Prelude to Legend- A less than smooth start.
In which Fiamme strips, Krieger naps, both play with dolls, Bianca cries wolf, and Hraf looses faith in democracy.
The barren landscape is parched and cracked, broken by rough, craggy outcroppings of rock but very few traces of plants. Overhead raptor-like birds hunt from the air, with features more reptilian than avian. The dry wind is driven hot by the sun overhead as the tiny train of horses weaves it's way along a more or less safe trail. The ride from amber is long, and it is the second day of riding that finds them here, with Hrafnkel finally turning in his saddle to explain over his shoulder from the fore. "We're nearing the city. The shadow is called Relgin. The place is rule by a caste of magi. They're who we're here to topple."
Krieger does not ride a horse for obvious reasons. He weighs in at over five hundred pounds when armored and armed, and no horse should be forced to haul that around beneath a hot sun. Though he's never fallen behind either, no matter how fast or far they pushed the beasts his long strides seemed to keep him with the group effortlessly. Hell, not even the heat seems to faze him if the smile on his face is any indication. He stops to eye the land ahead then nods, "I will need time." he admits, reaching for the pack he did bring with him, the pack that contains the armor he didn't feel the need to wear for a two day run.
“Is this the part where you enlighten us as to your genius plan, Commander?” Bianca speaks from astride her mount in a lilting alto that lends the rank a hint of dubious affection. Her proportions seem comic in comparison to the giant, the horse she rides a lissome creature impossibly deft and sporting a fine chocolate coat covered with sheen of frothing sweat; yet even mounted, the woman is a mere fraction of Krieger’s height. Adorned in broiled leather with an intricate belt of vials and tools unfathomable, Bianca’s ebony cane securely harnessed within a sheathe that binds the reedy pillar of her back.
The trail winds indirect and serpentine around rough tufts of dying grasses and tinder-like scrub, the hooves kicking small clouds of dust as they go. Hrafnkel sways slightly in the saddle as they go, until at Krieger's words he reigns to a stop. Reaching into a saddle bag for a wineskin to offer the man as he speaks, he urges, "We have time. There is a resistance. Or was. Was mostly crushed. I don't wish to bring troops from other shadows here, and I didn't select this place, so the degree to which I can manipulate things is minimal. Therefore, I have to get them to follow me the old fashioned way; persuading their trust. However you may wish to go without armor, for now. Weapons and armor of all sorts are outlawed here. They do not even employ guards that wield them. It is their intent here that Magic be the only power here, unopposed." Bianca's words draw a wry glance and an arched brow. After a rueful sigh, he continues. "I met with the leaders of the remaining resistance, already. Many of their numbers are kept imprisoned in a subterranean dungeon beneath the city. To grain their trust, I got myself detained, to learn the layout of the dungeons and make contact with those inside. With the assistance of the lovely, talented, and presently sarcastic Miss Bergamot, I escaped. My plan is for us to get them out, next."
“That, commander, is more an objective than a plan and as I said before magic may just be in the eye of the beholder seeing as how we understand the worlds differently from these folk. I just may feign enough ‘magic’.” Bianca muses, descending with admirable fleetness from her slick steed. Plucking a thickly woven blanket from the rump of a pack horse she approaches Krieger’s axe, “May I?” A single saffron brow arcs high up above cerulean blues that impale the giant with their uncanny matte luster.
Krieger eyes the woman, "You may." he says, though his tone suggests a mistake on her part will be met with smiting. Much smiting of a painful and short lived variety.
Bianca’s smile is one that tugs her wind chapped lips asymmetrically at the corners, the left side skewed. The tiny woman inclines her head - her tousled hay bale yellow hair tethered into a lofty ponytail and swept severely from her exaggerated features. Unrushed, she covers the axe within the coarse folds and stuffs hay, a bedroll, some shiny bits and a stray helmet that for all of its severity could very well be a hat. The end result is the axe transformed: a rather convincing prop-of-a-figure - Viking in aspect - and dolled with sufficiently impressive bedroll limbs.
Krieger watches all of this with a quirked brow before he hrms a bit, "Huh." he says with a tilt to his head. "Not bad at all. I like her," he jerks a thumb Bi's way, "she's useful. She can stay." as if his approval were so utterly required. He doesn't seem worried about the 'plan' or lack thereof, but then he's never worried about anything so... Hraf would have heard the speech before, Kri believes his death is preordained by the gods. He'll die when he's supposed to and not before and there's nothing he could do to make it farther away or closer. Once you believe that what is there to fear except dying poorly?
"She's made a doll of your axe, old friend," he murmurs in a combination of sympathy and bemused chiding. "Somewhere, in the heavens, I am sure the Allfather is howling with laughter." He nods, though, his own weapons being somewhat easier to conceal than the immense axe, and his own bedroll hides his sword, and his shorter blades lie well beneath his cloak. "Well. Then we've two options. I can send for guides to show us to the tunnel, or, my own preference is to find a patrol of magi, or attract one, and get the tokens and passwords we need from them."
Bianca executes a theatrical flourish of a bow, one that pays homage to the Kitezh warriors and the new recruit recently enlisted by her uncanny skill into their ranks, "And then there were three" The tiny woman stifles a telltale laugh, content with her craftsmanship, "Perhaps we could find someone inside the tavern? The less attention we attract now the wiser, wouldn't you say so Commander? Seeing as how the magi are less than likely to part with their tokens gambling for them is out of the question."
Krieger sighs, "We could kill one." he suggests helpfully. He likes killing Magi. Makes him feel warm and fuzzy inside, uppity fucking bastards.
Hrafnkel's head nods to Bianca. "We can go to the tavern, if you wish to speak with them, aye. That's where I would have gone to bring us a guide. But there will be no Magi there. We'd have to go into the city to find some." Krieger also wins a nod. "Yes, we could kill a few, get their tokens and likely extract the passwords to try to get in through the front. This had been my thought, as it would potentially allow for the caves as a plan B. However, you both are risking your necks to help me. You're not mine to command, unless you wish it that way."
Krieger eyes Hrafnkel, "I risk nothing." he points out. "Should I fall it is because my time had come, if my time is not come I cannot fall." he grins, "Besides, these fools would not know what to do were I to wake the following morning renewed and very, very upset. You have been here before, I have no. I bow to your judgment."
Bianca's chiseled nostrils flare with the exhalation of a breath more feral then pensive, "There is sure to be blood, Krieger. This I doubt not." A crescent of her thumb indents into the barely visible dimple amid her diminutive chin, prying parched lips apart so that she may sink a row of pearlescent teeth into the digit's cushion, "Will one token do? Or do we need one for each of us?"
Hrafnkel says, "To enter the dungeons complex, anyone who wants to look like a mage rather than a prisoner or slave will need to present a token, and that person will have to satisfy the guards with why he is bringing the others." Hrafnkel adds. "Or we could rush them and kill our way in."
“Any killing should happen on the way OUT not in. If we storm the dungeon we risk raising an alert and though I am adamant about suspending my judgment, I see no reason to so speedily jeopardize our success and be privy to a slaughter of those who are simply trying to feed their families.” Bianca’s bronzed brows knit into a tempest that forges a vertical groove amid the balmy span of her forehead, “I can, yes.”
Krieger eyes Bianca then turns to Hraf, "Plan made. Lead on." he makes a 'shooing' motion with his hand.
Hrafnkel gently offers, "The Magi serve all martial functions, and none of them are motivated by poverty or essentials. But, alright. We'll keep slaughtering them as a plan B." He looks for a final nod of approval as he sets his horse towards the city.
The sound of hoof beats, and the jingling of chainmail heralds Fiamme catching up once more. Her horse is an ugly bay, with scarring all over the hindquarters. She has a lance, not the kind you joust with, but one of the slender, lethal ones for killing. "Sorry. I caught most of that," she says, without further explanation for her delay.
The whisper of wind that has been circling them, channeling sound back to Fiamme, dies away.
Krieger stops in the middle of taking another step, then points at Fiamme, "I'm going to need you to strip nearly naked so the little one can make a doll out of everything you have on." he says with a completely straight face.
Fiamme's eyebrows go up, and she manages to give the impression she is looking /down/ her freckled nose at him for a couple of heartbeats. Then she snorts, and turns a shoulder toward the big Kite.
“I …we…” Bianca’s alto falters as flaxen lashes blink mutely at Krieger. Hesitantly she intones “We could simply wrap the lance with torching canvas and feign a lantern.”
Krieger quirks a brow, "I'm not kidding." he says flatly to Fiamme, "No armor or weapons are allowed there." he points to the 'doll' riding his pack horse, "Where do you think my axe went?" he taps his foot impatiently, "Armor, lance, chop, chop. We don't have all day, it's hot out here. Strip." Bianca's comment about a lantern makes him roll his eyes.
Fiamme rolls her eyes, dismounts, and begins stripping off her chainmail, and bundling it up with her longsword, muttering quietly under her breath. In an undertunic and leggings, she still does not look remotely like a mage. "Fine," she says, shortly.
Hrafnkel eyes the trio, gently, offering. "We can leave her lance at the inn, with er horse, if she wishes. We just need to cover it with something..."
Krieger nods his head at the woman, "Better. /Now/ we can go liberate something from someone blah blah blah, kill mages."
***
The sun is inching from its zenith towards the roughly rocky hills as they find their way into the city. The great gates are guarded only by a single pair of men in bright orange, red, and yellow robes of garish silk and bright hawk-like masks of gold and copper. They do little more than watching the coming and going, as sporadic mercantile traffic, with carts or wagons or on foot comes and goes between them. So long as no weapons or armor are visible to casual glance, the four are not halted as Hrafnkel leads them into the city. "The entertainment district will likely be your best bet, he murmurs towards Bianca, but generally. "Or commercial, though they'd be warier there. What is your plan?"
Fiamme's lips curve up into a slight smile, looking expectantly at Bianca. "I do hope the plan involves stealing their clothing. Not that I'm not enjoying the breeze."
Krieger snorts, "You're all just lucky I didn't know it would be this hot. Last time I was in a place like this I wore a loin cloth and grease paint." he does not mention wearing anything else. He makes it past the watchful eyes, though they tend to linger on the giant man.
Fiamme gets that look on her face. That one that suggests she is hatching a plan, or at least the precursor to one.
"It bolsters the complexion and you do look oh so charming with freckles!" Bianca replies to her friend, riding into the city upon the back of her miniature steed, the baubles and vials and sacks of intricately stitched leather jostling and grinding upon the wreath of a wide leather harness encircling nonexistent hips. "Entertainment district" She muses, alto lush "find an alley and wait for me there."
The mage guards seem to be everywhere, as normal guards might, save possibly fewer in numbers, as the fear their presence inspires seems sufficient without them. There do however seem to be no shortage, and Hraf is eyeing one's bright silken attire from a distance. "You'd want to dress in /that/?" The commoners seem to be more or less ordinary, and their clothing is not sufficiently different from the quartet to draw notice. But it's Bianca's reply that draws Hraf's frown. "Uhm, I'm supposed to be the reckless one Bianca. You're going to head off alone to do this?" His tone is dubious and protesting.
Fiamme looks speculatively at Bianca, then down at her less-than-martial clothing, and says, "Hrafnkel, if you ask for assistance you should not complain about the shape it takes."
Krieger mutters to Hraf, "It may be best I do not stay with you either." he points out. His height and obviously physical strength tends to draw the eye of said guards rather studiously. Some guys just ooze dangerous, Kri's one of them. He can't even pretend to be weak. "I draw eyes."
“I think it’s brilliant….” To what stroke of genius Bianca refers to is a mystery, though….the last few hundred times those words escaped the proprietress’s parched lips all was well, having ended well.
Hrafnkel nods in recognition of both Kri and Fiamme, though his jaw is set stubbornly. His brow arches, his face a sour scowl, as he replies, "I disapprove, but very well." He is clearly regretting his former 'not mine to command' policy, about now, as he is clearly outvoted.
Fiamme seems inclined to trust the little puppeteer. Her gaze roams restlessly, looking for a suitable alley. Narrow enough to qualify as such. Wide enough to hold Krieger. She gestures, after a time, and looks to Hrafnkel and then Bianca in turn, quirking her brows. An alley.
Krieger just moves to follow trying to look like he's not following them at all. He is NOT a subtle man, and he grumbles about it the entire time.
Bianca lifts on tip-toe, her flat leather boots creaking as she dabs a haunt of a fleeting kiss against Hrafnkel's whiskers, "You will be able to see me from the space Fiamme picked. I won't need to go further than the vendor canopies."
Hrafnkel gives Bianca a grudgingly accepting look before slipping off with Fiamme and with Krieger. The four entering the alley attracts little notice; this doesn't seem to be a high crime district, and the guards seem confident, possibly to the point of slight complacency.
Once inside the alley, Fiamme talks casually, complaining of the soreness of her feet, the ridiculous prices in the marketplace, and how good it is to be out of the sun. A stream of quiet commonplace that is, in fact, far less suspicious than deadly silence might be.
Bianca browses the wares, the reed of her ebony cane employed as a support for an exaggerated limp. Not only is she short and blond and dressed funny, she now also a cripple!
Hrafnkel tries to participate in Fiammes conversation, but his unease is less well veiled. He can be quite stealthy, but hiding his anxiety is only hidden by him slipping further into the alley. Out in the moving throngs of people, Bianca attracts no more or less notice than any person wandering a marketplace, limping, with a cane might.
Krieger fills up the end of the alley way like a human road block, it makes keeping sight of the little woman hard for everyone not him. He sighs a bit and leans against the wall, "Be more Kite." he says in the face of Hraf's obvious issues.
Hrafnkel grumbles lightly to Krieger, "I will, when we can start killing," he quips wryly, but he does seem to apply some effort to forcing ease into his face and posture.
Fiamme grins at Krieger's comment. She is skilled at papering over awkward silences, and throws Hrafnkel conversational lowballs with consummate skill. She allows spaces for non committal grunts, then talks on. Either Krieger or Hrafnkel grunts will work for her. She maneuvers herself to get a good view of Bianca, while leaning against the wall and complaining about her back.
Bianca bides her time stalking the outskirts of the vendor's carts. Her limp is pronounced and her smile an ever amorphous crescent of bartering brilliance. Failing to make a purchase thus far, she waits for the magi patrol to pad into vicinity.
Hrafnkel speaks rather banally on back pain, prices of cheese, what sorts of tea he doesn't like, and why, and the like. While out of the shaded alley, the guards come and go with regular if difficult to predict frequency; sometimes in ones, sometimes in twos. Plus a few linger, here, or there, in part keeping watch, more so providing an apparently very effective deterrent to crime by their physical presence. One needn't watch long to see the people are frightened of them and tend to give them a wide berth.
Krieger remains mostly silent, going so far as to close his eyes and lean his head back against the wall. At his size he's propped up nicely in the alleyway when he starts to dooze off. Soldiers know you sleep when you can, just in case you can't later. Naptime!
It seems a scrawny man carrying a basket brushes past the woman too miniscule to warrant his notice, though the clever quip of Bianca's left hip is what puts her in his way. The basket tumbles and so does Bianca! A river of apple-esque fruit rains the path towards the alley, while the diminutive proprietress lands amid the magi patrol.
Fiamme's flow of nothings hitches briefly, then continues. After all, what is it to her if magi are skating on apples. "And so I said to her, I said..." Her voice is low, soft, and her restless gaze flicks from magi to magi evaluating their response from the shadows with a chill precision.
Fiamme hugs the doll-like bundle Bianca has made of her sword a little closer to her side.
Krieger still continues to snooze lightly where he is. He assumes someone will nudge him if the time comes.
In the alleyway, Hraf pauses from discussing something about a recipe for green chili, to ask Fiamme, in a hushed way, "She meant to do that, right?" as Krieger draws into restful repose, nearby. But out in the sunlight the lingering robed men are slowed, by surprise, by the sprawl of diminutive passersby, and by the tripping hazard of round fruit. But not long, and they already seem to be seeking a way to hasten about her on their former course, leaving her with only a short period to act in...
Fiamme's tone rises and falls with the same intonation of complaint, as she says, "Looked that way to me.”
The brightly clad magi linger just for a second too briefly, as the dodge around the tumbled Bianca amidst the fruits. Luckily, however, they do not seem to have detected her attempt, as the pick their careful way around her."
Krieger smacks his lips, shifts, and then goes back to sleep.
Fiamme cocks her elbow, poising it a little to the side of Krieger's ribs, as she watches Bianca and the magi, still with that flat, killer's look. Her voice continues to prattle on, back on that recipe for green chili. But now and then some odd ingredients have slipped in; something gloating about cutting, and stabbing, that surely never made it into a recipe book.
Bianca stumbles frazzled. She waits for the magi to part just far enough for her to feign gathering her senses and suddenly screams a shrill trill (her ego will loath her), "THEIF! Stop that wretch!" Flailing her birch boned arms with wild abandon she points towards the apple strewn runway that leads into the alley.
Fiamme pokes Krieger with one pointed, freckled elbow.
Hrafnkel is nodding in the alley, discussing the benefits of filleting with a sharp tool with Fiamme, when Bianca's shriek does succeed in halting the guards. And they do halt, both hawk masked head swiveling in that direction and trying to pick out who it is Bianca is indicating. They hesitate uncertainly, well within her reach.
Krieger's eyes snap open and his still breathing stops in the blink of an eye. "How many?" he asks under his breath as his eyes roll towards the opening of the alley.
Fiamme steps out of the alleyway, and says, "I never did! You jealous witch -- I'll teach you to tell lies about me! You can search me, I never stole anything!" She puts her hands on her hips, and hopes that she constitutes a distraction.
Whether or not Bianca was pointing to Fiamme, the guards are heading for her now. Hraf straightens behind her, acting like he doesn't know the lady he'd been chatting with a moment ago. He murmurs to Krieger, "Uh, four..." He must mean Bianca's two and the other pair that have noticed the disturbance and are also approaching her.
"My mother's necklace was in that purse, you splotchy-skinned slut!" Bianca teeters as a cripple ought - her vehemence supported by the cane she dares to shake at Fiamme. The cane scowls - the face carved upon the hilt squeezed into an expression of a dried lemon.
Fiamme whispers something, and a wind gusts briefly around her.
Privately, to Bianca, Fiamme uses Whispers on the Wind to ask, "Fight?"
Krieger just watches it all, he waits for the word to kill people to be spoken. Because that's when he's needed.
Fiamme jerks her chin toward the approaching magi, looks at Bianca, and spits out something about Bianca's parentage.
Hrafnkel looks between them all. His expression looking something like, 'wow, who are these crazy women?' Which, at the moment isn't hard to fake.
The guards nearer to Fiamme, but halt shy of the alley, and one of them points to Fiamme. "You there. Come here." They may be overconfident, but don't charge recklessly into alleys they don't have to.
Fiamme stalks toward the guard, clutching her sword-doll, and says, "I can't believe you're taking the cripple's word over mine. It's almost as if she wants to /start a fight/..." She says with heavy emphasis. "She's probably stolen something herself. Turn your back on her and she'll run."
Privately, to Fiamme, Bianca's cerulean blues shimmer coy as she recalls an episode from their past adventures. Subtext: RUN.
The guards eye Fiamme, and her sword doll, which does arch a brow concealed behind their masks. One turns to Bianca, who seems to be senior. "What did you say this one stole?"
Fiamme's expression becomes all kinds of shifty, and she says, "Nothing!" Then wheels and dashes away into the alley.
Bianca sounds outraged, "Aren't you going to go after her!?" She grasps the sleeve of one of the Magi even as she pads her own attire, "My mother's purse. She wanted it all for herself the speckled hag!"
Krieger steps back into the alleyway, which sadly pushes Hraf deeper too, and manages to scoot a solid dozen or more feet into it. Plenty of room for Fiamme to run into. He just smirks as he waits for the men to enter behind her...
In the chaos of poor communication that is the remnant of the party’s plans, some small bit of ironic luck can be found. As Fiamme turns and wheels, flames begin to flicker in one's hands, smoke turning quickly darker, belching firefly like sparks that form a flame in the lava like form of a spear. But before he can loosen the weapon, she has ducked behind the wall of Krieger, and the four are forced to pursue into the alley after her.
Fiamme tries to peer around Krieger, without success, and continues to shriek imprecations. "I never stole nothing! Brutality! Brutality!"
Fiamme mutters to Hrafnkel and Krieger, "If... her..."
Bianca clings to the guard on her left, "Haw DARE she! Our poor mother married her old fart of a dad because he swore ..." Unclear what he swore, but Bianca's sentiment is echoed by the weeping expression of the hilt carved in eerie resemblance of a leonine man.
Krieger waits until the last possible second, as the four rush in after the shrieking woman, and then he snaps forward a single arm. There is a spray of pink, oddly wet sounds, and all four men are literally yanked from their feet as if a string gripped them by the skull and tore them down to the ground. Two twitch for a moment before going completely still, the other's were dead before they hit the ground. He re-crosses his arms and hrmphs unhappily. "You never take me anywhere nice." he growls over his shoulder at Hraf.
Fiamme starts searching the closest body, with a matter of fact calm that suggests that the newly dead hold no horror for her. Her face is a cruel, cold mask, and she murmurs something soft and approving, as she tries to find a token.
Fortunately, most of the crowd in the street that are now watching the alley can see little more than Krieger's back. But there is murmuring, and a shriek, that this time isn't Bianca, as a lady catches sight of one of the downed men. Then comes the metallic clangs. It sounds vaguely like a warning bell. Three of the four dead magi still have their tokens. Hrafnkel suggests, briskly, "We should be going..."
Bianca is poised between the mouth of the alley, grumbling evocatively as she limps and toeing a stray apple from her path. An unlikely sentinel - yet a wary pair of cerulean blues scrutinize the impoverished region for Magi reinforcements, "They'll get her - you'll see that tall reed of splotchy flesh! Oooh I do not envy HER when they find my mother's purse."
It takes Bianca calling her 'tall' to shake Fiamme out of her strange turn; she stops murmuring to the body she's searching, and yanks at its silken clothing. "We have time to strip them, Hraf? Or ... I suppose that would tip our hand. Clothes later?"
The crowd in the street is starting to panic as more yellow clad men begin to arrive in numbers. "It might, but I have a different idea..." replies Hraf as, his weapons come into view. Scattered bystanders prevent the arriving magi from getting a clear shot at the three, yet, but one calls, "Those two men have weapons, and they're with the crazy thief woman!"
"Strip them. Definitely strip them...And Oh!" Bianca's words are a murmur delivered trancelike as she thumbs a mottled glass vial from her elaborate belt. "Firebreath..." Uncorking the lid with her teeth the pint sized proprietress hurls the thing into a vacated cart almost across the street from the alley.
Fiamme shakes her sword out from the doll-disguise Bianca had so artfully made. "Are we on plan x yet?"
Privately, to Bianca, Hrafnkel makes a subtle gesture as possible for Bianca to back off.
Bianca does not back up but darts to the left, surmounting in a series of deft leaps an unused vendor's cart. She is now no further than 5 feet from Hrafnkel, having reaped higher ground. "This played out quite differently in my mind!"
Hrafnkel moves off, weaving smoothly through the by standers who seem all too happy to duck out of his way. "This way," The call seems to be to Fiamme and Krieger, not so much Bianca, who seems thus far unmolested as more guards slowly arrive. There are four magi who have him spotted, but he is already on them. "Kill anything dressed brightly."
Krieger chuckles softly, "You might not take me nice places, but you do give me nice things to play with." he comments as he pulls a dagger from his tunic, a dagger that on second glance appears to be damned near a short sword. Yeah, he /can't/ vanish into a crowd or anything, that option has fled the instant he was spotted killing guards.
Fiamme follows Hrafnkel's instructions to the letter, the cold, feral look coming to the fore once more. She is small, and she does not have the reach or the strength of either of the men, but she is fast, and she is tricky.
Krieger's arm cocks and he leaps forward. No, literally leaps, two strides and his powerful legs carry him up and into the air... frankly, a giant is freaky enough, a flying one just doesn't even seem fair. His arm snaps forward and the dagger takes one of the guards low in the gut, doubling the man over and hurling him back into the dirt. He lands before the last remaining guard who hesitates for a split second in shock. Too long. Using the momentum of the leap Krieger brings his forehead down hard. There is a metallic ring accompanied by a gruesome wet sound as blood sprays from inside the man's helmet. A helmet now severely misshapen and dented in to look more like a bowl. He turns to eye the others, "Where too?" he asks without so much as a mark on his skin.
Perhaps it is her size that makes the magi Fiamme marks hesitate to bring out his ugliest spells. Perhaps it is her state of semi dress, in a knee length sleeveless undertunic. At any rate, he revisits his decision rather late, when his casting hand is on the ground, and he is looking disbelievingly at the stump. The thrust to the heart is a graceful sweep probably entirely unappreciated by him, then she dances by, and catches up with Hrafnkel. Her tunic is bloody, her smile is ... disturbingly happy.
Amid the smoke and bedlam, Bianca is perched out of the way atop a decommissioned vendor's cart. Her hands crisscross leisurely upon the hilt of her ebony cane.
If Fiamme take the man on one end, and Kri takes the two in the middle, the one on Hraf's side never really stood a chance. His thrust is an off switch. The hawk masked man is a limp form before the terminus of Hraf's thrust. He leads the three with a final glance to Bianca, before disappearing around a side street, another alley, into a yard... the path that leads them to where the city wall can be jumped, unobserved, as night falls. The Inn of the Broken Star is a short walk from there.
The barren landscape is parched and cracked, broken by rough, craggy outcroppings of rock but very few traces of plants. Overhead raptor-like birds hunt from the air, with features more reptilian than avian. The dry wind is driven hot by the sun overhead as the tiny train of horses weaves it's way along a more or less safe trail. The ride from amber is long, and it is the second day of riding that finds them here, with Hrafnkel finally turning in his saddle to explain over his shoulder from the fore. "We're nearing the city. The shadow is called Relgin. The place is rule by a caste of magi. They're who we're here to topple."
Krieger does not ride a horse for obvious reasons. He weighs in at over five hundred pounds when armored and armed, and no horse should be forced to haul that around beneath a hot sun. Though he's never fallen behind either, no matter how fast or far they pushed the beasts his long strides seemed to keep him with the group effortlessly. Hell, not even the heat seems to faze him if the smile on his face is any indication. He stops to eye the land ahead then nods, "I will need time." he admits, reaching for the pack he did bring with him, the pack that contains the armor he didn't feel the need to wear for a two day run.
“Is this the part where you enlighten us as to your genius plan, Commander?” Bianca speaks from astride her mount in a lilting alto that lends the rank a hint of dubious affection. Her proportions seem comic in comparison to the giant, the horse she rides a lissome creature impossibly deft and sporting a fine chocolate coat covered with sheen of frothing sweat; yet even mounted, the woman is a mere fraction of Krieger’s height. Adorned in broiled leather with an intricate belt of vials and tools unfathomable, Bianca’s ebony cane securely harnessed within a sheathe that binds the reedy pillar of her back.
The trail winds indirect and serpentine around rough tufts of dying grasses and tinder-like scrub, the hooves kicking small clouds of dust as they go. Hrafnkel sways slightly in the saddle as they go, until at Krieger's words he reigns to a stop. Reaching into a saddle bag for a wineskin to offer the man as he speaks, he urges, "We have time. There is a resistance. Or was. Was mostly crushed. I don't wish to bring troops from other shadows here, and I didn't select this place, so the degree to which I can manipulate things is minimal. Therefore, I have to get them to follow me the old fashioned way; persuading their trust. However you may wish to go without armor, for now. Weapons and armor of all sorts are outlawed here. They do not even employ guards that wield them. It is their intent here that Magic be the only power here, unopposed." Bianca's words draw a wry glance and an arched brow. After a rueful sigh, he continues. "I met with the leaders of the remaining resistance, already. Many of their numbers are kept imprisoned in a subterranean dungeon beneath the city. To grain their trust, I got myself detained, to learn the layout of the dungeons and make contact with those inside. With the assistance of the lovely, talented, and presently sarcastic Miss Bergamot, I escaped. My plan is for us to get them out, next."
“That, commander, is more an objective than a plan and as I said before magic may just be in the eye of the beholder seeing as how we understand the worlds differently from these folk. I just may feign enough ‘magic’.” Bianca muses, descending with admirable fleetness from her slick steed. Plucking a thickly woven blanket from the rump of a pack horse she approaches Krieger’s axe, “May I?” A single saffron brow arcs high up above cerulean blues that impale the giant with their uncanny matte luster.
Krieger eyes the woman, "You may." he says, though his tone suggests a mistake on her part will be met with smiting. Much smiting of a painful and short lived variety.
Bianca’s smile is one that tugs her wind chapped lips asymmetrically at the corners, the left side skewed. The tiny woman inclines her head - her tousled hay bale yellow hair tethered into a lofty ponytail and swept severely from her exaggerated features. Unrushed, she covers the axe within the coarse folds and stuffs hay, a bedroll, some shiny bits and a stray helmet that for all of its severity could very well be a hat. The end result is the axe transformed: a rather convincing prop-of-a-figure - Viking in aspect - and dolled with sufficiently impressive bedroll limbs.
Krieger watches all of this with a quirked brow before he hrms a bit, "Huh." he says with a tilt to his head. "Not bad at all. I like her," he jerks a thumb Bi's way, "she's useful. She can stay." as if his approval were so utterly required. He doesn't seem worried about the 'plan' or lack thereof, but then he's never worried about anything so... Hraf would have heard the speech before, Kri believes his death is preordained by the gods. He'll die when he's supposed to and not before and there's nothing he could do to make it farther away or closer. Once you believe that what is there to fear except dying poorly?
"She's made a doll of your axe, old friend," he murmurs in a combination of sympathy and bemused chiding. "Somewhere, in the heavens, I am sure the Allfather is howling with laughter." He nods, though, his own weapons being somewhat easier to conceal than the immense axe, and his own bedroll hides his sword, and his shorter blades lie well beneath his cloak. "Well. Then we've two options. I can send for guides to show us to the tunnel, or, my own preference is to find a patrol of magi, or attract one, and get the tokens and passwords we need from them."
Bianca executes a theatrical flourish of a bow, one that pays homage to the Kitezh warriors and the new recruit recently enlisted by her uncanny skill into their ranks, "And then there were three" The tiny woman stifles a telltale laugh, content with her craftsmanship, "Perhaps we could find someone inside the tavern? The less attention we attract now the wiser, wouldn't you say so Commander? Seeing as how the magi are less than likely to part with their tokens gambling for them is out of the question."
Krieger sighs, "We could kill one." he suggests helpfully. He likes killing Magi. Makes him feel warm and fuzzy inside, uppity fucking bastards.
Hrafnkel's head nods to Bianca. "We can go to the tavern, if you wish to speak with them, aye. That's where I would have gone to bring us a guide. But there will be no Magi there. We'd have to go into the city to find some." Krieger also wins a nod. "Yes, we could kill a few, get their tokens and likely extract the passwords to try to get in through the front. This had been my thought, as it would potentially allow for the caves as a plan B. However, you both are risking your necks to help me. You're not mine to command, unless you wish it that way."
Krieger eyes Hrafnkel, "I risk nothing." he points out. "Should I fall it is because my time had come, if my time is not come I cannot fall." he grins, "Besides, these fools would not know what to do were I to wake the following morning renewed and very, very upset. You have been here before, I have no. I bow to your judgment."
Bianca's chiseled nostrils flare with the exhalation of a breath more feral then pensive, "There is sure to be blood, Krieger. This I doubt not." A crescent of her thumb indents into the barely visible dimple amid her diminutive chin, prying parched lips apart so that she may sink a row of pearlescent teeth into the digit's cushion, "Will one token do? Or do we need one for each of us?"
Hrafnkel says, "To enter the dungeons complex, anyone who wants to look like a mage rather than a prisoner or slave will need to present a token, and that person will have to satisfy the guards with why he is bringing the others." Hrafnkel adds. "Or we could rush them and kill our way in."
“Any killing should happen on the way OUT not in. If we storm the dungeon we risk raising an alert and though I am adamant about suspending my judgment, I see no reason to so speedily jeopardize our success and be privy to a slaughter of those who are simply trying to feed their families.” Bianca’s bronzed brows knit into a tempest that forges a vertical groove amid the balmy span of her forehead, “I can, yes.”
Krieger eyes Bianca then turns to Hraf, "Plan made. Lead on." he makes a 'shooing' motion with his hand.
Hrafnkel gently offers, "The Magi serve all martial functions, and none of them are motivated by poverty or essentials. But, alright. We'll keep slaughtering them as a plan B." He looks for a final nod of approval as he sets his horse towards the city.
The sound of hoof beats, and the jingling of chainmail heralds Fiamme catching up once more. Her horse is an ugly bay, with scarring all over the hindquarters. She has a lance, not the kind you joust with, but one of the slender, lethal ones for killing. "Sorry. I caught most of that," she says, without further explanation for her delay.
The whisper of wind that has been circling them, channeling sound back to Fiamme, dies away.
Krieger stops in the middle of taking another step, then points at Fiamme, "I'm going to need you to strip nearly naked so the little one can make a doll out of everything you have on." he says with a completely straight face.
Fiamme's eyebrows go up, and she manages to give the impression she is looking /down/ her freckled nose at him for a couple of heartbeats. Then she snorts, and turns a shoulder toward the big Kite.
“I …we…” Bianca’s alto falters as flaxen lashes blink mutely at Krieger. Hesitantly she intones “We could simply wrap the lance with torching canvas and feign a lantern.”
Krieger quirks a brow, "I'm not kidding." he says flatly to Fiamme, "No armor or weapons are allowed there." he points to the 'doll' riding his pack horse, "Where do you think my axe went?" he taps his foot impatiently, "Armor, lance, chop, chop. We don't have all day, it's hot out here. Strip." Bianca's comment about a lantern makes him roll his eyes.
Fiamme rolls her eyes, dismounts, and begins stripping off her chainmail, and bundling it up with her longsword, muttering quietly under her breath. In an undertunic and leggings, she still does not look remotely like a mage. "Fine," she says, shortly.
Hrafnkel eyes the trio, gently, offering. "We can leave her lance at the inn, with er horse, if she wishes. We just need to cover it with something..."
Krieger nods his head at the woman, "Better. /Now/ we can go liberate something from someone blah blah blah, kill mages."
***
The sun is inching from its zenith towards the roughly rocky hills as they find their way into the city. The great gates are guarded only by a single pair of men in bright orange, red, and yellow robes of garish silk and bright hawk-like masks of gold and copper. They do little more than watching the coming and going, as sporadic mercantile traffic, with carts or wagons or on foot comes and goes between them. So long as no weapons or armor are visible to casual glance, the four are not halted as Hrafnkel leads them into the city. "The entertainment district will likely be your best bet, he murmurs towards Bianca, but generally. "Or commercial, though they'd be warier there. What is your plan?"
Fiamme's lips curve up into a slight smile, looking expectantly at Bianca. "I do hope the plan involves stealing their clothing. Not that I'm not enjoying the breeze."
Krieger snorts, "You're all just lucky I didn't know it would be this hot. Last time I was in a place like this I wore a loin cloth and grease paint." he does not mention wearing anything else. He makes it past the watchful eyes, though they tend to linger on the giant man.
Fiamme gets that look on her face. That one that suggests she is hatching a plan, or at least the precursor to one.
"It bolsters the complexion and you do look oh so charming with freckles!" Bianca replies to her friend, riding into the city upon the back of her miniature steed, the baubles and vials and sacks of intricately stitched leather jostling and grinding upon the wreath of a wide leather harness encircling nonexistent hips. "Entertainment district" She muses, alto lush "find an alley and wait for me there."
The mage guards seem to be everywhere, as normal guards might, save possibly fewer in numbers, as the fear their presence inspires seems sufficient without them. There do however seem to be no shortage, and Hraf is eyeing one's bright silken attire from a distance. "You'd want to dress in /that/?" The commoners seem to be more or less ordinary, and their clothing is not sufficiently different from the quartet to draw notice. But it's Bianca's reply that draws Hraf's frown. "Uhm, I'm supposed to be the reckless one Bianca. You're going to head off alone to do this?" His tone is dubious and protesting.
Fiamme looks speculatively at Bianca, then down at her less-than-martial clothing, and says, "Hrafnkel, if you ask for assistance you should not complain about the shape it takes."
Krieger mutters to Hraf, "It may be best I do not stay with you either." he points out. His height and obviously physical strength tends to draw the eye of said guards rather studiously. Some guys just ooze dangerous, Kri's one of them. He can't even pretend to be weak. "I draw eyes."
“I think it’s brilliant….” To what stroke of genius Bianca refers to is a mystery, though….the last few hundred times those words escaped the proprietress’s parched lips all was well, having ended well.
Hrafnkel nods in recognition of both Kri and Fiamme, though his jaw is set stubbornly. His brow arches, his face a sour scowl, as he replies, "I disapprove, but very well." He is clearly regretting his former 'not mine to command' policy, about now, as he is clearly outvoted.
Fiamme seems inclined to trust the little puppeteer. Her gaze roams restlessly, looking for a suitable alley. Narrow enough to qualify as such. Wide enough to hold Krieger. She gestures, after a time, and looks to Hrafnkel and then Bianca in turn, quirking her brows. An alley.
Krieger just moves to follow trying to look like he's not following them at all. He is NOT a subtle man, and he grumbles about it the entire time.
Bianca lifts on tip-toe, her flat leather boots creaking as she dabs a haunt of a fleeting kiss against Hrafnkel's whiskers, "You will be able to see me from the space Fiamme picked. I won't need to go further than the vendor canopies."
Hrafnkel gives Bianca a grudgingly accepting look before slipping off with Fiamme and with Krieger. The four entering the alley attracts little notice; this doesn't seem to be a high crime district, and the guards seem confident, possibly to the point of slight complacency.
Once inside the alley, Fiamme talks casually, complaining of the soreness of her feet, the ridiculous prices in the marketplace, and how good it is to be out of the sun. A stream of quiet commonplace that is, in fact, far less suspicious than deadly silence might be.
Bianca browses the wares, the reed of her ebony cane employed as a support for an exaggerated limp. Not only is she short and blond and dressed funny, she now also a cripple!
Hrafnkel tries to participate in Fiammes conversation, but his unease is less well veiled. He can be quite stealthy, but hiding his anxiety is only hidden by him slipping further into the alley. Out in the moving throngs of people, Bianca attracts no more or less notice than any person wandering a marketplace, limping, with a cane might.
Krieger fills up the end of the alley way like a human road block, it makes keeping sight of the little woman hard for everyone not him. He sighs a bit and leans against the wall, "Be more Kite." he says in the face of Hraf's obvious issues.
Hrafnkel grumbles lightly to Krieger, "I will, when we can start killing," he quips wryly, but he does seem to apply some effort to forcing ease into his face and posture.
Fiamme grins at Krieger's comment. She is skilled at papering over awkward silences, and throws Hrafnkel conversational lowballs with consummate skill. She allows spaces for non committal grunts, then talks on. Either Krieger or Hrafnkel grunts will work for her. She maneuvers herself to get a good view of Bianca, while leaning against the wall and complaining about her back.
Bianca bides her time stalking the outskirts of the vendor's carts. Her limp is pronounced and her smile an ever amorphous crescent of bartering brilliance. Failing to make a purchase thus far, she waits for the magi patrol to pad into vicinity.
Hrafnkel speaks rather banally on back pain, prices of cheese, what sorts of tea he doesn't like, and why, and the like. While out of the shaded alley, the guards come and go with regular if difficult to predict frequency; sometimes in ones, sometimes in twos. Plus a few linger, here, or there, in part keeping watch, more so providing an apparently very effective deterrent to crime by their physical presence. One needn't watch long to see the people are frightened of them and tend to give them a wide berth.
Krieger remains mostly silent, going so far as to close his eyes and lean his head back against the wall. At his size he's propped up nicely in the alleyway when he starts to dooze off. Soldiers know you sleep when you can, just in case you can't later. Naptime!
It seems a scrawny man carrying a basket brushes past the woman too miniscule to warrant his notice, though the clever quip of Bianca's left hip is what puts her in his way. The basket tumbles and so does Bianca! A river of apple-esque fruit rains the path towards the alley, while the diminutive proprietress lands amid the magi patrol.
Fiamme's flow of nothings hitches briefly, then continues. After all, what is it to her if magi are skating on apples. "And so I said to her, I said..." Her voice is low, soft, and her restless gaze flicks from magi to magi evaluating their response from the shadows with a chill precision.
Fiamme hugs the doll-like bundle Bianca has made of her sword a little closer to her side.
Krieger still continues to snooze lightly where he is. He assumes someone will nudge him if the time comes.
In the alleyway, Hraf pauses from discussing something about a recipe for green chili, to ask Fiamme, in a hushed way, "She meant to do that, right?" as Krieger draws into restful repose, nearby. But out in the sunlight the lingering robed men are slowed, by surprise, by the sprawl of diminutive passersby, and by the tripping hazard of round fruit. But not long, and they already seem to be seeking a way to hasten about her on their former course, leaving her with only a short period to act in...
Fiamme's tone rises and falls with the same intonation of complaint, as she says, "Looked that way to me.”
The brightly clad magi linger just for a second too briefly, as the dodge around the tumbled Bianca amidst the fruits. Luckily, however, they do not seem to have detected her attempt, as the pick their careful way around her."
Krieger smacks his lips, shifts, and then goes back to sleep.
Fiamme cocks her elbow, poising it a little to the side of Krieger's ribs, as she watches Bianca and the magi, still with that flat, killer's look. Her voice continues to prattle on, back on that recipe for green chili. But now and then some odd ingredients have slipped in; something gloating about cutting, and stabbing, that surely never made it into a recipe book.
Bianca stumbles frazzled. She waits for the magi to part just far enough for her to feign gathering her senses and suddenly screams a shrill trill (her ego will loath her), "THEIF! Stop that wretch!" Flailing her birch boned arms with wild abandon she points towards the apple strewn runway that leads into the alley.
Fiamme pokes Krieger with one pointed, freckled elbow.
Hrafnkel is nodding in the alley, discussing the benefits of filleting with a sharp tool with Fiamme, when Bianca's shriek does succeed in halting the guards. And they do halt, both hawk masked head swiveling in that direction and trying to pick out who it is Bianca is indicating. They hesitate uncertainly, well within her reach.
Krieger's eyes snap open and his still breathing stops in the blink of an eye. "How many?" he asks under his breath as his eyes roll towards the opening of the alley.
Fiamme steps out of the alleyway, and says, "I never did! You jealous witch -- I'll teach you to tell lies about me! You can search me, I never stole anything!" She puts her hands on her hips, and hopes that she constitutes a distraction.
Whether or not Bianca was pointing to Fiamme, the guards are heading for her now. Hraf straightens behind her, acting like he doesn't know the lady he'd been chatting with a moment ago. He murmurs to Krieger, "Uh, four..." He must mean Bianca's two and the other pair that have noticed the disturbance and are also approaching her.
"My mother's necklace was in that purse, you splotchy-skinned slut!" Bianca teeters as a cripple ought - her vehemence supported by the cane she dares to shake at Fiamme. The cane scowls - the face carved upon the hilt squeezed into an expression of a dried lemon.
Fiamme whispers something, and a wind gusts briefly around her.
Privately, to Bianca, Fiamme uses Whispers on the Wind to ask, "Fight?"
Krieger just watches it all, he waits for the word to kill people to be spoken. Because that's when he's needed.
Fiamme jerks her chin toward the approaching magi, looks at Bianca, and spits out something about Bianca's parentage.
Hrafnkel looks between them all. His expression looking something like, 'wow, who are these crazy women?' Which, at the moment isn't hard to fake.
The guards nearer to Fiamme, but halt shy of the alley, and one of them points to Fiamme. "You there. Come here." They may be overconfident, but don't charge recklessly into alleys they don't have to.
Fiamme stalks toward the guard, clutching her sword-doll, and says, "I can't believe you're taking the cripple's word over mine. It's almost as if she wants to /start a fight/..." She says with heavy emphasis. "She's probably stolen something herself. Turn your back on her and she'll run."
Privately, to Fiamme, Bianca's cerulean blues shimmer coy as she recalls an episode from their past adventures. Subtext: RUN.
The guards eye Fiamme, and her sword doll, which does arch a brow concealed behind their masks. One turns to Bianca, who seems to be senior. "What did you say this one stole?"
Fiamme's expression becomes all kinds of shifty, and she says, "Nothing!" Then wheels and dashes away into the alley.
Bianca sounds outraged, "Aren't you going to go after her!?" She grasps the sleeve of one of the Magi even as she pads her own attire, "My mother's purse. She wanted it all for herself the speckled hag!"
Krieger steps back into the alleyway, which sadly pushes Hraf deeper too, and manages to scoot a solid dozen or more feet into it. Plenty of room for Fiamme to run into. He just smirks as he waits for the men to enter behind her...
In the chaos of poor communication that is the remnant of the party’s plans, some small bit of ironic luck can be found. As Fiamme turns and wheels, flames begin to flicker in one's hands, smoke turning quickly darker, belching firefly like sparks that form a flame in the lava like form of a spear. But before he can loosen the weapon, she has ducked behind the wall of Krieger, and the four are forced to pursue into the alley after her.
Fiamme tries to peer around Krieger, without success, and continues to shriek imprecations. "I never stole nothing! Brutality! Brutality!"
Fiamme mutters to Hrafnkel and Krieger, "If... her..."
Bianca clings to the guard on her left, "Haw DARE she! Our poor mother married her old fart of a dad because he swore ..." Unclear what he swore, but Bianca's sentiment is echoed by the weeping expression of the hilt carved in eerie resemblance of a leonine man.
Krieger waits until the last possible second, as the four rush in after the shrieking woman, and then he snaps forward a single arm. There is a spray of pink, oddly wet sounds, and all four men are literally yanked from their feet as if a string gripped them by the skull and tore them down to the ground. Two twitch for a moment before going completely still, the other's were dead before they hit the ground. He re-crosses his arms and hrmphs unhappily. "You never take me anywhere nice." he growls over his shoulder at Hraf.
Fiamme starts searching the closest body, with a matter of fact calm that suggests that the newly dead hold no horror for her. Her face is a cruel, cold mask, and she murmurs something soft and approving, as she tries to find a token.
Fortunately, most of the crowd in the street that are now watching the alley can see little more than Krieger's back. But there is murmuring, and a shriek, that this time isn't Bianca, as a lady catches sight of one of the downed men. Then comes the metallic clangs. It sounds vaguely like a warning bell. Three of the four dead magi still have their tokens. Hrafnkel suggests, briskly, "We should be going..."
Bianca is poised between the mouth of the alley, grumbling evocatively as she limps and toeing a stray apple from her path. An unlikely sentinel - yet a wary pair of cerulean blues scrutinize the impoverished region for Magi reinforcements, "They'll get her - you'll see that tall reed of splotchy flesh! Oooh I do not envy HER when they find my mother's purse."
It takes Bianca calling her 'tall' to shake Fiamme out of her strange turn; she stops murmuring to the body she's searching, and yanks at its silken clothing. "We have time to strip them, Hraf? Or ... I suppose that would tip our hand. Clothes later?"
The crowd in the street is starting to panic as more yellow clad men begin to arrive in numbers. "It might, but I have a different idea..." replies Hraf as, his weapons come into view. Scattered bystanders prevent the arriving magi from getting a clear shot at the three, yet, but one calls, "Those two men have weapons, and they're with the crazy thief woman!"
"Strip them. Definitely strip them...And Oh!" Bianca's words are a murmur delivered trancelike as she thumbs a mottled glass vial from her elaborate belt. "Firebreath..." Uncorking the lid with her teeth the pint sized proprietress hurls the thing into a vacated cart almost across the street from the alley.
Fiamme shakes her sword out from the doll-disguise Bianca had so artfully made. "Are we on plan x yet?"
Privately, to Bianca, Hrafnkel makes a subtle gesture as possible for Bianca to back off.
Bianca does not back up but darts to the left, surmounting in a series of deft leaps an unused vendor's cart. She is now no further than 5 feet from Hrafnkel, having reaped higher ground. "This played out quite differently in my mind!"
Hrafnkel moves off, weaving smoothly through the by standers who seem all too happy to duck out of his way. "This way," The call seems to be to Fiamme and Krieger, not so much Bianca, who seems thus far unmolested as more guards slowly arrive. There are four magi who have him spotted, but he is already on them. "Kill anything dressed brightly."
Krieger chuckles softly, "You might not take me nice places, but you do give me nice things to play with." he comments as he pulls a dagger from his tunic, a dagger that on second glance appears to be damned near a short sword. Yeah, he /can't/ vanish into a crowd or anything, that option has fled the instant he was spotted killing guards.
Fiamme follows Hrafnkel's instructions to the letter, the cold, feral look coming to the fore once more. She is small, and she does not have the reach or the strength of either of the men, but she is fast, and she is tricky.
Krieger's arm cocks and he leaps forward. No, literally leaps, two strides and his powerful legs carry him up and into the air... frankly, a giant is freaky enough, a flying one just doesn't even seem fair. His arm snaps forward and the dagger takes one of the guards low in the gut, doubling the man over and hurling him back into the dirt. He lands before the last remaining guard who hesitates for a split second in shock. Too long. Using the momentum of the leap Krieger brings his forehead down hard. There is a metallic ring accompanied by a gruesome wet sound as blood sprays from inside the man's helmet. A helmet now severely misshapen and dented in to look more like a bowl. He turns to eye the others, "Where too?" he asks without so much as a mark on his skin.
Perhaps it is her size that makes the magi Fiamme marks hesitate to bring out his ugliest spells. Perhaps it is her state of semi dress, in a knee length sleeveless undertunic. At any rate, he revisits his decision rather late, when his casting hand is on the ground, and he is looking disbelievingly at the stump. The thrust to the heart is a graceful sweep probably entirely unappreciated by him, then she dances by, and catches up with Hrafnkel. Her tunic is bloody, her smile is ... disturbingly happy.
Amid the smoke and bedlam, Bianca is perched out of the way atop a decommissioned vendor's cart. Her hands crisscross leisurely upon the hilt of her ebony cane.
If Fiamme take the man on one end, and Kri takes the two in the middle, the one on Hraf's side never really stood a chance. His thrust is an off switch. The hawk masked man is a limp form before the terminus of Hraf's thrust. He leads the three with a final glance to Bianca, before disappearing around a side street, another alley, into a yard... the path that leads them to where the city wall can be jumped, unobserved, as night falls. The Inn of the Broken Star is a short walk from there.