[center][h3][color=C0392B]Rudolf Sagramore[/color][/h3][/center]

[color=C0392B]"Huh—? [i]Ranbu no Iza[/i]— Hey, [i]hold on[/i] a sec!"[/color]

The fall had hardly been enough to scratch him, much less hurt, but he was really sore regardless. Damned gil on the floor ahead... If he'd not caught it glinting in a sunbeam through the broken rafter, he would have just sidestepped this stupid thing exactly the way Esben did, but instead, he'd been naive enough to think his luck was finally turning around—

[color=C0392B]"[i]Esben![/i]"[/color] No avail. The southerner was tall, blonde, and long gone already, sailing gleefully into the din of steel and shot they'd [i]just[/i] been talking about sneaking out beneath. Beneath an agitated, furrowed brow, the younger lad clicked his tongue and hissed his frustrations at the retreating frame while he hoisted himself up fully and brushed away dust-covered cobwebs. [color=C0392B]"Dammit. [i]Dammit![/i]"[/color]

—Only to, from three different angles, be reminded that it could [i]always[/i] nosedive. On the simplest count, literally, once the tarp strewn over that section of the dilapidated floor gave way to a twelve-foot void to the cellar below. No amount of the other man's rising-pitched queries in that lilting accent he put on (probably native, but a bit played up by Rudolf's guess) asking him if he was alright would assuage the embarrassment of falling for something like that after selling himself off as an experienced martial artist, dedicated to the craft of the blade. He wanted to curl up and die, honestly. Being reassured that it was [color=#b3ccff]"good thinking, just in time"[/color] when the Valheimr rolled in was just icing on the cake, even [i]if[/i] Esben's heart was in the right place.

The second, as things stood, was Esben himself. They'd been travelling for a few days, so he'd already gotten some inklings that the big guy wasn't all quite what he seemed— well, no. Not fair, saying that. What kind of spy would be that up front about it? It was his fault for falling for it, but regardless, the man just seemed personable, maybe a bit goofy. Hard to take those claims at face value, but... He should have paid more attention to what he'd seen. The man had always registered as too good a mover for a guy backpacking across nations, even war-torn ones. His steps were quiet, swift, considered. Even if he didn't buy a [color=b3ccff]"covert intelligence operative"[/color], he should have at least gone ahead and pinged him as a hunter— It'd have left him more emotionally prepared for these stone-cold executions! [color=C0392B][i]You could just turn that on this whole time, while were trading sleeping watches?! Scary! You're scary![/i][/color]

[url=https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CPQx0Mo6t9w]He put power into his legs,[/url] letting strength make up for some of that gulf in agility. Rudolf was a diligent trainee when it came to all manner of physical development, and even he could admit that he moved well compared to normal folk or even normal militias and town guards and so on. But once the [s]Skaellan[/s] [i]Skaeller[/i] had truly dropped the mask, Rudolf's eye for comparisons never lied— it would be a rare day he closed distance so quick and quiet as that. Instead, he'd have to make do with a surging charge into the disarray, the pair of swords at his hip drawn. Shorter one in his left, longer in the right, both of them at least able to cut, so an upgrade from the weight on his back. He was far from a whiz at dual-wielding, especially with swords of uneven length, but any port in a storm...

He crashed into a pile of the shieldbearers, pressing the advantage he and Esben had in appearing from the flank for all it was worth. Third. [i]Mother crystal,[/i] the big one was third. Speaking of Storm, Dual-Wielding, and Scary People— the single-minded fury of one Ranbu no Izayoi, the Limbtaker in the flesh, surged past his back as his paired fangs bit deep into the far edge of those she scattered, checking their attemps to regroup and pincer her charge. He'd heard his share of stories of her killing intent, and to feel them vindicated made him doubly sure that she topped his prospective list of [color=C0392B][i]"People I'm praying I never meet in Osprey"[/i][/color]. He was hopeful he'd not look too much like anyone she might have familiarized herself with in wartime— for every story about the sensation of her presence on the battlefield, there were two of her effect. And with her so clearly fiercely protective of her home, if she caught the scent of and Edrenian veteran in his blood, face, or bearing...

He clicked his tongue and grimaced, shortsword knocking a thrust bayonet off-course and wrenching down to pierce the fusilier's throat. Another came from behind, bearing a shield, trying to bring it down on his head. He whirled, allowing the bleeding gunner to take blow and come loose from the blade, and dropped low. Temporarily blocked from the larger man's view as the corpse fell, Rudolf completed the spin, lashing out and letting his heel crash into the shielder's ankle from the side as it returned to stance. He was smaller, but had a hell of a solid base and the edge in strength. 

The thunderbolt hew of his longsword caught the man's head as he bounced off the ground, having just enough time to grunt in surprise at his legs went flying. An impact somewhere behind his kidney gave a pinging and cracking report. His greatsword had bounced a bullet. [color=C0392B][i]Guess you aren't useless trash after all. Lovely. Etro, I'm gonna die if we don't do something about these gunners.[/i][/color]

...No matter [i]how[/i] you sliced it, this day had set a land speed record in going from Bad to Worse.

A shift in the wind brought the smell of singed flesh and passing storm to his nose, echoes of the men the grey-clad girl he'd caught in the corner of his eye had cooked. He felt his gut tie itself into a knot, and tried to focus on the more palatably acrid gunpowder instead.

He really wanted to go home...

[@Psyker Landshark][@The Otter][@Izurich]