RP:Alvina Abducted!

Part of the A Dream of Tyranny Arc

Bath House

Alvina moved with a relaxed gait from the bathhouse with a bag in tow. Her skin was glowing with a thin sheen of moisture, likely bath water still cleaning to her warm skin. The breeze, even from this far in the city, was sharp with salt. She inhaled, letting the scent of the sea stagnate in her lungs before exhaling. Things had been so good. Her crimson locks are pulled back in a messy bun. Each foot fall of her white flats meets the muddy path with brave disinterest. She stops by a small patch of flowers and plucks a single thread from the bush, weaving it haphazardly into her bun.

Desparrow happened to be wandering the rooftops of the various buildings in Cenril, lingering about the bathhouse area specifically debating if he should go in himself. He missed the baths he used to take there, that would leave him smelling of lavender and vanilla. Those were the days when it was easier to get by, but now that it was more difficult he had a different lifestyle and today he was feeling particularly malicious. A group of his underlings bearing raiment hand stitched with the symbol of ‘Blood Moon’: a crimson crescent moon, moved to approach this unfamiliar woman. They appeared for the most part human and elven and there were no sign of bite marks though they were heavily robed as well. In a moment they had surrounded her if allowed but with warm smiles and open hands. “Hello there young lady, do you wish to hear the word of Blood Moon and how it has helped to change our lives for the better?”

Alvina didn’t recognize the symbols on their hands or any of their faces. All she noticed was the fact that they had appeared out of thin air and were not surrounding her. The tense that had been previously melted away in the heat of the fragrant baths began to rebuild itself anew in her shoulder blades and wrists. She forced a broad smile and waved her hand at the individual speaking to her. Having anyone encase you was unnerving. “I’m afraid I have never heard of The Blood Moon, please forgive my rudeness.” With that, she ran a hand down the front of her dress to straighten any creases she’d gained from stopping by the flowering bush and tried to find a solid face with memorable features among the pack.

Desparrow watched the interaction from above, recognizing the woman and knowing that he hasn’t seen his young wolf Hudson in quite some time. He must be avoiding him for some reason, but this was surely a catch. Sadly Alvina may recognize some of them as being civilians, homeless from the city, maybe even from Larket but beyond that none she had probably interacted with before. “Well the Blood Moon is a sacred order, one that we have all been blessed to be a part of.” They spread out so as to create more of a wall than a circle about her. “The order promises us the ability to protect ourselves in these dark times, and the ones we love. Our great leader is a visionary, a revolutionary, and has saved all of our lives and only seeks to save so many more.”

Alvina listened to the man’s enlightened opinion with a polite smile but his words rang in time with another voice she’d heard say something very similar. The hair on the back of her neck stood on end and the movement of the circle caused her brow to furrow slightly. This was an aggressive sells pitch. “Ah, yes. I do think I have heard about them…” She coughed, lightly, looking visibly nervous now. “I do appreciate the time but I have somewhere I need to be. Please, excuse me. I wish you all the best.” Alvina dipped on her ankles in a shallow bow before moving to the circle’s rim to try and break through the ranks. Her hand fell lightly on their shoulders, thinking they would fold at her persistence. “Excuse me,” she repeated, still holding her polite smile. The iris of her eyes were ringing with silent panic.

Desparrow found it rather amusing, her efforts to escape and figured he’d intervene soon. At her second request they would buckle, moving in unison to allow her passage though as she moved they would begin to tail her, as if they knew the will of their master and followed it blindly without question. Calmly they would briskly walk towards the woman making sure to not lose sight of her. The one lycan in the group with enhanced senses had a grasp on her scent, a benefit of being in such close proximity to her for even that small period and would not be lost so easily. At the same time Des would follow from the rooftops, waiting and watching to see how this little mouse would react.

Alvina felt her heart pounding in her chest as the circle caved and she was allowed out but…they were still behind her. That small burst of relief was short lived when she realized it wasn’t as simple as just walking away. Something very wrong was going on here. Now she had to debate whether or not she’d stop and try to ask some poor stranger for help or continue down the road until they dispersed or got what they wanted from her. Did they want her to lead them to Hudson? Should she look for Desparrow? He was in the city…somewhere. Hudson had warned her to stay away from him. If she came home smelling like Des…who knew how Huds would react. It didn’t make proper sense to turn around and ask the men to stop following her…so instead, she tried to duck down a few narrow alleys. Weaving in between market stalls and out of sight of the public. If this turned into a blood bath, she’d rather no one else be involved for her sake. Maybe Hudson’s old roommate was home. With a hurried step, she directed her path towards the shake by the sea side, silently whispering prayers to whatever Gods might be in range.

Desparrow loved these games and as his prey moved between alleys his underlings broke out into a full on run. The lycan amongst them was faster, was able to keep up more but as Alvina in her panic continued to look back their leader decided to intervene. From the rooftop to the ground Des dropped nearby and moved to intercept Alvina, with any luck she’d run right into him and on his face would be painted the image of twisted malice, this evil in his eyes that burned with ill intent for the woman. He would catch up to her and work to incapacitate her with a swift fist to the gut. If that missed he would have to simply run her down and get a hold of her to drag her off to probably the elevated lookout to the sea. That would be ideal.

Alvina did run straight into Desparrow, falling backwards onto the sand with a muted thump. Her face twisted in a mask of momentary relief as she struggled to her feet. “Des…” She huffed, breathless from the fall and the chase. Then she realized. The look on his face wasn’t one of ignorance. He was not the hero here. He was the villain. On shaky legs, she tried to regain her ground only to be met with his fist in her stomach. The impact summoned an audible groan from the woman as she doubled over, gasping for a single breath. All she could hear was Hudson’s warning. ‘He’s not on our side’. That couldn’t have been more clear.

Sargaso exits the bath house after enjoying one of the few luxuries the fisherman allows himself. The scene he walks into ruins his good spirits. Alvina, aka Huds’s girl, gets walloped by what he assumes is a mugger. “Hey!” he calls. Already he’s charging at Desparrow fast, elbow up, fist packed tight. His right hook aims for Desparrow’s jaw, the left following up quickly with a body blow. He moves like an experienced brawler; sea life is pub life, the rowdy kind. His muscle are taut, wiry, strong from a life on the sea hauling fish bigger than Desparrow. Whether or not the quick fists land, the man tries to body check the assailant to put distance between the prick and Alvina--and force his way between them as human shield to the latter.

Desparrow grinned wide down at his prey, at least until that first blow connected with his jaw and then a second to his body causing him to take a few steps back. The lycan, although spitting blood to the ground, was laughing. He was scarred from countless battles and lean muscled from those very fights. By now his underlings wearing the ‘Blood Moon’ insignias had caught up through the alley behind Alvina and made to grab the woman while Desparrow distracted the new foe. “Take her to the lookout.” And if they managed a grip on Alvina they would indeed attempt to disappear with her as their leader began a transformation. Low growls escaped his throat as the strain of changing form took his body. In moments Desparrow had morphed into his thirteen foot lycanthrope self, staring down at the paladin with a carnal rage in his eyes. First a howl, before his left hand shot out to backhand the human to send him flying several feet and roll several more to a stop should his blow connect. On top of that who knew what other injuries would occur from the sheer force of this attack.

Alvina couldn't completely believe her eyes. It seemed more likely that her brain was playing tricks on her. This is it, she thinks, I'm finally losing my mind. Air slowly inflates her tender lungs when Sarg lands his first punch. Hope! Elation! Was this her salvation? Sargaso- mysterious roommate and future hero! The thunderous return of Des' pack harolds the truth of the situation. Their nails bite into her skin, but she screeches Hudson's name. "Get....off..." Alvina struggles, trying to break free. Reaching for the paladin before Des starts to shift. She's locked in a stand still with the Blood Moon prophets- watching the fight unfold.

Sargaso curses under his breath as Desparrow’s gang appears. The paladin still believes this is just a street gang, run-of-the-mill Cenrili crime. That naivety lifts with Desparrow’s transformation. He curses again, this time more of an ‘oh f---’.He getting out of dodge, in pursuit of Alvina, when Desparrow’s freakishly long arm delivers a glancing, but powerful, blow. The paladin tumbles backwards, legs thrown over head once. As he flips, he whispers to Selene for the grace of a ship’s sail. Suddenly his body catches a breeze with a physicality that obviously preternatural. His tumbling stops, body lifts half an inch briefly, then feet find his footing. Screw fighting this lunatic (literally). The other four are making off with Alvina, and dogs can’t climb for sh--. Sargaso jumps, grabs onto an advertising flagpole overhead, then flips his body towards a balcony. His legs and back arc to clear him over the railing by mere inches. He sticks the landing in the balcony, then takes to the roof. Time for a little street-chase parkour. He jump across roofs, spins off a gutter drain, lifts by the strength of fingers from a windowsill, lands on the narrow ledge of a decorative gargoyle’s perch. Most of his movements are natural, though uncommonly strong, flexible, balanced, and quick. However, from time to time Selene’s blessing helps him move like a kite to close small distances or cheat the pull of gravity by a few feet. He follows the four minions and Alvina from above. One of the elves trails the other three. Sargaso jumps down onto the elf, fists ready, a blow to the temple, and once the elf is on the ground he lifts the head by the hair then bangs the elf’s face into the pavement. It shouldn’t kill, but certainly incapacitate. Knowing Desparrow can’t be far behind, he tries to take to the roofs again where his ability to evade attacks increases.

Desparrow and his gangs were not that easy to defeat, let alone did they have trouble climbing. Desparrow found it amusing to know his foe was fleeing so easily and to keep up leaped to the rooftops with no trouble at all, got on all fours and charged across the rooves dislodging pieces here and there. As Sargaso came upon one of the elves in the back that man was quick to turn and face his assailant with an exposed dagger. Sure he was overtaken but even if he could manage a quick stab to the paladin’s side it would be enough. This distraction was more than enough for Des to catch up to Alvina, crouching and leaping to land on the ground many yards ahead of the group. At the sight of their leader the group rushed, moving to throw the woman Alvina to their master while turning with weapons drawn to face Sargaso. If anything they would buy Desparrow time so that the lycan could take the woman wherever he pleased.

Alvina was, to say the least, not pleased. She wasn’t about being hustled and toted around like a parcel but on top of the shameless nature they were carrying her in (Come on guys, she’s wearing a dress, don’t be rude), she’s wondering just how all these lycan men are able to touch her without reacting to her ENTIRELY SILVER ARM. It’s that thought that’s flowing through her mind when she’s tossed effortlessly in the air. Her body begins to fall before she time to comprehend any action besides turning her Silver side towards Desparrow. Let him grab her arm, Let him burn the flesh from his claws and let him fall to his death where crows couldn’t be bothered to pick the rotten flesh from his decomposing body. If this fail safe was to...fail, she’d spin and thrash her legs around wildly, howling at the top of her lungs to draw Sargaso’s attention. Don’t lose me, please don’t lose me, she begged silently.

Sargaso deflects the dagger awkwardly. The blade slashes down his forearm trailing a ribbon of red. The cut isn’t too deep, and the paladin’s adrenaline pumps too hard for him to be slowed by the searing pain. He spares a wince and hiss, but keeps moving. He grabs the fallen elf’s dagger and throws it at the minion closest to him. It’s not a deft, professional flick, but a clumsy overhand throw like a baseball. Sargaso isn’t a knife thrower, but it doesn’t matter. Whether it’s coming blade-first or blunt-first, people will dodge a dagger coming at their face. The throw buys Sargaso time to get up on a balcony, then the roofs again. Alvina shouts for him to follow, and he shouts back her name so she knows he’s still coming. Where the hell are the Cenrili Guard? As he runs he grabs potted plants and balcony chairs and throws them at the men behind him to put greater distance between himself and them, and hopefully lose them among the chimneys and alleyways of the city canopy. He snaps a clothesline off its rigging and quickly ties a noose with the knot-tying prowess of his profession. He sees Desparrow’s trajectory on the road below, then using the shortcuts on the roofs, overshoots Desparrow path by half a block. He stays hidden in the frame of a balcony’s door, and just as Desparrow is about to pass beneath the balcony floor he drops the noose to hook the lycan by the neck. Unfortunately for Sargaso, he overestimated his ability to lose his tail. One of the minions, the lycan, followed his scent to the balcony and grapples with the fisherman before he can pull off his strangulation. Sarge drops the rope to defend himself.,and Desparrow is no longer at risk. He and the lycan wrestle and roll into some poor old lady’s apartment. There’s no way he’ll lose this guy and still have time to find Alvina. He plans on escaping the lycan then fleeing for the shore to regroup. Got to find Hudson.

Desparrow had managed to evade Sargaso due to the efforts of a small group of lackeys, only one of many about the city. The guard had been decimated during the last full moon, the dead in the hundreds which is why the city was in such disrepair. Evading danger at every turn the lycan was face to face with an oncoming Alvina, forgetting himself that she had indeed a silver arm. Reaching out it was that alone his hand grasped and in that moment he reeled, his hand feeling like it is on fire. The contact hadn’t been long enough, only an instant and its damage was noticeable, like a second degree burn on his palms and already blistering. The woman would land safely, or at least as safe as she could be after being thrown but Des was furious in response. In his uninjured hand he channeled a spell, a crimson sphere which he fired as a bolt towards the girl. It would strike like a thrown hammer, only a physical force. After the first blast he would do it two more times, crippling blows, one aimed for her shoulder and the other two aimed for the knees. Again it would feel like a hammer was smashed into these spots and on his face was a merciless boiling fury, in the face of this silver armed threat. The fights with Sargaso and his minions still went on, even if he managed to slay each one the lycan would fight till his last breath as well, though when the fisherman fled he would not be chased, instead the lycanthrope would flee the scene and allow his leader to take care of things from here.

Alvina flinched away when Des reached out, before crying out the moment he let her go. Now she was falling, and on top of that, Des was shooting some sort of magic that landed with heavy physical force against her body. Each shot hit it’s intended location, her lack of maneuverability mid-fall contributing to Des’ advantage. It was very possibly her right knee was knocked out of joint by her screeching. It lasted only a few moments. The bard, inexperienced in combat and physical confrontation, passed out from the pain of each blow and was carted away by Desparrow’s remaining lackeys without incident. Her limp body schlepped through the back alleys and off towards the intended “Look Out”, leaving Sargaso behind as the only one aware of what transpired.