caught the attention of those outside, and before anyone knew it, the jail house was like a picture out of “Where’s Waldo”. Chaos. Sheer chaos.

[Silas]

Silas waited around the corner as he listened to Striker converse with the gaurds. Acellya's sword was hidden under his black frock coat, slipped into his belt for safekeeping. He couldn't help but smile and keep himself from laughing. It was probably a cruel trick to play on the cat-man, but right before he went in, Silas responded to Striker's misgivings about the uniform by saying that he looked fantastic. Well, he'd be fine. They'd see that he wasn't really a gaurd, then kick him out. Right?

The bottle of invisibility potion was drawn from Silas's leather satchel. He looked at it carefully, trying to figure out what dosage he should take. The whole bottle would give him two full minutes of invisibility. However, he had to take into account how long he'd actually need to be invisible, and if he might need the potion later on. If things went sour, it was always a good thing to have an escape plan. How long would it take him to run in and free the girl anyway? He'd just sneak in, snatch the keys, rush down the hall to the girl, unlock her, hand her the sword, and run out. It seemed like an in-and-out job. Simple, short, and sweet. So, one minute of invisibility it was, then.

Silas held up the glass bottle again to make a mental measurement, since he'd just have to drink it straight from the bottle. He closed his eyes and sighed. The taste was going to be horrible. It was horrible when he first made it, and it'll still be horrible, even after he tried to mask the taste for this batch.

One eye opened and looked at the bottle for a moment, as he mentally prepared for the vile taste. He heard the conversation inside begin to go down hill. It was now or never. The mouth of the bottle was pressed to his lips and his eyes closed tight. The thought of vomiting crossed his mind when the greasy fluid first passed over his tongue, but he grabbed hold of his nose with two fingers to keep him from tasting anything as he gulped down the dose.

A scowl twisted his features when he finished that final gulp. He looked to the bottle that he had taken the drink out of to make sure he had taken the right dosage, and then corked the bottle and slid it into his satchel. The potion took a moment to take effect. It first had to be absorbed into the blood stream, which took about as much time as a shot of liquor, which for Silas was not too long. He waited a moment before looking down at his non-gloved hand. The fingertips began to fade away, then the effect began to climb up the arm. The clothing didn't disappear at first, but after a moment the cloth followed suit. Once the effect had enveloped his whole body, the countdown began inside his head.

One...
Two...
Three...

The invisible man began to make his way towards the door of the prison, trying to keep himself from making noise. He walked slowly to soften his footsteps. When he neared the enterance, he could hear a tearing sound, and then the smashing of floorboards. The plan was not working as well as he had hoped.

Eight...
Nine...
Ten...

He finally reached the door and leaned over, looking into the front area where Striker had been speaking with the gaurds. His transparent eyes widened when he saw the cat-man battling the pair of gaurds stationed there. The two human warriors were armed only with short swords and bucklers, no match for Striker's vicious halberd, but the invisible man had gotten there just in time to see what the racket of their combat brought. Gaurds, from every side. This was bad. A flood of gaurds poured into the place and he lost track of the one who had the keys.

Thirteen...
Fourteen...
Fifteen...

This was bad. This was very bad. Silas slipped into the room behind one of the gaurds from the garrison. For a moment or two, he simply stood there, hunched over as if he were trying to hide from view, trying to think of a plan of action. Where was the man with the keys? Somewhere in that pig-pile. "Shit," he mouthed soundlessly. Well, he'd have to do something.

Twenty....
Twenty one...
Twenty two...

He slipped in between two soldiers, making use of a gap so that he could begin his search for the keys. Why had he not expected Striker to start breaking things? He should have simply told Striker that he was going to use him as a diversion so that he could slip in invisible. Maybe then he wouldn't have thought it was his sole duty to smash everything in his way to get to the girl. But if he did that, Striker wouldn't agree to it because he'd be in direct danger. Oh well, it didn't matter now anyway. He'd tell Striker after this that he was sticking to the plan, but when he saw Striker in trouble, he had to act. Yeah, that sounded good.

Twenty eight...
Twenty nine...
Thirty...

Why was he thinking of that? He should be focusing on the keys. Of course, it was hard to find the keys among a bunch of guys who look the same. It was like, to use an overused phrase, looking for a needle in a haystack. He tried, but it was very difficult. People were being knocked about and pushed and shoved and moving about. An armored foot came down on his boot, making him bite down on his own lip to keep from squeeling out in pain.

Fourty-two...
wait, or was that thirty two...
am I in the thirties yet...?
oh bother...

Lady luck smiled on him when the people around Striker were knocked clean across the room. He couldn't see the halbred-wielding brigand with all the gaurds in his view, but he assumed that he was the cause of it. He tried to slip through the soldiers, but through the commotion he ended up having to push a few on his way to check the men who had been in the center of the battle. The guys with the keys would be wouldn't they?

...thirty...?
I think it's thirty...
no, twenty seven...
okay...
twenty seven...
twenty six...
...bloody hell, wrong way...
Twenty eight...
twenty nine...


"What's that stench?" he heard one gaurd mutter as Silas slid between him and the man in front of him. Silas wondered what he could be talking about for a second. Could he still reak of the smoke bomb? He couldn't smell it on himself. "Uhg! Benjamin, did you fart?" exclaimed another. The one named Benjamin took his concentration off the task at hand and looked to the nasally offended one, insulted by the remark.

"What the hell does it matter, Horace? Can't you see we're havin' problems 'ere?"

"All I'm sayin' is that it smells like rat piss, an' it's comin' from your direction."

"I oughta break your sodding face, private," said Benjamin as he turned around to try and find a way into the action.

Thirty three...
thirty four...
This doesn't seem right...

Silas could see the keys on the gaurd's belt as he was standing up from the assault. He began to make his way over to the man, but another group was thrown across the room, one man flying into the invisible Silas and knocking him down. He wasn't pinned down by the man, just knocked on his ass, so he slid his leg out from under the man's arm quickly and started to crawl towards the gaurd with the keys.

"Break my face, Ben?" Horace said, pulling the man's shoulder so that they faced each other again.

"Yeah. Didn't ya heat me straight, Horace? Your sodding, ugly face." Benjamin did not seem to be in good spirits. He shoved Horace and tried to go back to the fight in front of him. Horace had another idea.

"Not if I break yours first!" the angered and insulted gaurdsman barked, throwing down his sword in favor of using his gauntleted fist to strike Benjamin in the back of his helmeted head. And so, another commotion began.

When did I start counting...?
Was it at the door...?
Or was it when I finished the dose...?
No, no, it's at thirty-five seconds...
thirty six...
thirty seven...

As the fight between the gaurds grew to involve several of the gaurds that couldn't get a blow into the fight with Striker, Striker was still knocking men around the room. Silas, now on his feet again, made his way up to the gaurd that carried the keys, dodging bodies as he went. The man wasn't paying attention to the fight between Horace and Benjamin, he was headed straight for the center of it all, Striker. It was easy for Silas to move up behind the man without getting heard amid all the noise of combat, and in a few quick steps the invisible man had snagged the keys from the gaurd's belt.

Fourty...
Fourty one...
Fourty two...

The alchemist grinned as he looked at the ring of keys held in his gloved hand. He began to sneak into the hallway as quickly as possible, but it was odd. Men were looking in his direction, some bewildered, some shocked, others confused. Silas stopped and looked around him, trying to find the cause of it. He then looked back to his hand, then to the men, then to his boots, then to the men. And then, realization struck him. His mouth fell open, and he was too shocked to form a word, or even a proper cry or scream, so all that came out was the squeek of a choked rodent.

One bewildered gaurd opened his mouth to speak. "...Who'n th' bloody 'ell are you?"

[Striker]

“Silas, what the hell are you-“

The speech was cut short as Striker was. One of the privates had worked up the snuff to take a hack at his adversary, raking the tip across his back. Roaring with pain, Striker turned on him, flashing his halberd to strike him down. From the back, however, O’Doule brought his favorite chair down as hard as he could across Striker’s back. The chair did not break. Striker, on the other hand…

As the world came back into focus, Striker realized that he was on the floor. Pushing himself to his feet, one of the guards aimed a kick at his side. It landed, but Striker grabbed it, clamoring to his feet. Armed with the private’s leg, he pushed the man into his two compatriots, forcing them into the corner. His halberd was gone. Time to improvise. Staring at the guards, he reached over the desk and grabbed a small statue keeping papers from blowing away.

Striker made a few test swings with the statue, some sort of king carved out of polished black stone. The cornered guards did likewise, testing the idea of pushing forward. Finally, Striker broke the pause, pounding the sergeant on the forehead with the edge of the king’s dias.

The remaining three guards pushed him back, sending him toppling backwards over the desk. Scrambling to his feet once more he was introduced to a leather boot. The kick to his face made his teeth wiggle a little. Vision blurred, he swung the statue about. It did little to keep the guards from their bludgeoning descent.

While the two privates continued to work on Striker, the sergeant walked to the cell across the drunk tank, opening it wide for a still fighting striker to be tossed in, bearing the paper weight statue.

Turning to Silas, the guard sergeant pointed the tip of his blade to the potion salesman’s neck.

“You’re getting into that cell there,” voice tinged with fury, he pointed to the cell across from Acellya, “or I’ll slit your throat here and now.”

“I’ll kill you all!” Striker offered, still dazed on the earthen floor of his cell.

[Fight OH]

Out of curiosity Acellya took up the far end of her cell near the bars so she could get a look at what was going on. What brought this about was the sound of Silas’ voice. Wasn’t he supposed to not be heard? She had to squint her eyes to be sure of what she was seeing. Silas appearing out of thin air. Invisibility? Well not anymore

“ Good going,” Acellya said, now leaning on the bars, It was almost sad to see her rescuers be so rudely tossed and pushed into their own cells.

“ keep your mouth shut!” One of the men helping the Sergeant usher Silas in gave a donkey kick to Acellya’s bars. Her eyebrows hardened in irritation, but she backed up from the bars anyways.

“ Yes, sir,” she overpowered her scowl with the calm and sly expression that usually sat upon her face. Now it was all a matter of waiting. Waiting until the guards got drunk or tired. She could wait. Lounging on the wooden bed as comfortable as one could lounge, she began fiddling with the chain link Striker had reattached on her cuffs. Once broken always broken.

[Silas]

The plan had failed. If there had only been those gaurds, there would have been no problem. Silas could have killed him while shrouded from view, but with the amount that showed up from the garrison it would be impossible to slit all of their throats. Where did that garrison come from, anyway? He didn't even notice it. How could he? There should be a huge, brightly painted sign saying "GARRISON, RIGHT HERE. IT'S FULL OF SOLDIERS, STUPID!" But there was no sign, and so that huge factor did not come into the equation. That's probably why the whole equation crashed and burned, and why he was now sitting in a dank cell with a broken nose, a bruised jaw, an aching stomach, throbbing kidneys, a few jumbled up vertebrae, and a few cracked ribs.

After the shocked gaurds dispelled their bewilderment at a man appearing right in the middle of their fight, they were rather unhappy with him. Horace and Benjamin found the source of the smell and took out their anger at each other on the majority of Silas's torso. The brutes tossed him around, taking turns on him. Ben punched him in in the nose, Horace in the jaw, and then they took turns with his stomach. One held Silas up while the other went to town. When they got tired with that, they let him drop to the ground and started kicking him, one in front and one in back.

They only stopped the beating when the commander came in to see what was going on. Silas heard a few gaurds mutter to each other about how he was always impossible to wake up at this hour. And so instead of being beaten to death, the unfortunate alchemist was locked in shackles and thrown in prison. Prison! A dirty, disgusting, wet, rat-infested...wait a minute...wet? What am I laying in? He rolled over onto the dryer stone and sniffed at the puddle. It was just what he feared. Urine. He couldn't make any sound but a groan of agony and dispair.

Slowly, he began to recover. He had never recieved such a severe beating in his life. And now his knife was gone, Acellya's sword was gone, and he was locked up in a cage for trying to break a wanted fellon out of the adjacent cell. And why did they do that? Why did they have to put them in cells across from each other? Why did he have to be forced to look at the reason for his failure?

It was such a cruel way to imprison a man. He was beaten, humiliated, tossed in piss, locked up like a beast, and to top it all off the only thing to look at was the girl that brought him to his downfall. It was such a short criminal career. Of course, he could also see into Striker's cell, but the cat had done nothing to torment him. In fact, if anything, Silas should feel guilt when looking at the man. He dragged him into this. But, he'd rather feel anger than sadness and guilt, so he kept his eyes off Striker. "I should've just left you to rot in here," Silas muttered, glancing to Acellya as he pulled himself up to his bed.

[Striker]

A kind of rythmic thudding came from Striker's cell. Like a metronome, consisting of a wet, packing noise. Striker's pupils were dialated, his mouth hung open, and his shoulder wound had re-opened in the fight. His face looked like a modern art masterpeice. He was numb all over.

He looked at the wall. Blood. He looked at his hands. Also blood. Growling, he started punching the wall again.

But then, Striker wasn't punching the wall. Striker was punching a lot of people. The guards, of course, who had brought him down was a major theme but on a certain level, he was punching himself. This wasn't as well thought out as a kind of pennance, but it certainly passed the time as the last threads of purple sunset died into a starry night.

In a few hours, Striker would wake up. And when that happened he might be prepared for the acid of frustration that would build up in his gut, almost burning its way out of him. He would be ready to be furious with Acellya, furious with Silas, and furious with himself. He would be ready to start thinking again.

But not yet. Right now, all he was prepared to do was punch the wall.

A voice directly behind him, from the cell reeking of vomit, offered a gargly laugh. "Keepidup, cat. Yu'l be oudda heah in now." Retch. Sounds like he passed out. More importantly, it didn't sound like he stayed conscious.

Darts of light shot up Striker's left arm as soon as it made contact with the wall again. Falling to the disturbingly biological earthen floor, he clutched his fist, leaning his face against the stone. Nursing his limp fist in his hand, he pulled back with the right, and punched the wall as hard as he could. It grazed off, harmlessly.

Embraced by cool stone, Striker began to doze...

[Fight OH]

Acellya looked to be just lunging directly across from Silas with a small smile on her face. The smile could be taken as mocking, especially coming from her. But behind her back her slender fingers had already began working the broken chain link apart. The metal was already weak from Striker’s bending, it wouldn’t take as much to bend it again.
All the while she worked on the links she listened to Striker’s pounding on the wall between their cell. If he kept it up they may be in the same cell.

“ I’ll bet you’re angry with me, now, aren’t you?” she said across the way to Silas. It was more rhetorical than anything. “ … That’s fine, it’s to be expected. Afterall it’s my fault your plan went horribly awry.”

The link was almost there… just a little while longer…

[Silas]

"No, no, you weren't the reason the plan went wrong. That army that came in was the reason the plan went wrong. You are the reason I'm in this mess to begin with. I've been punched in the nose twice today because of you, and now I think it's broken." He took his nose between his fingers and tried to put it straight again. There was a pop, then a gush of blood, and his eyes welled up with tears that he quickly blinked away. "That...hurt..." he whispered.

He returned his attention to her once more, putting his left hand under his nose. "If you hadn't used us to save your own ass, we wouldn't be in this mess. You would, and you alone. Hell, the only reason I did this was to keep from gaining an enemy. I've done my best over the years to keep myself from getting murdered, and if you got out of jail, which, by the looks of this wretched place, would only take a sturdy battering ram or a well used spoon, you'd come after the man who put you there. Me." he sighed and laid down. "So, it wasn't the grandest of plans. You sure weren't offering anything to improve it, so don't you bitch about it. Now we're all in jail, stuck here."

He sighed, rolling over to look at the wall. "Striker...I'm sorry." He punched the wall, immediately feeling the burning pain in his arm flare up as the sores were irritated. He wished they didn't take his bottle pain medicine. "Ow! Dammit...why didn't I just take the money?"

[Striker]

Striker's ears pricked up at the sound of his name. "We ain't done yet" he said, the world draining into his consciousness. He stared at his work. It felt like the wall had bulged under his blows, and the blood left from his knuckles had a rorscharch pattern to it. He shook his left hand. It did not appreciate the attention.

Striker sat on his wooden bed, sitting upright as best he could. The drunk across from him rolled over. While he murmured, Striker ran up to the cage, practically forcing his way through. In drunken half-tones, the wretch regaled him with tales of his swordsmanship. Poorly concieved poetical waxings. His former life as nobility.

"Who would have thought that I, Swordmaster Nelson, would be so abandoned by my men?" Another fit of dry heaves. Unconsciousness.

Striker sat down. Peals of laughter rolled over him as he fell back on his bed. At least one thing had gone right with the world...

...Striker was holding out for two.

Still semi-conscious, Striker leapt up and started feeling the individual bricks of the wall, in a hope that he had loosened one. Even if it only got him into the woman's cell, well, there was a chance that she really could escape tonight, just like he said.

"We'll have time to despair when they have our heads in a noose! There's still work to be done. There's a lot of money waiting for us out there, and tonight we're gonna earn it!"

[Fight OH]

“ True, true, true. Except for the part about me coming after you,” Acellya couldn’t help but chuckle. “ It wouldn’t be worth my time. Had I known that was your motivation maybe I would have just saved you some aggravation.” She waited to see the steam start shooting out of Silas’ ears.

To Striker she responded. “ It’s best not to speak so loudly about your intentions to escape,” she admired his perseverance but wanted him to be sure to keep it to himself in this case. After all, 4 guards on duty were left inside the jail house, all sitting around the single desk.

“ Better make a final round before we drink.” One of the guards, the one who didn’t have the alcohol in his hand, made a brisk walk past the cells, briefly glancing over the prisoners like they were uninteresting zoo animals. He was eager to get back to the desk where he’d be poured his fair share of whiskey. Acellya was sure to smile her nicest, causing him to stop for a moment. Still weary of her, he only scowled and continued back up to the front.

At the back of the jail house Acellya heard liquid pouring. It’d only be a little while longer now. In the mean time. She pulled the weak links apart and rolled her shoulders, “ How uncomfortable… You two should get some rest,” she said as if she cared. The point was if their eyes were shut there wouldn’t be any worry about reactions of surprise when she crawled out of there. She doubted they’d sleep. Oh well.

An hour later Acellya could hear drunken banter and laughter coming from the front. Good. Standing from the hard wood bed she stretched her arms upwards, and rolled her head. She was feeling rather stiff from sitting still for long. With a small relieved sigh she went back to the stone she’d been reading earlier. Three down, five left. Both her hands ssed against the cool stone and began pushing. It didn’t take too much strength to get it to budge and then slide right out.

“ Shhh,” Acellya placed a finger to her lips towards Silas. She didn’t want him making a big commotion. Hopefully he realized that if he ruined it for her, none of them were getting out. At least this way there was a sliver of a chance she may come back for them.

The space was just big enough for her to squeeze through without too much difficulty, which made her wonder who could have possibly used this exit before herself. Outside was wonderful. Fresh air, cool breeze, starry sky. Maybe she’d take a stroll…


“ And then… And then the guy says ‘ You’re not Sergeant Calib!’” There was another eruption of drunken guffawing that echoed back into the 4 cells. This continued for about two more hours before snoring replaced the laughter. All but one. He had an urge to relieve himself and a terrible itch on his hind quarters. Stumbling, half asleep and all drunk he managed to make it outside. Picking a spot just outside the jail house he prepared to unzip his pants, but never really got the chance.
“ Do you know why women go to the restroom in flocks?” Acellya’s hands placed themselves no either side of the guard’s head. He could hardly react to the whispered voice before his neck snapped, and he fell loose, like a rag doll. Holding up her hands and stepping back out of the fallen man’s way she raised her eyebrows.

“ Keys?” Acellya’s head tilted slightly right when she saw a metal ring twinkling in the moonlight. Upon closer inspection Acellya discovered It was the very keys she was about to kill the other three guards for. Trouble saved. However, she’d have to be quiet, 3 other men were sleeping, and she’d have to pass them. First, she made sure to disarm the dead body, she may need the weapon, just in case. But what a flimsy little rapier it was. She preferred something more intimate for this case. There was a small dagger, hidden in the breast of his uniform jacket. That would do.

Her boots touched the ground lightly pass the desk where two men lay face down. The third had his chin down on his chest, how uncomfortable. Past the sleeping guards were the cells that held three men. Two of which she had business with.

Striker’s cell was closer so she stopped there first. “ Psst, Tiger,” Key in one hand dagger in the other she shifted weight to her left leg, and cast a glance over her shoulder at Silas’ cell, he’d be able to see her from there. “ Did you get rest like I told you?”

[Silas]

When the gaurd made his rounds, Silas made sure to have an extra sour face on, just for him. The man glared and smacked his short wooden club against the bars of the cell. "Don't make me break th' rest o' yer face, ya bastard!" the gaurd barked. "Drink piss!" Silas replied. The gaurd kicked the bars hard and walked away again.

"Yeah. Sleep. I'll sleep great while I bleed internally," he said in an acid tone to Acellya's suggestion. He rolled over and looked to her as he said it. "I'll sleep with my broken nose, my broken ribs, my battered spine, and my battered stomach. And my kidneys are killing me...Hey, what're you doing?" He saw her messing with one of the stones and was obviously interested.

When she turned and gave him the shush, he quit talking, mainly to see what she was going to do. He watched as the rock gave way, and his eyes widened, his mouth dropped, and he looked like he was silently stuttering in surprise. He pointed and half stood up before the pain of his tormented body forced him to fall back down onto the wooden plank that served as a bed.

Silas's first urge when he saw Acellya prying the rock from the wall was to yell for the gaurds, just to piss her off. But why do that? If Striker kept up his attempt to break open the wall, he'd probably either batter himself into a coma or knock himself dead, and neither was a positive outcome. If Acellya escaped, maybe she'd come back for them.

Would she? No, Silas didn't think she would. She'd escape, then find her way to the cart ant steal that, then she'd ride off with his hopes, dreams, and two containers of cash. However, there was a chance that she could come back and save them, in the kindness of her heart. This depended both on her heart actually existing and on the idea that it would have some amount of kindness inside of it rather than solid ice, and that could not be proven. So, Silas simply had to hope that she would return. He looked to Striker with a glint of nervousness in his eyes.

The moments after that seemed to stretch out like an eternity. After a few minutes of infinite waiting, thinking nothing but nervous and pessimistic thoughts, he heard a body fall with a fleshy thud outside. It wasn't a loud noise, but when you were listening for your savior, you'd pick up anything. It wasn't long before a figure passed through the darkness of the prison, light reflecting off the dagger and keys in her hands. He heaved a sigh of relief as quietly as possible and smiled to her. She did have a spot of kindness in her heart after all.

"Fifth key, with the keyhole shape etched into the side of it," he gently whispered. He didn't want her wasting precious time on hunting for the right key. One thing that he noticed as he was dragged into his cell was that their doors were all locked with the same key. The others, he assumed, were for other locations in the facility, such as the armory.

[Striker]

Striker looked up from the wall at Acellya, more than a little dumbfounded. From his vantage point, all he’d been able to see was Silas acting weird but that wasn’t a new concept in the least. And now, here she was. Outside her cell. With keys, presumably to let him outside his cell. Striker hadn’t heard of irony, but he did get the joke. Grinning, he slowly pushed the gate open.

“They hid our weapons,” he fought to keep his voice under his breath with the excitement of their second prison break of the evening, “I don’t know where, but we have to move quickly.”

Briefly, he considered taking Acellya’s blade. But no. He could make himself useful without. Cracking his knuckles, he looked at the sleeping trio huddled around the desk, waiting for the signal to become useful again.

[Fight OH]

“ You have to move quickly, you mean.” Acellya pulled the key out of Striker’s cell door. “ If I recall correctly my sword is sitting in your cart.” She opened Silas’ cell next, resisting the urge to taunt him. There wasn’t any time for it, as fun as it would have been. It would be much easier if they just got out before the guards-

“ ‘Ey, what’re you doin’ out of yer cells?” demanded a guard, his beady eyes squinted and his lips heavy from all the alcohol. He’d walked right on past Striker and was now standing between the tiger and his two partners in crime.

“…,” Acellya’s blue eyes darted from Silas to Striker then to the guard. “ You mean, what are you doing in our cell?” If he was drunk enough it’d throw him off. And it did. Taken aback by the sudden epiphany that he could in fact be in the criminal’s cell the guard looked from left to right to verify it.

Meanwhile Acellya silently motioned for Striker to knock the man over the head. Quiet was the best way to go, no need for a big bloody mess.

[Silas]

Silas felt a rush of joy when he heard the key slide into the lock, the poorly greased lock turning with a slight metallic creak, and the bolt sliding open with a snap. That was the mechanical sound of sweet freedom.

He attempted to stand and straighten himself but with all of his myriad injuries, it was difficult to do so without causing pain throughout his body. So, he remained hunched, his arm wrapped around his sides. He took a few steps out of his prison cell and nodded to the woman savior, and his lips parted as if to speak an apology or a "thank you", but the words never came. Instead, there was simply a smile at those lips, a kind of silent appreciation for a job well done.

This was neither the place nor the time to carry her on their shoulders, anyway. This was the time to get the hell out of there. He turned to make his way to the evidence locker, but stopped dead in his tracks when the drunken gaurd staggered into their circle. He blinked once, then twice, stunned that the drunk wasn't trying to really do anything, and then further stunned that he was actually confused by Acellya's words. What a fine bunch of drunks Scara Brae's peacekeepers were. The alchemist shot a look to Striker, and pointed at the gaurd, as if to say "C'mon, do it."

[Striker]

One could argue that Striker didn't even need to be told once. As soon as Acellya had acknowledge the guard, the beast had started stalking over to him. While the existential crisis of the prison-like state of the universe crashed in on his mind, Striker's fist crashed in on his nose.

With a wet pop, the man went down, starting to bawl in the philosophical and literal agony of his situation but a heavy hand fell hard over his mouth. Planting his knee on the man's neck, Striker leaned down with all of his weight and let gravity do the rest.

After the guard finished twitching, Striker looked up. There were still two more. Taking a sticky hand off of the Guard's face, he popped his own neck. Even sleeping, they had found themselves in a very dangerous situation. Like coming between a mother bear and her cub, getting between Striker and his weapon was ill advised.

The blood on his face from the previous fight having just dried, Striker was understandably frustrated. Presented with the situation of two drunk and sleeping men, Striker weighed the dynamic yin and yang of silence and bloody revenge. There was a change, after all, that they could do this without killing them.

Unimportant.

Striker was unfamiliar with the subtlties of sword use. He did, however, know which end was dangerous. Awkwardly, he pulled the iron shortsword out of one guard's sheath. Not trusting himself to do anything fancy, he simply rammed the blade as hard as he could through ribcage, spine, and chair. While his victim stared upward, gasping like a carp on land and clutching at the sudden outcropping that had sprung from his chest, the guard who had so graciously lent Striker the weapon opened his eyes.

The two stared at each other for a moment. Striker knew the second he moved, the guard would scream for help. The guard knew the second he screamed for help, he would be killed. The dynamic chess game of emotion went on for a full five seconds, but seemed to stretch on for years until Striker twitched first. Ripping his blade from a dead man's chest, blood spattered the ceiling as the slick red sword cut a strangled cry short. The cat man hacked a few more times for good measure, and then dropped the blade.

Blood was everywhere. Striker had painted the walls red. It rained red drops on top of a guard's table that had once been covered with documents - now stuck to the table under a crimson wash. Striker himself actually slipped a little bit in the puddles of gore, and he himself was a whole different hue. He wiped his eyes and bathed in the moment. bathed in the moment and vast pints of blood.

Sighing, he regained his focus. Looking to the other two, he grinned toothily. "I don't suppose you'd let me into the drunk's cell too? It turns out I owe that fella a few favors as well."

The drunken Nelson retched again, as the ocean of blood continued to spread.

[Fight OH]

Acellya’s beautiful face flinched at the sight of all the blood. She clenched her teeth together and curled a lip back in disgust. Boy Striker new had to knock a man out. Ugh, the man’s face wasn’t even there anymore. She put a hand over her stomach feeling a wooziness coming on.

“ Here,” She groaned quietly. “ Take the key. I’m going outside for fresh air.” She dangled the key to Silas with her head turned the other way. Already the smell of iron in the blood was reaching her nose.

As quietly as she’d come in, she exited the jail house through the front past the sleeping guards who were one short. No, two short, she reminded herself passing the lifeless corpse she’d created. At least he could be identified. She almost felt pity for the remaining guards, if they weren’t killed tonight they’d wake up to find their comrades dead. But, as disgusted as she was by Striker’s method of rendering unconscious she didn’t feel the slightest tingle up in her spine waiting next to the first guard’s dead body.

It’d only be a matter of time before she’d either see her two escapee partners come hurrying out with arms full of weapons that weren’t theirs but they’d take anyways, or hear some more violent noises that would mean they wouldn’t have to be so quiet anymore.

[Silas]

Silas watched in wide-eyed horror as his partner tore apart all the gaurds in the jailhouse. He felt the bile rise up in his throat, and thought he might add the color of vomit to this modern art piece of gore. The key was taken when offered, but his movements were mechanical, almost automatic. He couldn't take his eyes off of the bloodsoaked room, and his sore-covered arm started to ache and burn.

After a few moments of stunned silence, he regained the use of his limbs and stumbled to the locked door behind where the gaurds once sat. He held up the keyring he had been given and sifted through the keys, trying to find the right one. His hands trembled, but he had to work fast. He tried the first key, and it didn't work. The second didn't help either. He took a deep breath and tried a few more keys. The fifth one was inserted into the lock and twisted, and the lock slid open.

He grabbed onto the metal handle welded to the iron door and pulled it open slowly, trying to minimize the creek of the rusted metal hinges grinding on each other. He considered the door for a moment. Why did it have to be metal? If someone really wanted to get in, they could just ram hard enough against the brittle brick walls surrounding it. However, he didn't have that kind of time, so he just picked up a gas lamp from the blood-drenched table and dove into the dark evidence locker.

Items were tossed out as he found them. He wanted to just grab everything in the place. There was so much. There were bags of gold, likely from extortion. There were all kinds of weapons piled up near the bottles of bloodwine from a bust on a vampire cave. There was everything illegal or crime-linked that one could dream of, and it would all fetch a pretty penny. However, they did not have the time for that. He could only take their confiscated items. He took his bottle of pain medicine off of a shelf that held jars of human hands and, after taking a swig to calm the burning in his arm, hefted Striker's halberd and tossed it through the door.

After picking up his knife and returning it to his belt, he stepped out. "Time to..." he stopped talking and looked to the door that the small army of gaurds poured out of last night. The knob was turning. Silas looked to Striker and yelled the rest of his sentence. "RUN!"

In a moment, he was crashing out of the door with Acellya's weapon in his hands.

[Striker]

Striker caught his halberd, and bit his thumb at the drunk tank. Maybe next time, Nelson. Giving his hated foe one last look, he smashed the lantern illuminating the guard's desk and dashed out the door.

Outside, it was all chaos. Dozens of guards, armed with short swords and lamps on sticks, were flowing out of the barracks like beer from the tap. They were running toward the jail, around the jail away from the jail - it seemed they were convinced that there was some kind of escape plan going down. Striker hurled himself as hard as he could at the cart. They had been blessed - it was still there. It shifted weight rather dramatically as he leapt into the back. The beast waved his arms, ready to help either or both of his comrades get in just a little bit faster. They had some hard travelling to do, and if they didn't start soon the trip would be rather shorter.

[Fight OH]

Acellya cursed loudly. None of this was supposed to happen. What had these guys done? Just a second ago things were going smoothly now she was running as fast as she had earlier, out of a swarm of prison guards. Their escape was to be all accredited to the darkness, since the moon was a new moon that night. If it’d been light enough to actually make one person out from the other they may not have been able to even make it out of the door.

Of course Acellya had been standing outside alone when she saw the guards start pouring out. That meant she had a head start, but the tiger had passed her easily. Damn cat. Acellya’s slender body cut through the air in a wild leap into the back of the cart. She caught on Striker’s good arm, wrapping her left arm around the tiger’s broad shoulder. Once steady in the cart she turned to help Silas in, if he needed it. Which he would, especially with those weapons.

[Silas]

Silas tossed Acellya's sword to her as he leapt into the cart. His eyes were wide, and he kept making small screaming noises which sometimes sounded like half-formed words. He snatched up the reins and snapped the horse into action. The horse was ready to go anyway, as Silas discovered when the animal started to move as soon as he picked up the leather reins. The cart was moving fast from the start, with the horse immediately taking off at a gallop that nearly freed the horse from the cart.

A cloud of dust formed behind them, and the horseless soldiers could only run after them, throwing spears and shooting arrows, most of them missing. A few hit, but were so poorly aimed that they found themselves lodged in the wood rather than the flesh of his companions. All Silas wanted to do was close his eyes tight and wait until everything was over, but that would likely get them all killed, maimed, or re-imprisoned at this point, so he kept those peepers open wide. Wide enough to look like a madman.

"Are they still there? Are they still following?!" he yelled at either one of his companions. He didn't really care who answered, he simply wanted an answer. He took a glance behind the cart himself, and was met with the frightening sight of two armed gaurds galloping after them on horseback. "Ack! That's no good!"

He put his eyes back on the road. He couldn't worry about those guys. Well, he could, and he was, but he couldn't let that keep him from paying attention to what he was doing. He'd let the other to worry about what to do with their aggressors. It was also a good thing that he brought his eyes back to the front, because it was just in time to see the low-hanging branch in the road. "DUCK!" he cried before following his own orders. The gaurd, who was either drunk, half-asleep, or stupid, did not notice the branch, nor did he heed Silas's warning. And so, one agressor was taken care of, knocked right off of his horse.

The other rider, however, did not share his companion's mental difficulties. He dodged the branch, and took the initiative to gallop up beside the cart, poking his spear at the driver. Silas scooted out of the way, batting at the sharp speartip with his bare hand to keep it at bay.

He couldn't take this stress. He was going to snap. He let loose a battle cry and yanked a bottle out of one of the crates in the back. It was labeled "Green Thumb Tonic". He looked at the bottle and his battle cry faded into a groan. What the hell was he going to do with that? Well, he'd have to make do. He wound up and pitched the bottle into the path ahead of the spear slinging rider. A baby tree happened to be growing in a patch of grass, and it grew explosively to trap the rider and take him and his horse into the sky, trapped in the branches of the rapidly growing tree.

Their cart bypassed the tree, and no one else followed. Silas didn't let his horse rest until he could see the sun begin to edge into the horizon again. Now, hours after there had been no pursuit, the high-strung alchemist was able to relax. He changed course, taking the cart into a sparsely wooded area, and parked it. He took a deep breath, let it out, and calmly reached behind him, picking up the seemingly heavy wooden chest.

"Well now, lets see what we were nearly killed for," he said as he opened the clasp locking down the lid. He gently pried the chest open and, in the golden light of the dawn, gazed upon the reward that caused so much blood, sweat, and tears. A few tears formed in Silas's eyes, and a lunatic's laugh began to rise in his throat. The man had finally lost it, and the reason why was inside that chest.

The chest held three gold coins, and two bricks. That was their reward.

[Striker]

Striker hauled the woman in, glancing over his shoulder and hurling little more than obscenities at the guards chasing them as he collapsed on the floor of the cart. A days worth of blood loss was catching up with him, and he found himself curled around his own arm as the knives of pain shot up the hand he'd broken made a savage return. After everything he put into today, he was nothing short of punch-drunk, and high on adrenaline. Looking up at Acellya, he grinned toothy before bursting into short, coughing laughter.

"Some day, huh?" he managed, before sinking into sleep's lovely arms.

When the cart came to an abrupt stop some six hours later, a small box of glass vials fell painfully onto the sleeping cat's tail. Cursing the gods and everything below, Striker lashed out at the box itself until Silas' shocked expression brought the tirade to a standstill.

He was looking into the box. Striker peered around his shoulder, and he himself was transfixed. At some point, Acellya joined them. Time, suddenly, had no meaning, and they stayed transfixed for what felt like hours.

Striker was the first to break free. He laughed harder than he had been swearing just moments ago, loud enough that a flock of formerly sleeping ravens somewhere in the forest took angry flight. His knees gave, and he fell to the floor, rolling in a seizure of genuine merriment. Tears streamed down his eyes as he fought for air. He was like a thing possessed.

Struggling to compose himself, he fought up to the box, under his comrades damning stares. Snatching one of the three filthy gold coins, he stuttered "Well - hahah - well that's my third of the gold, but - agahahaha! But how the hell are we going to split up two bricks among three people!?"

Completely undone by his own joke, Striker fell to the floor again, clutching his single piece of gold in his hand. What a day, what a day. All that work for a bunch of damned flowers and a piece of damned gold.

Oh well. He had gotten his third, and that was more important than how big it actually was.

[Fight OH]

Acellya greedily inspected her sword, making sure nothing had been done to it. She held it like a mother would hold a baby before she resheathed, never feeling more complete. She was sitting on her knees but had to move her legs out from under her to sit flat while the cart took a bumpy ride moving faster than she thought a cart like this could move. From her short time with these two she decided Silas was probably scared enough to keep that cart moving until they were halfway around the world. It was fine by her, she had no where particular to be any time soon.

The tiger man looked a little bit out of shape… well more than a little bit. He also looked unconscious, poor fellow. The cart slowed finally and Silas reached back, taking the chest of their troubles in his hand. Before she could even turn around to join Silas and Striker, who had been rudely awakened, she saw hysterical tears start first on Silas, then on Striker. Acellya dared to peer over the chest’s edge into the box. Three golden coins. Two bricks.

Her new companions laughed like maniacs while she reached in, following Striker’s example, and took her piece. It was good for a meal or two. She pocketed the coin and waited patiently for the men to calm down. She could understand their hysterics, but then again, they’d risked a lot more than she had. Really, she never expected to get paid any amount to rope a few innocent bystanders into breaking her out of jail. In her eyes, she’d made a profit here.

Acellya broke the silence and threw her arms on the back of her new companions. “ You two can have the bricks.”

[Osato]

Introduction: 3
Striker and Silas: You both had a very good intro because of the way you played your characters more then anything. The only thing that brought this down, significantly, was Striker’s rather lackluster first post. Luckily first posts are not the only introductions, especially in a quest this big.
Fight OH: Good intro, interesting and drawing right from the beginning.

Setting: 6
Did you all forget about it? I saw good use of it in the beginning, but towards the end all that came of it was a mentioning of the sunset. But I added a point for references to the Scourge and such, well done with the addition of SB’s current gangs in power.

Strategy: 6
Very good use of both your weapons and the setting in the beginning fight and the fight in the jail

Dialogue: 5

Character: 7
Silas: Very good about keeping your character’s attention on the flowers, especially during the fight. And the fighting bit, slapping and such, that was very well done.
Striker: Your descriptions of how your character acted, what the thought of what was happening, and the like was all very well done.
Fight OH: Good at staying in character

Writing Style: 4
I didn’t see much wrong, but there was nothing particularly impressive with it either. The only thing I noted was that Striker used ‘I’. When writing in a third person POV continue in third, don’t put sentences such as: “I mean, what if they could pull it off?”

Rising Action: 5

Climax: 5

Conclusion: 5
Well done with the reward and whatnot, but very little was given besides that. Where did you three flee? What happened after you split the reward? Anything? The reason your score was higher was because I was intrigued and interested, and want to see where this goes…

Wild Card: 4
Be careful about bunnying each other. I did not see a ‘permission granted’ note and unless I see one I’m a stickler for no bunnying. That’s why I docked the score here.

SCORE: 50

Rewards:
-- Silas bags himself a rapier and upon a closer look it was made of Damascus and not steel and a 50 gold off the dead guards
-- Acellya and Striker collected 200 gold from the dead guards

Silas: 700 exp
Striker: 680 exp
Fight OH: 645 exp

Mod Notes: Ah what a long ass quest! I have to say that I thought it would be bad at first, but it turned out pretty good despite it's length. If you have any questions PM me or IM me. Congrats!

[Thoracis]

Rewards Added!