Collab done by [@Klomster] [@Sundered Echo] [@Fallenreaper] _______________________________________________ [center][h1] [b]Reunion Among the Riots[/b] [/h1][/center] Starring: Dyril, Lanaya and Claus Plus some charming fellows. Time: Night (peak of riot) Location: Little Reed Inn [hr] Dyril listened to the scritch-scratching of her quill along the rough parchment. Her eyes studied the small list of things. Occasionally she drew a line through a name. Noting the faded end, she paused long enough to dip the tip into the inkwell. As she resumed, little number notes were written at the ends. All were left marked. She added them together at the bottom indicating the sum of her sells made in Nyhem. In the Elven Imperium, any merchant would've considered the amount excellent. It seemed magic was highly valued in Formaroth than the Elven lands. Possibly since it was far less common here. Dyril sighed then placed her quill back into its bottle. She leaned back in her chair as she thought about her progress. More specifically, how to convince her family that this endeavor had potential. Her eyes darted to the letter she had yet to write. The most difficult part to deliver was the prospect she acquired. Yes, it held some risk but most business opportunities did in the beginning. Unable to phrase things properly in her head, Dyril stood upright. Her hands reached to put away the disorganized mess. A dim, yellow-orange light poured in through the window. It engulfed her table then spread throughout the whole room. Surprised by it, Dyril’s eyes scrunched in thought. Surely it wasn't morning already. There had been several times she had worked up until the early hours of the day, but something was off. The light usually took minutes, not seconds to fully envelop her room. It also flickered like torchlight. Her attention turned to the window. As she walked toward it, her ears caught the muffled screams and crackling sounds. Her hands extended to grasp the handles. With a slight pause, she collected her bravery. She gave the panels a sharp shove. Her eyes widened in shock. Fire engulfed the building across the street. Below her window's view, crowds of people rushed about. Some brought buckets to put out the fires while others ran off in their panic. Deep down, Dyril hoped Kiseo wasn't caught up in the utter chaos below. A small knot of men with torches stood out like rocks in a river from the chaos. One spotted her, pointing directly at her, causing them to raise their heads. Even this far away she could feel their wolfish gazes before they began whispering among themselves. It didn't take a genius to figure out who had instigated this hellish nightmare. Now their sights were set on her. Acting swiftly, Dyril ducked back into the room. Her eyes shot to the door when she heard a woman holler in the main room. Possibly the inn owner trying to save her small establishment. Any further conversation ceased when the woman screamed. Then followed by sounds of a scuffle. Dyril’s heart froze in her chest. [i]Oh...shit...oh shit.[/i] The words sounded in her head when she frantically glanced around. As the brawl died down she caught footfalls making their way up the stairs toward her. Her panic increased tenfold. Dyril’s eyes fell onto the window. Before she could race to it, she caught the click of the door handle slowly turning. The door flew open. Kicked from the other side as the man lowered his foot, the torch raised to search the room. Cautiously, he entered. He snorted in frustration when he found no one. Soon, the squarish man was joined by two others. One a rather thin and weasel-like individual with a long face. The other was average in appearance, his front covered in a butcher’s smock stained with fresh blood. “Oi, where de lil blue witch git to?” Asked the door kicker, his broad figure edged deeper into the room’s center. His feet kicked the modest rug toward the bed. He continued to growl under his breath as his eyes noted the open window, drawn to it. “She couldn’t have gotten very far.” The second answered as he moved to the corner. His hands ripped open the cabinet doors. He started to rummage through the small selection, tossing dresses into a hasty pile. The smallest of the three spied the papers on the desk. He snorted at the scribbles as he helped his companions search. Underneath the bed, Dyril watched the feet scramble about. Sounds of her room being violated made her heart pound, her pulse thundering in her ears. She couldn’t stay here long. Only a matter of time before they discovered her. Then only the gods knew what they would do to her if they did. Driven by the thought, the half-elven woman cautiously began to slide herself out. All three thugs had collected over by the open window now. It was the only obvious exit, aside from the door, giving her the perfect opportunity to escape. While she nervously navigated the wrecked scene, she continued to eye the distracted thugs. Silently she prayed they didn’t turn around. So focused on them, Dyril didn’t watch where she stepped. A board squeaked under the weight of her step. Betrayed by the sound, she tossed caution to the wind and bolted. She felt the thugs’ eyes rake her back just after she disappeared around the corner. Desperate to get away, she took the steps two at a time when her ears caught one of them shout. “Git ‘er!” Not wanting to stick around, Dyril sought the inn's exit. Upon reaching the bottom, she found herself unable to ignore the scene. Signs of a struggle were all over the place. From toppled tables to fallen bodies, Dyril averted her eyes. She couldn’t face the possibility she might end up like these unfortunate souls. The thought brought a sour bile to her throat, forcing her to swallow it. “Well, lookie ‘ere at wot I found.” Dyril’s eyes snapped to the speaker’s direction. It was a mistake to assume all thugs were upstairs. A grimy, smallish man leaned against the doorway. In his hand was a club. He tapped it against his other palm casually, eyeing her up. A rhythmic beat that silently threatened her. Dyril’s right foot retreated backward but stopped in her tracks. Her other visitors had come down during her distraction. Amused by her predicament, the fourth man pushed himself off the frame. “Now, ye elven 'ore… we're gonna to kill ye nice an' slow.” The man’s tone was a polite mockery. [b]At the camp of the Steel fist.[/b] -"Alright fellas, that will do for a break." Claus stood up and clapped his hands twice to get his men going, it wasn't really a motivated rise, more like barely wanting to stand up and then forcing oneself up, just like getting up in the morning. But the Steel fist began to move out, darkness had fallen during the hours that had passed since they began the riot suppression. A warm meal was a welcome sight for his men as they returned to camp for a break. And to lock up a bunch more people of course. They were rather many at the moment, but the new guys were keeping an eye on them. Also the prisoners while only sitting on an harvested field, didn't really feel like trying something when they had their hands tied and being surrounded by scores of skilled and heavily armed mercenaries. Then again, one or two had tried to make a run for it. One got tackled to the ground by a shield bearing soldier, another got shot in the right calf with a bow, that put a stop to that guy. Even if it wasn't overly clean way of stopping him, it worked. Some of the fists barber surgeons were checking the prisoners, while not receiving first class medical treatment, getting a wound cleaned and bandaged was all that was needed for the few that had real injuries. For those that had a bad bruise, they were told to sucker up. This aint a fancy inn, so be glad you're not worse off. The Steel fist got into formation and was ready to move out, Claus on his way to the front row and was joined by Roogel along the way. Before any orders could be given however, a Falcon with a decidedly unusual band of orange plumage about its neck swooped down and perched in front of the mercenary Captain. It turned an eye to gaze at him for a moment, then, in a surge of witchlight, it disappeared - only to be replaced by a copper haired women wearing an elegant green dress very much not suited for the outdoors. There was a rather noticeable bruise on the side of her face. It looked quite out of place compared to the rest of her otherwise immaculate attire and presentation. "Claus, leader of the Steel Fist?" She asked expectantly of the men. She did not wait for an answer before continuing however, some degree of disdain evident in her voice. "I am Magister Dionisa and I bring orders for your company directly from the King." Not really used to magics like this, most of the corps-men were a bit taken aback, however Claus himself stepped forth looking like this was part of every days routine. Which it was not, and even he himself was impressed with how confident he appeared. -"Greetings magister, from the king ey? What does our dear snake want?" He spoke as he closed, stopping two yards or so from Lanya stretching out a hand either for a handshake or a letter, he cared not. He cought himself staring at the bruise that was clearly visible on the otherwise spotless and rather comely appearance. He forced himself to look at her eyes as he noticed, but it was evident that he was curious as to how it happened. Lana cast a haughty glance at the mercenaries offered hand. She wasn't here for meet and greet with her lessers. Normally she might also have corrected him on refering to the king as the snake, but at this moment she was very close to joining him in use of that term. It was then she noticed that he, and his approaching second, seemed to be staring rather pointedly at the side of her face - certainly not where she expected such brutish men to focus their gaze. She glanced surreptitiously towards the shiny polished breastplate of Claus's second... And was shocked at the reflection she saw. There was an ugly purple bruise marring one side of her face. She couldn't help but blush as she mentally chastised herself for failing to realise that would happen and covering it up. She then took a moment before replying to quickly weave an illusion over it, that she might appear her usual beautiful self. All the mercs would see of it, of course, was that one moment she was bruised, and the next she looked perfect. Only then did she reply. "The King would have you and your men focus on securing the Garden District. The rioters there are not as concerned with heresy as they are with railing against the nobility for their wealth. Once you have done that, he wishes you to go to the Bazaar and secure it against further looting from the populous." Claus kept a good eye on the woman before him, especially when she began to cast magics without warning. Luckily, it was just some healing spell or illusion or shapeshifting effect that took away her ugly blemish. Roogel eyed Lanaya with hungry eyes as he saw her blush after looking at him, completely missing the whole reason behind it. -"Alright, give the fellas at Garden district a good spanking followed with the bazaar." Claus acknowledged and took the oppurtunity to take in the form of the mage in front of him. After all, most of the people in the Steel fist were men and of those most weren't the prettiest sort usually, so a nice view to keep the boredom at bay did no harm to anyone. He didn't stare like Roogel though and turned to him and jokingly reprimanded him. -"Roogel, be careful your eyes don't pop out with ya staring like that, especially when it's a mage. Also.... you can easily get finer women than her anytime." Roogel was taken out of his trance and grinned broadly. -"Sorry boss, an' milady." He turned to Claus. -"And yeah sure i can find finer women." Roogel questioned Claus while not so sneakily throwing a wink at Lanaya hoping for the best. Lana listened to the exchange without much care until the line about 'finer women.' What a foolish man Claus was. And what made it even more ironic was warning about the dangers of a sorceress in the same sentence. Subtly, she layered on more illusions, a faint glow and an ever so slight accentuation of color and other features that men seemed to find most attractive. Then she stepped towards Roogel looking very sweet and, raising onto the tips of her toes, lightly kissed his cheek. In one fluid motion as she came down, she turned and cast a deathly stare at Claus. If looks alone could kill, this one most certainly would. With that, she turned and strode away, shape shifting back into a bird mid stride. Claus looked at Roogel who was looking possibly beaming with joy as Claus made a grimace and shook his head. As Lanaya was moving Claus wasted no time, barking orders and informing of the next location of work, the weird exchange put everyone on a good mood though so a few smiles and grins were visible here and there and the spirits were high. [b]Close to Little Reed Inn.[/b] The whole ordeal with Lanaya and the food break meant that darkness was setting over Nyhem, Claus procured lanterns to ensure that he had good vision as he kept on working into the night. He'd decided to make a good impression and work until midnight. Which just happened to be how long he expected to be able to have his men work, have time to return to camp and then get to bed before he himself and his men getting cranky. Dyril’s eyes desperately flipped through the inn’s remnants. There was so little at her disposal. Most of the furniture was in pieces causing her heart to abuse her ribs, a panicked and frightened bird trapped in a cage. A broken table leg was certainly not going to be effective against the four that had gotten the drop on her. Not with her pitiful strength. Mentally she cursed her earlier foresight. In past days, she had placed all her magical items into storage when she should’ve kept one or two for her own protection. Now she was faced with a life or death situation. There was little chance of her coming out unscarred, let alone alive, from this predicament. As if to remind her of their presence, there was movement behind her. Her head tilted over her shoulder to spot a thug’s hand reached for her. In a thoughtless motion, Dyril’s heel stepped back. It stomped down hard on the owner’s toes. The man blinked then chuckled, unaffected by her efforts. So much for that idea, she mentally chided her ‘brilliance’. Just when his fingertips finished curling at the sleeve of her dress, the half-Elven woman jerked away to the side. Riiiip. The seams easily gave away from the stress. The man snarled in frustration and glared accusingly at her. “Stay away from me!” Dyril demanded, surprised she could speak at all. Suddenly a fist curved into her peripheral vision. The largest of the four had bolted forward, a blow aimed at her cheek. It landed instantly. A loud yelp escaped her lips. Pain erupted from the contact point then spread to the side of her face, numbed by the painful shock. It was enough to disrupt her balance. Her right foot tangled with her left, toppling her into the ground. With a surprised jerk, Claus stopped in his tracks. He was sure he heard someone he'd met before. -"What's wrong?" Roogels deep voice was wondering, Claus only answered with. -"I'm gonna check a thing, think i heard a scream." With that the steelhead jogged off through an alleyway, out upon a street littered with broken things along with the door shutters for the inn he was standing next to. The entire scene was lit with the fire of a burning building from the other side of the street. The sign with a reed upon was dangling in only one of its chains and from inside he could hear a commotion. With his iron shod staff in his right hand, he opened the door to the little reed inn, the fires light from outside accross the street showing only the contours of his armoured form. To those inside one could for a moment mistake him for some sort of ghostly avenger here to claim those who fled from battle. The gloomy inn was a scary sight, broken things, blood, possibly even dead bodies and in the middle of it all, some brutes preparing to do some rather unethical things to a woman. -"Who do' fo'k are u' suppos'd to be?" One of the brutes called out to Claus, whom were just going to answer as another thug hit claus in the head with a sturdy stick, possibly a stools leg. This put Claus off balance, he stumbled a bit, jarred his head and gripped the staff tightly. The blow had put Claus in a groggy state, and when that happened one of two things were happening. Either he was drunk, and all was fine. Or it was a battle, and all restraints and thinking would need to go. Since thinking got you killed in battle, groggyness got you killed. Instinct and instinct alone kept you alive and it was in that millisecond that he gripped his staff that instinct took over. With a quick motion, he let his left hand grip the staff as he struck his assailant over the back, he sunk low heaved with all his body and actually flung the man across the room into another thug with enough force a bunch of tables and stools were broken from the impact. As the thugs stared in awe they didn't see Claus move in, the closest barely had time to react as the steel clad warrior had closed the distance and swung the staff two-handedly, more akin to a sword-strike which hit the jaw of the man with such force that the lower jaw splintered into pieces and the neck was twisted and broken with a loud crack. Two of the people charged in with a knife and a fire poker, with expert ranging, Claus feigned a strike, which had the guy with the knife dodge prematurely which let Claus put his entire strength into the downward blow which crushed the skull of the man. As the staff hit he let go with his right hand and simply punched the other guy with his armoured fist, teeth, blood and saliva flew and glittered in the fire-light from outside as Claus drove the nose bone into the mans brain. It would take Claus several seconds of just standing there to realize what had happened, to figure out what he had done. Another man might have broken down, but so many battles and deaths had jaded him so he didn't know what to think. He finally managed to look upon the woman in front of him on the floor. Dyril felt like throwing up. The ground churned underneath, moved an invisible wave, as her mind trying to gather itself up. Even the air around her cheek inflamed it. Gently she rubbed it, caressing the bit swollen muscle. Mentally she knew it would bruise later. However, the hybrid was lucky she was alive. Every joint in her bones ached with a new vengeance as she cautiously pushed off the ground. Her legs curled under her then forced her to stand upright. Not recognizing Claus’ image, she began to praise his intervention. “Thank you, I thought I was seriously going to die.” She twisted on the heel of her foot to face Claus. Even as it took a few seconds before he recognized the voice and could properly place it, it was rather quick considering that he never expected to meet her again, even less so in Formaroth. -"Dyril? Is that you?" Claus asked with a surprised sound. Dyril’s eyes examined him for a moment. Her mind struggled until a hazy, old memory surfaced into her attention. He was much younger back then. “I was about to ask the same thing about you. I’ve forgotten how quickly humans age.” -"HA! You calling me old?" He did one of his telltale smirks. Dyril’s head swiveled from side to side, ensuring they were alone. Suddenly her posture shifted. Hands rested on her hips, cocking to apply weight to one side. Her torso leaned forward and her lips curled into an obvious smirk. For a moment, she barely resembled the refined woman who arrived in Nyhem on business. “Yes, you’re old. Do I really need to give you a biology lesson over an Elf’s superior lifespan? Those lessons were boring enough to receive so I dread giving them.” Her tone was light-hearted, teasing and welcoming for the old familiarity of Claus’ face. Claus however regained his bearings on the situation. -"However. This is no place for a get together though. We should get out of here. Safest place is probably my camp outside town." Claus informed with a hint of urgency in his voice, pointing outside. When his expression becomes serious, she straightened her stance back into the puppet. One trained and forced on display to purely save face. “I agree, lead on. I’m pretty sure a half-Elven merchant makes a good target from the last encounter.” The two exited the sad looking inn and went out in the street, fire light still basking the area in its warm glow. Claus reached for his signal horn and gave a four note signal and shortly after two Steel fist corps-men could be seen joggin to their position in the distance. -"You still got that slave, Shini was it?" Claus asked. “Shinx,” Dyril’s tone became defensive over Claus’ mispronunciation of her first slave’s name. Her eyes avoided his gaze, if he looked, as she inhaled. Placing a mask over her facial features to hide the pain, she answered in a blank tone. “No, she died before we arrived. Discarded by a mysterious killer while running one last errand for me. Her daughter, Kiseo, is currently serving in her place and arrived with me.” As she began to step past Claus, she paused long enough to add one last request. “Keep an eye out for her. She was the last one to leave the docks before this all happened and I worry something might’ve happened.” -"Huh, i see... sorry about that." Claus felt a bit stupid for getting it wrong now. But he had other things to focus on and kept going. -"Oh well, these two will escort you to camp. There you will be given room in a tent. Possibly mine, it's large enough for two or three. An extra bedroll can easily be arranged by Katrina. Alright, see you later." He notioned to all present before making the most half arsed salute this century and then moved off. As the half elf disappeared around a corner Claus let a glance stay with her a bit longer than planned. Now was not the time to get stuck with memories. Now was time for work. Sure i'll keep an eye out for Kiseo. He doubted he would get which one incorrect, seeing there probably is about one mao in the entirety of Formaroth. He returned to his formation, the garden district awaits. Followed by the Bazaar. There would be many heads being knocked before this night was over.