[b][center]The Blight: Greenlight District[/b][/center]

Normally the sight of two iron police striding in full armor down the street would be a cause for alarm, but most of the vagrants in the the Greenlight were too drunk, too high or too enchanted to notice. Only a satyr musician practicing his show tunes for the benefit of the layabouts had the presence of mind to pack up his fiddle and gallop for the shadows. "Are you sure there's no other way, sir?" Jaden asked once more, his palms sweating at the thought of what must be done.

Klayde ran his one good eye along the gaudy line of brothels, bars and glam houses, each marked by the standard green lantern or, in some cases, a phosphorescent scrawl of a pixie, wings unfurled, the greenfairy, patron God of hopeless magic addicts from Drezlen to Nyssa on the coast to the Western frontier and beyond. "No," Klayde returned, still as inflexible as his iron breastplate, "we kill this one whore, we save the lives of countless cadets and citizens." He reached the door and pulled down his visor with a heavy clank; Jaden mimicked him. "Don't underestimate them, these elf witches carry daggers that can fit through the joints of your armor." Klayde checked his grizzly studded cudgel, finding it loose in it's sheathe. Jaden, realizing his claymore would only hobble him in such close confines, pulled a serrated short blade from his waist. He gripped it tight, still fighting his conscience as he watched his partner's gauntlet rise and pound heavily at the door. The spiked knuckles tore gouges in the soft wood and the hollow boom resounded through the late morning haze of the Greenlight. Then they waited.