RP:Ambush
Part of the Tales from the Row Arc
Synopsis: The runner and his crew are ambushed by the bandit Grot Kingsly en route to the delivery of a caravan of custom armor and weapons to an undisclosed location in Larket.
Characters: Finn, Grot, Lita, Hanan, Alaine, Gideon, Terra.
Location: Outskirts of Larket
Lita was glad to be in warmer clothing, at least for one evening. She was wearing pants for once under her usual dress, loose cotton and black, allowing for plenty of movement, which was great since she hadn't stopped moving since the caravan had set out. There were two scouts ahead of the main party, and two behind. The caravan itself was not heavily guarded in itself, but the people they had planted on the job were well skilled. Lita didn't think the move would be too much of a problem tonight. She'd dismounted Kahli about an hour ago, leaving the reins with another hand, slipping barefoot into the woods as she picked up some speed and made her way up to meet with the scouts. A quick talk and then she'd made her way towards the back, meeting with the hands set there as well. Satisfied, she'd picked her way back through the woods to where she'd left the bay mare. She mounted swiftly, exhaling as she lifted herself back into the saddle, shifting until she was settled. Kahli neighed lightly and Lita couldn't help but smile. The runner had once told her that Kahli was impossible to tame. Lita figured the mare had just needed someone just as wild to run with. She clicked her tongue and nudged the bay into a fast trot as she caught up with the runner and Rekkur, drawing alongside them easily. "I think we've lost a scout up ahead. Seems he left about a half hour ago, to investigate movement a few miles into the surrounding forest. Never returned." Her words were slightly hushed, drawled with an air of professionalism that all had more than likely come to recognize.
Finn was the dark silhouette seated astride the great black beast that was his mount, dark clothing causing him to blend in almost completely with the shadows that shifted beneath the moonlit sky. Rekkur nickered a soft greeting to the mare as she stepped alongside, the fullness of his tail swishing in silent greeting as the strong arc of his neck turned to allow one white eye to take in wild elegance. His rider would seem to mimic, burnished head turning toward the ebon haired sea witch as whisky gaze narrowed in reaction to the news offered. “Aye?.. Has there been any sound from the area he was sent to scout? Any indication of man or beast about?’ It was a low husky question, coolly objective as the runner attempted at possible determination of cause for the disappearance. “I’m assumin’ if he’s one of your hires we don’t have to worry about him just leavin’ his post..” It would not be the first time a scout got skittish about securing the border trails of the eternal forest for a passing caravan. The purge of the Larket guard had not caught every dark and sinister occupant of its shadows. “Tell the men to stand at the ready..just in case..” The runner was nothing, if not thorough in his preparation. “the gates are about a three miles ahead, and we’ve got another mile of forest to skirt before we’re clear.”
Lita straightened in her saddle, looping the reins loosely about the saddlehorn as she leaned forward enough to pat Kahli's shouder with her right hand. The mare seemed to return the stallion's greeting with the swish of her tail, but the mare's head fell off to the right and then bucked upwards as she gave a succinct snort. Lita would almost find the scene comical, even fitting, and she took the reins once more as she turned her attentions back to the runner. "The scout still ahead hasn't seen hide nor hair of 'im since he left, hasn't heard anything either. I didn't see anything while I was up there, but I wasn't exactly looking, and the scout hasn't seen anything." She tilted her head to the front of the troupe as indication. Her hair was pinned up with two jade pins, crossed, perhaps sharpened? That may have been a glint of moonlight at the right angle. She nodded at the runner's instructions and let a smile tug at her lips. "Smart girl, eh? Heh." She tilted her head to show she was talking about Kahli. Without waiting for further rebuke from the runner, the click of her tongue sent Kahli into a quickened gait and heading farther up the trail.
Finn snorted lightly, a baleful amused sound that almost echoed the mare’s dismissive tones as he pressed his knees into the ribs of the black stallion. “That’d be because she doesn’t know what she’s missin’ he drawled lightly toward her retreating back. The horse whirled under his direction, a magnificent ripple of ebon muscle, to canter toward the center of the small caravan. This was the last of the loads that would be escorted to the great gates of the Larket castle and the barracks within, and there was that about him which was superstitious for firsts and lasts of any jobs. “Make sure you’ve got your weapons at the ready aye?..” It was a cool clipped command, even as eyes swept over the covered cargo of the wagons that trundled between mounted escorts. Finn had just applied the pressure on the reins that would lead Rekkur back in Lita’s direction when he heard it. The sound of an incoherent, choked cry from somewhere near the back of the escort. The silence thereafter was heavy and oppressing, even as the periphery of his eyesight seemed to pick up moving shadows in the darkness. “Aidon..report..” he barked, drawing in the reigns to come to standstill. “S’blood..” the curse was soft on his breath. He had no wall, nothing against which a secure stand could be made, all flanks were open, and he was not yet aware of the nature of his attacker..he was fairly certain an attack was underway. “Lita darlin..” he drawled, almost casually, though there would be a note she would not fail to catch in his voice. “Get your arse back here. Now.” For her own security..and his. He found himself distracted by the idea of going into whatever it was they would face, not knowing precisely where she was.
Lita had nudged Kahli up to where the remaining scout was still camped, awaiting her further instructions. "Lee," she called when she drew closer. But he didn't answer, and her alert was immediate. She dismounted slowly, bringing her left leg over the saddle and sliding to the ground so that the mare now stood between herself and Lee. She glanced about, but nothing seemed off to her. "Lee..." she called again, still trying to get his attention. Still there was no movement. Just in the distance, down the path and out of sight due to a sharp curve in the paths, she could hear the hoofbeats of the other mounts in their party. There were voices too, but they were much too faint to make out just yet. She couldn't risk being any louder. If there was someone- or something- lurking about the woods in wait for an ambush, she wasn't about to draw attention to herself. She took the reins and Kahli followed her across the path at an angle. Lita stepped closer, noting that the body wasn't moving, even with breath, and she stiffened, every muscle in her body suddenly alert. Immediately, she lifted her dress and palmed the dagger she kept at her thigh. And just as she'd thought, there was no life in the scout. For all her work, her brush with death's touch was oddly limited, and she held her breath, managing to stifle the gag in the back of her throat. "Kahli," she muttered, turning to mount again, to head back in the runner's direction. Their best shot at this point would be in huddled numbers. She needed to make it back to the caravan. The bay snorted, whinning softly, prancing suddenly as she backed away from Lee's body and the edge of the woods. But she was edging away from the caravan. Something had spooked the bay, for sure, and it was more than likely danger. Lita tugged at the reins sharply to keep the bay in check but Kahli bucked suddenly, pulling the reins sideways and twisting Lita's arm in the wrong direction. She released the reins to keep her arm from twisting out of proportion, her attempts to reclaim control suddenly failing miserably. Before she could think over the scene that had just played out, Kahli was heading into the distance at a dead gallop, and Lita found herself stranded. She drew a deep breath and crouched to the edge of the woods, managing to blend into the shadows as much as she could. The cold steel of the dagger in her left palm was a small comfort as she tried to focus. She was picking her way back to the caravan, but it was slow going for now. She was worried about Khali, but the mare was strong and would more than likely end up back at the hideaway all the same. More importantly, her left arm was beginning to go numb and there were red streaks from where the muscles had been strained. She pursed her lips and kept pressing forward. It was all she could do for now.
Grot Kingsley was a hardened man. Accustomed to killing for an enterprise lacking a fickle nature. The behemoth of a man had dismounted less than an hour ago with the rest of them, stalking along soft forest innards where the snap of twig could prove disasterous. They were careful. Quiet. Moving along with long daggers drawn in a group - fanned out like the tip of an arrow. Kingsley was at the forefront, leading. They called him The Razor, the scars along face and body accentuated the nickname. Two had already fallen to their stalking, soon the caravan would be secured. From a solid group, well trained. Quieter than all hell. Somewhere close a galloping horse caught their ears. Damn. Now or never. The Razor rose a hand above head, signaled, and with uncanny silence the spearhead of bandits began moving much quicker, but just as quiet. Just as deadly, they had little time.
Hanan supposed riding a wagon wasn't entirely unlike sitting on a ship. It swayed when it moved. It was made of wood. It could be boring as hell when she wasn't in command. She could've throttled Red for suggesting she come along. The good captain was perched on one of the weapon crates at the back of the last wagon with her booted feet dangling, her light crossbow cradled in her lap, leaning against the taller crate-stack behind her. She didn't smell danger, that's for damn sure, which made it all the more mind-numbing; the dark, the murmuring voices, the familiar scent of rough men and horses. She'd taken to thinking about the ship; should she have moved it to that patch of rougher water Yasmine had suggested? No... no, she'd been right to leave it put, getting the rowboats with the lighter crates of jewels through choppy water would have been tedious. Besides, it was safe. Safe.
The shrill whinny of the mare brought Finn’s head around, a sharp tug of Rekkur’s reins bringing the stallion around beneath him. “Ace?!” It was a questioning bark. “Dammit Lita, the hell?..” Eyes swept the dark border of the forest, the sound of hooves echoing a familiar beat to ears attuned to equine patterns. More than one horse. Trouble. He’d been right to expect it. The runner whirled again, broad hand slipping into his great coat to reach for the dagger nestled there. They’d need to slow down the approach of whoever was incoming..thank the gods he’d had the sense to ride with bowmen. “Cat..we’ve got incomin’. Get me some bloody cover aye? Somethin’s up with Ace.” Was he actually considering heading into the open to find the dammed sea witch. “Same goes for the rest of you bastards. If whatever breaks that tree line isn’t one of mine, make sure it kisses dirt.” It was a growl, even has the male laid low over the neck of the stallion, a kick to the ribs sending him like an obsidian blur down the caravan line in the general direction in which Lita had departed.
Hanan knew urgency when she heard it, her aversion to taking orders or no. "Gotcha---but I can't do much if you're out of range. Make sure you run back this way when it gets hairy, right?" Then she was scrambling over boxes, hauling herself up, then pacing toward the front, until she was perched atop the pile--one leg propped up on a higher box--surveying her environs. It was then she realized that she was probably the only damn one near this wagon who could see far enough in this black. She thanked whoever was up there for these vampire eyes, and cursed whoever was up there that she was stuck back there with the blind. She tapped that taller box with the butt of her crossbow, getting the man below's--the man with the reigns'--attention. "Whatever you do, keep those horses calm. It'll be hell if they start runnin'." She then turned to one of the horsemen riding alongside--a bowman. "You--ride up a bit farther, watch that treeline. Anything that comes out and isn't Red or Lita dies. Sound the alarm after you let'er fly. Get!"
Lita had found herself a nice little spot to perch from. Before anything else, she'd need to know who she was dealing with. So she’d slunk into the woods a couple yards, keeping to the shadows. The sounds of hoof beats were ever closer, and she was careful as ever as she made her way, sticking close to ground as well as to tree trunks, dark eyes ever vigilant. When she'd found a suitable enough tree to make a perch of, she reached up to the closest branch, having to stand on her tip-toes to wrap her fingers around the rough bark. She ignored the stretch and pop of strained muscle in her left arm, biting back a wince as she pulled herself up. A few feet off the ground was better than nothing and she pressed her back to the tree trunk, still keeping watch on the ground. It was about this time that Finn's yells would cut the air of her attentions. She pursed her lips against a muttered curse and palmed her dagger. She couldn't yell back, not from where she was now, and not if there were mounted enemies about. She climbed farther up, knowing that anything coming through the woods would more than likely end up below her. And her luck have it, she caught a rider there underneath her chosen tree. She wasn't sure if the man was alone or in a party, but he looked a tad skittish, maybe a little green around the edges. Definitely not one of the runner's- or hers for that matter. She remembered to breathe before stepping off the branch- it was always an important step. Easily six feet down and a quick right hook would catch the unknown rider's jaw, hopefully knocking him from the horse. Lita hit the ground in a quick roll, shaking off the sharp pains in her legs. There was nothing quite like adrenaline to ease pain. It wasn't often she got to enjoy a bit of field work, but she wouldn't complain. Sure enough, however, the rider wasn't down for the count. Maybe a bit more experience under his belt than anticipated? He came with a knife, sick little grin pasted 'cross his maw. Lita just grinned, a brow arched as the man would lunge forward. "Nice try." She rubbed her palms together and reached out, slapped the man's horse on the flank. The already spooked animal reared up, quick and loud, before bolting for the path. The previous rider, in a moment of confusion, would catch a dagger between his left collar bone and shoulder, though not before his own knife would find its way into Lita's left side. He reached out, an attempt to grab her left arm, and she tried to step away but was a second too late as he twisted her arm behind her, yanking her hand up between her shoulder blades. "Never come into a fight injured..." He warned, his voice gruff in her ear. She couldn't help but smile. "I'd hate to hurt a pretty little thing like yourself... Maybe we should keep yah..." Lita was quiet as she shrugged nonchalantly. With her right hand stretched across her stomach, she'd pull the man's knife slowly from her side with a groan. And then in one swift motion, she'd spin on her heels, her left shoulder popping out of socket with a sickening sound as she'd turn to face the man. He stared. She smiled sweetly before plunging his knife into his gut and punching him square in the face. There was blood on her knuckles before he doubled over and collapsed to the ground. He was still moving. And she wasn't about to wait for round two. As quick as she could manage, left arm cradled against her chest, she sprinted for the path again. If the rider had friends in the woods, there was no way of knowing how close they might be.
Finn had registered the hellcat’s request, but had felt no need to turn around to do so. Very fiber of is being was tingling with focused awareness as Rekkur’s extended gallop took him the half mile of darkened road toward the front of the caravan. Not precisely within her range, but he’d meant for her to stand guard over the shipment more than anything else anyways. He’d always been able to take care of himself. Gold flecked gaze dropped to the crumpled mass of Lee’s body, grim expression settling on his tanned face before another rapid sweep of the earth around told the story unfolded. What it didn’t tell was why the mare had been spooked, or where her rider was now. Eyes lifted to the shadowed wood, ears attuned for the betraying snap and pop of approaching foe. He suspected he’d have little enough warning-their front men had already breeched his perimeter. Think. Where would she go..and where should he. Incoming, and unknown. Being the prey was no fun. His lips almost twitched. Time to play at hunter. This time when he moved, the stallion was not running, Rekkur picked his way a dainty dance, a silent, deathly still walk into the embrace of the eternal forest. The runner’’s eyes fell to the earth, looking for signs, looking for her..for them. The men on guard would face the incoming foe head on, distracting just enough, it was to be hoped, for them not to realize that they had been flanked. He hoped to gods the sea with was still fight ready. Like hell he’d take on a horde alone.
Gideon skirted the forest's edge with a discordant sense of grandeur, surreptitiously melting from one shadow to the next, his presence a mere coalescence of 'dark' before it passed on by. Dark was the word, a shade of night that blotted out foliage, fauna and the rudimentary accoutrements the woodland wore in its nocturnal phase; the shrill cry of usurped creatures stifled with the impeding aura of the decadent illusionist. Betwixt bough and bole with that laissez faire gait the Rynvallian stalked, his mission this night not handed down from the higher hands of the guild, nae, fame and glory was Gid's prize this eve' a 'chance' encounter with the infamous Red and the fortune that would follow in the wake of his demise. And yet, something else clawed away at his mind, a clammy sense of attrition ripping away his first purpose and consuming it with a macramé of curiosity and that tingle one can only describe as a heightened sense. It seemed he was not the only one a'huntin' this cold Larketian night. s*** was about to go down and he was walking right into the crux of the chaos, the tail end of Lita's mare decimating the ground to his right and the hushed canter of the one who stalked her illuminating the keen receptors of his vision and hearing.
Lita had never been keen to killing people, no matter the profession she'd chosen. She kept her arm close to her side, but she was still bleeding from where the rogue's knife had bitten her. She mumbled a curse as she made her way towards the path. She was a right mess alright. What the hell had the runner gotten her into? Simple transport mission my arse! The sight of Rekkur had her skidding to a halt at the side of the path, trying to catch her breath and stay alert all at once. She could practically feel the adrenaline ebbing through her veins, keeping her afloat. She wasn't out yet, even injured. She back stepped away from the stallion, trying to keep her balance though. She knew if she stopped moving for too long, she'd lose it. "Runner, shut yer trap up there, would yah?" She doubled slightly, steadying her breathing. She wasn't sure if he'd even still been talking. "I don't know how many there are. But they aren't half bad." She shifted her body so that her left face turned away from him, perhaps shielding her arm and side from view. If he knew she was injured, he'd try and pull her, and she wasn't about to lose a job to a little flesh wound. "Snagged one. Don't know where he ended up though." She paused suddenly, drawing a sharp breath as she glanced over her shoulder. She'd thought she heard something there, slinking about in the shadows. Maybe it'd been nothing more than a critter.
The sea witch wasn’t a bad spy..made a helluva informer, but she couldn’t hide her trail worth- Blood had been the first marker, smeared brush and trunks, twigs snapped from evident scuffles. Noise the second. Rekkur had come on her like a ghost and the runner spared the Ace of spades a dry look and a raised brow as he drew in on the Black’s reins. “Reckon you’d be the one squakin’ darlin’” he drawled softly, so low as to be almost impossible to hear. “That’s all the thanks I get for comin’ to save your tail witch? Maybe I’ll leave you to the mob next time..” his voice was gruff, a cover for the genuine concern that had been experienced. Gold flecked gaze narrowed on the sight of her uneven stagger backwards. “You’re hurt..” a blank, emotionless statement. He’d long ago disciplined himself to view the working women in his life as he did their male equivelents. Chivalry got you dead in their world. “How bad is it..can you ride?” questions came with low, focused urgency. These woods were a death trap when dealing with the unknown. He’d rather take his chances on the open road, with the Hellcat’s arrows at his back. Some instinct made him look up, whisky gaze sweeping the encroaching shadows..They were not alone. “S’blood..” Now they were in the piss. “Sur as hell hope you can fight still darlin’..reckon we might be needin’ to.”
Gideon filtered through the embrace of leaf and loam, perforating the very air with his presence as the amalgamation of his magics came crashing down; his bipedal form condensing before the eyes of those gathered in a dark array of blue attire and a gloriously white cowl, the thick hem of the vestment all but completely concealing his pallid façade. "Linger not in the gathering doom, friends…" The grandiose lyre to his vocal elaboration sent a resonation, albeit arcanic in construction, forthwith from his meagre figure - a telling ripple swelling amidst the trees and plant life to punctuate and hammer home each delicate syllable. From the criss-crossed vantage of his arms across his form comes a spinning sphere of theatrical light, the dizzying revolution of the illusory mass a simplistic toy meant to detract and confuse whilst the warm caress of the shadowblade's vox washed over his prey, "…You have wandered far from your course and bandits circle us as we speak - hark, can you not hear?" The distant sound of hoof beating its way 'cross sod echoes, a brief thing constructed also from the depths of the magician's mind, "We must get you back to your caravan, for surely there is no greater safety than in numbers?" Simple logic, simply spoken with the earnest undertones of one only seeking to help - alas his steps betray his ill doings, hopefully leading the pair deeper into the mire of the Eternal Forest, the prelaid trappings of his arcane-riddled tone and the hypnotic sway of the sphere within his grasp perhaps enough to distract the mighty Red from his common sense and Lita from her sensibilities.
Lita managed an annoyed look at being questioned- yet again- on the basis of her skills. The runner was ever flowing with challenges, wasn't he? She didn't bother with an answer, just reached up for a hand that hadn't yet been offered and hoisted herself behind him onto Rekkur. It was a familiar moment, from a beach in another time, and she blocked the memory in lieu of present danger. "I'm fine." Her voice was dry and clipped. "And I can fight if need be. Don't you go worryin' about me." She hadn't accounted on the runner's worry. It hadn't been a thought for her, in fact. But then, she'd also expected this to be a rather simple run in and of itself. She settled her left arm between her front and Finn's back before the little play of illusion would catch her attentions. She'd never bothered to dabble with the arts, but she'd always been both fascinated as well as impressed by others display of their prowess. That voice~ Surely she had heard it someplace else. So familiar it was, but she couldn't quite place it. She felt lost in it, suddenly drowned from a world she hadn't quite learned. She glanced over her shoulder at the sound of hoof beats, knowing they had to be drawing nearer. Her right arm reached up to grasp the hem of the runner's shirt, fingers curling hard into the fabric. Her eyes were back on the figure who seemed to be the illusionist. At least there was a face to pin to the voice. She stared after him, bewildered. But the runner was real, physically speaking. So it couldn't have been the wane of the adrenaline in her system of the strain on her emotional states taking their toll. No, she was still very much present, as long as she could stay atop the damned stallion.
Alaine set silver gaze 'pon the captain, quirking a challenging brow; while The Fox did hold a certain complaisant attitude while on the job, leniency toward sharp orders from a colleague was hard to favor. A cautioning look was given to the vampire before sturdy boots kicked her mount's ribs, the horse whinnying and setting to a fierce gallop as the elf clicked her tongue. Leather duster thrashed about, choppy locks a flurry as the daunting gap was quickly conquered and the artificer burst through the trees. Even her mount, somehow, understood the necessity of stealthy speed, gracefully leaping over opposing trunks and winding through the shrubberies before the reigns were pulled in to signal a skidding halt. Breath was held and presence remained hopefully-unnoticed as Fox beheld a discerning sight -- Red and Ace threatened by a stranger; and was that blood on The Spade's side? Jaw clenched in protective response, quickly reaching around to grasp hold of her mechanically-modified crossbow. Copper arrow was retrieved, threading the end over the string and pulling back 'gainst the contradicting pressure to hear the reassuring 'click'. That stranger was not one of their own, and quick recall of The Runner's prior orders ensured that anyone else would 'hit the dirt'. With slender arms sturdy and unveiled-sterling hue set 'pon the presage of a man, index finger pushed in the trigger, aim intended for the man's chest; and with modified bow and crafted arrows that ensured both accuracy and speed, it would be a challenge to avoid the hissing metal tip, especially when sent unknowingly from the shadows lurking behind.
Gideon was positioned at an awkward vantage, caught in the crossfire of attempting to look confident his newly found confidantes would follow and keeping an eye on them to be sure it was working. Alas, such was the give and take of one who trifled with matters of the mind and heart. Seeking to remain keenly calm within these moments of turmoil, subjecting his prey to the steely collect with which he viewed the proceedings and inducing further confidence in his words and steps, his audible divulge would crescendo the inherent dangers, Alaine in this instance, that lurked amidst the forestline were revealed, "Comes, friends, have a care, footing can be hard to discern in this the d-Ark-;" The bolt shot met his collarbone with an audible explosion of marrow and bone, thin streams of crimson vitae sashaying across the length of the projectile and out into the night air to be lost amidst the forest loam. With the air stolen from his lungs the concentration of his casting fades from his mind and he lies in a mess of baggy clothing and inexperienced agony, seemingly slimmer and more lean than his previous guise pertained to, "Arrrrgh. F-[insert expletive here]" From whatever wretched grasp the young illusionist had either Red or Lita they would fall with a sudden and harsh breaking of their mental ties, albeit tenuous as they were.
Finn had not needed his full faculties to reach down with base instinct to take hold of the arm of the sea witch and hoist her onto the saddle behind him. For a moment, the heat of her against his back, and the scent of the sea wrapped around him, drawing him into some past moment. Sustained perhaps, by the peculiarity of the magics being enacted. Eyes flew to the offending mage, falling to a mark only too easily recognized where it lay draped upon his neck. The black hawk. “The hell..” he murmured, the mark of rival gang of Rynvale bringing a new light of fire to whisky gaze. If that had not been enough of a jolt to his awareness, the instantaneous release of the youth’s hold on his mind was. He became aware of the Fox and her gifted arrow, only after. “Gettim out of here Fox.. We’ll have some business to discuss..him and I.” If the hawks wanted war..it was war they would get. “I’ll watch Lita..headin’ back to the caravan..” Whether the Fox would escort him in person, or drop him off with another and return to help, would be for her to determine.
Grot Kingsley idled for a moment. The Tip of the Spear. The sharpest point. The Razor, riddled with scars. A quiet man when he needed to be. When you steal horses from under the nose of the Flaming Knights, you learn how not to be burned. Cenril had taught much, including soft-bottomed footing to silence his footfalls. A knowledge he'd passed along to the rest. Three days, he'd had. Didn't pick this spot - nay, fecking hell if he did, this spot chose him. Bastards couldn't have had worse luck, but Lita left no measure of doubt it was truly a 'now or never' situation. They had a clearing of twenty feet this part of the road - nearer Larket, after all - and that meant to simply sneak up to the horse-drawn vessels was out of the question. But they COULD sneak to the tree line, a good ten feet away from lantern's light. He brought the Spear to that line, had them fan out. Now they were a line of men hiding behind tree, fallen stump, bush. "Bows." Likely the only time he'd ever speak without cursing, Kingsley spat on the ground for good measure - "Drivers. Don't harm the horses." He had a heart. It was hard, cold, but still. The middle carriage would be first, cut off the other two. They'd managed to make it quietly, without being disturbed. A glint appeared in his eye. God damn it all. Fecking Hanan. Right there. In the middle. Fecking women, in this line of work. He spat again. It just got complicated. "Tah' bitch. Shoot'r leg out. Fire as god damn one, you bastards. I'll take ta'fecking lantern. Lookit, shytebags. Yeh feck this up fer us, I'll feck yur face." Too much talking, quiet whispers, but the sudden creak and quiet creak of leather was all the acknowledgement he needed. From satchel on back came horsebow, arrow nocked - lantern exploded "Pick yer god damn targets." Less than two seconds later, with a military god damn precision, arrows would start sprouting from the guards at the middle carriage. Quiet as ever. All kill shots. The throat, the heart, the head. The god damn dice were rolling on a big fecking pot.
Finn wheeled the great black from the tableau offered by the Fox standing over the fallen and bleeding form of the youth. “Hold on Ace..” it was a firm, quiet directive. “If you nicked one in the woods I reckon that’s where they’re makin’ their approach.” Heels kicked into Rekkur’s ribs and the stallion bounded forward, pressing into the forest. The runner made no attempt at hiding the sound of his approach. Time was of the essence and they had a half mile to cover via zig zagging route over root and bramble. He had no idea how many he was dealing with, or if it was a planned or random assault. If planned he was at a disadvantage, surely, at least with numbers if not armament. The smuggler leaned into the stallion’s gallop, guiding in leaping bounds over obstacles as the threesome cut through the forest. Half a mile became a quarter.and then they were within meters. Just as Kingsly bellowed his order the stallion would leap into the clearing behind them like a demon from the pit. The sound of arrows whistling from bows would be followed by the sound of the gurgle of the nearest of the men cut down unawares. Rekkur reared, hooves flashing metallic in the moonlight as they crashed down on a skull and pair of shoulders before whirling out of range to gallop down the line and towards the open road. “Lita..the flares!” Finn barked the command over his shoulder without looking back. The pair both carried them strapped to the horses saddles on runs, for just such an event..when subterfuge was pointless and a fall back might be necessary. “ Light em up, give Cat a target..” And in that moment, away from the end of the line and its deadly fire, he leaned the horse into a final leap out of the tree line. They would be a grim rearing silhouette in the resultant light. The middle caravan was lost..possibly the front, denied its retreat..but there was hope for the back. “Cat..move your god dam arse woman!” he barked. Fall back..”
Lita pressed her knees against the saddle and tightened her grip at the runner's back, pressing her body against his. It was as good a hold as she was going to get at this point. Her head was swimming now. She could feel every spreading finger of pain at it seeped through her arm and her shoulder, across her back and down her spine. She felt like she'd fallen sideways into a little puddle, but she knew there was blood somewhere there on her side that was making her so light headed. Only when the runner pitched Rekkur into a steep gallop did she suddenly see the world swimming past her in a blur of color. She felt like retching the contents of her stomach and bit down hard on her lip to keep herself steady. At least the pain would jar her back into the present, even for a moment. If there were others about, they went largely unnoticed, since she was mostly pressed against the runner's backside, an attempt at being invisible, even for a moment. Only when Finn started yelling about flares did her mind once more jump back into focus. It was through a haze of instinct that she'd reach to her right to grab the flare she already knew was there, tucked away safely. Right arm stretched high into the air, she turned her head to the left and the flare loose into the air. There was a sharp whistle as it cut through the winds before it would pop above them in a sudden flash of color. She returned to a stoic state against the runner's back, hoping they could somehow make it out with most of their men, some of the loot. She'd be happy enough with that. "Runner…" she mumbled half-heartedly under her breath. There was a question in her voice, but it was all but lost as she watched the world blur around them once again.
Grot was busy wondering why the fecking hell it'd gotten so much brighter when Finn crushed one of his under hoof. That was a big fecking horse. But it was all falling together, the bastard already fleeing to the rear vessel. Heard the god damn voice too. Bastard Merchant, bastard Rynvalian. Smelled like fecking perfume he'd guess, the pompous prick had a sniffing box too. Ingrained in the bones that had grown with him in the slum of Cenril, god damn high elves. "Fecking gigs up boys!" Still quiet, quiet as he could be over Finn's shouting for that other bitch. "Move up tah' front, fecking kill'm all! We eatin' good tahnight!" Voice was rising, the noise his body made was not. God damn silent, them steps, the line moved in unorganized unison to the front - repeated. Two secure, one more to god damn go. They moved up on the path now, either side of the front carriage. Not well trained, but precise in matters that involved moonlit nights and helpless cargo. Daggers replaced bows, some had long swords. Grot Kingsley had a god damn cleaver the size of a small dog. Anyone who called it a knife would be sourly mistaken. Bought it from Finn's own shop, got damn it all if it wasn't sharper than hell too. Sharp as....a Razor, matter of fact. Fragility replaced swift death. Then there was another flare. Another reminder that there was still another fecking carriage to go. They paused right at the backend of the first, still awaiting the traversel to the middle a good fifteen feet away. Waiting for that flare to fizzle out. Quiet words. Hard and cold as steel, and hells if it didn't sound like it was grating against a stone. "Yeh hert the horses, I'll fecking cut yer feet off, shiny?" A cold reminder, to all of them, but quick words were already replacing it. "Two of yeh bastards underneath. Crawl. Cut off tah feet if you have to, crawl to tah end." With that final order came a swift jaunt to the middle carrage, all the men clinging against it -allowing darkness to swallow them - the horses were knickering, neighing, nervous. A hand rose - the one without the massive blade - to halt the advance on his side, the far side continued it's slow approach toward the final cargo. A nice, neat ambush complete with bait.
Alaine had given Finn a brisk nod before a few of mount's bounds closed the gap, a graceful dismount landing her silently beside the lad's body. "Hmm…" Sterling hues quickly scanned over the damage dealt and even she was surprised by the absolute accuracy and effect the recently-tinkered crossbow had done. "Get Ace to safety, Red. I'll take care of him." Lithe fingers dug through her pocket with haste, retrieving a curious contraption and soon attaching the steel gadget to the previous-threat's wrist. A few turn of small cogs and a twist of the key locked feeble wrists in place behind his form and, despite her lithe appearance, Fox yanked the boy up by his shirt collar and the rim of his breeches, hoisting him up on the horse's back like a sack of potatoes. A single spring put the elf in place, kicking the hoofed-beast's ribs and whistling sharply as signal. She bounded through the forest with her catch, back to the cart where keen ears caught wind of The Runner's orders of retreat. With her load still hung over the horse's rump and tied into place, the artificer huffed at catching sight of the approaching hazard. Crossbow was kept candid as Alaine took place beside the cart and glanced to the Captain, growling as the flare began to fade. The approaching threat had numbers, and weapons; interrogation of the potatoes was the last thing on her mind, and so she tossed the boy-sack onto a lackie by the cart, giving the rider a stern look, "Bring him to the den. Red needs him questioned." Upon offloading the burden, the elf clicked metal string into place and loaded a rigged arrow, copper tip concealing a rather… explosive… surprise upon contact.
Hanan had been all set, you see? She'd been ready to kick ass, take names, maybe even collect ears, crouched up there on top of the crates in her dark clothing, crossbow bolt tight against her shoulder, moving it into position... and of course her right leg was raised, boot up on the taller crate. Yeah, that leg must have been a very good target for the man Kingsley had ordered to take her out. The arrow pierced her right on the highly sensitive inner thigh, punching through cotton trousers like nothing, cutting deep. She wasn't perfect. She shouted, muscles in a panic as she fell backward, arms pinwheeling almost comically, until her back was suddenly flat against the crates, her arms akimbo, her crossbow--where the hell was her crossbow? Oh gods it hurt. Vampirism made you strong, but it never made pain go away. She pressed her eyes together--in her position she could see only stars really, half of them real even, and those flares, and she heard Red's bark--she gritted her teeth, and managed to put words together. "Get us out of here!" Yelled to the driver--who didn't need to hear it twice, he was already turning in the path--as her right hand scrambled for her crossbow. Damn it! "Get us out of here right now!" She rolled onto her side as Aline came alongside, she only glancing as she tried for her crossbow, where the hell was it, had it fallen--it was the turning of the cart, now halfway around, bringing them into view that finally got Grot and his crew into her eyes through that painful haze, visible to her despite the flare's dying, simultaneious with the feel of a crossbow string against her hand. She scrambled for it, right there on her stomach with her leg at an odd angle. "Get 'em!" And the crossbow was against her shoulder, even as the men near her came down on Kingsley and--Kingsley? True, she didn't know the name, but she knew the face. Her eyes widened. Bastard! But it was that moment's hesitation that brought the creeping ambushers into the corner of her eye--or at least, the tail end of the last one of them. Crossbow dipped, got a bolt on that one right in the ass, was there another? They were still turning, she was shouting, she--nearly toppled off the crates. For the horses, those fine, important horses towing the cart, were now running away from Larket far faster than they should be. Idiot driver had lost control. At least they were headed in the right direction.
Grot couldn't reckon how good this was going. All was going well, one god damn thing left to secure. They were retreating, could hear the swell of anticipation - Hanan's screaming - and then suddenly, amongst those screams, the god damn same fecking ass-handed god damn carriage he was mother fecking standing the feck beside up and decides to bolt off. Spooked horses. Hell, he'd be too, if he were shackled to a carriage with four dead guards limp on the ground below. Gods damn it. Hanan. Pretty god damn face. Always a sucker for the pretty god damn face. Oh well. It was secure, and he was about to lose a third of the god damn loot if them horses didn't simmer down. "Secure tah last one! Gods damn it! Keeeeel them!" The quiet voice was gone. Now it was rough. Strong. Time to move~ He left'm, trusted'm, cared about'm true. They weren't marks. These men were the same that had grown up with him in the god damn slums. Practically family, a tight knit group. Of killers. Kingsley was a big man, but he could move when he needed - and he did. To the horses, far back in the forest - tethered, with one man watching them. "Give me Aids!" The nickname for his horse, Adon. "Aids!" A giant black warhorse if their ever was one. Stole it right from one of those bastard merchants in Cenril before shyte started going south. Bitch - the horses in this case, not Hanan - had a head start, you could say. Rather than weave between forest, branch, bramble, and stump alike he returned to the very spot he'd just been - it took a minute or two. Truth, he watched for a moment, his men move on the last vessel of cargo with the intent of capturing it whole before as if Hell itself were breathing down his back, Aids began galloping after Hanan - the cargo, rather.
Finn saw it all unfold from safe distance, even as he felt the weight of the wild flower seem to grow heavier behind him. She was loosing blood..and could lose more if he didn’t make getting her to safety and treatment a priority. “S’Blood..” he spat the curse out. The horses were bolting, and Hanan helpless atop. The captain was fit to tumble off if the horses were bolting and she on her back. Someone had to get control of the horses, and whoever did would have the prize of female and cargo alike. Whisky gaze flickered towards the pursuit, men on foot clambering to their feet and pounding the earth as they attempted at chasing down the rocking speeding carriage. Not a real threat..they would never keep up. But where was the bastard who led them? There, thundering out of the darkness on a mount he could almost envy if the great Black was not pawing restless between his thighs. Closing fast. Where the hell was Fox? He couldn’t be two places at once..and he was determined to beat that dammed bandit to the prize. “Fox!..” It was a bellow, rage arrogance and bastard pride rippling through his frame to the weakening body behind. “Cut him off! I’m getting the Captain!..” And he was off..riding on the wind like the hordes of hell were behind him. Closer..closer to those thundering wheels, those galloping hooves and wild rolling eyes. “Hold on Ace..” he warned as they drew alongside. But to what? His hips. The male lifted seat from saddle in a semi crouch, powerful arms extended to reach for the heads of the fleeing pair that pulled the cart. “Whooaaa..whooooaaaa..” he called to them over the noise to spinning wheels. The cart slowed, slightly. But they couldn’t risk stopping. “Cat!..” he called above the noise. “Can you take the reins?.. Get them back to the Den..” and still, for now he rode alongside, looking like so much of a circus performer mid stunt.
Lita was sure that if she leaned far enough to either side, she would land in oblivion. There were voices around her, but they were blurred, all background noise at this point. It was growing more and more difficult to pay attention to what the 'ell the runner was shouting about up there. How far was he, anyway? She gripped the edge of his shirt harder, right hand shaking slightly with the pressure. Not far after all. She focused enough to catch sight of another black galloping towards the same caravan they were headed for now. A ring leader, then. She shifted behind the runner, relaxing slightly. She palmed a knife from one of his packs. Not a weight she was used to, but handy all the same. And then, as they drew closer to the carriage, the captain came in to sight. Trouble. So it was her they were after then? Seemed most of the loot had been lost, but they could still save her. "The carriage is lost if we wait any longer, runner." She managed between gritted teeth. "If you can jump a horse and snag the cap'n, we can leave with most our crew tonight. I can take Rekkur." Her voice had grown slightly in strength. A last mission perhaps, before she passed out all together. She could handle Rekkur, at least back to the den. If this was all she could do to help them now, than it was better than nothing.
Hanan had managed to load another bolt into her crossbow and was trying to figure out how to crank it without falling off the speeding wagon when she saw Red riding up, with--was that Lita?--against his back. Oh, but she wanted to shoot the rutter who'd shot her, she wanted to plug one right in his heart, walk right up to him, and start stomping on his sensitive bits. But now Red wanted her to crawl all that way? Alright, she'd manage. "GOT IT!" Gritting her teeth and slinging the crossbow's strap over her arm, she managed to turn and start creeping back up to the front of the wagon. Granted she had to hold on tight, granted she was dragging that leg--complete with arrow sticking out--behind her, but she managed to reach the front, in time... despite the blood loss. But everything looked better with a bright red racing stripe, didn't it? The driver was sitting there in his seat with his hands still on the reigns, but useless, otherwise; the young man was sitting there wide-eyed and panicing. The angry captain swinging her legs around and plopping quickly beside him, yanking the reigns from his hands and pulling back hard--hard enough to keep those horses back to a run, back to what looked like a straight line, back into control didn't help; he just sat there blinking. A cart is somewhat like a ship, thought Hanan. It gets out of control sometimes and takes intestinal fortitude to steer clear of the breakers. And it's full of young, useless idiots. "Kid." She sucked in her breath. " Take off your belt. Wrap it around my thigh. Pull it tight... and keep your hands outa' the damn middle, you hear me?"
Alaine ruffled choppy ebon locks, pulling trusted goggles down to veil sterling hues once the cart had been sent in impromptu motion; yes, the horses were galloping to save their lives and the inane reigns-keeper had lost control, but at least the cart was headed in the proper direction. That was enough for The Fox, though the driver would be given a stern talking to later. But soon, Finn's voice shot through keen ears, detecting the urgency to the bark. Alright then; seemed she had a job to do. The reigns to her own horse were cracked sternly, mustang set into a fiercer gallop to hold its vantage from the mob's approaching leader as the elf spun around a'top her mount, trusting the horse's judgement as slender-but-capable arms held the crossbow steady. A distance was growing between her and the pursuer; seemed his behemoth-of-a-horse couldn't keep up with her mount and the cart speeding down the trail. And though the increasing space meant a more challenging shot, it would be needed; foxes don't like being toasted. With a steady grip and lensed gaze, pointer digit tightened around the trigger, smooth lips rising in a mocking grin as aim was set to the stalker. "Bang." Single word was a nearly-silent jeer as grip tightened and the trigger was pulled, cogs violently jerking and bowstring snapping to fling the metal arrow from its confines. It soared, piercing the gap in a mere second before colliding with the coarse trail just a'front the black warhorse. Upon impact, the hidden explosives erupted, creating a fiery outburst that made the air shriek and ground tremble, surrounding trees quivering in fear. The surge of turbulent flames may or may not have directly injured the chaser and his mount, but it would certainly pack a punch. Goggle lenses glowed bright with the blast's reflection, lighting up fair visage as the elf turned to proper position and grabbed hold of the reigns once more. If it didn't kill the pursuer, it would at least detain him long enough for a proper retreat of their bunch.
Grot cursed. The talking vagina was bleeding, might die, and he had company. God damn bleeding vaginas that can talk! These were just a few of the rampant thoughts crossing the mind of Grot Kingsley at the note of Finn's presence - which over took Aids. Horse was built for endurance, not sprinting, damn it. Couldn't really here the Fox approach, Aids was a noisy beast. Reining him in was an effort in itself, but god damn it he was going to get the rest of his cargo. Hanan had nothing to do with it. Not a damn thing, just a pretty god damn face. You ever wake up in the morning, look in the mirror, and realize you ain't a pretty boy? Grot compensated being a grizzled, scarred asshole of a man with charity toward women and children. Of course, if that same asshole knew that the mouthvagina was in fact a god damn vampire - he'd not have cared in the slightest. Abominations, bastards, all of them. Anywho, cleaver was loose in left hand, right on reigns - schpoof - That was bright. Near aid's feet. God. Damn. It. Fecking. Hell! Bastard useless horse reared back, sending The Razor to the ground, with his Razor in hand - when he opened his eyes a few seconds after the fall, he realized the damn thing was a hair's breath away from his nose. Both sides had been sharpened, like a god damn metal bat...killing. Yeh. Confused, ears ringing, he quickly rolled off the path - god damn horse had bolted off somewhere - into some bush where, for the god damn life of him he hoped whatever the feck had produced that explosion wouldn't come looking. God damn it if it did.
The quartet of scoundrels and their precious cargo would remain unaware, and frankly uninterested in the thought processes of the God Dammed Razor and his double sided dog sized cleaver. They were, rather, thundering into the dark cover of the night a diminishing collection of shadows- injured, exhausted and in one instance consumed by a cold, grim fury. There was one thing that bothered the runner more than anything else in this hell hole of a world, and it was losing. He’d not be satisfied until the taste of it was washed out of his mouth- by fair means or foul. Eyes peered unseeing into the night ahead, thoughts swirling, replaying the action as it had unfolded. Answers. He needed answers. Gideon’s face, the hawk nestled at his throat floated into vision in his minds eye- and he knew exactly where to start getting answers. It would not be long before the rush of adrenaline past, the weary beleaguered group would plod back into the secure cover of the Den’s glade, a shadow of what they had left it, their presence announces my the somber, quiet bustle of the lackey’s who stepped out to tend the horses. They were back.
At the Smuggler’s Den…
Terra had been in the process of trying to resituate the... was it safe to call him a hostage? That seemed a little strange. Either way, she's got him on the make shift cot and would occasionally lift the gauze to tend to the wound or determine how it was healing, if the angry welt had diminished at all. tiny pebbles and loose earth start to shake from what feels like an oncoming stampede and her head snapped up, breath held. Was it the ambush she had heard of? This far out? She'd leave the sleeping Gideon to creep to the front, inhaling that first breath since the steps started. Rekkur? Blood? She'd step out entirely then, if only to witness the very approach she had been waiting for.
Finn was off his mount in a heartbeat, that grim expression still settled on his face. The mind, and for the moment heart of the runner are lost to that consuming fury, the bitter taste of defeat. Enough that, much unlike himself he would make no effort to lower the injured form of the wildflower to the ground, choosing to bark instead to the hands nearby. “Get Ace inside..she needs patching up..” Purposeful stride would make a direct path for the entrance of the cavern, and the eyes when they came to fall on the sparrow who appeared in the space, might seem oddly distant. “Where is he?..” No greeting, no softness. In the moment, Terra might see a side of him it might have been possible to forget existed in softer hours.
Terra just stared at him. Was that his reaction? After she had been left behind, informed of the ambused and worried? This was her reassurance that all was well? He's not the only one who is capable of finding distance and creating it. Cool gaze studied Lita instead, never setttling. "He's asleep." Her words are clipped and she'd look towards those helping the sea witch with an icy stare that wasn't really intended for them. It looked like something was broken... and that, that one was a little harder for her to fix.
Hanan ::With a tight grip on the reigns of their last remaining wagon and a damn stranger's belt blocking off her femoral artery, Hanan would not wager that tonight had gone well. No, it hadn't. There she was somewhat slumped in the driver's seat of that wagon with an angry expression, a red pant leg and an odd shakiness in her otherwise competant hands. The wound--an arrow sticking right out of her inner thigh--still hurt, damn it, it hurt like nothing else. She brought the remaining cargo to a halt near the den and, panting slightly, tilted her head back. Home base. "I'm goin' to need help gettin' inside," she said, just loud enough to be heard. "I'm not hoppin' in on one foot like a bleeding flamingo."
Alaine leapt from her roan mare and handed reigns to the closest lackey. Booted-strides quickly carried her to Rekkur, pushing through the surrounding men with a growl of intimidation as lithe hands gently grasped Spade's shoulders. "Let's get you inside, yeh?" Sterling gaze offered the seductress an apologetic look, both worry and affection hidden in the otherwise-sprightly hues. Fox led the sea witch into the den, glancing to Finn in his stern inquiry before taking Lita to one of the grass pallets, conjuring up enough blankets for her to rest upon. "Terra…?" The blonde was called out too, a soft plea coming from the artificer; this tone wasn't often heard...
Terra may not have heard Alaine's plea because she was focused on Hanan. This, this exact moment, was what she had worried about. As soon as you start to like someone they go and get shot... or suddenly become a cold bastard, either way her evening isn't kicking off to a promising start. There's blood in hair, on cheeks and legs, and none of it's hers so any complaints wouldn't be voiced as she moved towards Hanan, dragging along the first guy she came across. "This one. Let's get her inside." He's prepared to assist, even if it meant carrying the Captain in while she protested.
Lita didn't much enjoy being treated like she was helpless. She narrowed her eyes at the runner's back as he stomped into the den, but then her vision swayed. She wanted nothing more than sleep, maybe a blanket or six to fend off the sudden bout of freezing cold that had decided to hover 'bout her. She lifted her left leg over the saddle and slid to the ground, swaying on her feet before finding the support of the Fox a sudden comfort. Was she smiling? She couldn't tell. And then she was walking. Sort of. The den was welcomed warmth and there were blankets. Maybe she should wish for a pony while she was at it. Where was Kahli? A glance towards one of the hands outside showed that the mare had made it back safely after all, if not still a little spooked, at least she was unharmed. That's my girl... Lita turned to look at the Fox as the woman called for Terra. The mockingbird? What the 'ell? There was a slow realization at remembering that the blonde was a healer. For all the world there was no way in 'ell she was about to let Terra get a'old of her. No way.
Finn offered Terra a curt nod in return, brushing past her to enter the warmer embrace of the fire warmed cavern. The litter of contraband that remained on tables seemed to laugh at him, mocking his failure. How the HELL had he been caught unawares? “Then he can wake up.” His voice was cold. Ice. Booted feet propelled him over to the cot where the hawk lay. “You want a bloody fekin; war mate, you’ve got one. Get the hell up and report. Who’s your handler?” The sole of his boot slammed into the ridge of the cot where Gideon lay, likely jarring the male awake, unless he was in a drug induced slumber. “Somebody is goin’ to give me answers about what the hell went south here!” The runner would be for the moment, unaware of any other presence in the room, save for the focus of his ire.
Lita could easily sense the Fox's hesitance. She shifted slightly, biting her lower lip as pain screamed through her still dislocated shoulder. She reached out with her right hand and handed Alaine the knife she'd snagged from the runner's bags. "Alaine, I need you to listen to me..." Her voice was clipped, as she was speaking through her teeth. Sleep. A glance towards Terra and Hanan was made before she turned back to the Fox. "I need you to take this knife, put it in the coals of the fire. Then come back here. I'll need you to pop my shoulder back into place. And I need you not to argue, okay? Terra's got more pressing wounds to tend to and Finn's, well-" She didn't need to finish the sentence. The yelling was enough of an excuse as any.
Terra wasn't going to be the one to carry Hanan about. Didn't she know that by now? By this point she hasn't a clue where Finn has went or if he suffered any injuries, but it's hard to focus beyond the state of Hanan's leg. "Put her on the table," is all that she can mutter to the guy as she breezed past, moving to the spot where Gideon had started to collect what remained of her supplies. She hadn't stocked for a bloody mess. Her newfound friend, well, her makeshift slave does as requested and deposited Hanan on the edge of the table. Terra hovered nearby, glanced towards Lita after a moment and then to Alaine. She heard the sea witch and just nodded, added a, "Tear one of the blankets too. Put it in a sling so she doesn't pop it back out." Her voice is cool and reserved, lacking any of its normal cheer. Instead she looked towards Hanan's leg and only just refrained from poking the flesh. Her own knife is plucked from the sheath at her ankle, offered hilt first towards the captain. "You want to do the honors?" Of course she's referring to cutting the top of the bolt to make it easier to yank free. Her eyes rolled upwards and then on to Finn where she added darkly, "And you. Leave him alone. You mess with him too much he'll go into shock and could die. Going to get your answers from a corpse?" She doesn't look at him for the answer. Yeah, she's pissed, that much is obvious, and she could use the distraction that Hanan provided no matter how gruesome.
Hanan ::"I can handle it." The knife was taken--Hanan managing to lurch up enough to start sawing at the wood, gritting her damn teeth against the shot of pain every damn nudge of that arrow sent through her. "Terra." She lowered her voice enough not to be heard across the room as she cut, angry brown eyes peering at her sidelong, she panting through her nose between words. "Triage, you damn fool. You and I both know this can't kill me. See to Ace, will you?" She looked down to the belt cinching her upper thigh, the blood seeping down the limb...not pretty, but not exactly a severed head, was it? "Please. I'll ruttin' feel less done in if you do. Alright?"
Alaine glanced to Ace, then to Terra, hesitantly interchanging between the two before retrieving the knife and setting it 'pon the table whilst the other required material was gathered. Blanket was quickly torn to proper dimensions before blade was retrieved and held over the fire, sterling gaze still showing the distress as it reflected the dancing flames in the hearth. Voice called out to the sea witch, not looking to the poor woman in fear of the anxiety fluttering about in the artificer's chest growing worse; why couldn't she keep her normally-composed stature? "Alright…" Blade was turned about, quickly glowing dimly as the heat was transferred to the blazing metal, "What now Ace?"
Lita worked as best she could to tear her dress where the bandit's knife had pierced her. Whole thing was caked in blood and dirt and ruined anyways. She wasn't sure how deep the wound was, but it hurt like hell to breathe. God love years of practice or she'd've been screaming her head off. Her hands were already shaking as she rolled her right shoulder back and sat up as best she could, wincing. She took Alaine's hand in her own and put the woman's hand on the back of her left shoulder. "Lift my arm and push until you hear it pop. And quit worryin' so much. It'll only hurt until you do it." Her voice was still edged as she spoke. "Then I'mma need you to burn this shut." She tilted her head to indicate the wound on her side. She wasn't sure how long it'd been bleeding, but it was long enough for the demons to start gnawing away at her brain. Sleep! She bit her lip harder in anticipation and let her eyes flutter closed. A few more minutes and maybe she could close her eyes for the last time.
It took some doing, but the voice of the elf finally penetrated through the wall of rage. Just enough for comprehension..not nearly enough for a reduction in the intensity of emotion consuming him. A muscle twitched in clenched jaw, and whisksy gaze flashed chips of golden ice at the prostrate form that lay pale and semi conscious before him. Terra was right. But like hell he was going to stand around and play house while the trail was still warm. Come morning, all trace of his foe would be all but gone. Resolve shimmered in hazel depths as he span on his heel to make tracks for the entrance. He’d pause when he got there to spare the sparrow a glance. “I need him ready to talk..make it happen.” It was curt, cold. Eyes saw her then..really saw her, for the first time that night, covered in blood, hair in disarray. He was a bastard for dragging her into this..this mess of a world that was his life. But like hell if he’d let her go. “Don’t wait up..” he growled huskily, and with a final sweeping look around the room, he’d disappear into the night. He would ride again.
Terra gave Hanan a single, speaking look. There's enough tension in this place without the aide of someone giving her the demands. "She's going to get it cauterizied. Shut up." She'd lean in towards the captain then, only to cinch the belt tighter as she reached under her leg. It was only then as her hands are suddenly warmer, Hanan's blood coating it, covering Gideon's that she would soften, just a little. "Don't bite me..." she'd tack on as a warning or possibly a bad attempt at a joke to serve as distraction because she'd grip that bottom half of the bolt tight, took a deep breath and --tugged-- until it fell to the ground with a disturbing and final sound. That next breath out was low and shaky as her hands faltered. This was new - when it was someone she knew. Gideon had been easier, a stranger and unconcious. Finn started talking then and this was a moment, just another moment, and all she could manage was a look over her shoulder while bloody fingers started to dab the solvent created of various herbs. "This will be cold but it's going to speed up your recovery process." That was all she could promise and it's more than any she had recieved that evening, other than a curt 'don't wait up'. Oh yeah, she had done plenty enough of that- she's quite content to do no more. Hanan's already butchered pants leg is all but torn completely off and she's nearly gentle, even as she smoothes the gunk over, the scent of mint strong and burning. She's pretty efficient at this, been doing it for years now so it's nearly a second nature. The stitching comes after and her scar will be no prettier than Gideon's own, no matter the experience she possessed. By this point she'd be surprised if Hanan had not located her flask and started dabbling in that. Once the wound is dressed she'd retreat entirely, unwilling to stick around for the stories to follow or the snoring that would likely commence from several of the parties. Remember that don't wait up order? She evidently doesn't because she's outside of the den now, bloody and content to reside against the side of the mouth for the night.