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Post by Seran Tylriin on May 21, 2005 17:06:09 GMT -5
Many creatures called the darkness their friend, but there were very few who called it home. They way this particular creature moved in it spoke to his comfort and familiarity with it. He disappeared and reappeared like the shadow of a cloud passing over the darkened cobblestone of the city streets. Even the cool night breeze whipped around him as if he were not even there. Moving through an alleyway the figure slipped around a corner and behind the shelter of a few high barrels.
Black on black made him hard to follow. Head to toe he was swathed in black muslin linen leaving only his eyes exposed to the Ulsterian night. Without even looking he moved into a deserted street and stopped there, listening. Cocking his head to a better angle, mismatched eyes closed momentarily. There was a busy tavern three blocks up and a little activity in the alleys ahead of him. It would be best, he surmised, to avoid these if at all possible. Instead he turned around and headed down a second alley leading for the river.
It was always more tricky near the water. The figure in black stopped once more to listen but gave up with a soft hiss of aggravation. The endless streaming vibrations of the river felt like an assault on his nerves as they needled over his skin persistently. He shrugged involuntarily and looked annoyed. At least, he thought, he could follow the river to a more secluded spot. Traveling swiftly along the bank he made sure to stay upwind so that anyone ahead would be completely unassuming to his presence. He was fairly certain the ones that would come from behind him were a good distance now, for he had not felt their presence for quite some time now.
A mile down the river was a bridge. Creeping along the bank the figure had stopped intermittently to listen for something, but found with increasing annoyance that most other vibrations were drown out by the water. It made him feel nude, or blind, but it also meant his pursuers were in the same position. Though he seriously doubted any of Gavan’s men had enough wits to track a jack rabbit, let alone an Akkadian. But when it came to Gavan, he took no chances.
The bridge was as good a place as any to make camp and after surveying the perimeter it was only several moments later that the cloaked man had a small fire burning. He had purposefully built it against the lee of a small dale to hide most of the light from prying eyes. He sat then, for the first time in days, and pulled a shank of hare meat from his small satchel. Provisions were running low. Once outside the city he would have to hunt again.
And just like that his thoughts were interrupted by an old and familiar prickling sensation along the fine hairs of his skin…<br> In a flash of a second the man was on his feet and the shaft of a thin silver blade caught the flickering firelight. Even with his half Dhrallian eyes that were blessed with the gift of dark vision, he could not see the cause of alarm. He knew it was there, though. The vibrations sang across his skin like high notes in an opera finale. Blast it all, why hadn’t he felt it sooner? The river was hiding everything, swallowing the vibrations with its own cacophony, and now this one was too close not to feel. Turning the leather wrapped hilt in his gloved hand the runs along the wickedly curved steel flashed with the orange blaze. And he waited.
The old beggar blinked at the scene before him and froze in his tracks as he was surmounting the dale. Shaking he raised his hands with open palms. The figure before him was covered and veiled in black and was hard to make out even by the light of the fire, but the blade in the man’s hand was glaringly obvious.
“Sorry guv’nah… didn’ mean to startle ya then. Oi jus’ saw the fire light an’ thought… err… Oi’ll jus’ turn back ‘round an’ go…”
Blinking the beggar’s words faded and he did a double take. The man was gone; Vanished right before his eyes back into the welcoming shroud of the night without even so much as the flutter of a cloak. “What the bloody ‘ell?” the beggar swiveled around in disbelief. But there was nothing save the scuff mark of a boot in the soft river silt and the small campfire. Shaking his head, the beggar sat down on the dale.
The assassin moved quickly as if a part of the night itself. He had to get away from the river and find a place to hide in the city before the dawn struck in just a few hours. If one beggar had seen the campfire chances were others would too, so he couldn’t stay. Finding lodging would be an impossibility and he almost spat to himself with a cynical notion thinking what the reaction would be if he tried to show his face in this city. He would be tagged, that was for certain. So he was now stuck. Ducking around a bend he headed away from the river and the heading it was causing him and turned back up towards the city proper.
Tall and thin he looked like one of the long shadows haunting the walls in the dim light of the city’s outskirts. He would have to stay the night here and pray he stayed as lost to everyone else as he felt to himself.
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Post by Sabinia Delaunay on May 22, 2005 14:17:29 GMT -5
Circling the outskirts of the city proper, Sabinia was relieved to find the various taverns and inns still roaring with life, such seedy establishments that they were. It was nothing new to the woman, after all, she had spent years living out of every hole in the wall she could find and Emain Macha seemed to hold the better choices. Walking along at an easy pace, she lifted her gray eyes skyward and measured the few remaining hours of nightfall, a faint scent of the rising sun wafting past her nostrils. Sabinia's senses were acute and finely tuned to the environment about her, which came from those long years of braving the wilds and learning true forest etiquette.
A scream in the night froze her in her tracks.
Narrowing her eyes, she strained them in an attempt to pierce the shadows of the alley before her, two figures appearing to be engaged in some sort of skirmish. This wasn't a surprise in the least to the musician, and she would have continued on her way were it not for the flash of cascading red hair and another high pitched cry of terror. One of the figures was a woman! A few muttered curses and a volley of grunts from a male voice confirmed her own suspicions rather easily. The woman was being raped and Sabinia was the only one who seemed to have taken notice at all, the alleyway and surrounding area completely desolate.
White hot rage exploded within her and she balled her fists tight, boot heels clicking along the worn stones as she advanced on the struggling pair. As she got closer, she was hit by the noxious stench of beer on the man's clothes, his anger incited by a drunken stupor of pure primal instinct. She had seen this before with various warriors who simply could not hold their alcohol and it made her stomach tighten and her nerves grind. They were in perfect sight now, though neither seemed to note her presence just as yet. The woman was fighting for her life in all respects and the man knew only the lust of his burning loins.
"I wouldn't do that if I were you." Sabinia's voice broke through the air, powerful and full of command, "It's obvious the lass doesn't like the idea of warming your bed tonight. Best you leave her be and go back inside for another drink."
Red eyed and sweating profusely, the man turned toward the new arrival, enraged and growling, "You'd do well to stay out of other's affairs girl, or you'll be next." Wiping the sudden pool of spittle that fell from his lips with a dirty sleeve, he then ignored the woman and returned to the task at hand. Seizing the maid, who appeared to be tavern help, tightly by the wrists and shaking her into submission, he laughed cruelly in delight of her struggle. "Come now wench, just give me a little kiss and I'll be on my way."
Sabinia saw it almost before it happened, the silhouette of a swiftly rising knee that connected with the man's inner thigh. It was a well placed move, but the young maid had missed her mark and was rewarded with a sharp backhand that silenced her and rendered her dumb for the time being. The gleam of a blade came next and the would-be rapist sunk it deep between her breasts, his eyes crazed and blazing with fury that could only have been beverage induced.
With her own growl of rage, Sabinia moved like lightning, her own body acting instinctively as she threw her full weight against the madman and shoved him aside. He did not fall however and turned to intercept her even as the bleeding bar maid fell to the ground in a heap, her eyes rolling about in their sockets. A large hand reached and gripped nothing but air as Sabinia ducked low and rose up with the heel of her palm, catching the bones of his nose and shattering them easily. Staggering backwards, the man cradled his face with roars of ferocious agony, blood seeping through his fingertips. Turning as best he could, he fled down the alley with more than his share of stumbling and vanished into the night.
Breathing roughly with narrowed and determined eyes, Sabinia watched him go and then went to her knees at the dying woman's side. Reaching out, she cradled the body in her arms and whispered gently, "It's going to be alright, he's gone now. You're going to be fine, just hang on." There was no answer. The woman lifted her glazed eyes toward Sabinia and died.
"Hey you! Don't move!" A bitter male voice caught her off guard and she raised her eyes to see four approaching soliders with weapons drawn. She opened her mouth to protest but went silent at the sight of her chest and clothing smeared in the dead maiden's blood. They meant to seize her! They believed her to be the murderer! Flying to her feet, she took a few steps back in shock, her words failing and her mind gripped in panic. "I said stay right where you are! You are under arrest!" Another commanded, but his words were short lived. The soldiers broke into a run.
Sabinia was already fleeing in the opposite direction.
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Post by Seran Tylriin on May 22, 2005 15:07:56 GMT -5
Black muslin tugged on his thin frame as the wind caressed the figure standing in the empty street. His head was tilted in the customary way as he listened the air. Unsurprisingly there was a lot of noise, even at this time of the night. Busy taverns, street fights, animals stirring. It was all too irritating for him to concentrate for more than a few minutes at a time. This was one of two streets nearby that was deserted, one of two places in the area that he was safe.
The river had already proven how dangerous it could be and at the moment he did not feel it was wise to risk himself more than he had to. The taverns were out of the question. Finding lodging was never an option to people like him. From the vibrations on the air and what he had seen of the sprawling expanse of the city the outer reaches beyond the gates of the urban center was still too overrun with people for him to make a clean escape before the sun came up. With the coming of night he was assured concealment within the deep folds of darkness that he could so easily get lost in. In daylight he found himself more conspicuous than he could afford.
Perhaps he was overreacting. He hadn’t felt the familiar throb of Gavan or his men in at least three days time. But it was not beyond the slave driver to find him, even as far north from the desert as they were now. It had already happened once before, and the Akkadian would have rather thrown himself into the unforgiving swell of the river than take the risk of ever going back.
Gavan would not relent. Twice he had lost his most valuable piece of property and he would get it back. The Akkadian was significant, not only as a personal assassin and a flawless gladiatorial competitor, but as leverage. Beneath the black veil he hid behind there was a click of teeth grinding at the thought. Leverage. He hated being leverage.
What was far more aggravating at the moment was that he could not hear over the roar of the pulsations all around him. He stayed out of the hearts of cities for the most part for this very reason. They were indiscernible from one another, all the sensations of all the life forces in the area, from the drunken men and annoyed barmaids to the roaring fires in the hearths and the stirring animals in the barns were all blending together into one disjointed symphony where none of the harmonies matched and no one was keeping time. It was like hearing an orchestra play the same song in different canter where everyone started on a different page. Closing his eyes he shook his head to rid himself of the dull ache he was getting from the concentration. It didn’t work.
As the scream of the barmaid ripped through the air the vibration of her aura did as well, slamming the assassin in the face. It was a warm feeling that flooded him and as the young girl’s heart raced so did the throb that was filling his mind, faster and faster. He turned his head in the direction it came from. There was a tavern near there. He surmised there must be a fight. Shoulders shrugged lightly. Such things happened. It was the way of life here and he certainly would interfere when he had his own problems to worry about.
Oh how he hated when things he didn’t interfere in became his problems.
Why he had not felt it sooner didn’t even have the chance to run across his mind as the second sensation hit him. It was like hearing the quickened heartbeat and the slapping of boots on cobblestone as the blonde haired woman rounded the corner. Had it been another man he surely would have been bowled over by her, but not an Akkadian. There was barely even the sound of sand crushing against stone as he turned on his boot heel to let her whiz past him. There were others after her, yet their vibrations did not have the same fear ringing in them. Instead these sensations sizzled over him with the heat of anger, though they did have the same urgency as the cold wash of panic that the girl’s had held.
Four guards rounded the corner. They did not have time to react as the only thing heard was the whisper of projectiles and two guards crumpled to the ground, one with an arrow through the chest, the second with one through his eye. Even in the darkness she would easily have a view of the figure just in front of her nocking two more arrows and seconds later two more bodies hitting the ground.
Calmly moving to the heap the man reached down and loosed an arrow from a guard’s chest and slipped it back into the black quiver he carried. Looking down the street from which they came he tilted his head and stood very still. There was his own familiar life force, there was the girl’s and there were a few others in the distance. For the moment they were clear, but that would not hold for long. It appeared that his hand was being forced. He turned around to the woman and finally acknowledged her presence. Halfway cloaked by the night, and partially by the black he covered himself in he stayed for the most part obscured except his height and stature. Before she could even utter thanks however he spoke in a gravelly rasp.
“If you want to continue living I suggest you follow me.”<br> With or without her, he was headed back for the river.
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Post by Sabinia Delaunay on May 22, 2005 15:44:50 GMT -5
Sabinia skidded to a stop and almost lost purchase completely, wobbling forward with mildly flailing arms before gaining sure footing once again along the uneven stone ground. The world had been rushing by in a blur and had she not heard the soft singing of arrows, she would have run on forever, or until her lungs and muscles gave out completely. Instead, she had come to a halt and turned to watch the deaths of those whom chased her, their bodies lying sprawled in a rather flawless kill line that she noted almost immediately. She was stunned, amazed even by the living shadow standing before her, methodically collecting its property from the still warm corpses of the kingdom soldiers.
How had it come to this? She had been on her way to peaceful rest and now she was running from soldiers and being rescued by wraiths made flesh. It frustrated her, hell, it made her furious! What she wouldn't have given to be able to find that drunken bastard that had completely ruined her evening and her visit to a new city full of promise. It was tainted. All of it was tainted now. She would be leaving as soon as the moon rose the next night, of that, she had no doubt.
Still, she did not remove the killer from her view. Danger hung about him like a shroud and even she could feel it. There was a tense unease here, a tightening of a harp string that, should it snap, would do far more damage then ever imagined. Sabinia was wary, though she was hardly in the position to question his feat. After all, he had saved her from prison and perhaps a beheading right? An intrigue also swirled within her musician's mind, of the dance of death he had performed rather flawlessly, rendering her enemies lifeless within seconds. It tugged at her heart to see the fallen guards resting eternally on cold stone, their duty proving to be their downfall. Yet what was done was done, and even if she wished it, she could never bring them back.
Her jaw set resolutely and she straightened herself, having gained her breath and resolve anew in this shadow's presence. Setting her eyes about furtively, she wondered how soon it would be before the bodies were discovered and they were tracked down. She could disappear yes, if she so wished, but she also had her suspicions that this wraith could be gone within the next blink of her eye. As much as she hated depending on another for survival, she had no choice but to heed his presence and respect his fortunate appearance. Giving a brief and determined nod of her head to his words, she secured her things against her body once again, having jarred everything out of place in the escape. That is, if one could call it that.
Allowing him to lead, she melded into the shadows as best she could and moved on.
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Post by Seran Tylriin on May 22, 2005 16:23:03 GMT -5
Extra baggage. It felt like carrying extra baggage. Still, he couldn’t just leave her behind. It was not for any philanthropic calling that the assassin decided to bring the girl along with him. Her life, as most peoples, meant very little to him. She was now a liability. Whatever she was running from was going to catch up, and when it did there were four dead guards with arrows he could not easily dislodge lying in the street and she with no ranged weapon. Unless she was hiding one in her tunic, which was highly unlikely, she would be absolved from her crime and he pinned for both. So she was coming with him or he was getting out of town as fast as he possibly could.
It was a wonder she could even find where he went in the darkness as he slipped easily over the ridge beyond the row of ramshackle old buildings towards the discordant hum of the river beyond them. At the very least the jumbled tune of the running water would drown out the noise of the city and give his head another beat to throb to, and a bit less painful of one at that.
He did not try very hard to stay hidden. She would need something to follow, even if it was the subtle flare of a cloak in the darkness. It was second nature to remain unseen and a far cry more effort to be tracked than not to be. The darkness was no hindrance to him. Even in this light his eyes saw better than in the noontime sun. He doubted that she was as fortunate in that regard, and so he slowed his pace and allowed her to catch sight of him every once in a while.
The river was moving slowly, its steady churn drowning out not only the vibrations heard only by the assassin, but most other din from the city as well. It was strangely peaceful, even through the chaos it was wreaking over his skin, bristling the hairs on his arms and neck with its soundless concerto. The water was dark enough to be ink and made him think twice before walking so close to it. The ridge that had been naught but a dale had widened making a foundry for another bridge that extended off into nothingness as the river made a bend. With woods on one side, water on one, and the ridge on the other this was probably the safest place to be until sunset.
“Stay here.” Rasped the voice in the darkness.
It was nearly two minutes before the flourish of the cloak was seen again and there was a soft rattle of firewood. Deftly the fire was made and brought to a low crackle. It was obvious this was routine from the efficiency of his movements. Backing up slightly from the flame was almost a reactionary movement as if it hurt him to stand too close. He took a crouched position and brought forth one of his daggers and a whetstone. The firelight glinted on the blade which was covered in silvery runes of the Akkadian alphabet. Perhaps it needed cleaning from dings and scratches. Perhaps it was a subtle message. He had not made it clear if she was along for the ride or his hostage.
He was close enough to get a glance at the small part of his face that was actually exposed by the black linen veil. It was a most shocking sight. His face was not gruesome or horrifying, at least not in the classical way, but frightening in its deformed humanity for a man that seemed so far from the word. From the corner of the right cheekbone downwards disappearing beneath the cloth was a jagged scar, tinged pink on the edges and raised in a painful looking pattern. On the upper portion of the left side his forehead and eye well around the temple was textured with a burn. The entire area was pocked and scarred as if someone had run an unshoed horse rough shodden over it, mottling his already darkened desert skin with inlays of a wound that would never be forgotten.
Most startling of all were his eyes. One clearly human, crystal blue and as piercing as his arrows sat on the right. The left was only slightly bigger and a deep and vibrant color of violet. Both held a gaze so weighty it could almost knock out the knees of their target with a leaden glare. At the moment that gaze was fixed on the girl.
She was spry enough to keep up with him and outrun the guards, though for how long was always a question. Armed as well and bold enough to travel alone through the streets of a city at night. Either she was brave, stupid, or very familiar with the paths through the urban wasteland. Mismatched eyes narrowed at her. Had she known he was in the alleyway? There was always a chance he had missed her essence’s imprint on the air with all of the noise. Had she known who he was or was she going to simply guess. Most importantly, if he dropped her off someplace would he be able to make the borders before she told someone he was there. She was now a liability.
“Who are you?” The voice hissed in a sandy tone as the muslin shifted to cover most of the jagged scar on his right side. “And why did you come barreling into that alleyway?”<br>
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Post by Sabinia Delaunay on May 22, 2005 20:55:24 GMT -5
The musician marveled at the way he melded into the shadows like a second skin, his body emerging for only brief moments before vanishing completely from her line of sight. She knew he was there, she felt him in more than one way, but the very fabric of night seemed to swallow him whole, like a long lost friend, even a beloved child. Her steps were light and easy, the weight of her harp and hidden morning star barely a hindrance to her progress, though she was sure that her stamina was on its last legs.
Almost as if he could sense her thoughts or impending fatigue, they came to a stop and she was told to remain until he returned. Nodding, she leaned forward and pressed her hands against her thighs, body stretching as she sought to inhale more oxygen to be transferred to those burning muscles before they were to set off once more.
This was not the case it seemed and she watched as he quickly built a fire that not only warmed her skin, but afforded her a sense of security that only came with those who journeyed long and far. With a weary sigh, she let her large pack fall from her shoulders and set it gently to the ground, resting it against a nearby tree and lifting her harp clear. The instrument was beautiful, the polished wood shone with a rich dark red that gleamed almost gold in the light of the small fire and she set herself down, legs folding casually as to ensure the utmost comfort.
Sabinia seemed to be ignoring him for the time being, appraising the look of her prized possession and running her fingertips along the perfect strings, thirteen in all, shimmering with an almost iridescent magic. She hadn't known it, but the firelight had also captured the gleam of her morning star, the ancient weapon having worked itself loose from beneath its cover within her pack. The scent of drying blood still plagued her, and she knew that her clothes were now evidence that needed to be done away with if her trail was to be truly purged. For now though, she was seeking to quiet her mind and quell the raging fury of her troublesome situation.
Letting her eyes fall closed, she placed the harp in her lap and plucked a single string, the lovely sound suddenly interrupted by the bitter scraping of metal on stone. She knew the sound well, but her annoyance was incited by the blatant disruption, gray eyes narrowing on him and a bold huff of air forced from her flaring nostrils. Words were about to spill from Sabinia's lips when her gaze settled on the intricate script along his blade, the breath stolen from her very lungs at the recognition of those runes.
Akkadian. So he was one of the famed assassins! She should have known, the way he moved, like a god of night itself. He had been cold, clean, methodical, and thorough in his art. The art of death. In truth, the bard had doubted the existence of such a people when she had learned of them so many years ago, but here one rested before her, agitated and irate.
A chuckle escaped her then, mocking and cruel, though it was not directed at him just yet. No, she laughed at her fortune this night. She had been accused of murder and in the process, had crossed pathes with a living myth. What better irony could be found? A supposed killer had been saved by a true one. Setting her harp aside, she drew up onto her knees and moved closer to the fire, using the growing chill as an excuse to get closer to him without giving her curiosity away. Her face remained passive and unreadable as she lifted her hands to expose the palms to the roaring heat that was offered, those gray eyes boldly meeting his own strange gaze and the just visible image of his face.
He had been tortured, or so she surmised by the angry and calculated dissaray of his partially hidden face. It was bitter and heart-wrenching, her gaze averting momentarily to process what she had glimpsed without the trying task of looking again. The silence was thick and like a smothering blanket it fell upon her, the sensation of his appraising eyes filling her with a strange vulnerability she had never known before. Sabinia felt naked and exposed, and she hated it. With nerves as rigid as his demeanor, she set her eyes upon him once more, a challenging glint sparking like the wood that crackled between them.
And just when she thought the night could get no more frustrating, he began to question her!
"I am just a traveler, nothing more, nothing less." She was careful about her answers to his questions, for she held a slight advantage over him with her knowledge of who and what he was. The same could not be said for him and she was determined to keep it that way until she learned of his intentions with her. After all, in this day and age, her kind were of great importance to society for their historical and cultural knowledge as well as their ability to entertain and musically educate the masses. There was no use offering more than he was willing to offer himself. Sabinia had not survived this long on her own by being foolish and making poor chices. "I sought escape through that alleyway and fell upon you by mere coincidence."
Her tone was indifferent, as though conversing with him was the most tiresome chore that did not give her the slightest bit of pleasure. Sweeping up her harp again, she was content to withdraw into the music as another faint pluck of a string took her away, attention and all.
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Post by Seran Tylriin on May 22, 2005 21:18:19 GMT -5
She was staring at him. Not just looking with curiosity or double checking something she thought she had seen. She was staring. A bitter look crossed the lips she couldn’t see but the glint in his mismatched eyes reflected all the angry warning he had intended. He did not like to be stared at.
For a moment his head turned and was no longer privy to her or the flames. He knew why she was staring, though for the moment he preferred not to think about it. It was something to live with, a fact, and nothing more, much like the death he dispensed so readily. She was agitating to him even though her presence and vibrations were nothing special. Though there was a hint of anxiety in her. No matter how she tried to play off on the surface he could feel her everything from her overarching demeanor to her very heartbeat, and she was anxious.
The tone of the harp string rang out and danced over his skin like most vibrations, but oddly enough beneath the layered swaths of muslin he seemed to relax slightly. Music, he found, was a cooling effect on his sensitive skin and nervous system, often lulling him into sleep or a sense of peacefulness he thought he could never achieve. Perhaps it was why he had no fear of death. He was not a butcher, he was an assassin. His kills were always clean and quick. Often times he found there was a look of peacefulness on his victims’ faces; a sense of calm he longed for with the constant buzz of life around him.
When her eyes drifted to the blade his met her face. She recognized them. If not by the look on her face he could tell by the fact her pulse quickened and there was a sudden but detectable surge in her aura’s energy. She was excited. Of course he could not be sure if she knew Akkadian, or what it meant to be an Akkadian for that matter, but already one edge of surprise was lost to her. Clever girl, he thought, as he continued to sharpen the wicked looking blade with his whetstone.
As the flames danced over them he took a moment to survey her. Fair skinned with light hair like the color of early straw with clear eyes, one of which he shared in common with her. She was not as used to traversing the lands as he was, but still in decent physical condition. She was armored and armed with weapons that he should for the moment assume she knew how to wield, but most interesting was the harp. She was a musician, he thought, and for a moment his thoughts were taken away on the whim that she might play a song. But they were quickly taken back when the words spilled from her honey like voice.
Her responses were unsatisfactory. Swerving his head he looked over at her settling his multi-colored gaze on her with a fixed ferocity that betrayed his outer calm. “I know you’re a traveler.” He snapped. That was fairly obvious. “As for the coincidence of your stumbling into that alleyway, I have no reason to believe you, and no reason to trust you. Four men at dead because you mis-stepped. They would have killed us both if I hadn’t done the job. And the one that will get held responsible for it is the one of us with a bow, so as a friendly suggestion if I were you I would start telling me the truth, and not just the selective parts. Who are you, and what are you, and what were you doing in that alleyway?”<br>
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Post by Sabinia Delaunay on May 22, 2005 22:04:42 GMT -5
She struck a sour note as his voice sharpened and betrayed his anger, a wince contorting her facial features at the destruction of her attempted solace. The harp was still trembling with the bitter vibration as she set it aside once more and her lips were pulled back in a silent hiss. There was no fear in her eyes, for Sabinia feared very little and this assassin did little more than peak her intrigue and tease her curiosity. However, she was growing steadily irritable and agitated by his constant disruptions and the idea of bashing him in the head with her morning star was looking ever promising. At least she would get the silence she sought to play her music.
Sabinia could not ignore his tone of voice however, and she sat quietly enough, debating on her next course of action. He was no fool. He saw right through her. Excellent. He was a true Akkadian then and not some imposter putting on a rather impressive act. She had been testing him, though it had been a dangerous gamble that could have resulted in her throat being slit by that horrid looking dagger. Still, she was confident that should that moment arrive even now, there would be no one's blood shed but his own. A musician she may have been, and in possession of a morning star as well, but her true might was a secret known only to herself. She measured her survival by it, but would never waste conscious thought on it if she could help it.
Sitting on her buttocks and stretching out her legs, she rested back on her elbows and tilted her head back to shake free the wild strands of blonde, her eyes drifting skyward to note the slowly dying stars and the gentle descent of the moon. Would she know sleep before the sun rose and a new day began? Sabinia doubted it very much and was content to keep his questions unanswered until she decided on what to tell him next. The truth could be an enemy as well as an ally, but she was counting on her knowledge of the Akkadians to see her through this strange encounter with one of their own. Oh how she wished she could take up her harp and sing, let her voice weave the magic only those of her kind possessed.
A fact nagged at her though. She would know no such peace, until he was answered, or at least offered enough information to render his mouth shut for good. Keeping her eyes locked on the dark expanse above her voice flowed once again, the same tone, feminine, but little else. "My name is Sabinia. I'm a musician who decided to stop here for the night. I had hoped to stay longer, especially since I've never been in this region of the continent before. My luck, it seems, has greatly taken a turn for the worse. Suffice to say, I was wrongly targeted for a death I had no part in. Those guards you took care of so efficiently were after me. Maybe to arrest me. Maybe to kill me. I suppose, I'll never know."
Her head fell and she stared towards him with softened eyes, her spirit growing more and more weary and reluctant to engage in such a battle of wills and wit. A smile, gentle, questionable but apparent curled her lips, "And for that I thank you. I want to control my own freedom for as long as possible and you made that a reality for me once again. I never meant to stumble upon you or trespass in your space. That is the truth of it and if you still don't believe me, I can still rest with the peace that comes with knowing I have been fair and shown you a few cards of my hand."
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Post by Seran Tylriin on May 22, 2005 22:23:10 GMT -5
His multicolored eyes studied her in the pale gray of the morning. Concern for his own safety was minimal. He had faced many foes before in the gladiatorial pits and in the outside world. He was still alive thirty years after birth. One frightened girl with a Morningstar was hardly something new to him. But something about her, maybe it was the slight smile, the weariness in her light eyes, or the reluctant baring of the truth to him that tugged on him in spite of himself. He made a mental note of it. That could be of use to him later.
She had not recoiled from him, but then again she had not been given a full test of fortitude. His gazed remained weighing on her for a few more moments. Her vibrations were still steady and weary, growing weaker by the second. Not the kind of pattern that was usually associated with a liar. He would have to keep an eye on her for sure, but for the moment, he was satisfied enough to let her sleep, though he was not about to let her back into the city on her own.
Standing up in the darkness that would soon fade to light his face once more disappeared as it drew back from the flames and left only the stature of a tall and lean silhouette of blackness. The shadow shifted and looked beyond her down the river banks at something unseen. He was listening again.
Gavan and his men were still far out of range, but even by the river the faintest oscillations of the men in the city could be felt. The bodies had been discovered and the guards were searching for them, perhaps questioning the witnesses they didn’t have. The Akkadian had a choice; risk staying or force her to move now. Tilting his head down he eyed her again. Her fatigue was too much, she would only slow them down and there would be a greater chance of them getting caught. “We will stay here for a few hours and travel just after noon. You should sleep and I will keep watch for the guards. I will wake you when I am ready to leave.” He said, his thin voice holding only the barest edge more sympathy than it had before.
Alighting on the ridge the assassin crouched, the whispered sound of a blade sliding back into its sheath all that was heard in the very early morning air. From there the sounds of the river and the pulsations it echoed faded enough to more easily discern the throbs from the urban center. He would watch from up there for the morning. Although he didn’t say it, intrigued by the woman that had practically fallen into his lap, he prayed for a song. It was the only thing anymore that could bring any peace to the wracked nerves the Desert Shadow.
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Post by Seran Tylriin on May 23, 2005 11:19:29 GMT -5
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The night passed uneventfully. There were the usual discomforts for the lone assassin. For the one or two hours he slept he kept one ear to the wind, resting lightly and allowing the other half of his brain to catch the oscillations that reached the makeshift encampment. For reasons unknown, perhaps his antisocial nature, his distrust of his begrudgingly accepted companion, or something else, he did not sleep near the fire. When he did awake in the early morning his skin felt ragingly hot and covered in sweat beneath his robes. There was no ease out of slumber. It was, as always, a jolt as if he had been awoken by someone throwing a pot of scalding water onto him.
It took very little time to readjust and he slipped silently around to the camp. The small fire had already died, though he smothered the embers with a handful of dirt before checking on the woman. She was sleeping soundly, and he preferred to leave her that way lest she aggravate him further with her sassing tone of voice and stubbornness. She would need her strength for the trip, anyhow. Perhaps she would come in handy, perhaps not. What he was going to do with his extra baggage he had not yet determined, and he frowned beneath his veil in annoyance at the extra decision loaded on top of already pressing matters.
Two hours passed and the figure was nowhere to be seen, though it would have been a smart presumption that he was in the area. When he did return it was without warning, he simply just appeared over the ridge. Tossing a bundle of fabric at her he began to check his weapons and reorganize his satchel. “Put that on.” He ordered her, obviously meaning the long brown cloak he had somehow procured, most likely illegally. “It was dark last night, and the guards we met are all dispatched, but that doesn’t mean we should take chances. Someone might recognize you, so you need to keep your face hidden, especially where we’re going.”<br> When she had dressed herself he scattered the stones with his boots to get rid of the evidence of a campsite and shouldered his shortbow and pack. “Let’s go.” The quiet, rasping voice commanded from behind black linen.
He had hoped to go along the river towards the outer gates by night and carry on into the East from there towards the smaller villages where it was easy to get lost among the village folk, but that plan had to be drastically adapted to the new situation. He had no idea who she had met or who would recognize her in the city, but he knew she was smart enough to know she wouldn’t want them to. Not when she was wanted for murder. Instead he made the decision that seemed opposite of rationality, and was headed straight for the heart of the city.
Emain Macha was as busy as he assumed it would be and he twitched in annoyance at the barrage of life forces throbbing around him in constant need of attention. It was obnoxious to him and his skin rippled with the pounding of an orchestra made entirely of drums. He motioned subtly for her to follow his lead and began to weave his way through the crowd trying very hard to get lost.
The throngs didn’t seem to notice the pair, cloaked with their heads down zigzagging their way towards the outer gates. Many of what served as beer brothels by night were now open as taverns. The smells of cooked meats and potatoes and strong ciders were almost as obnoxious in their enticing aromas as the vibrations he felt coursing through him at a steady hum. He was hungry, and sick and tired of eating gamy rabbits and whatever else he could find in the sparse woods. Stopping, however, would not be an option, and now perhaps she had some idea why. There was a reason the Dhrallians never came out of their caves, and half Dhrallians were no exception to their racial shyness.
Once in a while he stole a glance back at her to make sure she was still with him. It was in her best interest to stay with him, after all, she was a criminal here. He did not expect that she would run off. The reason he looked back was to make sure she was matching pace. He would catch a sight of blonde hair waving out from under the hemmed rim of the cowl every so often, and that was enough to spare him more irritation. At least he didn’t have to wait for her to catch up.
Things were going relatively smoothly, moreso than expected as they passed by the alley they had met in the night previous and moved over onto the street of the tavern she had stopped at. There was a booming and a bass like ripple over him as a particularly big man with dark hair and a deformed face began bellowing next to the establishment. The Akkadian stopped for a moment and shook his head lightly, looking as if he had just been knocked off balance and hesitated only momentarily to take a furtive look at the boisterous personality airing his grievance to his chums at the tavern.
“I was about to have me fun with ‘er when this bitch comes outta noplace, talkin’ to me like she has one up on me, ord’rin’ me to go inside like I’s a common peasant. So I told ‘er to bugger off, an’ you know what? The bitch popped me square in the face an’ now my nose is all screwed out of place! If I ever find that bitch I’ll cut her damn throat. She owes me double.” He growled, and looked out into the street towards the crowd of people trying to avoid looking at his broken nose.
The assassin sighed. Nothing to worry about, just someone complaining. Usually when a vibration hit that hard it meant there was something to worry about, but perhaps a combination of stress and the decibel had been more the case. Glancing back once more, mis-colored eyes scanned for the musician…<br>
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Post by Sabinia Delaunay on May 23, 2005 14:10:53 GMT -5
Sabinia was nowhere to be found.
She had been following the assassin closely since they left the camp and the river behind some hours ago, but upon recognizing the man responsible for her present troubles, she simply melded into the crowd. It was not a particularly difficult task given the fact that she had trained herself long ago to be completely invisible in a group, another ordinary person with no merit and no value.
Such were the times she lived in, where no one had worth who did not carry their wealth and status around like a flag, daring the many pickpockets and thieves to harass them at every turn. No, she had acquired her target and now her body was moving with nothing but purpose as though every instinct was primed and following through with the will of her determination to seek revenge. Sabinia had learned long ago that Fate was something one could control if they were willing to get their hands a little dirty.
And no one carried more blood stains then she did.
The crowd was beginning to disperse, having grown tired of listening to the ramblings of the overly large tavern local and the gliding material of a brown silhouette slipped up behind him. Astonished, the man had only a moment to inhale before instant pain flashed hot across his mind, the body registering the piercing steel only through electrified nerve endings communicating from the source.
No one had seen her appear, no one had seen the flash of a dagger emerging from the hilt about her upper thigh, no one had seen her fingers curl over the shoulder of her victim as she plunged it deep into that spot she knew so well. The abdominal aorta, fourth lumbar down just to the left of the spine. A clean kill if ever there was one. Lifting her head as she held the blade hilt tight, she felt him tense beneath her, his breath escaping in rough exhales as the beat of his heart continued to pump blood into that severed conduit.
"Do you think she knew, do you think she knew love before you killed her?" Sabinia's voice rose elegantly into his ear, soft and menacing, deliciously feminine, but grave and almost mocking.
He could hear the bitterness and wrath, vision blurring and swimming in and out beneath a black haze of looming demise. The woman had found him, how she had snuck up on him was a question he knew he'd never see answered. A metallic taste had settled in his mouth and his body was rooted in place by her blade, the pulse that had previously been throbbing in his ears fading to a gentle and waning din. Lips fell open, jaw going slack as an almost imperceptible gurgle emerged, a trail of blood cresting the corner of his mouth and trailing down his chin.
"How does it feel to be the stuck pig now you murdering bastard? Will anyone mourn you when I pull this blade free to spill your worthless blood over the cobblestones?" Her words escaped in a hiss, even as she twisted the dagger ninety degrees and heard the tearing of flesh from within. She was rewarded with an even louder groan from him, her cowl falling back from her head to reveal the passive features of her calm face, gray eyes burning. "You shouldn't have run. You sealed your doom when you left me to take the fall for your drunken idiocy. Now, try not to make too much of a fuss on your way to Hell."
Shoving him forward, she tore her blade free and a shower of crimson sprayed along the street, the man's body collapsing lifeless against the tavern steps. Bending down, she took up a piece of his faded shirt and wiped her dagger clean, setting a foot atop his corpse to pull back her borrowed cloak and slip the weapon into the leather sheath on her bare upper thigh. Turning to the assassin, her face was emotionless, devoid of expression save for the satisfaction in her gaze.
"Where to next?"
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Post by Seran Tylriin on Jun 11, 2005 11:25:41 GMT -5
It was the Akkadian’s turn to disappear. When the bard turned to address her begrudging companion he was already blended back into the steadily growing crowd to vanish, on his way towards the gates and his freedom. Stupid girl, he thought with a clicking of teeth. She had no sense of what she was doing, and now she was going to get them both killed. It was not bad enough that she violated their masquerade but that she dragged him openly into it as well. He wasn’t going to stick around and let her hang them both. Surely she had to know that such actions would have her slain.
Guards were already rushing to the scene, pushing through the mob towards the dead man and the haughty girl and the throbbing of the energy around him was enough to make him sick. The anger was radiant around them. Clearly Sabinia did not understand that these guards were not coming to help her, but to kill her. The punishment for such open and gratuitous displays of violence and depravation in most major cities was death, and if the criminal tried to resist or run, sudden death.
With his back to the side wall of the tavern two different colored eyes watched the scene unfold. She was stupid and idealistic in a horribly violent kind of way, like a deranged vigilante. She was a liability, and as long as she was dead he would be free of the murders he committed for her the night before. Somewhere deep in the calloused over heart he carried something stirred, scolding at him. He was an agent of death, true, and he did not fear it nor did he condemn it. But there was a theory called necessary destruction. And if what he thought about her was true, and she obviously didn’t come from a city, that meant she might know a secluded place for them to hide so that he could regroup without fear of Gavan and…
A swear was barely audible in a language barely anyone in Ulster knew as the Akkadian slipped back into the excited throngs moving towards the girl once more. It was times such as these that he almost cursed his heritage, not for the fact that he was less than attractive but that his sensitivity to vibrations could be unpredictable and muted at times when he needed it most, as was the case with most halfbreeds. Steeling himself he wove through the people pressing closer to see what she had done, and twisted around behind the corpse of the man she felled.
A gloved hand gripped hers. The fingers were spindly, but the grip was strong and in a moment she was tugged down off her prize and along towards and alleyway. The eruption of noise and the consequent vibrations of the ire on the air made the assassin feel queasy and for one hair of a moment he faltered, cross stepping but recovering so quickly if one wasn’t looking they might not even notice his footing had flubbed. Yanking on her wrist he ducked into an alleyway and pressed her back to the wall. Before she could snap at him the gloved hand was over her mouth and his nightmarish face was glowering before her with bi colored eyes fixed on her face. “Don’t ask me questions, just trust me and follow.” His voice hissed at her. “Or you can stay here and die.”
As the shouts grew nearer the assassin whipped his head towards the alleyway, eyes lighting up in sudden alarm. They couldn’t take all those guards out, no one was that good in the open. And they had been seen so the whole city would be searching for them. They had to get out now. Releasing the girl he took off down the alleyway. Stopping only for a split second he rose up onto the balls of his feet and let his adrenaline run wild through his body. His senses went barreling out over the landscape picking up every living thing’s essence imprint in a ten block radius. The next street was a main thoroughfare and there were a few more alleys before the river, then a market square to the east and back to the taverns behind them.
He traced out his route in his head to avoid the most people and make it most complicated to lose the guards. “Follow me closely.” He said, his voice straining to take some of the raspy edge off of it. And then he was off again, rounding the corner of the building out into the open street and down the cobblestones. Alleys were ducked into and streets were burst upon with no hesitation or so it seemed, no checking for guards or people, in fact, there was no caution whatsoever in his haphazard route, nor was there any destination to look to, or so it seemed.
And then as if by magic, or without them even realizing it, they were at the gates. The gloved hand came up and the assassin stopped them both at the corner of a building. He was breathing harder than he should have been for one so supposedly physically fit. Craning his neck around the building mismatched eyes searched over the area. “There’s four of them. They may not have heard we’re on the move yet, but I don’t want to risk even more people seeing us.” He said hoarsely. “So if you have any ideas you want to add before I do something, now is the time to say them.”
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Post by Sabinia Delaunay on Jun 15, 2005 22:29:19 GMT -5
Sabinia's cool grey gaze followed his own until she saw the identities of the guards and recognized them for who they really were. It had not dawned on her until that moment, but the Akkadian had brought her back to the very gates which she had entered the previous night, and the soldiers that had stood watch were now collecting their things with the change in shifts. Sighing, she leaned back against the wall and let her eyes fall closed, the gears of her mind turning as she ran through her list of options and the calculated success of each one. Pushing off, she gave a mere hand signal for the assassin to wait as she strolled easily out into the group's view, a charming smile on her face and her hand moving to a pouch on her belt.
"Hey, Little Songbird!" Called the leader of the group, his face a great deal warmer than when they first had met, "I thought we agreed that you would return to us tonight, the men and I are on our way back to the barracks for some much deserved rest." The other soldiers had turned to watch her as she approached, their own faces weary, but welcoming just the same. Moving into a small crowd around the tall spokesman, they stared wolfishly down upon her, obviously hungering for more than just rest and relaxation.
The bard uttered not a single word in reply as she lifted her hand and exposed the palm, rendering it flat with a small collection of rust colored dust upon it. Taking a sharp breath, she blew the mist of color from her skin and it spread in a haze about the soldiers' eager faces, the particles swimming before them to be inhaled completely. Turning, she motioned for the assassin to appear and lifted her head to survey the now expressionless features of each of the four men, seemingly caught in a void of timeless space. They were still staring upon her, mouths hanging open zombie-like, and their breathing was normal and undisturbed as though they had been petrified in their boots.
"As I was saying sir, I really did enjoy my stay in your lovely city and please relay my thanks to your Queen for such marvelous hospitality. My friend and I are sure never to forget such kindness and consideration, though we still have much farther to go." The woman's voice was light and almost sing-song as she reached out to grip the assassin's arm tight and pull her to him, making it seem that they were indeed together. Nodding toward him even as he stared suspiciously upon her, she flashed another charming smile toward the group of guards, their eyes blinking and the twitch of muscles re-animated ensuing.
"Uh, indeed. You two best be off, for the change in shifts is upon us and others will be coming to relieve us of our station. We still have to finish scouting and clearing the area for the morning report. Peace be with you both." The leader gruffly shooed them away as the others went back to their specified tasks, one remaining to open the gates for the bard and her companion with a rather impatient look on his face.
Pulling him through, Sabinia turned to watch the gates seal closed over her shoulder and she released his hand from her grip, taking the moment to reseal her pouch. "Bards are renowned for their ways in magic, but I'm afraid my tricks rely more on science these days, I have no use for superstition. Still, when the fresh squad of soldiers arrives in an hour or so, they won't be able to recall a thing about our passing. No need to thank me, but I would rather see them continue living than suffer the Great Beyond by your hand."
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Post by Seran Tylriin on Jun 30, 2005 20:58:33 GMT -5
He slipped under the stare of the glassy-eyed guards with discomfort. If the look on his face could be seen Sabinia would have noted the utter disdain the Akkadian held for her actions. No need to thank her indeed. He could have simply killed four unsuspecting guards. It was bad enough he actually risked his own neck for a stranger and got himself unofficially exiled from one of the island’s major cities, did she really expect him to thank her for the honors?
Once to the tree line outside of the gates the figure’s hand relaxed on the hilt of the wicked looking weapon buried deep in the black folded on the linen garb. Some of the tension ebbed away as the sharp vibrations faded as well. The assassin seemed somewhat calm for the moment. Moving inside the tree line through the thicker part of the foliage he swore in a language not many understood in this part of the world and flicked a few thorns that had caught on the muslin. Then he stooped and put a hand to the ground.
The dizziness that had almost overcome him in the market place was almost gone, but the only sure way to cure the nausea was to ground himself for a few minutes. Tilting his head up he stared through the leaves at the sun, then turned his head towards the direction of the river. The sun was moving behind him in the sky and the river was running towards him, which should mean that east was in front, and by all rights of geography, the harbor as well. At this point it seemed the only viable option for him to take. As much as he would like to avoid his life and reputation on The Continent, the Akkadian knew running from Gavan would do little good, and now this woman had lost him any chance of hiding in this city for any amount of time.
After a few minutes of perching on the ground on his haunches and with his decision made the assassin stood slowly and let go of the hilt of his sword. If sighing were in his character perhaps now would have been a time to let one out, but instead the pair of piercing and multicolored blue and violet eyes laid their gaze on the woman.
“You were sloppy, not to mention blatant and arrogant.” He stated flatly, the slight tone of annoyance sneaking into his raspy voice. “Maybe wherever it is that you come from allows such unabashed displays of vigilantism, but any city you wander into isn’t just going to let you take any law you please into your own hands. Maybe you were wrongly accused of murder last night, but nothing you’ve done today has really helped prove your case to any of those guards or to me.” The mismatched eyes narrowed into slats. “Not to mention that you also almost put my life in jeopardy with that little stunt, so you’ll excuse me if trust comes about as quickly as water from a dried up well.”
Surprisingly, the scathing commentary on her execution was all he felt he needed to say. Whatever else she wanted to do, the assassin didn’t seem to have her in mind as a target or as a liability any longer, and once rummaging through his pack, didn’t even seem to notice she existed any longer either. Pulling back the black on his lanky form several knives were withdrawn and hooked in their proper places along his belt, and then the pack was neatly closed and reshouldered.
“The harbor is east, which is that way.” He pointed, “And the nearest village is south, and that way.” He motioned ninety degrees another direction. “Neither are that far. Do as you wish, but don’t decide to follow me if you’re going to be as obvious about your intentions or your temper as you were in the city. Next time I might actually leave like my instincts tell me to.”
The figure started across the field away from the tree line, By any good estimation that harbor should be a few miles, maybe only one and some, for the river had been getting wider and more murky at the spots he had seen, and there were too many men smelling of salt and dead fish to have it be far away. He would now have to go around the city to get there, but he would have plenty of time, it was only mid-day.
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