What is Mine

[Yari Rafanas]

Open - Please see details here. (http://www.althanas.com/world/showthread.php?22717-What-is-Mine-Quest-Recruiting-thread!&p=182696#post182696)

Another rowdy evening in Underwood...

The Peaceful Promenade was as easy-going and enjoyable as ever, home to another weekend celebration for the many adventurers and Watchmen alike. All the rooms were rented out, even the first floor's closet-sized accommodations, and the ale and wine flowed freely amidst the patrons.

It seemed that most of the through traffic remained downstairs in the dining and bar area, so many of the lowest floor's rooms became at risk of drunken interruption at just about any hour. It is a miracle anybody would ever get any sleep when staying in Concordia's most popular tavern. The second floor, however, muted most of the excitement from below, and offered quite a bit more privacy.

Saka, a young man of Akashiman decent, entered one of the quieter suites of the tavern, closing the worn (but polished and clean) door behind him. He took a step forward into the room, before biting his bottom lip in thought and turning back towards the entryway. He gave the brass nob a slow twist, cracking the door just a finger's length, leaving it there for those he hoped would be joining him for the evening.

The youth had short, black hair, slick and neat in appearance. He wore a tan duster coat, cut-off sleeves at the shoulders to reveal tone arms and wrapped wrists that lead into fingerless gloves, the right likes of which was resting on a steel tanto at his side. His light boots made barely-audible taps on the rug-covered floor as he approached the open window at the edge of the room. He leaned casually against the window frame, looking across the activities in the streets of the city, narrow eyes glancing about for any sign of trouble outside the tavern. When your alias in a city is “the Swindler,” you tend to be alert at pretty much any given moment.

Saka would have preferred one of many other titles; the Entrepreneur, the Gambler, or even Underwood's most Underhanded, but it seemed that despite his preference, the Swindler stuck to the thief. He was known for silver-laced conversation and scheming his way into many of the town's pockets, so it was possible that the name was the most appropriate, but he had never quite cared for it. Still, he considered it a bit late to try and redefine himself to the public, especially when he had made such a scene just a few short moments ago.

The conman turned his attention away from the streets and back towards the entrance to his suite, hoping that in only a few moments he would find the men and women who were not dense enough to pass up his invitation. When they entered the room, they would be greeted by a smile from one of Akashima's most-dashing criminals, and hopefully the opportunity of a lifetime.

[Arden]

‘Dashing’ and ‘thief’ were two words Arden Janelle heard far too often. Whilst he was not the most arrogant of men, even his humility waned in the face of the constant attention his providence in the Scara Brae underclass had afforded. In Corone however, and in Underwood, he was as yellow bellied as the rawest street runner, and the opportunity to change that was something he could not let slip through his currently unoccupied fingers.

The Peaceful Promenade was not unknown to the man they called the Silent Swordsman, but it had been many months since he had the chance to frequent its laude frontier. Whilst the taverns the troupe frequented on the island had their certain lurid charm, Underwood was a whole new place to catch someone’s fetid drift. As he turned a corner, torso rippled and muscular and unclothed as usual, he looked up at the evening sky and bade farewell to the clarity of the daylight as it continued to fade away. “<Tonight>” he muttered to himself in an Akashima dialect, “<a new day dawns>.”

He continued towards the tavern’s welcoming entrance and padded up the steps. The busy hubbub of the street behind him died only briefly, before it was replaced with the busy chitter chatter of adventuring scum and underhand games of die cast wit. He immediately felt at home, and stopped in that awkward manner of a newcomer to gaze at the many faces which turned accursedly to greet him. Seeing that he was of no obvious , nor that he was their awaited companion for the darker light of the night, they returned to their sorrowful tankards and cards oblivious.

The invitation he had received was not one the host had delivered, but it had been sent by word of mouth through the small informant network The Scourge operated outside of its jurisdiction. The Master had foreseen the need, one day at least, to keep an eye on their ‘competition’, and it had paid handsomely, or so it seemed. The barkeep, a tall, lanky man with a moustache that could house many a bird attracted Blank’s attention with the customary gesture of ‘raising the glass’, but the swordsmen politely shook his head. He intended to remain lucid to observe the proceedings for once.

With a casual eye, he examined each of the emptier tables for the rumoured indication and settled on a piece of parchment, tattered and worn at the centre of one table to his left. He padded barefoot over to it and read it silently. There was no further need it seemed to enquire with one of the patrons, as the stylised writing was perfectly clear. With a gait that mumbled of class and suave undertones, the swordsmen approached the stairs and ascended into the hospitality levels of the Promenade, bringing to the forefront of his mind’s eye a layout he had remembered on an assignment many a moon ago.

Logistically, Suite Two was one of the front rooms, which meant that whomsoever this ransacking man of good fortune with cards was, he or she had likely seen him approach. Armed with his smile, auburn hair and the twin blades of his office, Arden approached the wooden door at the end of his brief but pleasant journey, and tapped politely on the dead centre. The iron two on the door shook on its rusty nail as he announced his arrival, and the beat of his heart in his chest echoed a reply. The door swung open, and instantly, the familiarity of the Akashiman race sparked between them.

“<Good evening sir, I believe we have a mutual interest to discuss. My name is Arden Janelle, of the Kazumi Tribe.>” He stooped and bowed as was customary as he approached the man that had sent out the rumour, and extended a hand in greeting.

[Yari Rafanas]

Many would not be prone to notice, but there is always a sudden intensity in the air when two Akashiman men meet. Years of tradition compact into only a few short seconds where both would bow, bound by some innate honor woven into their very being, and exchange a greeting. Add this natural tendency with the fact that the two were meeting in a dimly-lit suite about to hatch together a scheme and their air only seemed to get heavier.

The Swindler did not get up from his seat while his smile faded, and he traded his name with the other. “<Welcome, Arden. We do have some important matters to discuss.>” His tone in his natural dialect was serious, lacking the playful spirit tied to his other moniker. Despite this, the smile soon returned and Saka slid from his seat at the window and stepped towards his first recruit. His hand left the small blade at his side and reached out to accept the handshake, and returned it firmly.

“<My name is Saka,>” he paused only briefly before switching back to common tongue, “But around Concordia, you can call me Swindler.”

[Hysteria]

Day and night. The twin personas of the boy thief stood facing opposite directions on the moral compass. One, the child, the youth that put a hand up to help Underwood as it found itself in a most pressing need. Two, the thief and assassin, who lavished in things that were not his to take. The dichotomy of spirit was thanks to the conflict of needs; to walk in the light of day, and stalk in darkness. It would be impossible for such a thing to occur if not for a simple trick. The boy could grow, aging several years and nearly doubling in height. The misdeeds of an adult are not the worries of a child and the youth was shielded from repercussions from his own wrong doings.

The night had come, and Talen, in the shape of a man in his early twenties, sat in the Peaceful Promenade. At night the tavern was a place of secrets and none more guarded theirs more closely than Talen. Upon his face was a white mask of Akashiman design that came down across his face but left a gap over his chin and mouth. Even the mask was barely visible behind the heavy hood that dangled around his face. The cloths of the youth were unnatural, created and maintained of shadows. So was their nature that to try and focus on them made you think they might not exist at all.

From his seat the youth watched the room with care of someone who always knew what was going on around him. The drunken antics of a few thieves and thugs were of no interest, but like a leaf floating down a stream, he was sure he would bump into something interesting. The ripple came in a note, the scrawled invitation of misdoings by one he knew as the Swindler. The name suggested a trap, but Talen had confidence in his abilities to see him clear in such a case. Regardless of how much he believed in himself, prudence dictated that the youth wait for another to take up the offer first.

Such a man came, a man that Talen observed as apparently fond of neither shoes or shirts. It did not matter, what mattered was Talen follow him. The youth stood and walked confidently across the bar and up the stairs to the second level. A flaw became apparent as soon as the man entered the scribed room and spoke in a language the youth didn't know. Akashiman, the thought slightly dipped in acid was a small issue that the youth pushed to the back of his mind.

Talen walked up the hall, pushed open the door and entered. His blue eyes scanned the room out of habit and found nothing amiss. Satisfied, he walked to Saka and offered his hand.

“I'm Shadow.”

[The Soulforged]

"Gods in heaven, I HATE THE AKASHIMAN DIALECT! IT IS NOTHING BUT GOBBLEDYGOOK!" Seed screamed as he did his best to deduce exactly what the characters scribbled on the table actually meant. Ordinarily, such an outburst would draw stares at the very least; accusations of racism at the worst. Thankfully, as the Peaceful Promenade was filled with people like Seed (half-wasted), the scream was mostly unnoticed, saved for one very fat retired soldier who called Seed a "Cheeky Fellow."

Seed ignored this man, and proceeded to continue his translation; drink in hand.

"I know what that squiggly line means, and I'm pretty sure I know what that scribble means, and I'm almost positive I translated that chicken-scratch correctly, but DAMN if this last one isn't a pain in my ass!" Seed angrily kicked the table as he slumped backwards into a nearby chair. He gulped down the remains of his beer, or whatever the hell his drink was, and motioned for a fairly cute barmaid with brown hair to bring him another one. Or was the correct term for the girl waitress?

Nope. It had to be barmaid. That term just seemed more appropriate. Or better yet, how about something else?

"Thanks wench!" The woman rolled her eyes as she walked away.

"What?" Seed asked. "I'm pretty sure I used the word correctly..."

Worker sufficiently harassed, Seed turned his attention back to the task at hand. Getting hammered as quickly as possible. Wait, no, that wasn't it. Getting laid as soon as possible? Closer. Getting paid? About there. Getting paid while getting laid?

Jackpot baby.

Roundabout established, Seed looked back down to the table. He then sighed, wiped away the beer (or whatever it was) he had just spilled, sighed again, sniffed his sleeve, figured it wasn't going to get any worse so it didn't matter that he had just used it to wipe up some sort of liquid, and then desperately wished for a pack of smokes. How he had gotten to such a thought, he wasn’t quite sure, but damn if a cigarette and a woman wouldn't hit the spot right about now.

He shifted his eyes about.

"Hey, how about you and I-" The woman who he had recently called a wench shot him down before he had finished his sentence.

"Not a chance," She muttered as she walked by. Seed waited a good four minutes until she was forced to walk by again.

"You didn't even let me finish. I could have asked you to have ravenous sex with me back behind that barrel."

"That's exactly what I thought."

"No. I bet you thought I was going to ask you to have ravenous sex with me back behind the bar. A barrel's more classy."

Ten minutes later, minutes Seed spent doodling with a pen and paper he had managed to steal from someone, the woman walked by one more time. Pausing slightly as she made to deliver another whiskey to a nearby customer, she eyed Seed cautiously.

"Just how is sex behind a barrel more classy than sex behind a bar?"

"There's a bunch of different alcohols in a bar, most of 'em hard. A barrel only holds one type alcohol. Or are you the type that likes to have a bunch of different hard things in ya?" Seed laughed wildly at his own joke as the woman again rolled her eyes, and again walked away from him. Shrugging, he absentmindedly began to trace his finger across the wooden table. He still hadn't translated that last character.

"I feel I should let you know," The wench (or waitress, whatever you prefer) said in passing eight minutes later, "that that particular barrel only holds a very soft wine. It's not hard at all, and as any girl knows, soft and flabby is no fun at all."

"Ouch. My feelings," Seed frowned, "they are more a mess than this illegible garbage written here."

The waitress leaned over as he held up the scrap of paper. She raised her eyebrows. The corners of her lips formed into a small smile as she gently brushed her hair to the side. Seed had to hand it to the girl, she did have very nice hair. Long and straight, a sort of dark auburn color.

"It's not hard to figure out. It says the same thing in Common right above the Akashiman," She offered helpfully. Seed glared at her.

"Are you sure? Because for all I know it says ‘stabidy-death will await anyone stupid enough to take this offer,’" Seed replied as he began to fold the paper he had been doodling on into a paper airplane. The woman laughed at him; her voice was a bit high-pitched, but fairly pretty nonetheless.

"What's a matter? Scared?” The woman goaded him.

“Actually, I am. I’m not a fan of foreign objects being inserted into my body.”

“Pity,” The waitress chuckled as she walked away. “Every now and then, I kind of like it.”

Seed held up a finger to retort, but his wit completely failed him. What came out was something along the lines of “I, er, that is to say, ah...blarg.”

He then recklessly tossed his paper airplane up into the air, chuckled as it flew around the room, and walked up the stairs. He muttered the numbers of the rooms off as he passed them, until he reached number two.

Yes, this does mean that all Seed did was count to two. That’s it. Nothing more. When he found Suite Number Two, the door was somewhat ajar. As this was what one would call the moment of truth, Seed just decided to do whatever came naturally.

“Excuse me!” Seed shouted as he kicked open the door and walked into the room. “I heard there were boobies here! And money! I want both, and in a very particular order at that.”

He then noticed who occupied the room. Naught but men.

“Aw hell,” Seed muttered as he shook his head. “I did not want man-boobs. God damn Akashimans.”

[Yari Rafanas]

“Shadow,” Saka acknowledged and grasped the hooded figure's hand, momentarily trying to find eyes behind the mask but failing to see beyond the living shadows that covered him. Arden was a surprise, for sure, but Saka's second guest was already an intriguing mystery. The Swindler wondered what was behind the white Akashiman mask, and let this curiosity show in his face. “Not one for putting it all out on the table, I take it? Not a problem. This meeting is less about who we are, and more about what we're going to take. Let me exp--”

The door to the suite crashed open, bringing both noise pollution and an unruly, crimson-haired drunk into the quiet suite. Saka's hand made a swift return to the blade at his side, his eyes darting from the intruder to the hallway outside to ensure that this man hadn't lead an entire squad of the Watchmen's hired hands directly to their meeting ground. No sudden movement just yet. It appears he was alone.
A glance back at the third guest and his vocal disappointment in the current lack of female busts was enough to put Saka's brief paranoia at ease. The recklessness and rowdiness of the red-haired man was either a clever facade or strong alcohol awakening a drunken fool. Either way, the energy would serve a purpose, Saka was sure, and this gave him a strong number to work with.

“Well...” there was a pause as Saka considered just how to lead into his proposal. He was having trouble finding the right words (a rarity for the thief) to follow-up their latest guest, but felt it was an opportune moment to find out just what these men were hoping to hear. If they gave him enough, Swindle knew he could sell them on it.

“We already know what Red here is going to spend his gold on. What about you two?” Saka motioned for the red-haired one to grab the door so that they could all toy over the details with a bit more privacy. “I'm about to lead you three on a stab and grab that you won't soon forget. Assuming none of you fine gentlemen have a problem getting your hands dirty and making a fool out of some Imperials, we can all come out of this ahead, but it's not going to be easy. So if you're expecting something else, let me hear it. Oh, and if you're a bleeding heart for the Rangers, you should probably let me know now.”

[Arden]

Blank remained calm and resolute as the third member of their unholy congregation entered. He took his leave of the man's welcome and stepped to one side, observing the red-haired braggart make a fool of himself. As a professional man, assassin, murderer, guardian and thief, Blank held about himself a cloak of superiority when it came to one's conduct on the job. He sniffed in disdain but took polite leave of the notion of knocking the man down a peg or two.

Each to their own, he mumbled, before closing the door as Saka suggested. The connection of home was a mutually beneficial bond, and the semi-naked swordsman had no intention of testing loyalties so soon in their blossoming arrangement. He had been inflicted with his father's curse and become so comfortable in his mute-hood that any attempts to discourse in a proactive manner would likely fall flat on it's face, so he remained discordant and without emotion.

"Spend?" He raised an eyebrow to the man's question.

He sighed, and leant against the wall to the left of the doorway. He had gone beyond needing money in his life, so the gold would no doubt end up in the slowly regenerating coffers of the Tantalum Troupe. He had taken to charity profession to maintain his true family financially, with the proceeds he made from flattering the desires of the Master and his retained command of Scara Brae's ancient Thieves' Guild he kept Pete, Duffy and Ruby in their proverbial slippers. The equivocal notion of stealing from a thief to give to orphans held a certain honourable charm that gave the bloodshed, butchery and occasional honour killing a silver lining.

"I have no need for the financial reward, though my master will no doubt take kindly to the increment in his pockets. No..." he shook his head with a mournfulness decadence, "I will spend information however. My master," he took great care to reveal no information about the powerful individuals that guided him "would benefit greatly from any distraction and damage inflicted upon the Empire." He uncrossed his arms and took out the dagger he taken from Joshua Cronen.

"The Brotherhood can rest assured that my allegiance to your mission will be without question", he tossed it on to the small dressing table next to the suite's cankerous bed. He hoped now that his connections in Underwood had informed him of Saka's allegiance correctly, otherwise he would have to put into action the 'silence' of his namesake.

[Hysteria]

Talen idly wondered if all people with red hair were as dramatic as the two he found himself with. For a second his mind flicked to Ruby La Roux, the buxom beauty that sometimes graced the Ixian castle with Duffy. The woman conjured in Talen feelings that in his prepubescent mind he was not used to and his face flushed red under his mask. The youth pushed the lustful thought aside and brought his mind back to the present. The thunk of the dagger striking the table made the youth's eyes flick to the semi-naked swordsman.

The Swindler had a point. Talen was probably hiding too much of himself if he was going to work with the others. He lifted his hand to his hood and jerked the cloak up. The material split into a hundred directions before evaporating into nothing. Under his cloak the youth wore a simple black vest and pants, with black wraps around each of his forearms on otherwise bare arms. He carried no weapons or items anywhere on his body. Talen rubbed a hand through his short black hair and peered at the Swindler through his mask. A slight cough indicated he was going to speak before the Swindler could respond to the swordsman.

“What I spend it on depends on how much of it there is.” Talen paused, slightly unused to hearing his deeper voice, “Robbing the Rangers for gold seems unlikely, so tell us what we are actually after. Don't brush over the risks.”

Talen looked around and then flopped down loudly in a seat and swiveled so one of his legs hung over the chair's arm. The youth was quickly losing interest in the mysterious quest and he sensed a trap.

[The Soulforged]

"Don't judge me...Black," Seed muttered as he eyed up the slick-looking fellow who had called this meeting. "I'll have you know that I intend to spend the money on milk and cupcakes."

He then shifted his eyes about slyly.

"Get it? Milk? Cupcakes? It's a metaphor!" He chuckled madly at his own joke, then took time to eye the remaining guests, all of whom looked to be the serious type.

Uh huh. Yep. Bad-ass to my right, Bad-ass to my left, shifty-looking dude to the middle. BORING! Seed thought idly as one man threw a dagger one the table, a dagger that looked irritatingly familiar. Whatever; Seed had one of those too.

"Pssha," Seed fumbled for one of his own throwing knives, eventually finding one strapped inside his worn tunic, the color of which had faded from a bright red to a dark burgundy. He then tossed it (more or less accurately) next to the recently thrown dagger. "I can do that too! But I don't haven't any cool speeches about Brothers in the Hood, or whatever, to go with it. Sorry. I do know a couple of good dumb blonde jokes though? Eh? Anyone?"

It was at this the remaining man in the room chose to disintegrate his cloak.

"Ehhhh...." Seed muttered as he scratched the right side of his face a bit nervously. "I got nothing on that though. Pretty neat trick there Sport. Just promise me you won't do an encore of it with your pants. Otherwise I'm out, cupcakes or no."

Then, deciding that the clothing destroyer had the right idea (minus the destroying of the clothes, that just seemed expensive), Seed hooked his foot around a nearby chair and pulled it over. With less grace than a hippopotamus (not the most graceful of creatures), he then flopped down into said chair.

"Aw, you can brush over the risks though," Seed offered as he waited for the explanation that was no doubt coming. "I don't want you to strain your voice or anything. That's bad manners...like throwing knives into some other guy's table. Er...I'm gonna go pick mine up now..."

[Yari Rafanas]

“Excellent, then let's get to it.”

The Swindler looked pleased to have everybody's full attention and cooperation. This was not to say that he had their full trust, nor did he feel he could rely on any one of them. As any self-respecting thief would know, there was a certain mixture of faith and paranoia that went into assembling a group with such haste and with such a broad invitation, but orders from on high demanded it happen tonight, and no way was Swindle going alone.

“I'm glad we're all showing off our knives. That's the perfect place to start,” the organizer pulled his tanto into view. It was of simple design, steel, and very clean. The thief held it so that the base of the blade was visible to all in the room, a dirty thumb pointing to the small symbol carved into the metal. “Arden is not misinformed. I am a member of the Bandit Brotherhood, and for quite some time I have served as one of the group's primary informants. Make no mistake, joining me tonight is going to carry its associations, but I think the prize is worth it.”

The blade was put to rest at Swindle's side, replaced by a scroll of fine paper and a recently broken seal. He kept it rolled in his hand, but waved it about as he explained its importance. “Some drunken scout of the Watch failed to hold onto some rather interesting reports on their Imperial enemies during a game of dice... rigged in my favor, of course. When I shared the details here with my boss, he knew we had to act, so here's the bare bones of it all...”

“The Empire is gaining ground in Concordia, and in their relentless quest for territory and resources they have unearthed a series of caves I had hoped would remain buried forever. They were obviously ignorant at first, thinking nothing more than turning the discovery into a mining operation, but as they dug deeper, they began to discover treasures and relics nobody has even heard of! But here's the most important part.”

Saka removed Arden's knife from the table and gave it an obviously-friendly toss towards the Akashiman owner. The scroll quickly unrolled in the blade's place, revealing a sketch of a sphere in the center of the paper. It was shaded to give detail to the oddly proportioned holes that riddled its surface, looking almost as if it fell from the sky and was later encased in straps of twisted metals, complete with an odd mechanical device near the top.

“Before you ask, we don't know what it is... but when I told the boss about it, he looked more serious than ever when he told me he needed to get it away from them. We have to act soon, as the papers say that they're sending an armored wagon to pick it up. They'll approach the mining camp from Radasanth probably around dawn. I'm no strategist, but I think our best bet is to intercept the wagon, pose as the guard, and get into the camp that way.”

Slanted eyes scanned the three mercenaries before him, and Swindler (in hopes he had not lost their lust for the prize) gave a polite grin with his reminder, “But if you three have any better ideas on how to secure your prizes, well... be my guest!”

[Arden]

Blank caught the dagger and with the same extension of his arm, tucked it back into his belt. His offer, clearly having solidified them with some small degree of trust had worked, and the lanky swordsman started to relax. As the Swindler unrolled the scroll he stepped closer to inspect the depiction of the item they were to acquire. Many things jumped to mind, but none gave any definite answers or spoke clear enough to venture a guess.

He listened to the man’s plan and nodded in agreement. Subterfuge would be a better tool for the group than direct application of brute force. “Better ideas good sirs are always in the eye of the beholder. Since this is your information Saka, and your employer’s providence we are to benefit from, the modus operandi is yours to dictate.”

Blank stroked his chin for a moment in solemn contemplation. The device on top of the sphere almost seemed mechanical, which suggested intelligence beyond the ancient and magical origin of the orb it was attached to. The strange nature of their task stood in stark contrast to the simple but well-kept surroundings they had gathered in. The stench of alcohol from the fellow red-head and the manure and cold air from the open window lulled him into a false sense of normality.

He heard the creak out on the landing a few seconds before the door burst open, and had already made to draw his curved, single-edged blade before two armed men barged into the suite. The hubbub threw up a pall of noise, confusion and shouting, but Blank did not need to read beyond the obvious signs to see their meeting had been compromised. These individuals bore the uniforms of the Watch, and thus, the emblems of his new-found enemy.

“Everyone, get out the window and away to the woods!” He roared with his simple heavy stone common accent, which boomed through the chamber as his naked feet padded over the dusty carpet. He had inspected the building’s exterior before entering to meet with the Brotherhood connection, and knew the balcony outside suite two had a wide rim and many vantage points, as well as easy and traversable drainpipes and crate stacks to make their escape.

The Rheilhand rose in a dual handed grip and cut through the first man’s guard with ease. It split him from his battered groin plate to the centre of his chest, and gobbets of blood splattered up Blank’s torso and up the door frame immediately behind. The crack of bone and cut of tanned leather echoed along with it. The watchmen sputtered through the blood on his tongue before slumping lifelessly to the floor. The cold unsheathing of the blade that had taken many lives from its warm blooded scabbard struck horror onto the remaining watchmen’s face. The sound of boots shuddering up the tavern's stairs bounced through the doorway. There would not be one lone watch men for long...

Blank levelled a mean glare onto the man’s blade, challenging him to drop it, flee, or dare to strike him. He listened out for the signs he needed that the others had fled, before he could let down the façade of being the eternal hound, the guardian of friends and accomplices alike. He half-crouched, half panted and half held back the desire on his tongue to drink the blood of the fallen and tear through the flesh of the living. He had shown some of his hand with the Brotherhood dagger, but he did not wish to play the remaining flush of being a Blood Mage.

“Go!” He rasped, spitting phlegm and spit with his anger.

[Hysteria]

The plan was well set out, and a small trickle of delight at stealing from under the nose of the imperials caused Talen to smile. The actual artifact that the group was going to steal looked alien and unbelievable, so much so the cynical youth vaguely wondered if this was all some hoax. All questions, doubts and points of contention were wiped away as the door exploded open and two Watchmen burst through. In a flash of steel and blood one fell dead next to the swordsmen and Talen's stomach dropped.

Many times the youth had worked with Underwood's Watch and although he held no qualms about killing, he called many of the Watch friend. Without a second thought, the youth gripped his chair and launched himself to his feet. Still holding the chair, Talen's right hand and forearm burst into flames, obliterating the dark cloth wrapped around his wrist in an instant. The youth twisted and whipped around the chair as flames spread across its wooden frame and fabric. The flaming furniture shot past the swordsman and into the Watchmen in a shower of wood and fire. The stunned man fell backwards out of the room and Talen had to console himself with only saving one of the two men's lives.

“Run, I'll make sure that they have something else to worry about.” The youth's calm voice was interrupted by the sound of feet pounding along the hall outside. There was no doubt more Watchmen would arrive any second.

Talen crouched and grabbed the rug from the flood and draped it over his arm. In seconds smoke started to lift into the air and then flames. The budding pyromaniac threw the burning rug into the doorway and watched as the flames started to spread up and along the door frame. I the back of the youth's mind he wondered if he would become known as the man who burnt down the Peaceful Promenade. Such thoughts would wait for later, and Talen turned and ran towards the balcony as he also forced the flames on his arm to subside. The substantially less on fire youth ran outside, leapt into the air, placed his foot on the hand rail and launched out of the building and over the gap between the next building and straight into its wall.

As Talen felt himself impact with the other buildings wall he made a mental note to take more care of his surrounds. Talen slid down the wood scrambled to find a hand or foot hold. His saviour never came and he crashed into a pile of rubbish and food scraps.

[The Soulforged]

"My prize?" Seed mused. "Well, personally, I thought's I'd...ah...grab my prize with the assistance of alcohol and cash, but that's sort of my thing."

After finishing this statement, Seed's thought process went a little something along the lines of as follows. Yeah. Boobies are cool. Booze too. Huh. People. People are dying. From a single cut too. Gosh, could you get any more bad-ass? Shit, the place is on fire! Ooooh, pretty flames!

After all, he was the type of man to be distracted by such things.

"Holy shit man!" Seed screamed in an unexplainable voice of joy. "You set the Peaceful Promenade on fire! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! So much for the peaceful part! Still a Promenade though."

His heart lifted by the only thing that seemed to make sense nowadays, senseless destruction, Seed’s instincts kicked in. He bolted out of his chair, spun around slightly due to his intoxication level, and headed towards the door. He soon scratched that particular plan, as the entire place was on fire.

“Always was a fan for the dramatic exits anyhow!” Seed laughed wildly as he followed the fire starter (who Seed had now officially taken a likening to) out towards the balcony. “Aw guys! The things we’ve seen, and the sun hasn’t even risen yet! Man! It’s gonna be a good day!”

Parting comment established, Seed ran full force towards the balcony. With all his might, he kicked off the railing, towards the streets below. He noticed the friendly neighborhood pyromancer (who was actually not Seed this time) kick forward without looking where he was going.

“Oh man! You should see your face!” Seed laughed as he flew (or more like fell rapidly) through the air. “You look like a goddamn-”

As the other man fell into the garbage, Seed found himself face full of some sort of liquid. He actually wasn’t sure what type of liquid it was, all he knew was that he had landed face first in it. Seeing as how the puddle was outside of a bar, it could have been anything from harmless liquor to a drunkard’s puke; he really hoped it was the former. At least it hadn’t been chunky. Perhaps it was piss? A solid middle ground between the two options.

“Idiot,” Seed managed to gargle as he pulled himself out of whatever he had landed in. Well, he had probably smelled bad to begin with, this would hardly make it worse. Besides, he was in good company now.

“Come on Mr. Magician,” He offered as he stumble towards the woods, motioning to the man in the garbage beside him while he did so. “I don’t want Bad-Ass to get ahead of me. Chicks go gaga for guys like him. Damn, bet he’s the brooding type too. Cries in the rain and shit. Chicks frigging love that emo stuff.”

Seed continued on, mumbling in an unintelligible fashion towards the welcoming trees, and the anonymity of the dark night they would provide.

[Yari Rafanas]

The heavy rumble of footsteps up the tavern stairs was enough to put the Swindler into action immediately. As his Akashiman brother went alert and defensive, Saka was busy rolling up his scrolls and various other intelligence and stuffing it quickly but neatly into a large leather satchel. In a fluid and practiced motion, the bag was zipped closed and draped over his shoulder. It was time to move.

Saka stepped onto the window's ledge, grabbing its frame and swinging his body outside where he stood just out to the left of the room, his bare arms gripping a nearby drain. He watched the alleyway below as two of his recruits leaped from the suite, heat licking at their heels. The pair tumbled haphazardly into the streets, their landings both planting seeds of worry in the Swindler's mind, but it was too late to doubt. They were committed now, forced into action by the Watch. The only certainties in his new recruits' and their abilities lie in the display of quick steel, pyromania, and a loud mouth. It had to do... The Bandit Brotherhood was counting on it.

We better come out of this with more than the Promenade's repair bill.

All celebration from within the tavern and the nearby establishments came to a halt as their patrons poured into the streets, eyes set on scorched wood and the smoke filling the air.

Damn... the Boss is going to be livid with us.

The Swindler danced along the edges of the stacked crates lining the tavern until he met the cold streets below, motioning for the Shadow to hurry to his feet. And with that, the thieves bolted into the night, concealed by the chaos they left behind.

[Arden]

As Saka fled, and Blank found himself alone, an army of one, he smiled. He edged away slowly from the last of the watch men and slower still he sheathed his blade. With a quick tuck into his belt, the bloodied steel vanished and it's thirsty cry fell silent, replaced instead with the uproar of flame and the clatter of foolish limbs up stairs.

He bowed, most reluctantly to the poor young fool before him. The man, who could be no older than Blank and certainly, many years his underling so as skill was concerned shook feverishly, a state born half through fear and half through peril. He had perhaps acted recklessly in those split opening seconds, but given all the trials and tribulations and encounters with the law, and those who wielded it too heavily he had been through in his life, there would always be...casualties.

With a swift turn, he faced and then lithely skipped towards the open window. It was his turn to make his escape, and he was gladdened at the sight of his new companions in lawlessness and freedom fighting making their own way towards the distant tree line. He reached out for the window frame and made to pull himself through, then an all too familiar thud echoed to his left. He turned very slowly to greet the sight of a black crossbow bolt still shaking in the mahogany framework of the tavern's once glorious second suite.

"Do not move, scum." It was the sort of deadwood comment that happened in clichéd theatrical performances when the city guard came so very close to apprehending the way prince or vizier. Blank twirled, and admired the chiselled jaw and battered armour of the Captain of the Watch as it danced in the golden hues and red brazen shades of the fires as they danced up curtains, pillars and divides without care for the human occupants of the soon to be Chaotic Promenade.

"You are under arrest for vandalism and conspiracy to commit treason!" The man barked, his bushy beard bobbing with his wolf hound bite. Blank half wanted to rush across the burning plain of the suite and strike another blow to the newfound enemy he already hated, but escape, and success in his mission for the Scourge counted on him remaining alive, free, and amongst Saka's troupe.

"Not today, <My friend>, not today", with that he jumped.

It was a simple, upward bound leap without direction. As soon as he felt the inertia gather, Blank pulled on the reigns of The Aria and vanished as he began to descend.

Blue lights and spiralling patterns of energy illuminated the shafts of several more crossbow bolts as they peppered the window frame and shot out into the ever approaching night sky. The captain raised his hand to his man, who had finally caught up with his spurious charge. "He is gone, search the area for any sign of them. Do not let them escape!" He glared at the recruit who still stood shaking, before departing in silence.

Blank landed on a table in the bar in an equally violent display of lights, and a little hint of a jazz samba. The music startled the patrons more so than the appearance of a semi-naked swordsmen. It would be the tune that stayed in their heads, and whispers of the red headed assassin that would dance in their memories for years, and not his sudden and quick-footed escape through the nearest open window. He scuttled across the sandy dust road that divided Underwood into districts and lanes in hot pursuit of his new friends.

The Peaceful Promenade blazed behind him as he hit the tree line, and with keen eyes and the scent of wild garlic leading him on, he and Saka and the two companions soon found themselves in one another's company. They did not waste time to congratulate, or indeed to commiserate, they simple grouped together and made quick march through the bracken, bramble and thicket of Concordia. Saka guided them in a lose direction, and Blank, all the while thinking of the life he had taken, dared not question the strange Akashiman's curious charisma and charm.

He started to see why The Master had insisted the Scourge and this new movement of rebels in Corone simply had to work together, and safe in the fact that he was doing his liege's bidding, he advanced in silence, and let the evening air keep his senses sharp.

[Yari Rafanas]

Though many could claim inherit knowledge of the woods of Corone, few groups truly understood its various paths and shortcuts like the Bandit Brotherhood. Once a group of nomadic thieves and cutthroats, the group had finally found a suitable home to raise their families and share their victories in Concordia. For nearly two generations they fought for their freedom and pillaged the vast forest, sharing its wealth and knowledge with every brother and sister who shared their name. Swindle was no different. He may act as the Brotherhood's primary infiltrator and agent in Underwood and spend a majority of his time within its walls, but the map to the woods remained forever burned in his mind.

Saka lead the small band through various paths outside the lumber operations of the city and deep under the forest's canopy. Occassionally they would break from the shadows and enter a beautiful clearing, untouched by the wrath brought forth by the Empire, where nighttime lilies caught the moonlight and painted an image of serenity that put the Akashiman's worries to rest. With the dim light from the moon above, Swindle would take a moment to look back and make sure the others were still with him. That was the problem with leading a group of light-footed warriors—they were always so difficult to hear.

As dawn approached, the Four arrived atop a ridge overlooking one of Concordia's northern trade routes. Well, it had been a natural ridge at one point. Now it was more of an elevated mound of dirt and dying grass with man-sized boulders littering its edge. Nicks and burns littered the roadside faces of the stone, the image of repeated battle at this location apparent to any passerby. The war-torn location was completed by a symbol of warning, the same curvy and sharp 'B' painted into the largest of the boulders, which now served as cover for Saka and the others.

“Obvious, no?” joked the Swindler. “I don't know whether I should be more confident in our arrogance or the Empire's. If my intelligence is on the mark—which it always is—the emperor will have a handful of men rounding that bend and crossing this very spot. Though it is clearly marked as our road, they have been using it for days now, hauling supplies to the mine. Today we put the fear of the Brotherhood back into them.”

Saka continued to peer down onto the road and look for any sign of the wagon. It seemed they still had time to spare, and so he took a moment to face his hired hands with a final warning.

“Now I know it may be hard for some of you,” his glare turned to the Shadow, “but if we're going to infiltrate their camp and pose as the caravan, we're going to need to make sure we don't burn down the damn wagon. And you...” his eyes met with Arden's where he took a polite tone. “<Your skill is without question. While I disagree with taking the lives of those ignorant Watchmen, we will show no mercy to these men. Keep it clean, and quick.>”

[The Soulforged]

"Gyah. What sense does that even make? You hired three thugs to ambush a wagon, and then you disagree with killing innocents along the way? Buncha nonsense if you ask me, everyone's gotta die sooner or later. Might as well go out to a half-naked badass." Seed played with one of his small daggers, balancing it on the tip of his finger, while he talked.

"Actually, that sounds like a terrible way to go out. Poor Watchmen," He finished balancing the dagger, and then began to use it to pick his teeth. With an off-handed chuckle, Seed clapped his hands together as he received no lectures for his previous actions by the group's leader. What a good boy Seed had been today!

Well, that wouldn’t last.

“If stealth is what ya want Black, stealth is what ya get. Just leave it to me!” Seed walked past The Swindler, patting him on the shoulder. “I promise no explosions, and just the right amount of gratuitous violence!”

Seed then gashed the roof of his mouth with his dagger; a small cut, but one that would bleed fairly well. He muttered a soft “ouch” as he began to suck on the wound, drawing more and more blood out. He tucked the dagger into his sleeve, and then placed another dagger in his other sleeve. His mouth began to taste like iron from all the blood he was saving up.

Next he surveyed the area. Not much to hide behind, except maybe the boulders. Perhaps this place had once been a lush forest, but now it was no more than a wasteland. That made sense, in a sad sort of way. Man did have a tendency to ruin all that it touched. Off in the distance, he saw the wagon approach.

“Playtime!” Seed laughed as he pulled his old, and very worn, sword out of its sheathe. With a laugh, he spat all the blood he had in his mouth onto the sword, and then waved the blade about so that it looked rather used. Well, the sword itself was quite used; it was scratched and dented in many places. But now it was used and bloody, and that would make all the difference.

“Just leave this part to the brains of the operation! See ya!” Seed gave a carefree salute to his companions, took a deep breath, and then launched himself over the ridge.

“Ow! SHIT!” He screamed as he landed face first onto the dirt. He began to roll down the ridge, the only impediment to his descent; the occasional rock (try as the might, they did not stop his fall).

“Ow! Damn! Crap! Pain!” He let out a litany of curse words as he rolled, scratching himself badly, and turning his already dirty outfit filthy. It must have made for a very comical sight, especially when he came to a stop right in front of the wagon.

He felt a rough hand pick him up. The man who lifted Seed wore a steel helmet that covered his face, and most of the man’s body was obscured by a large white cape. It was a fairly nice outfit.

“Bandit bastards!” Seed shouted as he wildly swung his sword. “You can take your gay-ass brotherhood and shove it!”

This was the time that the superior swordsman (Seed’s mind flew to the companion who enjoyed splitting men in half) would have quickly dispatched every guard there, all without breaking a sweat. Perhaps the great swordsman would have had a good one liner to throw in as well.

Seed coughed in pain as he was disarmed, and flung to the dirt.

“What was that?” The large, burly man who threw Seed to the ground demanded. At the point of a sword, no less.

“Did I stutter? I said take your stupid brotherhood and shove it...oh. You’re not part of them, are you?” Seed asked shyly as he brought himself to a sitting position. He dared not make any sudden movements, for the swords pointed at him did a good job of deterring such an action. But he did cock his head to the side. “After all, you’re wearing clothes for starters.”

A rough inquisition began, which mostly consisted of the guards demanding to know what Seed was talking about, a fair amount of threats, and one very hard punch to Seed’s side.

“Now, I’ll ask again. What are you talking about?” The large and imposing man asked as he gripped Seed by his collar. This elicited a slight smile from his captive.

“See, you know how to treat a guy; those brotherhood guys just tried to stab me. At least you have the decency to sweet talk me first. Oh, hey, do you got anything to eat? I’m starving, and I think they took my money before I rolled down the hill,” Seed asked eagerly; he really was hungry. Some asshole had burned down the place where he intended to eat dinner.

He found himself tossed off the ground and into the arms of two more guards, who held him firmly. The large man brought back his fist.

“All right! All right!” Seed instinctively cringed. “Enough with the rough-housing! I got jumped right up there on that ridge! I stabbed a guy, fell back, rolled down the hill, hurt my shoulder, and got punched by a very large man who doesn’t shower. That would be you, Bruno.”

The man who Seed had called Bruno flattened him with another solid punch, and then motioned for a few of the guards to come with him as he headed away. Most likely they were headed towards the hill that Seed had rolled down, but as his face was in the dirt, it was pretty hard to tell.

“I really am hungry,” Seed muttered as he picked himself off the ground. His sword was in one of the guards hands. “I may have just saved your life, can’t I have something to eat?”

With a shrug, one of the guards produced a small roll of bread, and tossed it over. Seed gobbled it up eagerly.

“Thanks!” Seed clapped enthusiastically. “I was worried that the pyro would burn everything to a crisp even though he was told not to. Guys like that are unreliable, ya know?”

Seed then wiped his mouth, smiled kindly, pulled out a dagger from his sleeve, and stabbed the man who had just fed him.

[Hysteria]

Talen shrugged as he was berated for setting fire to the Promenade. In his mind he had effectively allowed them to escape while the Watch fought to stop the building from burning down. Communicating that to the rag-tag group seemed pointless, so Talen let himself bath in his own self-righteousness in silence.

The wagon trundled into view and the obtuse Seed took lead. Talen was left to peer down towards the unfolding play as Seed acted his part. The youth lifted his hands up slowly as a smile spread across his lips. From his palms leaked smoky shadows. The blackness twisted around Talen hands before suddenly disappearing and leaving two black metal pistols. Talen lifted one of the pistols and pointed down at the approaching men. His eyes slid sideways and looked at Blank.

“Swords are so last decade, don't you think?”

Talen stepped forwards and launched himself down the incline towards the approaching men. Dirt sprayed into the air as his feet skidded down the ridge and his pistols lifted towards the guards. Talen's pistols fired two black orbs of energy flew that through the air and into the guard that had punched Seed. The man stumbled backwards and fell unceremoniously down the ridge as Talen skidded to a stop.

The youth flicked his right pistol into the air and held his palm towards the the few guards that continued up the ridge. Talen's palm emanated darkness that in a second burst forth and create something akin to a spiders web in the air. Talen thrust his hand forwards and the web shot towards the men. As it moved the darkness hardened, forming a metal chain net that hit the men and knocked them to the ground. Talen smiled and caught the pistol on its way down.

Damn I'm good.

[Arden]

On the merit of Saka's request, Blank bowed politely in acceptance. He had expected resilience against his ways but he appreciated the openness. He had been trained as an assassin, a hired killer and hunter of enemies, so the occurrence was nothing but a blip in time for him. He had yet to learn to consider how others might view his after hours occupation, especially the members of the troupe that he had yet to discuss his dealings in The Scourge with in intricate detail.

"Quick and clean is my modus operandi," he replied portly, stooping low to observe the road. The flight from the tavern had bridled his body with adrenaline, and lacquered his torso with the occasional blemish of mud and small nick from a precariously over-stretching branch as they had streamed through the countryside towards their destination. The expectation of the moment passed as it trundled around the corner and before Arden could analyse their target to decipher the most effective plan of action, the strange man Seed was away with his own illusions of grandeur. He reached out with a flailing arm to try and prevent him charging in, but retreated so as not to reveal himself prematurely.

The eluded 'experience' Saka had not doubted failed him, as the conversation out of earshot rose into farce, then ended with a quick jab to the guard's eye and a well timed silent cheer. "I did not think the man had it in him," he mumbled, drawing his blade once-more with a silent death knell for men's necks with names he would never know.

In a moment of swelling tension, Blank gripped his sword with both hands and sent a wave of tension down his thighs to release the lethargy of their wait from his bones. The young one ran down the incline like a torrent of enthusiasm, pistols blazing and exuberance spilling out over the road in tandem with splashes of blood and flashes of pain. Blank glanced at Saka with a look that suggested impatience with small toddlers, "<Will this be quick enough for you?>"

He rolled his eyes, and with a gung-ho gasp of air he leapt over the fallen log he had hidden behind and streamed down the embankment after his accomplices. The potter patter of his naked feet on bracken plume and fungi heralded a spiralling slice through a hesitating guard's chest, sending a stream of blood up onto the canopy of the wagon and another corpse to the well trodden road.

Calmly, Blank levelled his blade with his waist and glared at the nervous guard to the rear of the caravan, who was shaking his sword at him feverishly expecting to simply be killed. "Not again," Blank measured himself against temptation, and ran instead around the far side to join Talen's blazing pistol fire and Seed's enigmatic calamity. They were a unit of one, for now, and he would fight alongside his companions.

As he appeared before them, he brought the Rheilhand up and over and down into the chipped steel blade of one of the larger, more experience looking fellows. With the scent of horse manure and mud in his flaring nostrils and sweat pouring from his armpits, the Silent Swordsmen let his inner rage flow, and from his left shoulder, a single, large red wing appeared, as if it had gushed forth from a wound and was formed from his very life-force.

[Yari Rafanas]

The abandoned guard at the rear breathed a sigh of relief. The bare-chested Akashiman descended on his Imperial brother like a demon, tearing through armor and flesh in one brutal second. He feared he was next, but was suprisingly spared. The man took a quiet moment to thank the Thaynes above, when suddenly he felt forced to his knees.

Saka used the dim light and distraction of his crew to his advantage, having sneaked up behind the lone guard. The bandit placed a firm boot to the back of the man's knee, forcing the soldier low. Wrapped hands snaked around the collapsed Imperial's jaw, fingers digging into the grooves of the man's helmet. He wore it tight, making gripping the man's head easy. A quick and practiced twist later and the man's neck snapped, joining the other bodies in the dirt.

The Swindler habitually crouched next to his victim, swift hands combing his pockets for a few loose coins. He pulled free a some personal trinkets, discarded them at the side of the body, and then absently looked towards his three recruits and the fluid and swift carnage they were creating. He made mental notes to catalog their displayed abilities. Shadowmancy, trickery, elemental control, and now some intense display of illusionary magic.

Nice wing, his eyes seemed to say, before returning to the side of the wagon. Saka muttered in his native tongue, scowling at the crimson streak against the off-white canopy. The blood was already staining the wagon fabric, and from the looks of the bloody chaos his friends took delight in, it would seem his cautionary words were disregarded. Now how were they going to pose as the intended recipients of the cargo if their guise was covered in blood?

So much for the clean part.

While Saka was busy examining the remains of a few of the soldiers, an Imperial Officer emerged from the front side of the wagon, bolting into the driver's seat and grabbing the reigns of the horses. The beasts were calm, despite the battle, having been properly bred and trained for this type of thing. Once they felt that tug at their bits, though, their ears flapped and nostrils flared.

“YAH!” screamed the officer, snapping his arms forward. Remaining warriors in the road be damned, this agent for the Emperor was seeing that he made it to the mining encampment.

[The Soulforged]

"I really hate that goddamn language! Friggin' gobbledygook!" Seed spat angrily as he peeked his head out of the back of the wagon; he had decide to rummage about for supplies and the like. In this particular case, supplies meant another bread roll. He was still a bit hungry, and all things being considered, those rolls were actually rather tasty.

"Oh, er. That wasn't me," He muttered as he turned his attention to what it was that the Swindler had been grumbling about. Seed then pulled out another roll he had managed to find, and began to munch on it thoughtfully. There was indeed a very big red-streak on the side of the wagon, a streak large enough to make any appreciator of fabric sigh in disdain. And make any guard sound an alarm.

"Believe it or not, a knife wound to the eye doesn't tend to squirt out too much blood. I mean, the guy bleeds all over the place when he's worming around in agony, but he did that on the floor." To accentuate his point, Seed pointed at the ground where a guard lay, bleeding profusely from his eye. The man's armor had also been removed, and he had been stabbed cleanly through his heart; a mercy Seed had deemed worthy for a poor bastard who had the ill luck of not requesting the day off.

"So, hey, I noticed you looted the bodies. Get anything good?" Seed riffled through his pockets, and brought out an assortment of trinkets. He too figured that the dead no longer had any need of their possessions, though Seed had been far less tactful in his search (he simply ripped open shirts and turned out pockets). However, unlike the Swindler, Seed had a strange fondness for those personal trinkets.

"Wanna trade? I got some gum, toothpicks, a couple of keys, a few pictures...do you think this is unfair to this girl?" Seed asked strangely innocently as he held up a old picture of a very young girl with dark brown hair. Sitting happily in her father's lap, the young child's smile dictated that she was perfectly content with the world. Now, that child may very well never smile again; Seed leaned his head to the side.

"I killed a man, who had a daughter, all so I could buy drinks and cheap sex. And the world didn't do a single thing to stop me." His eyes glazed over the picture, as if part of him refused to acknowledge that such a thing just happened. If there was any justice in the world, it would be Seed who was lying in a pool of his own blood, and not the man who fed him. Surely, the universe was not so poorly designed as to allow such tragedies to happen? Or was all life a cruel joke, something for the Gods to watch on their days off?

Something was very wrong with this picture; that man shouldn't be dead, Seed shouldn't have killed him. Plainly put, it was wrong. Just plain wrong. But as soon as that thought crossed his mind, Seed flicked his head, and tossed the thought somewhere deep into the recesses of his mind.

"I also got a couple rings, a strange doll that kind of looks like a lizard, two feathers and...a pistol?"

Naturally, he hadn't found a pistol. A pistol was far from a trinket. What Seed held in his hand was bits and pieces of lives lived, not an instrument of death. No, what had drawn Seed's attention was one of his companions. Apparently the pyromancer was also a gunslinger.

Across the terrain the two other companions moved, slicing and shooting their way through all obstacles. Blood, guts, gore, and no small amount of style ended several more men’s’ lives. Seed chewed idly on one of the feathers he had found, and watched the two work. He continued to do so, until something very unfortunate happened. Well, unfortunate for Seed anyhow.

“YAH!”

Seed jerked his head to the side to see an officer leap out of the wagon and grab hold of the reins.

“Er, thought I killed that one,” Seed muttered as he shoved the trinkets back into his pockets, and fished out his sword. “No matter, I’ll rectify this problem posthaste!”

But he did not rectify this problem posthaste. No, as Seed began to make his way through the wagon and towards the officer, a loud cracking noise echoed through the night as the officer whipped the horses’ reins. With a whine that was more an acceptance of an order than a complaint, the horses spurned themselves into action. Instantly the wagon went from a stable standstill to unsteady galloping. This boded ill for Seed, who had absolutely no time to brace himself, and was quickly flung backwards.

“Shit!” Was the only explicative that came to his mind, so he yelled it as loud as he could. He also did what came naturally to him, which was to flail about, and try to grab hold of anything stable. He did his best to grab at such things, and he managed to find two that were mostly stable. One was a bit of rope inside of the wagon, which he managed to woefully tangle his feet up in.

The other was the Swindler.

[Hysteria]

“bang.”

Talen pointed the pistol directly at the terrified face of one of the imperial guards. The man's helmet had been knocked off and his face was covered with dirt and blood after landing face first into a pool of blood fresh from one of his comrades. The young shadowmancer looked at the man as he mulled over his best course of action. Despite his bravado around the others, he couldn't kill an unarmed man.

“This is your lucky day comrade.”

The youth lifted his hand back and cracked the base of his pistol against the man's head. The soldier slumped to the ground unconscious and the youth could continue to believe himself a good man, regardless how flimsy his logic.

“YAH!”

Talen's eyes opened wide in surprise as a survivor clambered up onto the wagon and whipped the horses. The youth swore and tucked his pistols hastily into his pants behind his back and broke into a run. With only two strides of his simple shoes pounding the dirt road he knew he would not catch the rapidly accelerating wagon. In a flash of brilliance an idea pushed its way into the youth's mind. The boy lifted his hand towards the wagon and a ball of darkness erupted from his palm. The pure mass of shadow shot out in front of the wagon and the horses. The fleeing guard followed the ball and was powerless as it exploded in a mass of swirling shadows. Even the training horses of the imperials skidded to a halt and reared up in surprise.

The young warrior didn't pause a step and leapt over Seed and the Swindler and grabbed onto the wagon. A shout and another whip of the reins and the wagon kicked off again. Talen's illusion had done its work and the youth edged his way along the back of the wagon and pulled himself onto the side. The thin join between the wood and fabric that covered the wagon provided little in the way of stable footing, and each bump in the road caused a jolt up the youth's legs. To make matters worse, the wind whipped across his body and yelled in his ears. The options at that second were fairly limited, jump off the wagon or try and take the reins. Talen took a breath and edged over the back wheel and climbed awkwardly forwards towards the driver.

“I say old chap, care to pull over?” shouted Talen over the roar of the wind past his ears.

The driver turned and threw Talen a look of surprise, then followed it up with his blade. The youth ducked back as the sword's edge dug into the frame of the wagon Talen was using as cover. Despite himself, Talen looked down at the spinning wheel just a few inches from his privates.

“fucksticks...”

[Arden]

With a quick footed riposte, the guard pushed Blank's blade back and tucked his weapon in under the once silent swordsmen's guard. Taken aback, Arden had no choice but to call on his pre-natural reflexes to skitter-leap backwards out of harm's way.

"I had hoped, <Sir>, to be done with this swiftly." He snarled, allowing his ferocity to overtake logic for just a few brief moments. He flexed the blood wing and let it drip ichor to the well-trodden road, an omen for one of them, but which?

The guard snarled back, and took his chipped weapon into both his palms to give it's swing more weight. He stepped forwards and with a heavy roar, brought the blade up behind his advancing body and down in a cleaving arc toward's Blank. The Rheilhand rose to meet it, and his knees buckled to take the weight of the collision. Before Arden could meet with a counter-attack, the guard retreated and brought the blade down again in a quick succession of hammering strikes. Each time, he was bent lower and lower.

"There is no room for bandits in my lands!" The guard roared, the moustache and scar over his eye only serving to add to the testament of his long winters serving a slave-driving mining master. < Brainwashed > was the only word that sprang to Blank's mind as he grit his teeth beneath the onslaught.

Arden keened his eyes onto the movements and fluctuations in the man's attacks, observing as a leopard might in the dense canopy of a foreign land. Certain that there was an opening, he waited for the heavy blade to rise, and pulled the single-edged Rheilhand to the left and out of the weapon's path. With an upward thrust, he nimbly rose behind the piercing weight of his sword and felt a sickening wave of enthusiasm rise from the pit of his stomach as it cut through the brittle iron breastplate and dug into the chest bone.

The guard looked surprised. His venerable status had clearly afforded him some false notion of grandeur, and Blank pushed the blade in deeper with a grunt. The blood wing flexed for a second, before twitching and exploding into a cloud of red mist, it's master's appetite sated by a death most deserving. He watched the guard splutter, teeth reddened by his demise, then fall lifeless to the ground with a slink from the steel to the dirt road.

"May the <Maker> guide you," he bowed and made a gesture to the ancient Kami, the man had deserved a ritual burial for his bravery and honour. Blank caught his breath for a moment, before turning about to view the unfolding bedlam. He had heard pistol fire as they had fought, but had not been attentive enough to notice the Captain's flight. The wagon burst into movement as he realised what was going on, and with a quick flex of his muscles, he wiped his blade clean, sheathed it, and gave chase.

"<Why am I always being left behind...?>" He grumbled, his bare feet slapping against the dust and through the puddles of the morning rain with reckless abandonment. His auburn hair was a streak of peril to the dank and foetid backdrop of their endless country environ, and he felt the strain of battle fall from him with every adrenaline laden footstep.

He keened his gaze onto the back of the wagon and smiled as Talen made an acrobatic display, his young body stark against the distant horizon. There was only three hundred or so feet between them, and he picked up the pace to catch up. For a brief moment, he felt alive, and thanked the dragon kami of the Northern Steppes for the tenacity and strength he possessed to make chase with an opportunity ill found in Scara Brae...the opportunity for <Fame>, for honour, and the for what The Master of The Scourge called Adventure.

[Yari Rafanas]

While it would be known to the Bandit Brotherhood (and likely the Scourge as well) as an Adventure, full of peril, bravery, and excitement, others would hold this heist in a much different light. The guardsman's daughter, for one, would have to explain to those closest to her that her father was murdered on a highway by thieving scum, and would possibly spend her entire adult life in search of some sort of revenge against anybody who dared hold the title of “bandit.” Saka contemplated this after the crimson-haired maniac brought it to his attention, and eyed the bodies in the road.

Stupid fool. Your life is next to nothing to the Empire, and now your name is just another in a list of casualties.

Saka sneered and turned to face Seed and perhaps find some way to appropriate the coins and trinkets the maniac had stolen. Movement and commotion from the head of the wagon interrupted the process, and before he knew it, the Swindler found himself kicking wildly as his body was lifted from the road. The vicious lunatic grabbed him in his own flailing fit, dragging the Swindler behind the now-fleeing cart. Boots licked the gravel as the bandit struggled to hold on and pull himself into the back of the wagon, but Seed wasn't much help in that regard.

There was an explosive distraction ahead that brought a moment's rest to Swindler, and he looked back to the “Shadow” and his crafty manipulation of the darkness. Whatever he did, he stopped the driver, but just long enough for Saka to scramble into the back of the wagon before it started its escape once more. As the Shadow crawled along the right side of the transport, Swindler began to mirror his ally's actions.

Clinging to ropes that secured the canopy from the outside, Saka slowly made his way towards the front of the wagon, keeping his eyes open for any low branches aiming to rake the side of the cart and take him with it. He was momentarily distracted again by the blood dripping on his side of the wagon, thinking of how his akashiman friend had ruined their stealth approach. Saka glanced behind the cart to notice the half-naked ninja was still in pursuit. He smirked, muttering to himself, “<Guess he wants to make up for running my plan through the mud.>"

The lone guard struggled to hold tight to the reigns as he swung his broadsword at the Shadow attacking from his right. Far too occupied and scared for his life to notice, the guard only had a few brief seconds of life left and he wasted it shouting obscenities at the bandits attacking him. He was quickly silenced by the Bandit Brotherhood tanto slipping under his arm and into his chest as Saka joined him in the passenger seat. He twisted his short weapon, letting the man really feel his last moments, before he quickly threw the body off the left side. He wondered if that man had a family at home as well.

Another for the road...

Saka took command of the wagon, bringing the pair of horses to a stop with a firm tug at the reigns. He stood high on the wooden seat, turning back to watch as Arden began to catch up. He turned to Shadow, who was joining him at the front of the wagon, and questioned the man.

“There is more to you than you let on, Shadow. Is there any way your shadowmancy can help clear up some of this mess?” the Swindler was of course referring to the dirtied bodies and bloodied wagon. “It is clear that our small troop struggled with even the lowliest of guardsmen. I know for a fact that my information places at least one or two magi and a powerful mercenary at the camp, let alone the officers that would be overseeing the project. I will not gamble my life on a battle with those odds, so we must approach this with stealth in mind.”

[The Soulforged]

"Well, I guess that wasn't so bad," Seed muttered as he shoved a few boxes off of himself. He had managed, thanks to some very well-planned flailing about helplessly, to end up inside the wagon underneath at least three boxes. All things considered, it could be worse.

The cart came to a sudden stop as Seed managed to toss the last box off of himself. Figuring the ordeal was over, for the pistol-wielding shadow-pyromancer had done yet another cool trick, Seed began to rummage about in his pockets. He found the other, now very crumpled feather, and began to chew on that one (he had lost the other earlier, possibly when he accidentally spat it at the Swindler's face).

"Jolly good," Seed said as he peeked his head out of the wagon towards the driver's seat. There he raised his eyebrows as the driver was not dead, but still very much alive. The guardsman swung his sword and whipped the reins as Seed watched in amusement.

"Talk about a nutcracker eh? Or is a nut grinder a better term?" He joked at the pyromancer, who at this point was between a rock and a hard place. Or between bridging the gap between a man and a woman, whichever you prefer.

“I suppose I can offer-” He began to reach out as the horses were spurred into motion. Seed let out a shout of “not-again-why-me-I-hate-you-so-much-right-now” as he tumbled back into the wagon, swallowing and choking on the feather as he did so.

Holding onto a box for dear life as he coughed the feather out of his throat, Seed watched as Saka swung his way around to the driver’s seat. Noting the man’s agility, and then completely forgetting it in the next moment, Seed turned his attention to something far more interesting.

A man was running. He was running as fast as he could, his red hair flowing with the wind. His gaze was set forward, focused solely on clearing the distance as quickly as possible. The runner was quite possibly at the pinnacle of manhood, striding across the barren plains, like some sort of ancient hero.

And yet, for some reason, Seed thought the man looked quite retarded. Grinning wildly, Seed grabbed hold of a rope, and stepped off the wagon. He dangled solely by the rope he held, and the one foot he placed against the wagon for balance. The maniac held his hand up to his mouth and yelled as loud as he could, in his best damsel in distress voice (which wasn’t half bad, in all honesty).

“RUN ARDEN! RUN!” He yelled gleefully. He only wished that there was a forest around, so he could yell something about the forest and running. No, even better! A retard running through a forest! Or maybe a retard named For-

The wagon stopped, and so did Seed (mid-thought). He swung around to the front, where Saka was talking to the very talented mancer (Seed was hesitant to use a prefix, as the term seemed to be growing longer by the minute).

“My information places at least one or two magi and a powerful mercenary at the cap.” Seed managed to catch this part as he finished swinging, coming to a hanging stop near the middle of the wagon, which he accomplished by the use of what had become one of his favorite balancing devices.

The Swindler.

“That was fun!” Seed grinned as he grabbed hold of Saka’s shoulder. “We should do it again some time!”

He then caught the tail end of Saka’s statement, namely the part that went “I will not gamble my life on those odds, so we must approach with stealth in mind.”

“Psshaw. That’s not how the cool kids roll. I say we go in guns blazing!” Seed laughed as he pushed off of Saka’s shoulder, and jumped to the ground.

“Course, as I don’t have a gun, that means I’m out. But I will cheer you on like I do this guy!” He finished his sentence as he energetically waved at Arden.

[Arden]

Arden approached the rear of the wagon and started to slow down. He had surprised himself with his own speed, but rested assured that only the threat of being left behind in a strange and hostile land could ever replicate his dedication to agility ever again. He slapped his knees and leant forwards to catch his breath, but managed a camp wave to Seed as came to.

"This," he panted, "is not as smooth," he sighed, "as I am accustomed to."

Style was an important part of a Van's repertoire, and he had an image to uphold that he was most certainly struggling to maintain. He listened to the conversation unfold for a moment, until he was ready to right himself, then approached the bloodied side of the wagon slowly. His bare feet felt akin to the well travelled road and his sweating body had gathered dust and blood marks of it's own. He ran a finger through the cooled ochre patch deep in contemplation.

"Stealth...you say?" He glanced over his shoulder to confirm the group's chosen approach, and smiled with the sort of smile that suggested mischief. He curled his lip and began to write in the blood.

The long lines became simple Akashiman, a greeting at first, then a brief introduction, and finally a promise to deliver death to any who dared cross The Scourge or the Brotherhood or indeed, the Rangers of Corone. He stepped back several paces to admire his handiwork, the shadows cast by the overhead branches on the verge of the road shifted ominously over the message in blood.

"What can be written," he spoke in a low, soft voice, in a stout Scara Braen accent that was something along the lines of his natural voice, and held out a steady hand with fingers spread as far apart as they would go. His veins popped out on the back of his hand, and the skin whitened under the strain. "Can be undone!"

The writing on the wagon burst into life, the red spidery kanji glowed a bright, luminescent blue that possessed lightning and energy. Blank started to shake, and he gritted his teeth as he applied all of his power to the destruction of the message. Slowly but surely, as a deep melody grew from nowhere, the kanji started to fade. Little corners fell into dust at first, until it gathered momentum and entire symbols scoured themselves as if given a life of their own from the coarse fabric of the wagon's canopy.

Seconds turned to minutes, and minutes into five agonising cycles of the second hand before all the writing vanished. Blue ribbons of light surrounded Blank's hand in a flurry of life as he fell to his knees, his concentration spent and the connection to The Aria severed him from his talents. His knees hit the ground with a jolt, and he fell forwards, barely steadying himself with outstretched palms.

"It is done..." he sounded sluggish, but content. The wagon, at least for now, was cleaned of their transgressions once more. "I guess our true trial is about to begin though," he looked up from under the mane of auburn hair at the others, and, without so much as a hint of hesitation, beamed a grin that perhaps Seed might've suited better - an anguished grimace of mania, given life by the need to cause chaos and madness wherever it fell.

[Hysteria]

Talen was impressed as he watched the magic of the swordsman, but slightly less so as the bare-chested man fell to his hands and knees with the effort of casting. The youth expected as much, those who are a master of something tend to be a novice of others. The swordsman was not an expert spell caster apparently. Talen shrugged at the Swindler and walked over to one of the back of the wagon.

“Probably for the best muscles did his thing. All I could do was turn it black.”

Talen rummaged around the boxes and pulled out a cloak that would have belonged to one of the guards. The youth did not like the idea of getting dressed up on the cloths taken from the recently slain one bit. The shadowmancer lifted his masked face to the canopy of trees that created an arch over the road. The pinpricks of sunlight that rained down between the swaying branches cleared away the thoughts in the youth's mind. He didn't like it, but playing along would be far simpler than explaining all his abilities to a man who got his name from tricking people.

“There's not much back here,” Talen gestured a thumb at the wagon, “We'd better get what we can off the men back up the road.”