[center][img]https://i.postimg.cc/90NXg60h/sdheader.png[/img][/center] [center][h3]...Feat. [color=DC143C][b][s]Cynwaer[/s] Cynric[/b][/color][/h3] [color=1E90FF][b]Time[/b]:[/color] Evening [color=1E90FF][b]Location[/b]:[/color] Tavern Interior [color=1E90FF][b]Interactions[/b]:[/color] [color=1E90FF][b]Mentions[/b]:[/color] Charlotte [@princess]; Kalliope [@Tae] [color=1E90FF][b]Appearance:[/b][/color] [url=https://i.postimg.cc/Fzw1wZ8n/alkalinestingray-Portrait-of-a-South-east-Asian-Chinese-sailor-52c337e9-3211-44db-8828-5fdc1044bd39.png]Sjan-dehk[/url] [color=1E90FF][b]Attire[/b]:[/color] [url=https://i.postimg.cc/0QCZ6rQj/alkalinestingray-Watercolour-painting-of-an-outfit-for-a-male-s-312f5cf8-c1fd-4b90-8f64-d292f9b1da7f.png]Sjan-dehk[/url] [color=1E90FF][b]Equipment:[/b][/color] [hider] Sjan-dehk: [color=1E90FF]Lamellar Cuirass and Tassets Conical, woven hat Two single-edged swords Six pistols (Two on hip, two on lower back, Two across chest) Breech-loading Rifle[/color] [/hider] [/center] A firelock’s crack, sharp and strident, answered Cynric’s taunting words. Barely two handspans away from his head, the doorframe shuddered and splintered, a single lead ball burying itself in the wood with a solid, heavy thud. The two young arcanists behind him let out surprised squeaks and yelps as they scrambled to find safety—Yasawen practically leaping back out through the doorway, while Inshahri pressed herself into Sjan-dehk’s shadow. The two captains, on the other hand, didn’t even flinch. Cynric spared the newly-made divot in the doorframe a fleeting, disdainful glance. He clicked his tongue, a look of utter disgust creasing his features. [color=DC143C]“Feckin’ typical,”[/color] he grumbled, as if he’d just been served a mug of watered-down ale. [color=DC143C]“Ye cunts cannae e’en kill a man right. ‘Ow feckin’ typical.”[/color] Then, in one fluid motion, he drew his pistol, took aim, and pulled the trigger. A man standing near the bar, half-hidden by an overturned table, jerked backwards as if he’d been yanked by a rope. His eyes widened, and his firelock—a hefty pepperbox handgun—fell from his limp fingers. Pitted iron and dull wood clattered onto the floorboards. A heartbeat later, the man followed, toppling sideways into a heap beside the table. [color=DC143C]“There,”[/color] Cynric said with a wry smirk. [color=DC143C]“Now that’s ‘ow you kill a man, aye.”[/color] Sjan-dehk paid neither his quip nor the dead gunman any heed. His attention had already slipped past the armed thugs, the violence they’d wrought, and their victims, settling instead on the bar. Behind it, a woman stood with one hand raised before her. The air itself seemed to tremble as black, ethereal tendrils slithered like snakes from every dark corner around the bar. They swirled and coalesced into a writhing, pulsing ball hovering just above her palm. She looked towards the tavern’s doors—towards him. Malevolence burned in her eyes. Sjan-dehk met her gaze, expression unchanged. [color=1E90FF][i]“Shahri, Yasa, stay back,”[/i][/color] he called out tersely. [color=1E90FF][i]“But watch the bar.”[/i][/color] Without another word—or waiting for their reply—he launched himself forward. Whatever spell the arcanist was preparing had to be stopped. And while that was Yasawen’s responsibility, Sjan-dehk doubted the boy could ready his wards and protect himself—and Inshahri and Cynric, for that matter—against the enemy at the same time. Someone would have to distract the woman until Yasawen could silence her—an incredibly dangerous task, and so Sjan-dehk naturally decided that he would be the one to do it. Despite his heavy boots, and the swiftness of his movements, his footfalls remained muted. The further he strayed from the tavern’s entrance, the closer the stale tavern air pressed around him. Stained by the tang of blood and acrid sting of burnt powder, its scent was foul in his nose, and tasted worse on his tongue. He ignored it, however, just as he ignored so many other things. The clamour of fights; the faces in the crowd; the dancing shadows cast by the tavern’s lamps—they all blurred into the background. And out of this blur, someone emerged. Sjan-dehk noted nothing of their appearance or their person—all he knew, and all he cared about was that they were charging him with a knife in hand. A ferocious roar tore from their lips, but ferocity alone couldn’t make up for lack of skill. They moved too quickly, and held their weapon at all the wrong angles and all the wrong heights. Sjan-dehk didn’t even break his stride—he met the knife-wielders’ charge head-on, pulling one of his swords from its sheath. The blade flashed silver and orange in the lamplight. Then, it drew a crimson arc through the air after biting into flesh. Sjan-dehk deftly stepped out of the falling corpse’s way. Blood still spurted in bursts from its ruined throat. Barely a couple of heartbeats later, a chair hurtled towards him. Instinct made him duck, but even if he had stood upright and jumped, it would’ve still missed him by a wide margin. It struck the floor behind him, and shattered into a spray of splinters and cracked fittings. The person who’d thrown it stood directly in front of Sjan-dehk. Once again, he didn’t bother noticing their looks. What point was there in remembering details of someone who’d soon be dead and forgotten? The chair-thrower’s arms were still half-raised when Sjan-dehk reached them. He gave them no chance to bring their hands to the axe at their belt, and ran them through with almost no effort. Cold steel cut through cloth and flesh, sinking deep into the chair-thrower’s chest. A surprised gasp flew from their lips, their eyes widened, and they did nothing more. With a sharp, precise twist of the blade, Sjan-dehk pulled his weapon free. He didn’t bother looking at the body as it collapsed to the floor. Another shiver rippled through the air, this one stronger than the last. Sjan-dehk scowled. Time was running out. The enemy arcanist had to be dealt with now. The black mass in her palm had grown, the faint, spindly tendrils feeding it snapping, recoiling, and pulling taut, much like ropes caught in a tempestuous wind. It constantly shifted, undulating and churning, almost like it was a living creature. The woman curled her fingers around it, pressing them into its scintillating, oily surface. Her lips curved into a wicked smile. A chill crawled down Sjan-dehk’s spine, and his steps slowed until he was just pacing in front of the bar. Still, he fixed her with a defiant glare. Part of him was tempted to simply shoot her—at such close distances, he wouldn’t even need to aim to kill her. His hand drifted closer to his pistol. Varnished wood felt cool against his fingertips. But he held himself back. Arcane energy controlled by an enemy was still better than arcane energy controlled by nothing. For all he knew, killing the woman might make things worse. He clenched his jaw. He would have to let her cast, and have faith in Yasawen. Either that, or have faith in his own agility. The woman’s lips moved. She tilted her head back, looking at him from behind her nose. Then, she yelled something—Sjan-dehk couldn’t tell which language it was, let alone discern any words. The black mass of energy flew towards him, splitting mid-air into a fan of razor-sharp darts. [color=1E90FF][i]“Yasa!”[/i][/color] he shouted, his legs already pushing him to the side. Then, the floor shifted. Sand surged through the cracks between the floorboards in hissing streams. Stones and pebbles punched holes through some planks, and tore others completely from their nails and fittings. They compacted into a solid, misshapen wall of earth in front of Sjan-dehk—large enough to shield the tavern’s entrance from the woman’s spell. The black darts struck the wall, dissipating harmlessly with quiet hisses, their dark vapours drifting away like gunsmoke. Sjan-dehk looked over his shoulder. Yasawen stood beside Inshahri, his arm outstretched, and shoulders heaving with laboured breaths. The boy swallowed. [color=FFFF00][i]“Thou shalt be silent!”[/i][/color] he shouted, clenching his hand into a fist. The wall burst into a cloud of sand and debris, and swept across the tavern towards the woman. Sjan-dehk wasted no time, and followed closely behind it. He kept his eyes on the enemy arcanist, a smirk forming on his lips as he saw the manic confidence on her face give way first to confusion, and then finally to abject fear. She turned to flee, a shriek on her lips, but it was too late. Sand wrapped around her ankles, the stones and pebbles rattling on the floor at her feet. The swirling maelstrom rapidly spiralled up the rest of her body, until only her face was left exposed. She growled and grunted as she tried to move her limbs, but it was hopeless. The more she struggled, the tighter the sand compacted around her, and the more the little, sharp grains tore into her skin. She opened her mouth. Whether she wanted to scream, to curse, or to attempt another spell, Sjan-dehk wouldn’t know, as the sand reacted in an instant. It churned and roiled, rising like a muddy tide over her chin, and poured down her throat. By the time Sjan-dehk vaulted over the bar, it was all over. The woman lay half-buried in a crumbling mound of compacted sand and stone. Rivulets of blood trickled down her arms and legs, flowing from the many lacerations on her body. For a moment, Sjan-dehk thought she’d died, but then he saw the dark, crystalline grains falling from her mouth with each weak breath. She was still alive. Insensate, with no fight left in her, but still alive. And more importantly, he saw a green sigil, faintly glowing, on her forehead—Yasawen’s work, no doubt. He allowed himself a quiet sigh of relief. The robber’s arcanists had been silenced. That was one victory, at least. But it wasn’t one he could savour for long. A guttural shout to his left drew his attention, and he turned just in time to step out of the way of a knife thrust over the bar. He twisted his body, allowing his attacker’s arm to pass in front of him, and caught it by the wrist. Moving without hesitation, he ducked behind the bar, and slammed the man’s elbow against the counter’s edge. He howled in pain and let go of the knife. Sjan-dehk stood back up, and while his opponent was still nursing their wounded joint, he jumped back over the bar, his boot catching the man in the chin. Sjan-dehk landed on his feet. His opponent went crashing to the floor. The man groaned, and tried to push himself up onto his knees. Sjan-dehk didn’t let him—he marched over and speared the man through the neck with his sword. Blood spattered on the floor. The man gurgled and choked, and keeled over. That was three thugs taken care of. Sjan-dehk looked further into the tavern. His eyes narrowed. There were many, many more to deal with. Time to work. Sjan-dehk moved. The first man that charged him came with a truncheon raised high. Much like the first knife-wielder, he was moving too quickly, and without any sense of control. Sjan-dehk easily avoided his wild swing, lashing out with his sword in a clean slice across the man’s stomach. Steel bit into flesh, and opened a gaping wound in his abdomen. The man stumbled forward, crashed into a table, and moved no more. Another thug lunged at him from the side, his axe’s blade gleaming in the lamplight. Sjan-dehk evaded the first swing. He deflected the second, and on the third, he struck—he dropped low, surprising the thug. The axe cut through the empty space above Sjan-dehk’s hat. His sword sliced into the thug’s knee. With a loud cry, the man stumbled and fell. Before Sjan-dehk could finish him, a pistol rang out. The man jerked, then went still. A bloodstain bloomed on his chest. He looked up, and met Cynric’s gaze. [color=DC143C]“I’ve got ye back, pal,”[/color] the Recompense’s captain said. Sjan-dehk gave him a nod. Then, he kept moving. Three thugs rushed him at once. One with a dagger, one with a pistol, and the last with an axe. Sjan-dehk stared them down, his sword held in front of him. They hesitated. He didn’t. The pistolier managed to fire a panicked shot as Sjan-dehk charged them, the bullet flying into the tavern’s walls. The other two moved to protect the pistolier as he reloaded, placing themselves between him and Sjan-dehk. A smart move, but not smart enough to save them. Sjan-dehk ducked beneath the axeman’s swing, and replied with a stab through his gut. The axeman cried out, but grabbed the blade, refusing to let Sjan-dehk pull his weapon free. Sjan-dehk immediately let go of the sword. The axeman fell back. Sjan-dehk kept low and slid away from the dagger-wielder’s lunge. Steel flashed. His opponent swore. Sjan-dehk drew his pistol, and without aiming, landed a single shot squarely between the man’s eyes. The dagger fell to the floor. He collapsed immediately. By now, the pistolier had reloaded, but it was too late. Sjan-dehk closed the distance before he could even raise his weapon. An elbow slammed into the side of the pistolier’s skull sent him reeling. Then, Sjan-dehk drew another one of his pistols, and gunned him down before he could recover. That made seven. The axeman groaned on the floor, Sjan-dehk’s sword still protruding from his belly. Sjan-dehk walked over to him, twisted the weapon, and wrenched it free. Eight. He moved through the panicking crowd, ignoring their desperate cries, their meaningless pleas. There had to be more thugs around—he’d seen them earlier. His eyes also searched for Kalliope amongst the myriad faces. He didn’t find her, but that didn’t worry him too much. She had to be here somewhere. For now, he focused on the men approaching him. He counted four. Then six. Then eight. Then ten. After that, he stopped counting, and simply cast his frigid gaze over each of them in turn. They were armed with firelocks, swords, axes, hammers—just about every type of weapon one could think of. Sjan-dehk drew his other sword. Despite the situation, a grin formed on his lips. [color=1E90FF][i]“Life is life, and death is death,”[/i][/color] he said. [color=1E90FF][i]“Come, then. Let’s see who gets what today.”[/i][/color] Someone charged him, their hammer swinging in a wide arc. Sjan-dehk stepped out of its way, and lashed out with his sword, the tip of its blade sinking into their shoulder. With his other blade, he deflected a thrust of a knife. The hammer-wielder stumbled back as Sjan-dehk pulled his sword free, spinning around to deal a lethal slash to the knifeman’s throat. Ignoring the hammer-wielder, Sjan-dehk moved on, dropping low to avoid the swing of an axe, and to stab someone in the back of their knee. Shouts and screams echoed in his ears. A firelock rang out, the bullet crashing into the floorboard right by his feet. A man swung a wooden staff at him. Sjan-dehk twisted out of its way, and stabbed him first in the chest, then in the belly. The staff slipped from limp fingers, clattering to the floor. Sjan-dehk kicked it away, sending it rolling under another thug’s feet. There was a yell, then a crash—the sound of someone falling over. Sjan-dehk paid it little heed. He parried the slash of a sword, running its owner through with his own blade, and slid back. A man aimed a pistol at him. Sjan-dehk quickly grabbed the nearest thug, and used him as a shield. His body shuddered, a final breath escaping his lips, as the bullet struck him. Sjan-dehk gave the corpse a hard shove, sending it flying into the thugs. They scattered, but it didn’t take long before someone charged him again. Sjan-dehk didn’t even take note of their weapon—he simply stabbed the first man that approached, then the second. He let go of his sword both times, and when the third person approached, he shot them down with a single pistol shot. He did the same with the fourth, spinning around to stop them mid-charge with a bullet to the chest. Twelve. Thirteen. Fourteen. Sjan-dehk didn’t bother holstering his pistol. Instead, he threw it at the next thug who came at him. A hefty weapon, it was enough to send them sprawling to the ground. He drew another pistol and— [color=#8D3B72][b]“SJAN-DEHK!”[/b][/color] Kalliope’s desperate scream cut through the haze. Sjan-dehk jerked, as if he’d just awoken from a deep slumber. He blinked several times, taking in the sight before him—the bodies on the ground, the blood seeping into the wood—for what felt like the first time. He drew in a sharp breath. The faces in the crowd became clearer. More distinct. Some, he recognised, even if he couldn’t put names to them. But none of them were Kalliope’s. [color=1E90FF][i]“Kali?”[/i][/color] he called out. A man’s yell answered him. He spun around, raised his pistol, and pulled the trigger. The man stopped, his foot colliding with his ankle, and fell forward. Fifteen. [color=1E90FF][i]“Kali!”[/i][/color] Sjan-dehk shouted. He had to find her. He twisted his body to avoid a sword’s blade. A growl rumbled in his throat. There wasn’t any time for this, not when Kalliope was in trouble. He drove his elbow into the thug’s face, crushing their nose. They reeled back, and Sjan-dehk took the chance to recover his swords. Not a moment later, he deflected the swing of another sword. He slid back. His opponent advanced, and raised his weapon for another attack. A rope wrapped around the blade, and pulled it clean from his hands. [color=228B22][i]“I’m here!”[/i][/color] Iyen’s voice preceded her. She flew in from above, landing on the balls of her feet. With a flick of her wrist, the rope in her hands snapped like a whip, and threw the sword aside. The thug, although disarmed, went after her. A giggle, mocking and derisive, escaped her lips as she twirled away with a dancer’s grace, that same movement allowing her to spin, wrap, and unwrap the rope around her body. Someone tried to grab her from behind, but Sjan-dehk got to them first, slicing their wrist open with a precise slash, then stabbing them through the gut. [color=228B22][i]“Kali’s in trouble!”[/i][/color] Iyen shouted out. She was still keeping the thugs at a distance, staying just beyond their reach with seemingly no effort. All the while, she kept spinning her rope. The heavy, pointed weight tied to its end gleamed menacingly in the light. [color=1E90FF][i]“I know!”[/i][/color] Sjan-dehk shouted back. [color=1E90FF][i]“Where’d you last see her?”[/i][/color] [color=228B22][i]“The back!”[/i][/color] Iyen replied. [color=228B22][i]“Go after her! I can handle this on my own!”[/i][/color] Then, as if to prove her point, Iyen burst into action. She first sent the rope’s weight crashing into a thug’s head, then withdrew it in the same motion, swinging it low to trip someone else. Even in the tavern’s lamplight, the crystalline shards embedded into the length of rope shimmered, and Sjan-dehk knew they were each as sharp as a shark’s tooth. It shredded clothes, it bit into leather, and against uncovered limbs, they could rip and tear to the bone. One thug found out the hard way—Iyen caught his bare leg with her rope, and almost severed it below the knee. Another man, lucky enough to avoid the worst of her strikes, had his forearm skinned. He fell into a crying heap, cradling his blood-soaked limb. Iyen launched the spiked weight into his head with a kick, and he fell silent for good. A pistol cracked, but she moved too quickly, too erratically to be struck. [color=228B22][i]“Go!”[/i][/color] Iyen shouted to Sjan-dehk. [color=1E90FF][i]“Stay safe,”[/i][/color] Sjan-dehk replied, and took the chance to break away from the fight. He raced towards where he assumed the ‘back’ was—the wall with a door leading to what he assumed would be the kitchen. A few thugs tried to stop him, tried to chase after him, but he cut them down easily. One man swung a truncheon at him, and Sjan-dehk slashed his throat with such force that the head almost came clean off. [color=1E90FF][i]“I’ve no time for this!”[/i][/color] he roared, and doubled his pace. Another sword came swinging at his head, and he ducked out of the way. The blade bit into the wooden pillar behind him, and refused to budge. As he stood back up, he caught the owner by the back of their head, and slammed it into the blade. The man’s scream died abruptly as cold steel cut into his face. The next man that tried to get in Sjan-dehk’s way, he shot, stabbed, and kicked into a table. Gunshots rang out from behind the door as he reached it. Then, it burst open, a bloodied corpse falling out and crashing to the floor. A familiar sight stepped out after it—blue uniform, conical helmet, and a smoking double-barreled shotgun in hand. [color=B0E0E6][i]“Captain,”[/i][/color] the man greeted. [color=B0E0E6][i]“We’ve just cleared the back rooms—”[/i][/color] [color=1E90FF][i]“Did you see a woman?”[/i][/color] Sjan-dehk asked immediately. [color=1E90FF][i]“Red hair, green eyes, she came to [/i]Sada Kurau[i] a few times.”[/i][/color] The soldier looked confused, and shook his head. [color=B0E0E6][i]“No, Captain. We saw a woman, but not…Her hair’s like ours, and I didn’t notice her eyes, but I’m pretty sure they’re not green.”[/i][/color] Sjan-dehk swore beneath his breath. He peered through the door, around the soldier. There wasn’t much he could see in the low light, but he made out at least a half-dozen bodies, laying where they’d fallen, and blood pooling around them. He knew his crew—if they said they’d cleared the kitchens, then they would’ve certainly checked every room and every corner. And if Kalliope wasn’t there… [color=B0E0E6][i]“Captain?”[/i][/color] the soldier asked. Sjan-dehk shook his head. One problem at a time. [color=1E90FF][i]“Well done, Sahd-yen,”[/i][/color] Sjan-dehk replied. [color=1E90FF][i]“Give sergeant Dahsahn my regards.”[/i][/color] Sahd-yen grinned. [color=B0E0E6][i]“Thank you, Captain. But your orders?”[/i][/color] Sjan-dehk grimaced. [color=1E90FF][i]“Get the arcanists back to Sada Kurau as quickly as possible,”[/i][/color] he said. [color=1E90FF][i]“Tell sergeant Dahsahn that I want every Viserjantan out of here as soon as possible. Leave Yehn-tai and Iyen to me. I’ll bring them along.”[/i][/color] He peered into the darkness again. Kalliope had to be in there. That, or she had to have left through some hidden exit that Dahsahn and his men had missed. There couldn’t be any other possibility. And if such an exit existed, he would find it. [color=1E90FF][i]“I’ve some investigating to do,”[/i][/color] Sjan-dehk said. [color=1E90FF][i]“Tell Dahsahn that he, and your section, can return first.”[/i][/color] He would find it. He would find Kalliope. And if that meant killing fifteen more, or [i]fifty[/i] more, then so be it.