Completed Knife's Edge

[Ivan Skender]

Sovarre, Cortell

Ivan pulled his sword from the corpse, causing a gush of blood to pour out before the body tumbled over the ledge, and onto the city below. With a sigh, he wiped the gore off of his own face. The last of the Kortesians had been slain, though glancing around, he could not help but come to one horrible realisation:

He had been too late.

All around him on the top of that belfry lay scattered a multitude of corpses. Some had belonged to allies, others to enemies; however, one of them stood out unmistakably to the lone initiate:

Count Vicensh Blanxart, formerly the Lord of Sovarre.

The rest of them were a mixture of Kortesians, Sovarrese, mercenaries from Tychos, as well as a number of Anirians. While some few initiates were present among the deceased, more concerning was the graduated Dreadlord leading the mission in Sovarre that lay visible among the dead.

And that was not all.

Looking out past the corpses, beyond the ledge, and into the city below, Ivan saw the vicious street fights and brawls that were still taking place throughout the settlement. Curiously though, these combatants did not sport the typical armour, nor colours, of the Kortesian armies, but rather those of the many noble houses of Sovarre.

“Figures.”

Count Vicensh’s decision to shift Sovarre’s allegiance from Kortes to Tychos - and subsequent welcoming of a Tychosian garrison into the town - had been far from popular. So much so, that when the inevitable Kortesian punitive attack had come, most of the elite had either refused to participate - locking themselves in the myriad towers of the settlement - or had outright turned their coats during the heat of the attack.

That was why now, even with the attack repelled and the tattered remnants of the Kortesian army in full retreat, the city looked ready to erupt into a full-blown war. Once it became clear just how costly the victory had been for the loyalist faction, all of those who still held some loyalties for Kortes, or otherwise harboured any ambitions of power for themselves, had sallied out in force to the streets, fully bent on securing a favourable position for themselves.

For the last few hours, events had been moving rapidly, and Sovarre seemed to be heading inevitably towards anarchy… Something which would be made worse once news got out about the death of the Count.

This imminent struggle for power was, for Ivan and the rest of the initiates that had been sent on that assignment, a very pressing concern as a new, hostile regime - the most likely possibility, as the faction that supported Tychos had been all but obliterated - could see them imprisoned and executed, or bartered off to the Kortesians in exchange for the city’s safety, either of which was likely to end the same way. To make it worse, even if the few Anirians that were left somehow managed to escape Sovarre, the lands surrounding the city were held by either Kortes or the horse lords of Feiara. Either of which would happily run down any and all members of the Anirian military that dared venture into their lands.

They were, in fact, stuck between a rock and a hard place.

With a grunt, Ivan turned away from the carnage below and walked over to the large bell that hung just above his head. He reached for the handle and started tolling the bell, causing a loud, metallic sound to travel past the belfry as it echoed through the other towers and narrow streets of the city. That large bronze bell of the Count’s tower had a very peculiar sound and would be quite familiar to all the loyalists and Anirians out there. In short, it was a call to gather.

They needed to figure a way out of this mess.
​

---

Art credit: Here​

 

[Mieri]

Mieri's fist crashed into the side of the Kortesian soldiers face. There was a loud crack as steel bent and then shattered under the impact, the crunch of the mans bones lost in the sound of the tolling bell.

Her head turned almost immediately, not even bothering catching the sight of the Crusader as he was flung into the wall. The cobbles stones there half crumbling under the impact of the now dead man. Around her lay three more of the men, and huddling not far were three ordinary townsfolk who'd nearly been caught in the middle of the fight.

Heavy breaths dragged in and out of her lungs, chest rising and falling as she gathered herself.

For a moment she stood there, surveying the dead and broken men. Her gaze flickering to the now half crumbled in-wall. She cringed slightly, turning towards the innocence standing just around the corner.

"Sorry 'bout that!" She said with a small, apologetic smile. Offering a salute. "Got to go now! Keep safe!"

The Initiate received no answer from the terrified citizens of course, most of them still processing how the tiny girl had quite literally broken men almost twice her size over her nears. She turned, quickly beginning to jog through the town.

It did not take her long to reach the bell-tower, managing to avoid more than a few run ins by dragging herself onto the thatched roof-tops of the town and leaping from building to building with her magics. Flinging the door open, she let out a loud breath. "Kress! Its a nightmare out there Iv!"

She complained, running a hand through her hair.

 

[Augustine Verglas]

Sovarre

Island of Cortell

The thwack followed by the wet slicing sound of a war scythe rending flesh from bone echoed throughout the square as Augustine Verglas brought his weapon down in a deadly cleaving motion, slicing through the padded leather around the man’s throat like so much bread. The Kortesian soldier let out a wet gurgle as his life essence flowed down onto his breastplate and he collapsed in a heap. Hearing the release of an arrow, he looked up and spotted its trajectory as it hastily left the bow of a soldier from a nearby roof on the other side of the street. He raised his hand, a sheet of ice appearing as if out of thin air between him and the arrow, and a sound like shattering glass echoed from the nearby stone walls of the buildings as the arrow impacted the ice, penetrated partially through, and halted.

His response was swift, and an unsettling sound, like glass shards rubbing against each other, emanated from the floating sheet of ice. Four spikes formed suddenly, aimed directly towards the soldier, and leapt from the shield at an alarming speed. The aim didn’t have to be entirely precise; they could punch through most unenchanted human forged helmets at the rate of speed he sent them. The attack caught the archer as he was pulling back his bowstring to fire again, punching through his light helm and straight into his skull as he collapsed in a jangling heap of armor and equipment. Augustine lowered his hand and the shield of ice dropped to the ground with a crash, shattering into several chunks of glittering ice.

The last of the squadron of crusaders was charging him from about thirty feet away, sword at the ready. Allowing him to approach, he side-stepped the crusader’s downward cleave and reached out, placing a hand on his arm. From where his hand touched the man, his armor began to freeze. It travelled rapidly upwards, covering the silver tempered steel with a layer of thick, white ice. Before the crusader could raise his weapon for a sideways slash, his armor was fully encapsulated, rending him unable to move. As the ice made its way under the man’s armor, slipping through the cracks, Augustine squeezed the man’s arm, his eyes briefly flashing with a light blue glow as blood began to run out of the cracks and crevices in the armor. Once the ice had reached the interior of the armor, Augustine had simply formed small icy spikes and reduced the man to a human pincushion.

The square fell deathly silent as the the last of the newly created corpses came to rest on the ground. He had been defending the square for the better part of an hour, keeping Kortesian Crusaders from approaching the belltower and the central square where Vicensh Blanxart and his retinue were fighting. Two others were defending him, the fool they appointed to lead this mission and a promising initiate named Ivan Skender who possessed a potent form of magic. He cared not who the leader of the mission was, that man was weaker than he and didn’t interest him, and Augustine had largely ignored him other than afford him the modicum of respect required by their superiors for his role as leader.

The clear peals of the bell rang out, signaling the forces loyal to the count to retreat to the central square and its belltower. Though he could not see any more crusaders, the sounds of fighting and combat still ranged through the streets and had not lessened, even when he noted that the Kortesians had tactically withdrawn. Not knowing the situation, he thought it best to retreat. Moving down a side street towards the belfry with a purposeful stride, he was a block away when more trouble found him. What seemed to be a few members of the guard of some nobleman jogged out of a side street, blocking his exit.

A burly man with a brown, bushy beard in a peaked helm and the symbol of some lord on his breastplate stepped forward, brandishing his sword. “Identify yourself”, he stated brusquely. Augustine’s stark white hair always drew attention to him, and he surmised this man had an idea who he was.

He gave the guard a slight sneer. “Dreadlord Augustine Verglas, fighting on behalf of Count Blanxart.”

The guard took a fighting stance and motioned for the others to draw their weapons. “Dreadlord, you say? I think our lord will want to see you. Come along with us.”

The last word had left his lips when, faster than the guard could react, Augustine raised his hand and, formed a long spike of ice, and threw it with deadly precision straight through the man’s throat, the force throwing him backwards in a gurgling, bloody heap. “You all really should invest in some stronger helms, perhaps dwarven made, or at least put rudimentary enchantments on your equipment. Would the rest of you care to join your captain on the other side or am I free to pass?”

The other men deflated, backing away and turning to run down the side street. “We’ll see you hanged for this”, one of them called as they quickly moved away. Augustine continued onward, reaching the belfry, and ascending the stairs. He had been fighting for an hour and could feel his body temperature had dropped since the fighting began. He would moderate aggressive use of his magic for a while to allow himself to recover. He could keep going, and his magic was powerful, but after two hours of continued use, it exceeded his cold tolerance. Luckily, it was summer, and he could usually warm back up rapidly provided he didn’t overexert himself.

He entered the belfry’s bell chamber, noticing Ivan and another initiate standing next to him. With a start, he spotted the Count’s body as well as the body of that fool that was appointed to lead this expedition, which did not surprise him. He turned to Ivan, addressing him in a calm, cool tone. “Initiates, I am pleased to see you are well. What has occurred here? I see the count has expired.”

 

[Ivan Skender]

Ivan tolled the bell for a couple of minutes, before stepping back and leaving it to fluctuate on the wind, the inertia causing the large of body of metal to waver less and less with each chime.

As he waited for whatever was left of his compatriots to converge on his position, Ivan took a seat on the ledge of the bell chamber, hoisted his legs over the edge and let his feet dangle over the emptiness below.

Sovarre seemed to continue its inexorable march towards anarchy, and from his elevated position, he could get a fairly good idea of just how chaotic the city was becoming. A handful of distinct groups were already out in the streets, seemingly causing trouble and making life pretty miserable for whomever happened to cross their path. Needless to say the presence of these brigands had already started to cause conflicts - both against other armed men, or between these rebels and the general populace - which the initiate could see from his perch. Though he was much too far away to make out any distinct heraldry, the colours of the uniforms gave away the fact most of those rogue guards belonged to different factions.

In addition to the small groupings of armoured soldiers still prowling the streets, Ivan could also see the last of the Kortesians hurriedly exiting the outer walls of the city, as well as a somewhat more disturbing sight.

At the edge of the city, beneath a thick column of smoke that rose from a fire in one of the cramped housing blocks, he caught a glimpse of the rugged, yet distinct, uniform of the Tychosian mercenary company that had come with them to Sovarre. While those men had been assigned there ostensibly to allow Tychos to hold the city in spite of the former's constraints of manpower, their loyalty had been shaky at best from the get-go, which - needless to say - was now turning into an additional problem.

Having been originally stationed the closest to the Count's tower, the mercenaries had been among the first to correctly guess Blanxart had been killed, and had ever since taken the opportunity to start looting and ransacking the city.

It was as he tried to assimilate this chaotic situation though, that Mieri barged into the bell's chamber.

- "You don't need to tell me that." - He told the girl, hoisting his legs back into the inner side of the ledge, and jumping off from his perch into the safety of the belfry. - "You can see it from here." -

He walked over to her.

- "We need to figu--" - It was at that moment that someone else made their way into the chamber, and Ivan recognized the figure of Augustine Verglas, another graduated dreadlord that had been assigned to this mission.

- "He has." - Ivan said to Augustine. - "We were overwhelmed by the Kortesians. I was stuck downstairs fighting them off while Vossel and the Count retreated up here." - That had happened during the heat of the attack, when the Kortesians had sent the bulk of their forces to the tower to try and capture the Count. The hope of the Sovarrese back then had been to pull back to the higher levels, where the Kortesians' numbers advantage could be nullified, and then have Dreadlord Vossel - the now deceased leader of the expedition - annihilate the "Crusaders" in close quarters.

That plan however, had failed spectacularly.

- "When I managed to get up here, everyone was dead, and I had to dispatch the rest of the Kortesians that were left." -

He sighed, deviating his gaze towards the city below.

- "We're fucked." - He said matter-of-factly, rather purposefully ignoring any type of courtesy. - "We have no support left." - That much would have been obvious to both Mieri and Augustine on their way there, taking into account the amount of easily-recognizable loyalist corpses that littered the ground in and out of the tower. - "And it seems our hired bodyguards decided to turn rogue." - He said, gesturing vaguely towards the grey column of smoke under which the Tychosian mercenaries gleefully raided the city they had been hired to protect.

Their situation really was precarious. On his part, Ivan could also guess both Mieri and Augustine would have a similar perspective on the matter, taking into account the three of them had been briefed on the perilous situation of Sovarre - both internal and external - before they had left for the city.

He looked at both of his comrades.

- "We need to figure a way out of this mess." - ​

 

[Mieri]

"Yeah." Mieri commented idly, her eyes flickering down towards the chaos in the city below.

She was a Dreadlord, well, almost, and what came with that was a need to be ruthless. A rule that Mieri had never been particularly...good at. Oh she killed when she needed to, she was plenty good at that. But...things like what were happening in the city down below would always be distasteful to her.

The mercenaries raiding and running rough-shot through town were almost as bad as the Kortesian who had conquered it in the first place. "It's fucked."

The Initiate commented idly, letting her attention remain on the chaos below for a moment before she suddenly caught herself.

"Err...I mean..." She glanced up at Augustine, the full Dreadlord in the belfry. "The situation seems like it could do with some...Orders, sir."

The last thing she needed right now was a lesson on maintaining military discipline.

 

[Augustine Verglas]

Sovarre
Island of Cortell

Vossel, that was his name, one of the older Dreadlords that likely shouldn't have been promoted beyond initiate. Augustine was convinced Dreadlords had been getting soft since the Republic took over, the rigid and tried training methods of their ancestors replaced with watered down versions that would inevitably create weaker lords. Of course, that hardly explained Vossel who was a seasoned Dreadlord, and who had been killed in a room where he had plenty of reinforcements and on top of that by common foot soldiers. Vossel was a worthless pariah of a man who should’ve never been given any command over others.

As Ivan finished his explanation, Augustine turned towards the window and took a moment to consider their options. He had been fighting for a little over an hour and, thankfully, it was a warm day. The core temperature of his body was beginning to rise slowly. By his own reckoning, the Dreadlord could fight with the full range of his abilities for another hour if need be but would be forced to cease relying on magic entirely lest he risk damaging his own body. Also, he was not a proctor and did not know the full extent of either Ivan or Mieri’s abilities. None of the lords had worked together much in the past.

The sounds of battle still echoed off the streets below, the cacophony of the city signaling the rapidly encroaching net that they found themselves in. Though they were Dreadlords and individually possessed the same fighting power a legion of men, even they had limits and would find themselves in peril if it came down to fighting the entire city. The retreating crusaders were filtering out of the west gate, their rear guard holding off the masses of individual nobility seeking to grow their own influence by sending their personal guards into battle. The mercenaries left the east gate another poor option with their raiding and looting, but there was one idea that had potential merit.

He turned back to the initiates and began to address them, keeping the tone of his voice carefully even. “The way I perceive it, we have three options here, two of which are likely out of the question. As individually dangerous as each of us are, we cannot possibly win against an army alone. While I wish I could say I was an Archon level lord, I am simply not and do not intend to inflate my own ego over trying to claim to be. As such, we simply cannot overwhelm all denizens of Sovarre singlehandedly, though we could likely take out a great many.”

He paused for a moment to let his words sink in. “Our second option would be to simply hide out in the city and wait until whoever is successful at taking power does so then sneak out with the inevitable refugee flood, though I have extreme distaste for this and doubt that it would fully succeed. Our final option is to seek another exit. Initiate Ivan, did Vossel mention any other exits to the city such as tunnels or sally ports? I believe you spent the most time with him.”

Ivan Skender Mieri

 

[Ivan Skender]

At Augustine's question, Ivan walked away from the group, and turned to face the city below. While it was true that - among the three of them - he'd been the one to spend the most time with Vossel, it was also true that the recently-deceased Dreadlord had had quite the dismissive posture towards the rest of the group. As such, Ivan had not gotten any sort of meaningful insight into what the commander's plans had been should their mission go awry.

He did however remember a single point that Vossel had been especially adamant about:

- "We cannot abandon this city." - He said, somewhat cryptically, before elaborating: - "Or better, we could physically leave, and through the front door if needed. Though there's only a few of us, no one in this city - armed or otherwise - could really stand-up to us in a lightning attack." - He said confidently, glancing at the same time towards the main gate of Sovarre, to the East, where the mercenaries still continued on their rampage. - "The issue comes after. The Tychosian border is a long-way off, as is their navy, and between here and there there's a long stretch of rugged terrain held by the enemy." -

He shook his head, as if dismissing the option. - "We'd be run down, as sure as daylight." -

His gaze then turned towards the city streets, where the armed militias kept on hacking each other to pieces in the midst of what looked like make-shift barricades and improvised battlefields throughout the narrow alleyways of Sovarre.

- "We can't hide here either." - He continued. - "If one of those nobles loyal to Kortes wins down there, and then finds us, we run the risk of being sent as prisoners to Kortes." - Ivan assumed both Mieri and Augustine could easily guess as to what the most likely outcome of that visit would be.

- "I believe, however, that we can fight our way of this." - He turned to face his two compatriots. - "We cannot fight the whole city." - He conceded to Augustine. - "But we won't have to." - He motioned vaguely towards the city below. - "Not everyone down there is still willing to fight after the siege." -

He shrugged.

- "It's just the nobles, and not even they are united." - That... was more of a guess than a hard fact. When they had arrived in Sovarre, the tensions between the different factions in the city - whether in favour, against, or ambiguous towards the Count - had been subtle, but perceptible, though if Mieri and Augustine had picked up on them really depended on how attentive to politics they had been back then. Still, taking into account how the streets of Sovarre looked like, he felt pretty confident in his guess.

- "If we destroy those that stand with Kortes, we might reach an agreement with the rest and stabilize the city for long enough to call for either back-up, or a withdrawal." - He paused for a moment, to let his proposal sink in.

With this plan, they'd be doing nothing more than playing for time. Waiting for a better situation than the current one they had. Still, he felt it was worth the gamble.

- "This way, we could still complete our mission, and leave the city in one piece." - ​

 

[Mieri]

Mieri listened carefully and closely to her companions, letting her head lilt back and forth between the two other Dreadlords. A hand came up to her chin, gently stroking a non-existent beard as she carefully considered what both Ivan and Augustine had to say.

Her eyes flickered over the battlements one more.

The Pugilist didn’t like the idea of running, not just because they would probably end up dead, but because it felt like quitting. Mieri hated quitting, and the mess down there wasn’t going to clean itself up easier.

”Ah, the ol’ head of the snake gambit.” She said, snapping her fingers and waggling a finger at Ivan.

”Should be simple enough.” Mieri said with a frown. ”I noticed their officers don’t fight on the front lines.”

Though Mieri wasn’t exactly book smarts, she knew to watch the battlefield. Kortes army seemed to operate strongly from a front to back way of fighting. Using canon fodder like militia’s supported by packs of roving heavily armored knights. The officers never even got close to the fighting.

Which should mean they were all in the same place. The Dreadlords just had to find them. Then break through. ”Maybe if we nab a runner somewhere.”

She suggested.

 

[Augustine Verglas]

Augustine periodically gazed out of the nearby window as Ivan spoke, monitoring the deteriorating situation outside. It was easy to note that the fighting was growing closer, as many individuals had likely heard the peals of the great bell that had recalled them to the belfry.

There were two traits that Augustine possessed, both of which periodically became stumbling blocks for him. Primarily, he was possessed somewhat by a nagging apathy that caused him to disregard that which he did not find worthwhile.

The second was a strong sense of realism that bordered on pure pessimism. He had occasionally shown these traits off to his superiors, which could have contributed to the fact that he was not put in charge of this mission.

Ivan was correct in that they could leave the city if they really wanted. Breaking through one city street and out of the city would likely be something they each could do even individually, provided they were not overwhelmed by a hail of whistling arrows. Augustine was not hopeful that they would be able to sustain anything other than a rapid strike, clearing a street and rapidly leaving the city. If it became a battle of attrition, the Dreadlords would be at a severe disadvantage.

Augustine’s abilities weren’t nearly as awe inspiring and destructive as some of the other Dreadlords. Mieri possessed significantly more raw power with her kineticism, and Ivan’s abilities eliminated targets far more thoroughly and at times quickly. The primary strength of Augustine’s abilities lay in the sheer versatility of the ability to create, shape, and manipulate ice at will. All things considered, they made an ideal team for this scenario with the superior defensive capabilities of Augustine’s ice and the destructive power of Ivan and Mieri.

He still entertained his doubts about the situation, however. He supposed he wasn’t much more experienced than either of the initiates, another potential reason Vossel had been chosen to command this mission rather than Augustine. Though appearing humble in many of the ideals he expressed, Augustine at times barely hid an underlying arrogance that would periodically express itself.

He turned back to the initiates. ”The fighting grows closer and we have little time to strategize. The peals of the bell likely drew the attention of many of those fighting around us. I concede that many of the points you have made are logically sound, but we have little time to fully realize the details of any one plan.”

He turned his attention to the street for a moment as several men-at-arms spilled into the square below and pointed up at the belfry, their shouts of battle accompanying the ringing of swords being drawn and steel clashing. They had the familiar uniforms denoting a wolf on the front of their tunics, the same as the man that Augustine had run through earlier. At the same moment, another group of similarly armed men with a bear emblem on their tunics charged into the square towards the first group, pikes lowered as the sounds of combat began to ring out across the square.

He turned back to the group, his armor shifting and clinking as he moved. “Very well, I theorize that if we can get this city under control, we will demonstrate that we are deserving of some reward and promotion from our superiors. We can attempt the solutions you are both suggesting, but if conditions here deteriorate further, we may need to exist hastily and risk flight. Let us head downstairs and acquire some information from some of those men-at-arms. I presume neither of you,” he looked at Mieri then Ivan,“have any map or otherwise intimate knowledge of the layout of this city?”

As he said this, the fighting in the square grew more fervent with the wolf tunic group of men-at-arms beginning to push back the bear tunic group towards the entrance of the belfry, slowly surrounding them and pressing them back against tower.

 

[Ivan Skender]

- "Well, there's the war-room downstairs. There should be plenty of maps and plans there." - He shrugged at Augustine. The belfry they were in was not a simple church tower, but rather a self-contained, fortified keep which had previously served as the Count's residence. Many other towers like this existed throughout the settlement, housing the remainder of the Sovarrese nobility. These small "fortresses", though little more than regular castle towers, were a rather iconic feature of the town, and some of them were even quite luxurious on the inside.

- "But," - He continued, glancing down over the ledge. Below, the soldiers bearing the coat-of-arms of the wolf were slowly but surely winning the clash - "I don't think we'll have much time to inquire those men-at-arms at this rate." -

He turned to face his companions.

- "Mieri is right, though." - He continued. - "I'd bet neither of the lordlings making this play for power is fighting in the square." - He said, pointing with his chin down to the streets.

- "Those soldiers are on their own." - He shrugged. - "Most of them are there for the money to keep their families safe, and I'd wager they're getting more than what they bargained for." - That was especially true for those poor soldiers serving the House of the bear, which - if nothing changed - would get slaughtered over a petty dispute for a little shitling that had not even bothered to come down from his tower.

He started walking over to the bell in a care-free stride. From its side, he took out a thick, long rope that was used to tie and maneuver the large, metal object

- "Which means that if we give the bear-boys that are losing down there a hand, we might just be able to bring them over to our side." - He walked towards the ledge, carrying the rope still strapped to the metal supports on his shoulder. He climbed onto the ledge.

- "So shall we?" -

Was the last thing he said before he stepped over into the abyss.​

 

[Mieri]

Boy these two said a lot of big words, and talked a lot. Not that she didn't understand it was important to make a plan. Obviously. Without a plan you were just fumblin' blind, but talk for boring really quick. She was a woman of action, preferring to do instead of talking about what it was they were going to do.

Mieri had started to tune them both out. Instead focusing on deciding what she would bring back as a souvenir. Perhaps a crusader's helmet? She thought Soleil would get a kick out of that.

Briefly she glanced up, noting that Ivan was talking now. The Pugilist wondered if the two other Dreadlords just enjoyed the sound of their own voices or if-

Wait did Ivan just say it was time to beat people up?

"Fuck yeah." She said, heartily slamming a fist into her palm and offering her two companions a wide grin. She was more than ready to put a stop to that mess going on down there. 'Course, that was only if the three of them could manage to turn the tide.

Her eyes followed Ivan as he took the hefty rope meant for the bell, a wide smile drawing on her lips. "Meet ya down there!"

She called, never waiting for Augustine to answer in the affirmative. Instead breaking out into a sprint and jumping over the edge of the railing, taking no care to find herself a rope.

 

[Augustine Verglas]

Augustine sighed and rolled his eyes as both Mieri and Ivan leaped out of the window, falling towards the action below. It would have been preferable to take a bit more time and assess that map room, perhaps finding information that could aid them such as the layout of the city. He supposed that grateful soldiers might be just as much of a boon as any map. A living guide was much better, after all. With a shrug, Augustine climbed into the windowsill and leaped off after the over eager initiates.

As the ground loomed ever closer, he felt the cold rush in his legs as power rushed through and instantly formed a cascading ramp of ice that brought him to the ground, boots sliding down the chute of ice until he landed on the ground amid a group of wolf tunic warriors, who were entirely caught off guard by his sudden appearance. Decades of training took hold in an instant as his short sword leaped free of its scabbard and took a nearby man across the throat, the salt and pepper hair on his head suddenly stained with blood. Another black-haired individual fell in rapid succession as the blade sailed between the gaps in his armor and penetrated his stomach.

Behind Augustine, three spikes of ice formed in the air seemingly out of nowhere, floating in a circle around his shoulders. The spikes moved as he moved, maintaining a perfectly positioned balance. Sailing forth at great speed, they crunched through armor, bone, sinew, and skin rendering three more dead. As they were expended, new spikes would immediately reform and the process would begin anew, felling more of the enemy soldiers. Within a few seconds, seven men lay dead around him. Augustine turned to see how many enemies remained and to see the results of the other combatant’s fights.

 

[Ivan Skender]

He used his rope to drop to a lower rooftop by the base of the belfry - his gauntlets well and truly feeling the burn from his sudden descent - and from there onto the square, where he landed just behind the back row of the combatants. Though the enemy soldiers could have reacted fast enough in the face of this new enemy, there was no instinct, nor training, that could have prepared them to withstand the magical bombardment the initiate was about to rein down upon them.

As he found his footing, Ivan unleashed his magic and lunged against the wolf-guards.

The first row, numbering some three soldiers, never saw what hit them. For those who did though, his magic took the form of an opaque mist - of overlapping locks of black and dark, ashen grey - that was brought against the combatants with all the vehemency of an avalanche. Within seconds, it enveloped the soldiers within, leaving nothing behind but a pile of rotten flesh, among which a few whitened, brittle bones could be seen through the rusty remnants of the guards’ light chain-mail.

It was then that his sword made contact with its first opponent: a large scimitar belonging to one of the burliest soldiers in the group. Quite perceptibly incensed at being flanked in such an undignified manner, the soldier hacked at the initiate with all the ferocity and vigour of a rampaging bull. They exchanged a few blows, with Ivan managing to inflict some damage onto his opponent before he dodged out of the fight, jumping into safety a few paces away.

From this relative distance, he motioned his arm in a semi-circular motion, causing the blackened remnants of his decay mist that still lingered on the ground, to converge to his position. With this he projected his power once again in the direction of this new enemy.

Unlike before, this time his magic projected itself in the form of lightning rays. As Ivan projected them against his enemy, the black rays seemed to darken the entire square. It was an effect that made it seem as though the Sun had been obscured by the clouds, even though the luminary was still well visible in the sky.

As soon as the “lightning” hit the soldier, the man was dead, the rays corroding his flesh mercilessly, and leaving behind a barely-recognizable carcass or rotten - as opposed to charred - flesh.

It was by using this combination of relentless sword attacks and corrosion magic that Ivan managed to fell another couple of guards before finding himself standing back-to-back with Augustine Verglas, looking on as the enemy combatants’ number dwindled by the second.​

 

[Mieri]

Mieri crashed against the ground with a thunderous crack as the carefully crafted marble street beneath the tower cracked into a thousand pieces.

The kinetic energy from her fall seemed to flicker and reverberate through Mieri. Shooting through her form like a shot of adrenaline. She felt it as she rose, echoing through her muscles and giving her an extra kick. A wide grin spread across her lips, and by the time she stood the young Initiate was already darting forward.

She moved like a hummingbird.

Never standing in place for more than a second, never stopping, always moving.

Her fists dented armor, her calf broke through steel blades, her foot ripped men in full plate from their feet. Mieri didn't peel the flesh from bone like Ivan, but she moved through the crowd of soldiers like a vicious wasp. Stinging, striking, and sending men sprawling to their knees with groans of pain or unconscious thuds.

Mieri cut her way through the soldiers one punch at a time. Stopping only at the end of the vicious crowd to catch her breath. Hands settling on her knees as she finally stilled for just a moment. "WOO! That was-"

As she spoke, one of the crusaders rushed up behind her. His massive longsword swinging directly for her neck.

 

[Augustine Verglas]

Decades of training reinforced his response as he reacted to the crusader’s sword swinging for the neck of the initiate. What made Augustine such a formidable foe and what had earned him promotion even in the face of powers such as magnetism and gravity control, was versatility. As the blade sang towards Mieri’s neck, the invisible water in the air around the blade that it was swinging through froze instantaneously, and a spike of ice formed in front of the blade, which impacted it with a SING.

Though ice was brittle, it was easily thick enough to throw the crusader’s balance off despite cracking and breaking when the sword impacted it. As his sword impacted a much harder surface than he was expecting and bounced off into the air, the man staggered backwards with the force of the impact. A lance of ice followed a second later, smashing straight through the crusader’s helm and into his skull, killing him instantly. Augustine jogged up to Mieri, keeping an eye out for other soldiers.

”Be more careful, though we are strong, we are still badly outnumbered. Remember, the element of surprise only lasts for a few seconds, then any trained combatant will react, and then one must be prepared for defense. We certainly don’t need to lose anyone to these weaklings.”

He turned and noticed that the number of wolf soldiers were dwindling, lancing another with a spike of ice. The bear emblem men were rallying, beginning to drive back the men with wolf tunics, who were backing towards retreat routes. Augustine lanced another retreating solder, the used lance rapidly reforming behind him.

 

[Ivan Skender]

Augustine's last few kills seemed to be the final nail on the coffin of the wolf soldiers' resolve. As the Dreadlord's spike of ice reformed, the marauders - those that were left, that is - made the decision to quickly evacuate the square, leaving behind the three Anirians, quite a few deceased, as well as about a dozen of awe-struck bear-soldiers.

These soldiers - undoubtedly under orders to take the Count's tower by force - seemed rather apprehensive towards the Anirians. This suspicion soon came to a head as one of the soldiers advanced towards Ivan, sword in-hand. This advance, in turn, then came to a screeching halt as the initiate unleashed yet another wave of dark lightning upon the man's sword, causing the metal to go from pristine silver to tainted orange and red.

With a swift, ascending movement of his own sword, Ivan hacked his would-be opponent's sword in two, although he opted not to slice the man in half as a follow-up, just yet.

- "That's enough! - He bellowed, his voice echoing through the square in a tone that - while in and of itself already sounding authoritative - got amplified by the acoustics of the bare stone of the place. - "We're not here to fight you." -

A moment passed in the utmost silence, before a soldier - that very same that had moved against Ivan in the first place - finally spoke up:

- "Aye, you're here to defend the Count." - He said cautiously. - "And now the Count is dead." - The man looked the blonde in the eye, his gaze then shifting between Ivan's, Augustine's as well as Mieri's as the man seemingly found his lost courage. - "Don't even bother denying it." - He gestured around, motioning at large towards the rest of the square. - "And now this city's dead with him." - A shrug rolled over his shoulders, followed by a malicious grin. - "We just want to be the first to loot its corpse." -​

 

[Mieri]

Mieri whipped around in an instant, eyes turning the size of saucers as she saw both the soldier that had tried to kill her and the spike of ice that had saved her life.

The little Pugilist offered a sheepish smile and a chuckle. As though the incident were nothing more than another in a long line of potential deaths. Somehow she always managed to scrape by, or someone saved her neck in the nick of time. Some might have called her a fool, but Mieri knew better; she was lucky.

A good soldier had to be lucky.

As Augustine offered his lesson, Mieri nodded her head. Apparently actually listening to the elder Dreadlord, probably only because he'd actually saved her life. Her head tilted in quick successive nods as he spoke, agreement pouring from her lips as she scratched at the back of her neck. "I mean…yeah! Obviously!"

She said, letting her chuckle trail off as her attention split away from her fellow Anirians and towards the soldiers around them. The battle had begun to slow, and one of their foes called out at Ivan's prompting. Mieri almost immediately letting out a scoffing sputter at his malicious demand.

"Loot?!" She demanded. "We just kicked half your asses."

A quantity that might have been slightly off. "Why would you get shot for not even doing your job."

Mieri asked, raising a bloodied fist.

 

[Augustine Verglas]

Augustine turned as the soldier stepped forward, sword raised. He allowed the ice spikes to dissipate, his breath coming in a cloud of mist with every exhale, despite the warm weather around them. Ivan quickly dealt with him, of course.

The soldier had no grid for what he was really dealing with, that much was clear. His demeanor was that of one who thought of himself as someone with some sort of bargaining power in this scenario. It was time to show him that wasn’t the case.

Stepping forward, he sheathed his sword and did not deign to draw his war scythe from its home on his back. Augustine figured it would be best to appear as neutral as possible, since he did not deem it fitting to waste unnecessary energy dispatching these men if he didn’t have to. Besides, it wasn’t as if he needed a sword against them. It was just much easier to rely on martial training and sometimes, he got a bit lazy when dealing with common soldiers. He’d never tell the initiates that, though.

Coming to stand in front of the soldier that had been addressing Ivan, Augustine gathered some magic power into the air around them. If the soldier moved forward, he would be in arms reach and could be flash frozen. “You there, whom do you call your liege lord?” He figured Ivan would step in as well and ask his own questions. It would be good practice for both initiates in handling diplomatic situations.

 

[Ivan Skender]

- "Lord Tossel" - The soldier spat as he replied to Augustine, seemingly ignoring Mieri and her questionable mathematics altogether. - "Little shit thinks he's got a shot at rulin' the city if he delivers it to the Kortesians." - The snarky tone of the soldier hinted at the guardsman's doubts about his liege's ability to achieve his goals. Ivan, for one, could not blame him on his misgivings. One of the few remarkable Lords of Sovarre, Tossel had achieved his reputation for entirely the wrong reasons. Called "cow-hands" by his compatriots due to his extreme avarice, Tossel was as obnoxious personally, as he was greedy with his finances. Alas, save for money-pinching, it would have seemed as though Tossel had no other talents to speak of, something which was as unfortunate for him, as it was for his men.

- "And we both know that's never going to happen." - Ivan said smugly. - "You see, from where I stand you have two choices: First, you stay your course and go and try to loot the city." - He shrugged. - "Though looking at your performance, we all know how that will end up." - Another shrug. - "You'll get yourselves killed, either at our hands, or against any of the other little shitlings trying to conquer this city." - He swept through the small army of guardsmen with his gaze. - "So you can try to go on with it." - From the demeanour stamped on their faces, Ivan could see the men had never been that keen on that idea. Looting one's own city was not something men were usually willing to do. The fact this lot was actually contemplating it spoke leagues about how desperate the Sovarrese were getting, in the face of the power vacuum, as well as the Kortesian army which - though battered from its first, unsuccessful assualt - was still before the doors of the city.

- "Or, you can join us, and help us restore order to Sovarre." -

That seemed to trigger some laughter among the soldiers, as if the initiate had just said something completely outlandish.

- "I've told you this already laddy. This city is dead. Why would we help you save a bloody corpse?" -

- "Because," - He replied promptly, as though he'd been expecting the soldier to ask that very question. - "half of the Lords of this city are at war with the other half." - He pointed out, somewhat redundantly. - "Which means that when we restore order here, there will be winners and losers." - He raised his brow, letting a smug expression take over his features. - "Those losers will need to pay... in blood, or gold." -

He paused for a moment, letting the full weight of his words sink in. When he was sure the soldiers in front of him were following his words, he took a step forward.

- "You can still loot if you want." - He said, causing a cascade of whispers and mumbling among the soldiers. - "Just make sure you take the gold from those that won't need it... like your former liege Lord." - Ivan took yet another step forward, offering a hand for the guard to shake.

- "Do we have an agreement?" - ​

 

[Mieri]

Huh, turned out Ivan was pretty good at this negotiation thing.

The soldiers seemed to all be mulling over the words that he spoke, glancing at Mieri and Augustine as the Initiate laid out what was going to happen. She could see the weariness in their eyes, the slight hint of fear that prickled along their spines. Every one of them knew what the three of them could do.

None of them wanted to fight and die here. None of them wanted to fuck with Dreadlords. The fear in the air was almost palpable, and Mieri was half-sure that even without Ivan’s bargain the soldiers would have acquiesced and simply left.

Running at least would have meant getting to live. “Alright.”

The man agreed, glancing around himself for a brief moment as if considering what he could say or do next. Then he looked back to the others behind him, scanning their lines for a few nods and acceptances before he regarded Ivan again.

“We’ll do as you say…long as things work out like you say.” The words were accepting, but with a clear underlying threat that Mieri couldn’t help tack onto.

These soldiers would join them for now, but there was no way they could trust even a single one of their number. ”Good!”

She declared quite happily, apparently ignoring her own advice.

”So why don’t we get started, eh?” Mieri said as she broke line with her fellow Dreadlords and stepped towards the soldiers. Some of them seemed to flinch, perhaps expecting her to attack. ”I’ll grab some of the guys and start clearing the streets!”

The words were said with such gumption and assurance, that the men didn’t even argue as she began to point at them and pick her numbers.

 

[Augustine Verglas]

Augustine listened to the exchange with the slightest hint of pride coloring his usual emotionless demeanor. While he was no proctor like Everleigh or Salak, he was pleased with Ivan’s performance. The battlefield required quick thinking, and they had precious little time to spare as it was already apparent that the Kortesians were banding together for a second strike from distant shouts and clangs of hammers on anvils and smoke from camp forges.

“Very well, Initiates, I approve of this solution that you’ve worked out. I will be sure and give a full report to the Archons when we return to Vel Anir.”

He saw no need to pick teams, none of them men seemed particularly strong or useful to him and he allowed Mieri to choose whomever she desired. Augustine himself almost preferred to go out alone, but it would be foolish to do so.

He clapped his hands together once, as if deciding. “Very well, both of you take a team and let’s clear the streets. Anyone who engages you or your troops, eliminate with extreme prejudice. Try and recruit as many allies as you can. We may have to fight off a Kortesian assault with them. I have no respect for the greedy and low-ranking nobility here, any petty noble who resists, get rid of them. We can worry about city governance later. Meet at the main gate in three hours, that should be sufficient.”

Augustine had had just about enough political squabbling under the previous commander of this expedition. Picking a group and leaving the remainder for the initiates, he eyed a main thoroughfare heading towards the main gate, which could be seen in the distance a mile or so away. Between him and the gate, a heaving mass of fighting men could be seen, interspersed every quarter of a mile or so.

He led his men to the first group fighting in front of him. Soldiers with the crest of an eagle were battling soldiers with the crest of an owl. Magically amplifying his voice, he shouted across the group. “Attention vagrants, throw down your weapons at once, and have your captains come entreat with me.”

 

[Ivan Skender]

Ivan assented to Augustine, watching on as the full-fledged Dreadlord headed North towards the main gate of the city. In between Verglas and Mieri, Ivan had been left with 5 soldiers to support him in his endeavour, including the big, burly soldier that had stood at the head of the men in their little exchange some moments earlier.

As Augustine disappeared behind a corner, Ivan turned to Mieri. - "Can you go East?" - He asked, looking towards the narrow streets that fanned out of the square in that direction. - "The Tychosi rogues are probably still causing mayhem there, and we can't afford to have them roaming around behind our lines." - Motioning to his assigned "guard", Ivan completed. - "I'll go South and deal with the nobles." -

That single sentence seemed to brighten-up his soldiers immediately, for reasons Ivan was all too well aware. The South of Sovarre was where most of the nobility lived, and hence, where most of the wealth was concentrated. Clearing this area of the city would undoubtedly yield the most loot, even if it also meant having to get past the heaviest defences to get it.

- "If you can, try to bring the mercenaries back to the fold. We could use them against the Kortesians outside the walls." - He suggested to Mieri, as he started to make his way South.

Elsewhere, Augustine's amplified voice was well and truly heard throughout the main street of Sovarre, that led to the main gate. Unfortunately for Augustine however, it would seem as though the combatants did not quite have the predisposition to surrender... yet. Indeed, as opposed to throwing down their arms, the soldiers of the eagle and the owl - having recognized the silver-haired Dreadlord - instead banded together to face this new, more pressing threat. These guards on the streets, together with half-a-dozen crossbowmen on the roofs flanking either side of the street quickly redeployed to face Verglas and his band.

Though Augustine would have back-up, the combined foes would number around 30 souls, rendering him outnumbered. It would seem as though the Dreadlord would have to prove his mettle once again.​