View Full Version : Hunted By The Church
Night had just fallen in Knife's Edge, the moon was hidden behind thick cloud and snow fall, which had built up a thin layer on the old cobble stone roads. A man wouldn’t be able to see his hand in front of his face, if not for the hundreds of blazing torches weaving in and out of almost every street, held in the armoured hands of grim faced faerie eyed men and women. They maneuvered the city quickly and seemingly randomly, stopping every unfortunate that happened by, with a blade to their throat and torch held to their face they were examined and questioned, before the mob quickly moved on. There was no resistance, only compliance and fear, for it was obvious to all what was happening; this was a hunt.
Their prey ,'Me, why always me.', tucked himself swiftly between two collapsed walls as a group of solders marched quickly passed, broken mortar scraping beneath their boots as they darted from place to place. Scanning every nook, cranny, and shadow they passed. By providence alone, they passed him by completely oblivious. He waited, judging their distance by sound till he was sure he was safe, then quickly moved on in the opposite direction. He darted down empty streets, occasionally cutting through the burnt out corpses of old buildings, making to the walls.
The reason behind the solders unrelenting hunt was a simple one; Revenge. A mere two hours had passed since fate had decided, once again, to give him a swift kick up the arse. His visit to this city was intended as a brief one, merely finishing up a job. He had concluded his business and collected his coin easily enough, and was on his way back to the city gates when it happened. They were complete strangers, Etrius and the the man in the big hat. He was rummaging through his gear bag as he walked, not paying attention he collided with the man. Not hard mind you, but enough to jar him and make him drop his bag, spilling most of its contents to the ground. Etrius swore and bent over to collect his things, ignoring the other man cursing him out. As he was picking up his various Alchemy equipment and a few magic texts the man suddenly stopped mid sentence, confused Etrius looked up and found him staring at him, or more specifically the objects in his hand, with a mixed look of outrage and disgust. 'fuck's his problem, he thought until he got a closer look at the man. The realisation came as the man drew his sword and charged with a roar.
Witch Hunter.
'An' thats about the long an' short of it.' He thought, sighing depressedly in recollection as he ducked behind yet another pile of rubble. 'Gods damned, this place is a hole.' It should be obvious at this point who won that little encounter. Almost as soon as the witch hunter's body hit the dirt, his nearby church buddies started making all sorts of a fuss, Etrius wisely took advantage of the chaos to gather his things and make himself scarce. Twenty minuets later the whole damn city was swarming with soldiers of the church. 'Got to give 'em god-botherers one thing, they're efficient little bastards when they want to be.'
Anxious, tired, and more than a little pissed off, Etrius slunk off into the ruin of what appeared to have once been an old chapel to hunker down and rest for a few. 'If I am found 'ere, I hope they at least appreciate the irony' He thought with a small, tired grin as he sat amongst the rubble, pulling out his rolling kit as he tried to make himself at least somewhat comfortable.
A few minutes later he was puffing away at a hand rolled cigarette, indulging in one of the few joys of the day. Silence prevailed for the next few minutes, save for the sound of distant shouting and occasionally the muffled march of armoured boots, still a comfortable distance away. He finished his cigarette and lit up another, going over in his mind his knowledge of the city, trying to think of the best way to the walls. Scars left over from the civil war meant getting passed them would be easy enough, so at least he had that going for him.
As he sat in darkness and smoked away, his hand started to slowly inch toward the hilt of his sword, making no other perceivable change. Outwardly, he remained calm, but inside he was taking note of his environment, every rock, every puddle, ever crack in the ground, preparing for whatever may come next.
Break time was over it seemed, he was no longer alone.
The streets were now filled with men of the church, reminding Dein of the time he spent running and hiding from them himself. "So many" he thinks to himself as he also avoids the men. He had seen the whole scene play out, a hooded fellow make a little ruckus and a swarm of men pile into the area. Never takeing an eye off the the hooded man even when he himself had to take cover to avoid any unwanted aggression.
"Where are you going hooded man?" Dein says to himself as he recovers to his feet and quickly pursues the mysterious man being hunted. Following him for only a few minuets before he had lost sight of him near the decaying ruins of an old chapel. "Are you a fool or a genius?" Dein thinks as he pushes a few strands of his long red hair out of his face. Standing in front of the entrance examining the buildings frame Dein sees that it is not far from collapsing in on itself.
The horde of men searching the streets had not seen the hooded man enter the chapel nor did they even bother with the former heretic as he approached the door. The door had been badly damaged and did not fully close shut, allowing Dein to peek inside before he open the door. Though there was only dim light cast from the torches outside and he couldn't make much out, other than the inside looked just as in shambles as the outside.
"What a dump, those men should be making more of an effort in rebuilding this church rather than pursuing blood shed." Dein thinks as he slowly pushes the door open enough for him to slip inside. Now Dein had no real reason to search for this hooded man other than he felt a certain kinship with him. A kinship that may turn out to be nothing, but Dein was determined to meet this man and learn his story maybe even assist him if need be.
"Hello," Deins voice echoed through the large rather empty room. "I saw what you did out there. Are you in here?"
It was the crunch of old wood against gravel that drew his eyes to what was left of the main doors, and the barely visible figure silhouetted in its frame. Holding back a grunt of frustration he quickly rose to his feet, crouching to avoid any stray light that might reveal him to this stranger. Etrius gently wrapped his fingers around the curved grip of his sword as he extended his tongue and took the half smoked remains of the cigarette into his mouth, extinguishing it in saliva and swallowing it. Holding back his gag reflex the alchemist extended his senses around himself, his Spatial Awareness detailing the surroundings into his mind as he took one silent step forward, then another. Creep in closer, dart in and take them before they could call out. That's what he should have done, but curiosity got the better of him. Why would one of his pursuers break away from their group and come to such a secluded place alone? Was it a soldier, or just an innocent stranger come to take shelter from the cold? Could he afford the luxury of caring?
'Probably no', best make this quick.' He decided, releasing his sword and instead sliding his concealed knife from his sleeve. He tensed, crept low to the ground and was about to strike, when...
"Hello, I saw what you did out there. Are you in here?"
The strangers echoing call boomed in the large hall, startling Etrius enough that he almost lost his balance. 'Who th'fuck's this clown!?' He asked himself, his anger quickly covering up his embarrassment at being caught of guard.
Once again common sense reared its head and told him to kill him quickly, before he brought all manner of hell down on him with his shouting. But curiosity won out this time. 'Fine, you get a pass. For now.' keeping his knife concealed but ready, and with one last quick look around, he stepped from the shadows and confronted the stranger.
"Don't know if yer addled or just an arse-hole, but keep yer blasted voice down, Berk!" He growled as he stepped forward, maintaining a comfortable distance from the stranger. He could now make him out properly, and to say he was a peculiar one was an understatement. His clothes were clearly not meant for the harsh icy climate, as small part of his mind idly wondered how someone could survive this far north dressed like that. He shook that thought away and took another step forward, peering around the stranger for a glimpse outside, making sure he was alone. "An' fer pikes sake get away from the door 'afore the whole city see's ye'!"
He backed up a bit, stepping to the side and sticking to the very edge of the shadows. He eyed this strange man warily, with his red hair, odd clothes and 'pretty boy' looks he stuck out like a sore thumb. Particularly this far up north where harsh cold and even harsher living left most everyone looking like an old turnip.
"I'm gonna' go ahead and guess, from yer get'up, that yer no' with that pack eh' fanatics foamin' at the mouth out there... so, that begs the question dun'it... who th'fuck are ye' then?" He asked, perhaps a bit too aggressively, but after the day he'd had so far he was long past caring about tact. He kept a firm grip of his knife, angling his body as to hide it from the red-headed man. Etrius reckoned he could put it in his throat from this distance if it came to that.
'Lets wait an' see. eh?'
The shadowy figure emerged from the darkness that had very nicely enveloped him. If it were him making himself known Dein would have just turned and left. But he had come forth to answer his calls, weather he was in need of help or just out of curiosity. Though by the tongue lashing he quickly delivered revealed other intentions, his accent hard to fallow. Dispute his trouble fallowing his accent Dein did get the point of his harsh words, this man was simply being defensive due to surcomstance.
He seemed like a fairly pale man from what the faint light illuminated, rather dark clothing for Dein's taste but to each their own. "Claim down," Dein tried to comfort the seemingly agreed man, though in Dein's time being hunted he was angry aswell. "Im a friend."
"You started a big mess out there." Dein says as he walks towards the main entrence. He peers out the opening and sees that the men had not payed any mind to his movements or hadn't even noticed them. "It doesnt look like i have been fallowed. What do those men want with you?" He says as he closes the door as best as its broken frame would let it. The sounds of people hollering at one another reverberates through the hall.
Not really expecting a rational answer from the man Dein makes his way to one of the only pillars left standing in the room. He leans his weight against it, and the pillar let out a few soft cracks as even it is struggling to stay up. "Im Dein, former cleric of the Chantry Valria." He said revealing his identity to this complete stranger that he still felt kinship towards despite his lack of fashion. "Are you planing to leave the city?"
Etrius listened to the man and began to relax slightly, although he was far from trusting this red-headed stranger at least he didn't feel he was a threat. As the coast seamed to be clear the fugitive Alchemist took a few tentative steps forward, silently slipping his knife back up his sleeve. He placed another hand made roll-up between his lips and struck a match, lighting up and taking a slow, deep drag. He found the light burn in his chest soothing, calming him down and helping him think. The man introduced himself as Dein, a former cleric of some obscure faith.
"Never heard of it." He mumbled with a shrug, wondering vaguely if he left this 'chantry' of his by choice or if he was ex-communicated. "As far as the why of things, lets jus' say one of their 'dogs' was rabid, an I had to put 'em down. Don't think they appreciated that." He explained as a small grin crept onto his face.
"Are you planing to leave the city?" The man queried. Etrius felt his eye twitch slightly, and the onset of a head-ache made him grit his teeth.
"Naw," He snapped, voice oozing sarcasm. He nodded his head towards the door. "thought 'ah might stick around, ya know. Buy a house, get married, have 'er pop out a few wee sprogs. I'm sure this whoooole thing'll just blow over in a few." He paused in his rant, taking a large draw of his smoke. Calming down. He exhaled slowly, turning and wandering up to the doors, glancing outside. The snow fall was heavier now, reducing visibility greatly, a fact that bode well for him indeed.
"Sorry, bit tense like. Aye, I'm on mah way out, sooner the better. Would be even if ah wasn't on the 'shit list' of every god botherin' nutter in this pit." He paused, giving the stranger a queer look. "Why, whats it to ye? And for that matter why are ye' gettin' yer self involved in this anyway? Seems a daft thing to do for a complete stranger. An' by the by I'm skint, so if it's jink yer after, yer better sniffin' somewhere else." He leaned against the stone frame of the door, staring at Dean in expectation. He must've wanted something, Etrius thought coldly, nobody would put their neck out for a stranger without expecting something in return. Hell he wouldn't even do it for a friend without expecting at least a pint for his troubles, you know, if he had any. Etrius often heard people talking about charity and compassion and all that other crap which, quiet frankly, he found laughable. In his experience, the goody-goody types were always the most likely to slide in a knife. So what was his game?
Dein was completely taken back by this foul mans attitude towards him. The amount of sarcasm was so off putting that it radiated in waves. Dein rather than before felt little more that pity for whomever had the tasking job of birthing this atrocious piece of... Regardless of his inner feelings Dein would never show or let on that he was at all disgusted with this strangers behavior, even if it was indeed tempting him to walk out the door and reveal this mans location to the masses out side.
Sounds of men scouring the streets grew louder as the were clearly searching right around them as they spoke, even if only a few seconds ago the coast was clear. Dein pondered his options in this moment, does he still do as was intended, help the man who seemed like he needed it. Or do what he felt would be fitting and send this man to the wolves, for his horrible words towards him when all Dein did was show kindness. Weighing his options, he decided that the preferable choice was not the correct thing to do, even if he wanted to so desperately. Dein has much pride in his looks and resentment for being thought of as homosexual, just because he likes the color pink and to make his hair look presentable does not mean he is a dandy.
"Your a piece of work aren't you." Dein snapped back to the stranger rude comments, "Someone cant just be nice to you without you putting you goddamned foot in your mouth can they?" This obviously a rhetorical question. Dein than walked towards the door of the chapel and looked at the man, "Your on your own, if you die here there will be one less prick for me to deal with." he said as he slammed the door open and walked out it, leaving it wide open.
Dein through all care in the wind as he had made up his mind, seeing all of the blood hungry men outside looking for the hooded man. "No one talks to me that way!" Dein intensely thinks to himself as he decided that prick deserved this and more. Dein throws out his previous decision and instead looks to the crowd of men around him, points to the door and says aloud "Your prey is inside, go get him! The one who killed your brother is inside."
By this time the entire building was completely surrounded even before Dein had stormed out, and hearing those words made all of them turn to it. Surrounded on all parts no one was able to come in or out without at least one or more noticing wile a few rushed inside the open door.
"Good riddance, scrub him from this world."
(OOC- Thread now closed to Aurelius)
Hostility was to be expected, Etrius mused, as it always was when he interacted with others. He could admittedly be an arse at times, a bit to blunt or harsh with his words, and it wasn't always taken well. And he would be lying if he said he didn't often take at least some joy from watching others lose their shit, watching as the facade of civility is shattered from nothing but hateful words. Ah, life's simple pleasures. But even years of experience in this wonderful art couldn't prepare the spiteful alchemist for the sudden burst of hate the red-headed stranger unleashed on him. His eyes widened and his eyebrows raised as he stood, transfixed as his new acquaintance's tirade quickly dissolved into what could be described as the worlds most sudden and inappropriate hissy fit.
'...right, seems we've skipped some levels 'ere'
Taking a step beck, Etrius raised his arms reassuringly."Easy, easy there ya' nutter! Calm it, din' mean anythin' by..." He tried, But Dean was having none of it. Before he could placate the emotional man he threw open the old rickety door and was gone.
Confused and more than a little annoyed, Etrius could only scratch his head and stare as the man's pink figure disappeared into the increasingly thick snow fall.
'Okay, so that jus' happened. Sure.' The fugitive paused in thought, taking a slow calming drag of his roll-up.
...
"Oy, wait..." He mumbled, his brow creasing. "Who's a prick!?" He barked, glaring into the darkness. "Cheeky bastard."
It was as he turned, ready to retreat back into the shadows, when he heard it. Dein's voice, not speaking, but shouting in the distance. "Your prey is inside, go get him! The one who killed your brother is inside."
He turned and stared in wide-eyed shock into the empty night. "He didn't..." Suddenly comforting darkness of night gave way to the light of countless torches. The silence suddenly replaced with the clacking and scraping of dozens of armored boots, getting louder, getting closer.
"He fuckin' did!" Etrius quickly scampered back to his original hiding place, frantically snatching up his gear bag as he ducked behind one of the few remaining pillars. And just in time, as soon as he was out of sight what was left of the doors practically exploded off their rusted hinges as church soldiers poured through, blocking the entrance. He was trapped.
'That pink wee' gob-shite! He better be legging it as fast as his legs'll move, 'cause im actually scared of what imma do to the little cunt when ah' catch 'im!!' Rage mixed with panic as the soldiers started to fan out, their commander barking at them to leave no stone unturned. He attempted to control his breathing as they began closing in, now in range of his spatial awareness. Four had moved forward, from what he could tell two had remained back near the entrance, and the commander stood directly in the doorway. If he wanted out of here, he could probably ignore the forward four, but the last three had to go down.
Slowly, he crouched down and scooped up a fist sized hunk of mortar. With a final drag of his smoke he let it fall into the wet ground and stood, griping his sword in his free hand. 'Right, ah' can do this. Just get outside and go from there.' With a single quick motion the rock went sailing across the room, crashing into one of the old pews and shattering the rotting wood. The soldiers whipped round, quickly running to investigate. As soon as their backs were turned, Etrius moved. He dashed from his cover, drawing his sword simultaneously as he sprinted up the main aisle. Several of his pursuers turned, spotting him out of the corner of their eyes, and they quickly made to chase him. The closest of the forward four was a bit too slow however, as Etrius passed by he ran his blade against the armourless gap at the back of her knees, letting out a howl as her tendons were severed. She collapsed to the floor. The others he ignored and went straight for the two blocking the door. Quickly regaining their composure, they readied their weapons and braced themselves, expecting a full on charge. What they didn't expect was their prey to cover his face with his sword hand and extend his free one forward, snapping his fingers as he did so, nor the blinding light and searing heat that followed.
They screamed and flailed, blind and in pain they staggered back, gripping their faces and collapsing to their knees. Etrius ducked passed the crippled men, his final obstacle now before him and just as blind as his subordinates. He went down quickly, his aggressors curved sword catching him in the throat, cutting from ear to ear. He hit the ground as his killer escaped into the open air... Only to come to a sudden stop as his heart slid into his gut. He quickly drew his sword catcher and dropped into a defensive stance, slowly turning to meet over two dozen pairs of glaring, hate-filled eyes. The remaining troops pilled out of the church, rubbing their eyes or gripping their faces, glaring with more hate than the rest combined. As one the mob began closing in, swords and spears drawing closer in an ever tightening circle.
Sweat began beading at his temple, his breathing was heavy and his left hand was trembling from his recent exertion of magic. He kept turning, trying to stare down every one of his attackers at once. 'Bugger me, 'bit more eh 'em than ah' imagined!' Taking a deep breath, he steadied himself and concluded that he had one chance left, as long a shot as it was.
Bluff.
"Right then, yeh' bunch ah' addle brained Berks!" He barked standing straight and giving them his best scowl. "One more step an' ah' swear, by all the powers that be, ah' will burn you from existence itself!" The group paused, hesitant. The fact they were hunting a mage hadn't left their minds, and they were rightfully cautious, even if their target's abilities were a tad overstated.
'Right, that'll make 'em think a bit... so now what?'
Aurelianus Drak'shal
05-09-14, 08:05 PM
It was snowing in Knife's Edge.
It's always pikin' snowin' in Knife's Edge, Aurelius mused bitterly, standing on the banks of one of the city's smaller canals, hands deep in his coat pockets, his head hidden away from the flurries under his wide-brimmed hat. The tiefling stood on a slope of rubble leading down to the icy water, smoking in a vain attempt to retain some body heat as he watched the two men below go about their bloody business.
Running his brothel was a lot of work, as he had been disappointed to discover, but his travels this evening demonstrated the fact he still had more than enough time to play. The two thick-set Salvarans trudged up the slope to a small hand cart next to their demonic employer, faces shining in the sharp-edged moonlight as they hauled the bloodstained burlap sacks from the back of it.
Aurelianus took the cigarette from between his lips, blowing thin streamers of smoke as he let his serpentine eyes wander the nearby abandoned buildings and alleyways. Not that the warlock particularly minded being seen by the locals - after only a month of the House of Sin opening its doors, they had learned to keep their mouths firmly shut about the activities surrounding the establishment. The few who hadn't.. well, they tended to wind up in burlap sacks of their own, sinking down into the murky waters to join the rest of the trash.
The men, Johan and Gris, grunted loudly as they stumbled down the crumbled bricks with their loads, the bags slung over each shoulder dripping and sloshing as they were finally heaved into the canal, so loudly the half-demon was tempted to just knife the bastards and fling them in as well.
The men glanced up at their boss guiltily, but by then they were done anyway. The remains of the girls Aurelianus had.. entertained himself with for the past few days were slowly sinking out of sight. Goin' to need a new canal soon, he thought to himself watching the ripples. He gave a soft whistle to the men, flicking his cigarette onto the surface of the water. Gris and Johan each grabbed a handle on the cart, and the trio started heading back through the twisting alleys and narrow streets towards the House of Sin.
It wasn't long, however, before Aurelius' pointed ears pricked up, and he ushered the two workers swiftly out of the eddies of snow and biting cold wind. He shoved the berks into one of the empty houses, abandoning the cart in the street. The pale-skinned humans started to voice their protestations to being man-handled, but one look at their boss, and they choked them back. He silenced them with a curt gesture, turning to the doorway and the tromp of many booted feet that his preternaturally sharp senses could hear. His hand drifted under his coat, fondling the hilts of his knives as a large group of men ran past the door, shouting and waving torches. He could smell sweat, and leather and hate drifting from the group and the half-demon's eyes narrowed as he marked the insignia on their breastplates.
The same icon was tooled into the leather atop his hat; a trophy claimed from one of the addle-coves unfortunate enough to have crossed his path.
Witch hunters. Soldiers of the Sway Church at the very least, but the difference didn't register to Drak'shal. Their kind persecuted magic users the length and breadth of Salvar - they held a special loathing for fire magic and demons. Aurelianus was both. And the hatred went both ways.
Without a word to his men, Aurelianus took off into the snow in pursuit of the group as soon as the clamour of their boots started to fade, his lithe form slipping in to the shadows as he hunted.
***
He tracked the group for an hour or more, watching from narrow alleys as they met more of their ilk, heading East through the broken city. The half-demon warlock let his bitter hatred for the mage-hating sect fuel his muscles as he ran behind the group, fangs bared in a feral snarl.
Eventually, the witch hunters reached their destination. There were more of them there, bringing their ranks up to around two dozen. They were clustered around a small dilapidated church building; it was a grim, squat little hovel, the brickwork crumbling and broken, the roof shattered and collapsed in places. With the sliver of moon hanging in the sky behind it, the building resembled a giant broken tooth.
Seeing the assembled manpower, the half-breed decided to get a better view, and started scaling the wall of one of the empty houses adjacent to the church. He found handholds easily enough in the aging stone, despite the heavy snowfall making it all slick and treacherous under his gloved palms. Like a malevolent spider, he slid onto the old slates and crawled around the edges of the roof. With a springing jump, the agile murderer cleared the gap to the next building. And again, leapfrogging from roof to roof until he was crouching silently at the top of the structure next to the church. Knowing none of them were likely to be watching the roofs, their focus squarely on whatever they were hounding, the fiend-blooded predator palmed a handful of viciously serrated shurikens from the leather holster under his left arm.
The group instantly started at the commotion that erupted from inside the structure even as Aurelius slithered down the edge of the roof, licking his fangs eagerly at the prospect of bloodying the Church's nose. A figure burst out of the front door, skidding to a halt instantly as he marked the almost solid wall of weapons arrayed before him.
The sorry berk's shouted threats drifted over the chill winds to Aurelius' ears, and he allowed himself a wry chuckle. He instantly knew there was something familiar about the bloke's accent, but his brain-box was too preoccupied to make the connection.
"One more step an' ah' swear, by all the powers that be, ah' will burn you from existence itself!"
Whether or not the man actually had the power to make good on his claims, the Cager didn't know, nor did he actually give a toss. A nasty grin parted his chapped lips, the skin splitting and letting a tiny dribble of blood free. The soldiers were disciplined, that was clear, as a group of four finally found their courage and separated from the main line, advancing, making to circle the poor bastard below.
They never saw the unholy conflagration descend on them as Aurelius loosed Shahab's Lash. A swathe of roaring black Hellfire hit them, a clinging, corrosive nightmare that took hold almost instantly - their screams were like music. A symphony of pain, punctuated by the roar of the unholy flames, and the hissing of their flesh blistering and cracking under the intense heat. The four soon-to-be-deaders dropped like stones, armour and weapons starting to glow cherry red as the Hellfire spread, the snow melting instantly under the blast and sending a huge column of steam into the air.
That was his cue.
Dropping from above, Aurelianus hit the ground and rolled with the impact, coming up next to the soldiers' target in a crouch. His hat flew off on the drop, displaying his crest of quills and the four horns crowning his pale brow. Raising his right arm, the warlock opened his hand and unloaded the shurikens like a cannon into the nearest cluster of opponents. The air warped as if in a heat haze as he put the full force of an Eldritch Blast behind the projectiles. Each three-bladed disc hit their breastplates with enough force to buckle steel, some of them even managing to punch through, burying themselves into the soft, yielding flesh beneath.
It had only taken a heartbeat.
Getting to his feet, Aurelius ran a hand through his mohawk, one of his Baatorian blades flashing into his free hand as he flicked a glance at his unwitting ally.
"Whatever you did to piss 'em off this much, cutter," he grinned, "remind me to buy you a pikin' drink if you survive this."
He was trapped, surrounded by a solid wall of gleaming armor and grim, hateful faces, countless eyes burning with zealous malice. They had him now and they knew it, his bluff the only thing keeping them at bay, and that was weak at best. The fugitive mageling shifted his stance, raising his sword arm to his chest he slipped a small vial from the inside of his coat, holding it between his pinky and ring finger. 'Not really magic, but fires fire.' With rustling of cloaks and the clatter of armor four soldiers threw caution to the wind and broke off from the crowd, advancing with weapons raised. Etrius faced his attackers, stance low and weapons raised as they made to surround him.
"All'right yeh' addled wee' shites," He snarled, teeth bared. "don' say ah' didn' warn yeh!" He readied the small red vial, preparing to set his foes ablaze when... they were suddenly set ablaze.
Etrius quickly turned, shielding himself from the sudden intense heat as wave after wave of fire struck his attackers, their flesh was scorched and their armor started glowing as bright as the day it was forged. The sudden conflagration sent the mob into a panic, tripping over themselves and each other as they attempted to escape the flames. Etrius, no stranger to sudden explosions and burst of fire recovered quickly and stood, frozen in stunned confusion.
'Did...' He paused in thought, staring at the smoldering lumps that mere seconds ago were trying to kill him. 'Did I do that?'
His confusion was interrupted as several more church soldiers went down, grunting and screaming as their chest plates buckled and broke under a sudden onslaught of impacts. His spatial awareness told him he was no longer alone in the center clearing. He turned and stared at the newcomer, waiting as his eyes adjusted to the sudden change in light.
"Whatever you did to piss 'em off this much, cutter, remind me to buy you a pikin' drink if you survive this." The stranger grinned, his sharp, jagged maw suddenly coming into sharp focus. The pallid Alchemist was once again given a pause as he took in the strange, clearly inhuman features of his benefactor. His odd accent jabbed at his mind with a sense of familiarity, and was clearly reminiscent of his own. 'If ah' din' know any better, ah'd say this one was a tiefling.' He took a deep breath and shook himself, snapping out of his reverie. 'Couldn't be.'
"Cheers fer' the save, mate." He nodded back, eyeing the the small gap made in the soldiers line by the red-haired stranger. 'Whats with all the red heads tonight?' "Ah'll have to take yeh' up on that, riiight after this!" He flashed his own grin, and with a flick of his wrist sent the small red vial arching into the crowd near the gap. Its effects were instant; the vial shattered against breastplate of one man, the volatile liquid inside detonating instantly and rending and scattering the mans armor into red-hot flak. His nearby comrades screamed in pain and fear as they were engulfed in a eight foot wave of fire, and knocking others to the ground in the ensuing chaos.
Their line was broken, a clear gap was now visible in their formation, and the soldiers were either too scared, busy, or dead to efficiently close it.
He turned and surveyed the surrounding scene; between his monstrous saviors explosive entrance and his own volatile concoction, what was a hopeless situation mere moments ago was suddenly looking alot less one sided. 'Burn me,' he thought, trying and failing to keep the grin from his face. 'Ah' just might survive this...' he paused in his thoughts, glancing warily at the jovial creature that had saved him. 'As long as this red-head aint' a complete nutter like that last one'
"Ah' imagine that we've gave this lot somthin' to rattle 'round their brain-box's," The sell-sword gave a chuckle, nodding his head towards the gap. "what say we give this burg the laugh then, eh?"
Aurelianus Drak'shal
06-12-14, 12:49 PM
Aurelius smirked, once again flicking his eyes to the stranger. The little display of pyrotechnics was at the very least impressive, he admitted to himself. But as his eyes returned to the mob, he knew it wasn't quite enough. His tongue slid smoothly over his fangs as he sized up the opposition. Every predatory instinct in the tiefling's blood sang out as he just short of tore his coat off, dumping it beside his hat; the battered leather re-knit almost instantly, repairing the tears and holes his armour constantly caused it.
"Grab them," he smirked, gesturing with his blade towards his discarded wardrobe, "Then stick to me like stink on quim."
Aurelius burst into a sprint towards the gap in the armoured line before his apparent ally could reply. It was already starting to close up as the men moved in on the "criminals". Most of the addle-coves were advancing on where the pair were standing - only a handful of them were smart enough to start moving to block off their exit. The first man to charge the half-breed swung a longsword at the oncoming foe in a clumsy, hurried downward strike, but his paltry human reactions couldn't hope to match the infernally tainted half-breed he faced. Skidding to a halt in the powdery snow, Aurelianus side-stepped swiftly, the sword passing by a hands-breadth from his face before his fist lashed out, punching his blade into the man's left eye. The tip sank deep through the eyeball, clear blood-swirled fluid spurting out before the knife hammered into his brain. Aurelius yanked the weapon free in a shower of blood and torn flesh before he darted at the next man.
Not even slowing his pace, he dodged around the second soldier in his path, spinning low and hamstringing the prick before he was moving again. The humans would have a hard time following him, but he was damned if they were quick enough to lay a blade on him.
He didn't risk a look to see whether or not the sod he was apparently rescuing was following, instead vaulting over a spear-thrust that would have run him through. The soldier before him tried to bring his weapon back for another thrust but the warlock landed with a heavy boot on the spear haft, splintering the wood, before his free hand smashed across the man's jaw. The human's training served him well and he recovered quickly, bringing the broken length of wood in his hand down like a club at his opponent's quill-crested head. But this was the kind of close-quarters brutality Aurelius had grown up with, and the tiefling caught the makeshift club on his free arm - the impact sent tremors up it, splinters showering his pale face as the blades on his segmented armor tore into the weapon, but he shrugged it off. His ears perked up a split-second before he lashed out with a heavy boot at another warrior trying to charge at him from the back. The man's own momentum carried him on to the kick, and even his codpiece couldn't hope to protect his balls from the hammer-blow. He doubled up even as he continued rushing forward.
Kicking off the club wielder, Aurelius nimbly leapt aside, the talismans around his neck and wrists rattling loudly as he rolled back into a fighting crouch. The charging sod hit his brother-soldier and both went down in a clash of metal like so many church-bells. The fiend was on them instantly, springing on the downed men. His second Baatorian blade slid free of its sheath join its twin, both of them finding a soft, yielding throat. The fanged blades didn't so much slice through the skin as tear them open, showering his forearms in crimson.
Four down in half as many minutes. Even with his preternatural reactions, even with his monstrous ego, Drak'shal knew he couldn't hold off a rabble this size indefinitely. The sounds of men screaming orders, of the wind wheezing asthmatically between the buildings surrounding the little square, of his own roaring, unholy flames were almost unbearably loud in his ears. Every sight and sound and smell assaulted the half-breed's senses with waves of ecstatic pleasure. He could almost taste his own heartbeat thundering in his ears. But with a jolt of reality, he realised he had wasted too much time.
Snarling wordless hate at the enemy as he got back to his feet, Aurelianus opened his mouth and bellowed a roaring swathe of Hellfire over the nearest. Three men fell, the force of the blast smashing them off their feet. shrieking in agony as the voracious black flames devoured them. The snow around them turned to slush, the flakes in the air vanishing instantly in the infernal heat. More steam hissed into the night sky.
Finally afforded a moment's breathing room, panting more with bloodlust than his physical exertion, the crimson-stained killer saw he was now actually past the armoured line. His companion was pushed on ahead roughly, running into the labyrinthine streets, as the Sway soldiers were coming at the tiefling with all the fervour they could muster. A gust of biting wind almost froze the sweat on his brow, and turned every rivulet sliding down the collar of his blade-festooned armour into a finger of ice. The soldiers were becoming a bunched rabble as they neared the entrance to the narrow street, though enough of them could still fit abreast to pose a problem for their quarry.
Shaking off the sudden bout of morbid curiosity asking him just how many berks he could pen in the dead-book before they gutted him, the tiefling turned and ran into the winding streets and back-alleys of Knife's Edge, kicking off the walls when he approached corners so he didn't need to slow down.
He caught up with the alchemist in a few short minutes, the addle-coved sod obviously having never been to Knife's edge. Shaking his head with a wry chuckle as he donned his coat and his wide-brimmed hat again, the horned malcontent took the lead. He led them down a series of narrow, twisting alleys, doubling back on his trail and circling a few times to confuse the braying herd of murderous twats they could hear in the night air. Aurelius waited until nearly an hour had passed, constantly on the move to avoid the patrols, before he finally felt safe enough to stop. Tapping the tourist on the shoulder, he nodded to one of the many derelict buildings in this part of town.
"We gave 'em the laugh, cutter. Now lets sit our arses down an' 'ave a pikin' breather."
Slipping inside, he immediately set to checking for any other inhabitants, straining his inhumanly keen senses. He couldn't pick out anyone, and more to his satisfaction, he could barely hear the Sway still no doubt hunting for them in entirely the wrong direction - the clash of swords on shields and moribund hymnals sank into the stillness of the wee, small hours of the morning. Finally, the exhaustion Drak'shal had been holding off since this ride began set in, and he dumped himself in an old, slightly damp stool by the empty hearth, occasionally chuckling to himself, muttering about 'stuck-up wankers'. The sweating tiefling dropped his hat on ground covered in a layer of dust only disturbed by the occasional water droplet from the leaky slate roof above and ran a hand through his mohawk; with a quick bit of legerdemain, a cigarette was laid between lips curled into a self-satisfied grin.
"What's the chant, cutter?" he began, his snake-like eyes wandering over the source of his latest little misadventure. "What brings you bangin' 'round my 'appy little burg?"
Settling back in the chair and letting two long coiling tails of smoke slither from the corners of his fanged mouth, Aurelius waited patiently to hear if the sod before him was worth anything alive.
If not, he already had a place to dispose of one more body.
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