A Winter Night

[Carnath-Emory]

"He wears their robes," answers Ariane-who-was-Lily -- but that was a very brief madness, of course, and certainly a necessary one. Sventon can make no such claim. "He claims a place amongst them; those robes mark that for fact. Let him recant before there is a knife at his throat. Let him denounce them before we tear the robes from his back, mm? And then perhaps I will reckon his repentence to have some worth, but not before, ser.

Not before."

If the distance between them may be measured in terms of lunge and sword-span, then she has just shortened it by the length of a dagger's blade. It is a quietly-taken step, heel and toe upon the stony ground.

"Perhaps he would have you save him from his god. Mm? Perhaps he awaits a weakened moment to send a knife at your eyes, or drugs for your throat, or a club to the back of your head -- ser, you do not understand what you hold there. There is no 'redeeming' what he's done, not unless you reckon him apt to raise the dead from their graves."

And that is surely to be the end of it, for another step follows the close of these words; low at the woman's side, her grasp upon the dagger has adjusted. This grip is suited better to murder and defense, and that is clearly her intent --

Family, says Cinnabar, to the woman who'd in a single, ill month, lost both halves of her own. It pauses her again, and this time there are no words to challenge the claim. Oh, on the contrary, there is an uncertainty in her ashen eyes; a skeptical frown darkens them.

For the first time, the apprentice faces a woman who means to hear more.

[Vanidor]

Yet nothing more came from the guarded sentries that had posted themselves in a vague perimiter about the cavern's main entrance. At least not for a few long moments after the woman left their company. Then, suddenly, a flame in the night. A torch light, as it happened, that was held for a span of minutes at the bottom of a banner stuck into the loamy earth. Held long enough so that someone, if they were daring to chance the look, could see the sigil of the Brotherhood upon it.

True, there was no garuntee that whomever was looking was even friendly. Or that they would believe that whomever lit the light and planted the standart was friendly either. But there it was, held for nearly five minutes, before the torch would be doused and darkness once again allowed to seep into the empty clearing just before the cavernous entrance.

After this, the guardsmen from Janerio would then settle into place and wait until something interesting would happen.

[channe]

She turns to Rhaena.

"See if you can find any other koltists in the area, and if they're moving."

[Acteon]

There was no blood, the wound was internal and temporary; a welt would rise in time, a deep bruise as well, but it was far from terminal. It would hurt to clench a fist and he would not be firing his bow for the next few days, most likely, but it could have been worse. Much worse.

Acteon picked himself up off of the cavern floor, trying to listen to the volley of questions coming at him just as the crossbow bolts had only a minute before.

“I’ll be fine. There are at least three, but probably many more. I didn’t see them. Which means they aren’t wearing white robes, like the others.â€

[Minty]

Ignas followed Acteon's orders. And...he would move swiftly, attempting to grab her. He was fast, strong. Grappling was one of his stronger points, too. He would let Acteon talk. The man's words were probably more persuasive, more effective than his own. But here, this Acteon, was a man after his own heart. He recognized the danger, the folly in Quincy's open invitation. And they'd been lucky thus far. But luck had a habit of running out when you needed it most.

Pray there are men of skill to rely upon when that time comes.

[Cinnabar]

The apprentice raises a hand, palm outwards, in a quite clear gesture for Ariane to stop her slow advance, for while she might feel his attempt to spare Sventon's life to be ill-advised or misguided, he is by no means stupid. A slight shifting of position follows, to rebalance his weight and firmly place himself once more between the swordswoman and her target. The slight bend to his knees or placing of weight on the balls of his feet are enough to let her know that he is aware of her plans and prepared to counter them, if need be.

Her tirade is received calmly, words absorbed and filed but not deemed sufficient for him to change his position just yet. He remains determined,

Then she hesitates, and his eyes narrow a touch, a mere fraction. Hm. Apparently that particular gambit holds potential. Good. Worth following up. Balance shifting again as he nudges Sventon's leg with his boot, as if to prompt him gently.

"Sir. Please explain to my friend why she should not end you here in this cave? Who would miss you if she did?" As politely questioning a tone as if inquiring as to which days the town market is held, despite the fact that he may well be offering the man the only chance he has to save his own life. But no pressure.

His steady gaze watches Ariane intently all the while, poised ready for action should she change her mind and do something... hasty.

[Rattrap]

Ignas appears, and speaks to her. She's met him before, though no names had been exchanged - Ignas was busy rushing headlong at some monster thing while another woman - the one who seemed to be leading the band at the Dagger, Quincy - yelled at him to stop. And what not. Ah, but he's being rude. "Hey, jerk, I didn't ask you." A sword is drawn at Ignas' advance; the scimitar is pointed at the half-demon so that his advance will at some point be met with the tip if he continued.

Acteon responds with his own blade; Athena frowns and draws another; the longsword, now, is held in Acteon's direction. This presents a problem for poor Athena as they decide to double-team her, but she picks the target with a sword drawn, leaving Ignas his opening. Even as she does this, the frown turns upside down as the half-demon makes his move, swift and strong - all the while making the same folly as everyone else does: assuming that the two arms holding the two swords are her only arms.

Ignas' arms wrap and a third sword is drawn, discreetly; the half-demon wouldn't be able to spot it from up close, though Acteon might have a fun time trying to explain it in the short moment he had before the third sword - a rapier - was thrust back through her coat to meet the half-demon's reverse embrace. Run through or not, Ignas will immediately feel unusual resistance as she pushes against his arms from underneath her bulky coat, to slip low and away.

"I asked first."

[Jirai]

The veiled girl nodded to Agnieszka.

Eyes closed to aid her concentration, she carefully allowed her mind to slide out from behind its walls, slowly searching the area for the presence of others.

[Acteon]

When the third sword is drawn by Athena, Acteon’s worst suspicions had been realized. He was unconditionally certain that the woman who had just entered the cave was, in fact, the Baie. From all that Acteon had heard about the creature, nothing else would explain the appearance of the third arm. The beast meant to lull them into its confidence with false sigils of Janerio's friendship and the familiar faces of inn workers. After all, that was what the beast was known for was it not--wearing familiar faces? Also, what woman in her right mind would take on two armed men at once--regardless of how razor-tongued the shrew may be? That was just plain foolishness.

So, a woman she was not. She was the Baie. Acteon was certain and he would not allow this creature to destroy them. At least, he would give it his best to defend them until his own demise, should it occur.

It is with this resolve that Acteon comes slashing. The curved blade of the kukri was designed to cut throats and sever obtrusive vines and branches while bushwhacking. It is with similar intent that Acteon attacks, except that he is not trying to clear a trail of overgrowth; he is trying to hack a limb or two from a woman's body.

Taking advantage of Athena’s distraction and focus on Ignas, the huntsman lunges forward, following and anticipating the wench's move as she tries to slip away from her other assailant.


Every minute that had passed since they had left the Dagger only seemed to emphasize how badly they had needed a plan prior to the onset of this mission. It was all unraveling so quickly. And Athena needed to do something really quickly to get herself out of harm's way, because a storm of steel was about to begin to rain down on her. After all, Quincy was likely to join the fray next. And if Quincy was hesitating before, because she knew Athena from the inn, that pause would more likely be eliminated as the result of Acteon's next words.

[b]“It’s the Baie!â€

[channe]

Oh, and she responds.

Gladly, the opening is not far from where she is; gladly, she can move just a little further than Rhaena, while there seems to be no direct threat.

So she turns, stalking down the hall after Acteon -- only to stop, and narrow her eyes, and call, low and hissingly -- "It's not the Baie, idiot, it's the fucking barmaid! Put the weapons down, the enemy's inside. What the hell are you doing here? Tell us, or mebbe you will be the Baie, an' th' ranger here will end you. This is not a game for barmaids."

That, addressed to Athena.

[Quincy]

[I][B]“It’s the Baie!â€

[Minty]

So it was on. Ignas did not know this term, Baie. He did, however, recognize the fact that this woman was meeting his protectiveness with hostility. It marked her as an enemy. No blade would stop him so easily. His body ignored, nay, welcomed the piercing coldness of steel, if it would get him closer to his enemy.

And so he has become wounded. He pushes forward anyways, attempting to grasp, attempting to hold her down. His strength doubles, a sudden surge. His body lowers, he continues moving forward. And if she manages to wriggle out of his grasp, she will surely be in trouble. "Stab -through- me, if you must!", Ignas will suggest, perhaps order. Agnie has other ideas about all this. The girl's a damned fool that will get them all killed. Interfere with something like this...and enemy or not, you would die.

[Sventon]

While Sventon, deep in the wilderness of hollow tunnels, was brooding upon the shock he had sustained, fretting at its insoluble nature, that woman and her blade had come far too close for comfort. He was listening to them. Sometimes he held his breath while he listened and forgot that he was holding it until his body forced him to raggedly suck in another.

A man may, at times in his life, come face to face with his own worth in many different ways - usually in misguided terms like wealth; tonight, Sventon was asked to convince them that he was worth saving, that he wasn't some maliginant growth latched onto humanity, that the love of family was a part of his life.

His arms and wrists were firmly bound behind his back, and he held his hands in very tight, strong fists as though he warred with pleading and defiance. A moment before, he'd been ready to talk about his family; the tears in his eyes had betrayed every inch of his weakness long before, but something else had a grip on him, too.

"Tell her about my family? Why?! So she can kill them, too? I won't tell her anything about them," he snarled from the floor, the brightness of tears in the young cordwainer's dilated eyes. "She's mad, and she's going to get everyone killed."

This was no strange deduction, as Sventon assumed that the two of them had come here together and now they seemed ready to fight.

[Magnus]

Metal shrieked.

"Hans Sventon," Magnus supplied from several yards back, by the bars of an open cell-door. He was a tall and ragged man, and he wore no robes; he held no weapon, either, only his wounded wrist and a dangling key was in his hand. His voice was baritone and informative. "Before his father passed away three years ago, he was the finest cobbler on Weaver's Row. Hans took on the trade early, although he was not quite through with his apprenticeship. It was the only way of keeping a steady supply of tonic for his dying mother."

"A sad story," he mused, leaning on the cage very wearily, "but everyone has a sad story. It's how you can determine their weakness, you know. If they let it destroy their souls, or if it makes them stronger. He is just as bad as the rest of them, if not worse."

"Do you really think that The Baie would keep his deep, godly secrets stored in this wailing creature, who was clearly on the verge of betraying his fellows to keep himself alive? I don't see what good could possibly come of what you might learn from a weak-minded traitor. I would have slit his throat in an instant, if I were the violent sort."

The man curled his lip tiredly, straggles of pale hair fragmenting his face. "Just some friendly advice."

[Sventon]

Sventon's face contorted with outrage at the sound of Magnus' voice and the metal groan of his freedom. He had forgotten that the prisoner was down here in the midst of all this, and when he twisted painfully to look, he opened his mouth --

[B][I]“It’s the Baie!â€