Private Tales For What Do We Bleed?

[Elijah]

"I'm getting too old."

Beautiful laughter caressed his mind like a warm summer breeze. He could almost feel her fingers touch his cheek. Could almost see her smile and caught the scent of her perfume on the winds of a memory.

Nonsense. I'm far older than you and look at me...

Elijah sighed and shut his eyes against the sparks of light playing across his vision. He hadn't thought of Samantha and that memory in many weeks. Recently it had been another face, another voice, the angry bite of her tongue that had come to mind instead. He really must have banged his head. Gingerly he sat up and the world spun even behind closed eyes. He touched the back of his head and grunted at the feel of warm blood.

"He should have killed me," he muttered, opening his eyes and squinted into the still painful sun. He watched in the direction Wrath had gone. "This doesn't make sense."

 

[Lyssia D'avore]

"I'm glad he didn't," she said. She ignored the rest, oblivious to the fact that he had been unaware of her searching his body for any nick or cut. She tsk'd over the split scalp, quite happy to have something to complain about and not being allowed a moment to fret over their unexpected visitors and their equally inexplicable departure.

It took a titanic effort to reach out to the prim, to grasp it and draw it forth from the ocean beyond sight. Elijah's feats of physical strength and endurance - Elliot's too, for that matter - were as taxing a prospect for her as her arcane feats were to Elijah. Even so, the demand it placed on her atop everything else was great enough. "This won't be pleasant," she said - a bare moment before sending a sea of magic twisting through the man's veins. Hurts mended themselves, leaving ghostly phantoms of the pains they had been. That and an added burden of exhaustion that she washed away with another flow - one that, more or less, shifted the burden of fatigue from him to her. She nearly staggered under the weight of it.

In fact, she did. Staggered, and dropped on her rump, head hanging so that her red hair hung in a curtain over her face. It took an even more titanic effort not to pass out right then and there, but she managed it. Just, but managed it all the same.

"...need to get up..," she murmured. And set about trying to do just that.

***

The flood of pain was delightful, and it snapped his mind wide awake.

Sloth opened his eyes, and blinked against the shadowy light. Dust motes danced in the air, passing through the beam of sunlight from the open trap door. As he sat up, he could feel the stiffness in his joints; that would work itself out eventually. It was always difficult to get back the essence of his soul when he sent a marionette out into the world...but it would return.

Eventually.

The villain felt at his waist, and smiled. The crossbow there was small, the bolt hardly enough to do any lasting damage unless one was exceptionally lucky...but, well, he had inoculated his weapons with his own brand of luck.

Standing stiffly, he grinned. The testing was not done yet. There was one more act to play out. The grey-skinned one was probably doomed, but the other two likely yet lived. He could doom another of them...he just had to be careful about which he chose.

Out through the trap door, into the sun. And into the shadowy world between life and death. Such was his fatigue that he could not cross that threshold entirely, but it would take an extremely observant eye to catch him while he stalked.

He just needed one shot.

 

[Elliot Aldmar]

The tremor caused by Wrath jolted Elliot as he lay on the ground. A not-so-subtle reminder, it was, that danger still lurked, and the brief respite purchased by his Corpse Explosion was not to last for long.

"Get up," Elliot said to himself. "Come on."

Bodies had their own kind of inertia. Weighed down by exhaustion and settled into rest (even if it was interrupted by quaking ground), it became difficult, quite difficult, to raise oneself up and to get into motion again. But Elliot, clenching his teeth, did so. A minor pain, foreign to the familiar pain of catching a slash across exposed flesh, had begun to fester within the wound on his arm. He could still move his arm, so the poison wasn't paralytic—at least not yet.

As Elliot found his feet, two things were on his mind:

Finding Merissa, to both secure their way out of here and to see if Tsagaan Ereg had any manner of apothecary or medicine woman available. It was a small town, so the chances weren't as good as Elliot would've liked, but such was his folly for allowing himself to be slashed by Sloth in the first place.

If he was to die, then he would die. Until then, he had to keep going.

He saw Lyssia and Elijah then, both still alive if not particularly well. Curiously, Wrath had disappeared—Elliot couldn't see where. Some of the militia were pointing beyond the billowing black smoke belching forth from Merissa's home, so perhaps that general direction was about right.

Unfortunately, it was the direction of Merissa's barn, where Elliot figured she and her family might be. Held there, perhaps, either in captivity or, in the worst case, as a pile of corpses. He needed to find out which.

Elliot picked up his daggers and sheathed them and, holding his bleeding arm, started to stagger back toward the burning house and Lyssia and Elijah outside of it. They weren't going to be happy about any of what had just transpired, least of all Elliot's own actions. Their opinions were their own, but Elliot doubted it would escalate beyond coarse words. He trusted in their senses of self-preservation. Well, to be more specific, he trusted in Elijah's sense of self-preservation.

As he neared them, he said, "I'm going to find Merissa. She might be in the barn. I'm finding her and getting that boat ready. Either you're on it or you're not."

Lyssia D'avore Elijah

 

[Elijah]

"I wish you would stop doing that," Elijah murmured and reached out to catch a delicate elbow before Lyssia toppled backwards. He didn't make clear whether he was talking about healing him specifically and the nauseating feeling that came with it, or the fact it took so much out of her to do it and he believed himself able to cope with a scratch. "But thank you," he squeezed gently. Something sweeter and more tender might have passed between them if not for the interference of fate in the form of Elliot in that moment.

The stormy look that crossed his face was hard to conceal but Eli was a Captain, a man raised in war, he knew when to bite his tongue. With a grunt he pushed himself to his feet and pulled Lyssia with him.

"I should check the others did not come across these two," he rubbed the back of his neck and winced at the phantom pain in the base of his skull. Putting two fingers to his lips he whistled loud and clear for Gypsy.

 

[Lyssia D'avore]

She mumbled something noncommittal, weighted down by exhaustion that had pushed far beyond anything she had endured before - saving, of course, a particular moment for which she owed the man before her her life over. Everything that had come after might not have come to pass had she simply...burned herself out of the world.

People milled about in the aftermath, those not busy fighting the flames. The home was a loss, but the fire was under control at least. More than one body littered the yard, but none of the dead were Merissa. The centenarian had not died here, if she had died at all. And, as if that was not enough, a column of soldiers even now trotted into the smuggler's compound, Nemythia at the head. The centaur bore many wounds that oozed blood, and the number of soldiers that followed her was greatly reduced. Fewer than half of the column remained; only one of the criminals that had been freed with Elijah and Lyssia still stood, untouched unlike many of the others.

"You're quite welcome," she finally managed in reply to his thanks. If she sounded faint and on the edge, well, that was because she was. She eyed the grey-skin with a scowl intensified by her heavy eyes. The man was clearly wounded, but she did not offer to aid in his case. She made a grunt of irritation when the Captain pulled her along with him. She almost fell, but managed to maintain her footing. His piercing whistle restored some lucidity to her. "And you are quite not," she snapped at Elliot. She did not add any more vitriol to that - it required too much effort to even do what she had. "The soon we...get across the straight, the better," she said. The sooner we quit this selfish scofflaw, the better.

 

[Elliot Aldmar]

"I'll notify you when I need your welcome," Elliot said as he staggered by, his boots plodding along in the dirt of Merissa's field.

She was right, though. The sooner they got across the Strait, the better. Best to put the sea between them and not only Stannis, but now these others who had an investment in their deaths. Whoever had sent these others, Elliot was certain that it was not Stannis—it didn't match with her style. Yet there remained the possibility that she was becoming desperate. Whatever the case, across the Strait lay their sanctuary. And much to their mutual pleasure, they could at last part ways.

As Elliot trudged across the field and toward the barn, though, the pain in his arm reminded him of his dire circumstance:

If he didn't get Sloth's poison attended to, he wouldn't make it to Liadain. And that was a fact.

Ahead, the barn doors were open. Dimness within. And the straw on the ground, even from this distance Elliot could see, had been disturbed.

Lyssia D'avore Elijah

 

[Elijah]

Elijah's face turned as hard as stone as his soldiers filed from the treeline.

"Nym," he said softly and released Lyssia to march across the ground to meet her. There was a bloodied bandage over one eye and her face was set in grim pain. When they met in the middle of the hastily created battlefield they scanned one another before embracing the way lifelong friends forged in blood did when they found one another alive.

"How many?" he asked when they pulled apart, his gaze returning to those over her shoulder. His eyes searched frantically every figure who appeared. Worry tightened his features with every passing second.

"We lost thirty, a good twenty more won't be in a fit state to walk so we left them behind with the medics we could spare. This..." she waved a hand to the rag tag team left. "Were what could walk."

Elijah thrust a hand through his hair. Leaving them behind now seemed... unwise. Whoever had sent those assassins might go after those who stayed behind. But taking them was harder.

"Take them back to the Boarders," Nym opened her mouth but he held up a hand. "Go. Scatter. I will send the signal when we return."

 

[Lyssia D'avore]

Released, she nearly stumbled. Looking on from the outside of the bonds forged in shared violence, Lyssia could do little but curse herself and her relative ineffectiveness. Especially here, especially now. Listening to Nym and Elijah speak of their wounded and their fallen twisted her heart. She was no warrior, and so had never felt shame in her lack of prowess in combat. But her natural abilities as a healer could scarcely stand the sound of such suffering. She had it within her power to save the lives of those on the brink, and to mend those that had been hurt...

...but she could not heal the world. There was onyl so much of herself to give to others, and already she had pushed herself beyond the limits of her flesh. Already, the dull ache had settled into every joint, her head throbbing from the hyperextension of her magical abilities. More, and she would start to harm herself more than she helped others - and in so doing, help no one.

It was galling to admit.

She made her way slowly through the shattered yard until she stood beside the centauress, looking up at the tall creature. "I...cannot help all of you, but I can ease your wounds at least, Nymethia," she said. It was a thing not offered out of any particular care for the centaur, either; the four-legged woman had made it clear how she felt about the outcast noblewoman. But...for Elijah, she would do anything. The realization was a shock, sudden as it was. "I but wish I could help all of you, but..."

There was no need to say anything else. The dark circles underscoring her eyes, and bone-weariness evident in the way she carried herself, the tinge of pain in her posture - all these things spoke volumes of the extremity she was already in. And yet, if Elijah asked it, she would tend to every single one of the survivors; after all, she owed him her life many times over already.

 

[Elliot Aldmar]

Elliot entered the barn. He blinked his eyes, squinted, for the change in light was dramatic. Endlessly was he mocked over this by fellow mercs in whatever company he was riding with at any given time. A dark elf that can't see in the dark? You ought to slap your mother and demand some real drow eyes from her, you got shorted, my friend.

His eyes had adjusted some as he heard some rustling. Toward one of the stalls he went.

And, inside, he spotted Merissa alright. Merissa and a host of her many sons and daughters, all of them bound, gagged, down in the straw, and looking various degrees of terrified. Merissa caught his gaze. Said a muffled thing into her gag...while her eyes screamed alarm.

Too late did Elliot feel the knife pressed against his throat.

"Ah ta ta ta," said Taros, halting Elliot's draw of one of his daggers by pressing the blade of his knife dangerously into Elliot's gray flesh. "Let's just alllll~ be calm and civil about this, yeah?"

"Was it you?"

"Was it me?" And then Taros got it. "What? Who hired them? No, I hired these fine gentlemen from the last battle." Indeed, a pair of sellswords flanked Taros on either side. "No, no, no, I've no idea where the brute and the ringmaster came from. But I'm nothing if not an opportunist."

Elliot snorted. "I should have known."

"Oh, you needn't fret so much. This little rendezvous I've been hired to facilitate is all about second chances, after all."

"I'm thrilled."

"Not as much as your erstwhile companions will be, I'm sure, once I relieve them of your company." A prompting tug to face Elliot in the right direction, and then a prompting push. "Come on then. Best we not overstay our welcome. It would be bad manners."

And they started then toward the back of the barn.

Lyssia D'avore Elijah

 

[Elijah]

A flicker of surprise crossed Nymethia's face before she glanced to Elijah with an unreadable expression.

"Thank... you Lyssia but, that won't be necessary," she offered a slight smile and then glanced over her shoulder. "I would rather show solidarity with the others and my wounds are not so bad. You have a long trip, you should save your strength in case you have need of it," another meaningful glance at Elijah, the type only another woman would understand when two were trying to subtly converse about him without him realising.

Elijah grunted.

"I'm going to go check on that Drow," he rubbed the back of his neck. "I don't trust him not to grab Merissa and just get on that ship without us," he knew when women wanted to talk without him around. Giving them both a brief glance over again he then set off towards the barn.

 

[Lyssia D'avore]

Her eyes flicked to Elijah and back again without any change in expression in her face. She did not believe a word of the other woman's expressed state - the reality was plain to see. She did not comment on it, however; if she wished to suffer, far be it for the sidhe to push her own body past its limits for someone that did not want it.

She turned to watch Elijah go with an unreadable expression of her own, purple eyes gleaming in the light. "...still pushing..," she said under her breath, and then blinked, remembering her present company. For a change, she didn't flush like a girl fresh off her mothers' apron strings. Her eyes lingered a moment longer on the departing back of the man himself, and then turned to Nymethia.

Looking upon the warrior, she couldn't help but see every difference between the two of them. The only thing in common was the soldier off to check on a scofflaw drow. Though their relations to Elijah were very different, there was a kind of comraderie to be had. Certainly both understood how stone-stubborn the Captain was, how single-minded he was in pursuing a goal. And both understood the passion he had for the command placed in his hands.

And for the heart-wrenching sorrow that underlie all of that. In her own, way, Lyssia was not as keenly aware of it as were the soldiers under his command, they who had been with him before...and after.

"What will you do?" She asked. It was not the question she was going to ask, but there were no need to ask the real question. She herself was committed to two goals - the downfall of the real traitor to the Dynast, and the preservation of the man whom had stuck his neck out on her behalf, though she deserved none of it.

Anything at all for Elijah.

"Surely you are not going to..," she began, then shook her head. It was even odds that the soldiers under Elijah would obey the order, or defy it in pursuit of protecting the man whom had gained the trust and respect to command such loyalty.

 

[Elliot Aldmar]

"Boss."

Taros, as they walked, glanced back at the sellsword's prompting. Caught a brief glimpse a figure, Elijah, separating out from the general crowd gathered about the site of the battle and Merissa's burning house. Separating and coming across the field. Toward the barn.

"Well that's touching." And then to Elliot. "You've made a better impression than you thought. They're coming to check up on you."

"I'm confident it's not for me."

"No inspiring tale of friendship after bitter enmities?"

Even though Taros had said it in jest, Elliot had a small moment of reckoning with how...strange it would be, how much circumstances would have to change, the long odds of it all, for him to accept Lyssia and Elijah into the company of his friendship, and for them to likewise accept him. Yet old Merissa back there, tied up in the stall, was a proof that long odds did not mean impossible odds.

"I speak the truth as I see it."

"Hmm. Well. Shame it wasn't the sidhe. She could've kissed that nasty wound on your arm and made it all better. Unless you swing the way that would make the good captain more preferable to your loins."

Taros hauled Elliot out through the back portal (there was no door) of the barn, keeping the knife pressed firmly to his neck. He and the two sellswords posted up on either side of the barn's back portal. The stretch of field to the earthen ramparts of Tsagaan Ereg was too far. They only had two choices to get away cleanly.

Wait for Elijah to depart.

Or take him out quietly.

And Taros suspected that Merissa might well make the latter choice necessary. He nodded to the two sellswords, and they nodded back. Preparing themselves.

Lyssia D'avore Elijah

 

[Elijah]

Nym quirked a brow down at the young sidhe. The looks she had given the departing Captain's back had not gone unnoticed by the centauress and she had frowned at it quite openly. Elijah was still torn, turning over a spit of pain caused by losing Samantha. She did not think he thought of any other women that way but maybe she had been wrong. Had his commitment to Lyssia been born out of something more than duty? The thought was somewhat... troubling for Nym who had classed Samantha, too, as a good friend.

"Surely, what?" she prompted, curious to see what a woman who had never stepped foot on a battlefield before thought she would do.

Elijah muttered under his breath the whole way to the barn. It was nothing of any importance. It was hard to tell if it was even made up of sanicle words. It simply helped to vent whether it be in words or grunts beneath his breath. Stepping into the barn Elijah called out.

"Hello?! Merissa?" Being human it took far longer for his eyes to adjust to the darkness of the barn than the Drow who had done just this only moments ago. There was a noise like muffled shouting and then an axe swung at him from the darkness.

 

[Lyssia D'avore]

"...surely nothing," she said after a long drawn out moment. The notion had been an idle fancy, and defied the discipline that the Dynasty had instilled in its soldiers since time immemorial. "He sends you away on orders, and you'll obey them because you have no other choice," she said, not adding that she thought he was a fool to be tossing aside sword-and-bows when he needed them most. She certainly wasn't an asset on a field of battle - as had been painfully (quite so) clear over the last many months.

"Not that I begrudge it," she added. She looked after him again, and shook his head. "A good man. Better than any I have ever known..."

It hurt to say it. Better, even, than her father - a figure that had stood in the shadow of her mother. It was the way of the Dynasty that men did not often stand to the forefront; Father had been a solid, stoic figure who had spoken little. She never found out whether it was because he was a man, or merely a man of few words. He hadn't needed words, anyway; compassion and strength did not require the spoken word to be displayed.

The image of her father standing in a doorway, shadowed and silent, twisted her heart for a moment. It had been so very long since she had though of Father - or Mother, for that matter - that she had begun to think the pain of those wounds had healed. Coupled with the ghostly laugh of her brother, she discovered that not only had they not, but they yet bled quite freely.

She shifted uneasily, and pushed the haunting memories aside, instead grabbing hold of the lifeline that Elijah had left in his wake - proverbially, at least. "Not sure which of us is the more stubborn," she said in regard to the Captain. "But at least I can try to shield him from some of the danger his chosen path has put him in." On her account. No, on the account of the Dynast - she simply happened to be a part of the scheming that surrounded the power of the throne. Another fear lie there - what would happen when the general thrust of the story drifted away from her. Would he slip away, and leave her alone again?

And why did it matter? Why did that idea hurt more than wounds of the flesh might?

"Were that I were more useful in the field," she said sourly.

 

[Elliot Aldmar]

Muffled shouts from one of the horse stalls. Shuffling as prone bodies wormed around on the straw and hay strewn about inside.

And then came the axe.

The two sellswords had a simple strategy. Do it quick, catch him by surprise, and be done with it. Once Elijah was dead and enough time was bought to dash to the ramparts and hop out of Tsagaan Ereg, they could leave this mess behind and the Kaliti bounty hunter could pay them the rest of what they had agreed upon and everyone could go on their way. Easy.

So the Axeman came at Elijah from one side.

And the dual-wielding Swordman came from a slightly different angle. His own twin slices necessarily coming in a second later than the Axeman's chop, but surely one of them would get him. Luck was on their side, so they believed.

* * * * *​

"Not a peep," Taros said, keeping his voice low. And he repeated it almost as if he were humming a lullaby, "Noooot~ a peep."

Elliot winced, his lips pursing together and a small rumble of a grunt coming from his throat.

"A touch uncomfortable? Apologies. It's the nature of the business, as I'm sure you're well aware."

"It's my arm."

"You're a tough guy, aren't you? Don't ruin my sterling image of you."

"It's poisoned."

Taros actually was taken aback. A trifle, yet still, the repartee suffered a brief interruption. Poisoned? If that was true and not just some half-arsed ploy, that...complicated things.

She did want him alive, after all.

Lyssia D'avore Elijah

 

[Elijah]

The centauress continued to gaze at the small woman in front of her with that hard to read gaze, though a smile did play about her lips. Whether she believed 'nothing' was what Lyssia had intended to say before or not remained to be seen but she did not press, did not query. Neither did she voice her own opinions on what Lyssia surmised about the situation. At least... not on all of it.

"We have a choice, Lyssa. All of us here do. Elijah chose to believe in and follow you to uncover this... poison and root it out. Those of us here today knew the risks he asked of us to join him. When he asks us to scatter we do it because we want to and believe it is for the best of him, and us. If you wish to help him, you must stop believing that you forced this upon us all. Elijah would walk away if he did not believe in it. We all would."

* * *
​

"-!"

Elijah's spine bent backwards and his weight shifted to the heels of both feet. The axe swung in a wide crescent through open air that could have very nearly been his neck. What a pretty mess of the wall they would have made had it connected. The swing not meeting the intended target sent the axe wielder toppling off balance. However, Elijah's greater problem was the kiss of a blade slicing into his side.

With a loud curse he brought his other arm up to catch the other blade which clanged against his armbrace. The clang of metal against the magical runes caused them to suddenly flare and--

BOOoooooooooOM!​

 

[Lyssia D'avore]

Lyssia bristled for a moment, cast a sidelong look at the centauress. "I know he chose to do this, and I know it was not forced upon him," she said more than a little drily. Elijah had, in a far less gentle manner, told her as much. And she had come to accept the fact for what it was: simple truth. That changed nothing of her desire to try and protect him from every threat that she could. There were not so very many things she could be of help against, but those she could, she would.

She looked away. "I owe him my life, and I owe it many times over. And not for saving me in the course of our current troubles - he pulled me from the abyss before any of this was known to him." The black abyss of despair - just the memory of it left a foul taste in her mouth. The other times he had saved her paled in comparison to that one singular time. In all those others, he had rescued her from threats that were external to herself. That one time, though...

...he had saved her from herself. From the blackest of despair, from the knife in her own hand, destined for her own heart. Metaphorically, of course, but no less true for it.

"I would do literally anyt-," she began, but the ear-shattering boom that rolled over the yard drowned out anything else she might have said. Her head snapped in the direction of the sound, eyes wide. The burst of noise was enough to leave the ears ringing.

She didn't say anything, pushing herself past her exhaustion and breaking into a dead run, heading for the stables with the power of the prim pulsing within her head to the beat of her heart, flaring like a sun in anticipation...

 

[Elliot Aldmar]

BOOoooooooooOM!​

Taros needed no further prompt to know that things weren't going so well inside the barn. Luck was very often built on a strong foundation of common sense, he once heard a wise man say. A wise man who was rather old in a profession where men died young, of course, so his advice was worth all the gold on Epressa.

"Come along then," Taros said, roughly jerking Elliot into motion. He kept the knife pressed firmly to the dark elf's neck; he knew Elliot was a wily one, and that the only thing keeping himself from joining in with Stannis's record of continued failure in apprehending the elf was one lapse in vigilance. "It'd be rude to keep my employer waiting, wouldn't it?"

Elliot grunted. "I'm not exactly known for my manners."

"Oh hush now. Every ruffian can be polished up with a little work."

And across the field they hurried, Taros forcing Elliot along. The earthen wall and its rampart were getting closer and closer. Elliot didn't know when his opportunity might arise, but he had a feeling it would be small and slim and the only one he'd have available.

Before it was too late.

* * * * *​

The Swordman was thrown off of his feet by the discharge of lightning from Elijah's bracer. The sparks, the flash, both were blinding. The man hadn't even the time to holler a scream of pain. He flew back and his legs slammed into a stall door and this sent his body spiraling until he fell onto his skull within the stall itself, spasming and convulsing uncontrollably in the straw.

The Axeman, motivated by fear now more than money, got back to firm footing and with wide eyes and a holler of battlerage (that was in fact a rather large portion of bravado) swung his axe overhead at Elijah, hoping his strike would get through where his fellow sellsword's had not.

Lyssia D'avore Elijah

 

[Elijah]

Elijah's ears rang. His vision blurred. The feeling of pure energy still ran through him like he was a metal rod and he wasn't of a sound enough mind to think of how to expel it. Harbouring it in his body was dangerous. That was a lesson he had learnt young but he hadn't been prepared for such a sudden wave of magic to come from him and it had taken advantage of the fact. His dazed state would have meant he was as good as dead if not for the suddenly high pitched scream of a winged horse as it plunged from the sky.

What Eli had failed to notice was that his lightning had not only sent his opponent flying, rendered himself senseless, but it had also blown the roof of the barn off completely. Smouldering bits of fire ate away at the rest of the thatching. Gypsy used the unfortunate instance to her advantage however and angled her dive so that the full force of her front hooves met the axe wielder square in the face.

The centauress had taken off at the same time as Lyssia and gave a low whistle as the man went sprawling to the floor.

"That's... going to be a headache."

If he woke up.

 

[Lyssia D'avore]

Things were happening fast, as they tended to in a fight. She saw the streak of white as the pegasus dove through the freshly blasted hole in the roof of the stable, her face set in a grim expression. It was only by chance that she happened to see the pair of running figures belting their way across the field, and only just close enough that she could make out the grey skin of Elliot.

For a moment, she teetered on the edge of a decision: run to Elijah and help him in whatever mess he had landed in, or rendezvous with Elliot and what looked to be Taros. She erred on the side of caution, and turned to chase down the two men instead; Elijah was clearly in good company with Gypsy and Nym joining him in whatever violence ensued there.

So instead she went for Elliot. The dark-skinned man was their ticket out of Erdeniin via the centenarian smuggler. She did not know why he was running away, and with Taros - at least to start with - but it became obvious as she closed the gap that one member of the pair was not going willingly. Taller and more athletic than she was, she should have been unable to close the distance in any meaningful way, but Taros was definitively hobbled by his prize.

And by that, she managed to see steel drawn, and felt a chill in her soul. Betrayal. It wasn't the first time, and it wouldn't be the last she felt. She knew a moment of ice-cold fear in her middle - the memories of every fight she had ever had flashing in her before her - then grimaced and pelted on all the harder.

She did not call out. She did not make any unnecessary sound, although it was a trial not to gasp every breath out. The power of her sorcery pulsed within her, but she did not call upon it yet. She needed to get closer...and needed to do so without being seen. Else...

 

[Elliot Aldmar]

"Just a little bit more," said Taros, his words spoken with the sweet, encouraging tone of a doting mother, "and then we can get that arm of yours looked at."

Elliot kept pace, but he had to wonder just how long he could. Whatever laced the blades of that assassin was a slow and methodical concoction, certainly, and much did he doubt that the minor burn in his arm would stay minor and stay solely in his arm. "Don't let that knife slip," he said mockingly. "You wouldn't want to go home empty-handed."

"Ooo, look at you. Saucy," Taros said.

The ramparts on this side of Tsagaan Ereg had been abandoned, all of the watchmen having run to the source of the earlier commotion, the fire and the fight. Opportunity was, at times, a rather harsh mistress, so while this was Taros's best and perhaps only chance to seize Elliot, once he was over the wall he'd have a whole new set of problems: transportation, that bothersome poison, lack of supplies. Oh but he'd weathered bad odds before. Why not again?

"Up we go," Taros said, turning Elliot to face the ramp leading up to the top of the rampart—

—and, in so turning, noticing in the far reaches of his periphery a small glimpse of movement. He reacted swiftly, rotating Elliot around all the way to use him as a dark elven shield. Taros pressed his own back to the earthen wall.

He saw who it was. As did Elliot, and no small amount of surprise accompanied the sight of—

"Lyssia," Elliot grunted, even the small motion of his neck in saying her name dangerous, as Taros held the knife deadly firm to the flesh.

"Lyssia!" Taros called out genially, as if meeting an old friend. "You seem to be heading in the wrong direction! The Strait is more to the south, I'm afraid!"

Elijah Lyssia D'avore

 

[Elijah]

Elijah merely grunted. If was the key word in that sentence and if the blood on Gypsy's hooves was anything to go by it would be a slim if.

The white mare swished her tail, practically prancing on the caved in skull for good measure, before turning back to her rider with all the grace of a noble Queen not a feral brumby. With a sigh he took the offered back to help pull himself to his feet once more and rub at his face. Today ranked pretty highly on the worst days he had ever had.

"Elliot is missing," he explained gruffly and Gypsy's - and Nym's! - ears flattened. They both understood that without him their ticket of crossing to Oban vanished too.

"I'll get a search going," the centauress turned and began a steady canter back towards the others for the barn still blocked the view of what was now happening...

 

[Lyssia D'avore]

There was an edge to his words.

Lyssia was not built for war, but she was quite capable when it came to politics. The realm of trying to achieve what you wanted while giving up next to nothing that you did not wish to was a challenge, especially when it was weight of words and non-violent action alone that everything hinged upon.

Snap judgement was called for here, and she gave in to her intuition. "I know that," she snapped - puffing a little bit from the exertion. Gods, but she was tired. The sweet flow of power continued to pulse within her, but she did not reach for it. This was not the time for violence. "I can venture a guess at what you are about," she added after she had caught her breath, continuing to close the gap between them. Unhurriedly, with no clear intention to do anything about the situation with the half-drow. "What gods there are know I most heartily approve of your intention with this coward," she said, the insult slung with a venomous sting to it.

"Only...I cannot let you take him in yet." She stopped a handful of paces away from the pair. Her eyes flicked to the blade at the grey-skinned bastards' throat, and made a tsking sound in her own. "I honestly do not care what you do with him, but he hasn't secured our passage across the water yet."

Taros had always seemed the sell-sword type. It was possible she could buy him off, had she the coin to do so...only, she did not. She did not even have any kind of leverage to get what she wanted from him, shy of using her own persuasion on him - which was likely to gain her nothing much. "I would much prefer it if you brought your charge back so he can finish our business....and then you can do what you will."

 

[Elliot Aldmar]

...but he hasn't secured our passage across the water yet.

Elliot kept his cool. At the very least, there was that, the one thing which had the power to transcend mores and all the boundaries born of one's morals or code. And that was practicality combined with necessity. In a word, usefulness. Such a bond had kept himself and Elijah and Lyssia together this far, had it not? Elliot didn't expect any salvation. He didn't even begrudge Lyssia for it, for she was merely doing what he himself had done by jumping out of the window and leaving her and Elijah to battle Sloth: pursuing her goal via the best course she had reckoned. These calculations were often cold, but they matched well the world in which they were made.

All Elliot was hoping for was the opportunity he'd previously thought about, his chance to break free from Taros's custody.

"That's close enough, my dear," said Taros. A thin sliver of blood ran down the edge of the knife to Elliot's throat, the nick small but a hint of what he would do. "We know how this works, don't we?"

Elliot kept his gaze squarely on Lyssia's eyes. If she was going to try something, the eyes always betrayed it first. And he would need to be prepared.

Taros smiled. Still he maintained his jovial air, as if they were merely having a delightful conversation over delicious chamomile tea. "I am not an unreasonable man. Let's work out an amicable solution for the both of us, eh? How about the pegasus, hmm? Oh just where has that flying horse gone? Wouldn't that be more pleasant of a ride across the Strait than some smuggler's dirty, rickety skiff? You don't even have to share the backseat with your friend Elliot anymore! Oh joy!"

Elijah Lyssia D'avore

 

[Elijah]

Said pegasus was busy cajoling her exhausted rider to drink something.

"Alright, alright! Flamin' feather brains," he muttered earning him a flat-eared glare only a mare could deliver. Before he got a hoof to an unmentionable area however he picked up the cup that had been brought over him some of his men and took a sip of the spring water that had been drawn from the well. The same men had also helped Elijah free the trussed up family of Merissa's and were busy tending to their minor wounds. Thankfully none of them were too badly hurt.

Gypsy's ears only pricked forward when the cup was empty and she looked meaningfully at the jug again.

"I need to find Lyssia, if she's left alone too long she'll heal the whole bloody camp and make herself sick," he grunted and pushed himself from his stool.