Difference between revisions of "Uninvited Guests"

Latest revision as of 03:36, 9 February 2012

The sun is nearly set over Emberstrand, casting its last, golden farewell over the city while the overtures of night gather in the darkening skies. In the streets, this does little to stem the flow of business, particularly in the bazaar; it is simply that different sorts of wares are being sold. Among the stalls and stores walks a young mouse warrior, who seesm both tired, and frustrated, muttering to herself under her breath. Finally, she steps off the busy area, and ducks into a back alley. "Lazaire? Allyce?" she calls out. "Where'n Ifrit's balls are yer two?!" She plants her hands on her hips, and glares into the darkness for a long moment, before continuing on into the darkness. "If'n yer two went ter th'damn back alley tavern what don't serve good booze anyhow," she grumbles, heading into the maze of back streets that would take her towards said tavern. As she walks, she loosens her spear in its sling; just in case, of course.

A small group of shadowy figures start moving through the city as darkness falls, sprinting and jumping across the rooftops, taking short cuts with the quiet, thoughtless athleticism of jumping spiders. They're moving towards their chosen prey, veering right for her as if they smelled her blood. Experienced killers each, their murderous skills honed in the back alleys of Zara-Qum, used to fighting with bare hands, dagger, and garrote to take down their targets... They however have a different sort of goal today. Their orders precluding the use of any lethal weaponry, each figure instead brandishing a heavy cosh as they approach... The robed men soon pausing atop the buildings lining the alley Celeste is in. Peering down at her with glittering eyes, and then in near unison, suddenly jumping downwards, silent and deadly, ready to engage.

For her part, Celeste doesn't notice the black figures stalking her, as she swaggers in her usual manner through the alley, with the confidence of a alpha gorilla in her stomping ground. That is, until the cadre of killers jump down around her; her ears prick up, and she whirls about to face the greater number of them. "A'ight, spit it out," she snaps, reaching up over her shoulder to clasp her hand around her spear. She doesn't draw it yet; her eyes, strained with the weariness of several months of bad to non-existent sleep but nonetheless alert, scan the narrow space, calmly seeking to find avenues of retreat, or at least somewhere with more room to properly wield her spear. "If'n y'all be after me purse, bun bother, ain't hardly much innit, see."

The robed figures surround the mouse woman, two men on each side, closing off both directions of the alley that she might choose to retreat in otherwise. Of obvious varying height, yet all of them lean, they're further uniform in the way they're dressed- Dark robes with a slightly lighter, ornately decorated trim, with large hoods pulled over their heads, casting their features into shadow. The only bare parts of the body that can be seen really would be their hands. Each belonging to a Hume with a darkly tanned skin... And each of the men carrying a cosh in one of said hands. As the mouse speaks then, none respond vocally... In fact, a few heartbeats pass without anything happening at all. Before one of the men suddenly gives a little, oddly polite bow... Followed by him springing forward with incredible, lith speed. That cosh snapping out to whap her in the head.

The mouse warrior, slowed by barely restrained exhaustion, raises her arm to ward off the cosh; she is just fast enough to transform a knock-out blow into a glancing strike across the skull, that nonetheless sets a ringing in her ears and sends a burst across the skull, that nonetheless sets a ringing in her ears and sends a burst of stars dancing across her vision. She falls back a step, shaking her head to banish the intrusions on her senses. "S'that all's how it is," she snarls between teeth gritted against the sudden pain. "A'ight then!" she lets go of her spear, leaving it in the sling across her back. A pair of glowing, orange-red runes appear, hovering over the backs of her hands. Celeste chants in the arcane for a handful of seconds, before thrusting her palms out forwards, and unleasing a roaring gust of flame out into the space in front of her.

The man attacking her was already whirling around to deliver another strike with the cosh, when he instead goes flying straight backwards, past one of the figures still standing there, as he's hit by the flame! Landing in a flaming heap, his robes alight, and starting to spasm, roll and trash around in odd silence as he seemingly burns alive for a few moments! Soon managing to extinguish himself however, and ending up laying there, scorched and smoking. Oddly, this all seems to have little effect on the remaining three... The two of which standing behind her could have likely knocked her out already if they wanted to. Yet they just remain still, watching in silence, ill concerned about their scorched partner. Even the one left standing infront of her doesn't look back at his friend or anything... He just seems intent to take his fallen comrade's place, as he suddenly jumps forward next, attacking.

Celeste shakes her head, and manages to clear her vision just enough to see the next attack coming. This time, her forearm is up and in the way, arresting the second attacker's cosh before it can reach her already abused noggin. "Wha' th'hell d'yer flamin' WANT?!" snarls the mouse, as she finds herself grappling with the man in the black robes. She shoves him hard, intent on forcing him far enough away for her to swing her leg around and deliver a swift, vicious kick to his midsection. Wether it lands or not, she sets her feet and holds her hands up before her, intent on receiving the man's next assault by grabbing his wrist, and twisting where she stands to fling him over her shoulder and straight at the pair still standing behind her.

The man is obviously a trained fighter, as even as his attack with the cosh is blocked, he reacts to that kick by swiftly raising his leg to block it. It'll still likely hurt, but he seems to prefer a kick there than in his midsection. And afterwards, he jumps backwards for some breathing room, taking a quick moment to look for an opening... And seemingly noticing what the mouse will try to do next by the way she shifts her stance. The man soon jumping forward again, but this time coming in low, his weapon swinging sideways for a blow to the ribs.

The man stoically, silently retracts his arm again after he snapped that cosh into the mouse girl's ribs, not showing any excitement at his ability to get a hit in. Instead, he just swiftly ducks that haymaker that's thrown his way... And ends up falling jaw-first into that feint. The butt end of the spear sharply thudding into his sternum, as a suitable revenge for his audacity at taking a shot at Celeste's ribs... And subsequently stumbling back a bit, his head coming up again just in time for the weapon to continue up and crack brutally into his exposed chin. His head snapping back viciously, followed by his body as his feet leave the ground as he's thrown almost head-over-heels. Ending up landing on his back and staying there, perfectly still. Another man down now, Celeste would likely do well to turn towards the two at her back, the way the fight has been going likely telling her one of them should be next to attack... But if she turns around, she'll soon find the alley to be empty. The two men vanished into thin air, having made not a sound.

As the man comes to rest on the ground, Celeste is already whirls about to face the two men behind her, shifting her spear to rest against her back in order to accomodate the long weapon in the narrow space of the alleyway. However, instead of facing two more foes, she finds herself snarling at an empty passage. "Oi!" she declares, spinning to look back down the previous direction. "Cowards, y'lot! Y'all'r bunch'a yeller mama's boys wit' balls what's get all jealous o'the size er peanuts!" The black and white mouse shifts her spear back to the sling across her back as she rants at the shadows, and then folds her arms beneath her breasts as she stands there in a huff. After a few moments, she decides that they really must not be coming back; and so she kneels beside the body of the one she didn't immolate, intent on flipping back his hood to expose his face, and rifling through his possessions. For once she isn't so much intent on valuables, as she is on anything that might serve to identify her assailants. "A'ight, whatcha got," she mutters as she works, looking up frequently to make sure she isn't about to get harassed by the city guard or worse, a judge, while she's at this; and she moves as swiftly and efficiently as possible.

As the hood is flipped back on the man, it reveals his unconcious, battered face. Despite the bruises already forming, and blood trickling from his mouth due to his ruined jaw, it's easy to see he's a lean-faced Hume perhaps in his 20's, with dark olive, suntanned skin and black, swarthy hair to match. His eyes briefly flutter as he's searched, but it seems he will be out for the count for atleast a while... And as such, the mouse's further searches reveal nothing much of value or interest, aside from a medallion he wears around his neck, hidden below his robes. The brass trinket engraved with an odd, stylized symbol without any immediate meaning. And any searches of the burned man, if done so, would reveal much the same. Indicating they're part of the same group.

Celeste glares down at the unconscious man for several seconds; before at last, her hand closes around hte medallion and she pulls hard, snapping the chain to claim the trinket as her own. She stands, gazing down at the unconscious hume for valuable seconds, before planting her foot on the man's neck; she jerks her heel down sharply, not stopping until she hears a loud snap. "There y'are, Alba," she murmurs. "Ain't always fergettin' me rules." The mouse pulls the medallion off the ruined chain; she lets the latter drop to the ground, and tucks the former under the cloth wrap around her bosom. Then she's off, dashing through the alleyways and choosing the most efficient route she knows of to return to the docks, and the Doodlebug; Lazaire and Allyce, it seems, will be left to their own devices.

On watch aboard the Doodlebug, Alba perches atop the foredeck railing, eyes flickering back and forth in tandem with her ears, a curved fang turning over in her hands. The nights in Emberstrand, too often quiet and boring, yet the Viera does her best to be as alert as if she were watching for Yensa raiders.

The watchful viera would soon notice a familiar figure pelting along the dock; though in the gloom, she would likely first hear the approach of Celeste, in the form of swift, heavy footfalls across the wooden planking. Soon enough Celeste is making her way up the gangplank. By now her breathing is ragged, and blood trickling down from her forehead has made a mess of her face and hair. Upon catching sight of Alba she grinds to a halt, shifting one hand to rest over her ribs. "Oh good," she observes, panting heavily. "Y'ain't dead."

Alba's eyes track Celeste's approach down the docks, up the gangplank, and onto the deck, eyebrows furrowed and ears slowly lowering. "...Cousin," she says, by way of greeting. "Is there a reason for you to think me so? It is not often those you defeat at games seek to take blood-price from *my* flesh...?" Tilting her head, she glances down at the hand over the mouse's ribs. "...Were they not satisfied with what they took from you?"

Celeste shakes her head quickly. "This all dif'rent," she explains. "Summin' funny all goin' on. I ain't picked no fight t'night, were jes' out inn'a bazaar, buyin' what all the galley needs, see?" And by that, she most likely means what *she* think the galley needs, such as large amounts of red meat and rum. "I'mma stepped inn'a alleyway fer moment, an' these four blokes all jump me, all tryin' ter do me head in. I'mma beat two of 'em, an t'other pair buggered off. An' I'mma were worried they all might come after yer instead." ...And precisely why the mouse wonders this, she doesn't say.

Alba's eyebrow twitches upward. "...An unusual end to your night indeed, Cousin... but it does not yet explain why my Cousin would fear for *me,* if her attackers failed to take her." Turning herself around on her perch, she pockets the fang, resting her forearms behind her knees. "Tell me this tale, Cousin, for I think that I would like to repay those who send raiders at you in kind."

The black and white mouse shrugs her shoulders heavily. "Y'all heard most'r it," she replies. "They ain't said nuthin'. I burned one a'em ter a crisp; the other I'mma knocked out, but I'mm killed him, same as we would ter Nam Yensa raiders." She pauses, and ohs softly, stuffing her hand down into the wrap around her chest. "They was wearin' these." She withdraws the medallion, and flips it through the air towards Alba. "Ain't had nuthin' else on 'em but robes."

Alba snatches the medallion out of the air, turning it over to glean a look at its face... and very nearly slips off the rail again, her head shooting up as she regains her balance. "...Cousin," she says, her voice low and under *very* tight control, "if you have gained the attention of the Guild of Murder, you have done much more than make off with a gambler's coin. I hope very much, that I should not need to explain further why this is a troubling thing."

Celeste's eyebrow perks upwards after Alba's reaction to the medallion. "Yer mean that all rowdy bunch a' knives-in-yer-jibblies from Zara Qom?" She shrugs, and hooks her thumbs in her belts. "Well, I ain't go off an' take coin from dice 'r cards what I ain't won, nor from pit fights when I ain't beat me 'ponent senseless-like." She shrugs once more, and casts a glance down the gangplank, then back to the viera in front of her. "I'unno what all I'mma got them lot's hairy eyeball for."

Raziel pages, "hehehe" to you.

Raziel arrives at the docks, though the locale isn't his usual stomping grounds. The man surveys the waterfront for a few moments before he begins towards the Doodlebug quietly.

"Then this shall be our first need," Alba muses, "learning why the Guild seeks to place a dagger in your eye." Her ear turns toward the docks, at the sound of approaching footsteps. "Hoi," she calls to the approaching Aegyl, "what business have you at this late hour?"

"I'unno... they all weren't usin' daggers," Celeste observes. "I ain't brought one, but they were tryin' ter lemme have 'er upside th'head wit' big heavy clubs, right? Ain't seemed like they were tryin' ter stave in me skull, jes knock me all senseless fer a'while." She tilts her head, and gazes down in the direction Alba is facing, letting the discussion drop for the moment. "Hey down there!" she adds, stepping forwards towards the rail, near a lantern where her bloodied face stand out in the light. "Oh hey, ain't that one o' the fellers what came ter th'temple wit' us? Fer that manky skull?"

Raziel slows for a few moments as he's spotted and he takes the opportunity to listen in. The man frowns, a typical expression though this time its deeper, as Celeste steps into the light. "I assumed the hour would not matter so much, though I would have left if it had been an inconveniance. I heard something about a moogle offering a job and thought I would check with your captain first to see if it was him. It seems, though, that I stumble upon something of greater import." The man looks at the ship and then steps to the edge of the dock, seems he knows some manners concerning boarding etiquette, "invite me on and I'll see what can be done about those wounds."

"....It is the Guild of *Murder,* Cousin," Alba repeats, slower and much less patiently. "They did not seek you to ensure that you are drinking little enough or eating overmuch, or whatever it is wetlanders do should they not wish to grow fat and soft." Rolling her eyes and shaking her head, she returns her gaze to the Aegyl. "The Captain sleeps, but should you wish to tend my Cousin's wounds, be welcome. Our water is yours."

"Eh? I ain't hardly scratched, but a'ight." Celeste gestures towards the gangplank. "Come aboard, yeh? ...Or use yer wings, whatever yer likes." She shrugs, and tilts her head towards Alba. "Yeah well, I'mma figure that all by me onesy, right? I'mma jes sayin', they all dun seem ter want me dead /yet/. Maybe later. Jes not right inn'a next five minutes, see?"

Raziel starts to board the ship but he stops at the mention of the wings that he no longer has. The man looks up at her and grimaces for a moment before silently continuing onto the ship. The lack of the feathery appendages is pretty notable as he walks over and waves a hand infront of Celeste's face a few times, muttering something lowly. As he makes the gesture, and it's pretty halfassed to be fair, the area where the wings were glows white for a moment and then that glow travels down his arm to his hand before passing over to her and healing the wounds. "So.. whats this about the Guild of Murder?"

The moment Raziel asks that question... The ambush, or perhaps trap, is sprung. The world around them suddenly exploding into bright, white flashes, thick smoke, and the rush of numerous bodies that come sprinting from where there was previously nothing or no one. Each robbed figure wielding the glittering steel of curved daggers as they attack, apparently having forgone the previous plan of using blackjacks, perhaps spurred by the death of two of their members within that alley. It's hard to tell just how many there are in all the confusion, the deck soon enveloped in the white billowing clouds of those smokebombs, but there's atleast three of them directly running towards Aba, Celeste and Raziel, one for each.

The sudden flare and stench of smokebombs is a surprise, but rather than topple over backward, Alba slips down off the railing and lands in a deep, low crouch, lips skinning back from her teeth. "It would appear that they simply wished to catch the both of us," she snarls, whipping her daggers from their sheaths, their blades glowing with sickly green light, "now we shall show them why this was unwise. Mage, stay or leave, as you like." And the moment she can identify an assailant, and one charging her, she responds in kind. A high, loud, ululating battle cry warbles from the depths of her throat, calling all within the boat out of their beds as can be managed.

Celeste flinches against the flash of the smoke bombs, reflexively raising her arm to shield her eyes. When she looks again, there are the assailants with their knives. The mouse's hand snaps up to claim her spear, as the thank you she was about to give to Raziel dies on her lips. "Stay b'hind me," she snaps to Raziel, as she holds her weapon level at her waist. Her left hand leaves the haft just long enough to flash a hand signal to Alba; something the viera would recognize, roughly meaning 'follow'. Without further ado the warrior fiarly dives forwards, pouring forth a mighty yell as she charges straight back at the onrushing trio. Her spear precedes her, as she rams the weapon forwards and up; seeking to catch the lead assailant in the chin and pierce his brain; either way, she hopes to earn the attention of all three.

"Since it seems that I'm not to be forgotten I don't think it would be very wise to start running," Raziel responds to Alba once his eyes have adjusted from that sudden bright light. The man's hands drop down to a pair of crystal kukri at his sides and then he pauses, looking at Celeste for a few moments and tilting his head. As she makes her move the man takes the opportunity to start summoning up his own inate power.. but rather than cast directly at the assassins he aims fo the ship beneath their feet while icy powers surround him. "Ladies, I suggest watching your step," he warns as the magic launches out and coats the deck where their attackers are with a layer of ice.

Alba's and Celeste's warcries do little to deter the attackers, nor does the fact their targets choose to meet them head on. They just keep sprinting at full speed, their brethren behind them shielded by the smoke for now, closing the three off and making the whole affair oddly private. One of them leaps up, and comes down towards Alba to meet her blade for blade, starting a flurry of attacks to try and get through to her for a killing stab. The other two in the meantime are met by the charging Celeste, the one in the middle soon met by that thrusting spear... And he swiftly leans back and to the side, just barely missing getting his brain skewered, and he drags his dagger across the shaft as he ducks into the opening and comes in with a fancy kick towards the mouse. The last one meanwhile tries to get around her, to get at Raziel... But that's when that ice magic hits right below his sandaled feet. The soles soon losing their grip, and he starts to slip, his momentum sliding him right towards the Aegyl.

Alba's toxic blades are a blur as they dance off the incoming edges, the Viera's eyes alight with battle-fever. As the magical ice flashes across the deck, her grin widens, and she takes half a step back, driving her heel down hard to the deck... and cracking the ice, her curved stiletto heel making a momentary pit that works well enough for leverage... Especially when a moment later, she drops beneath the flying blades, pushing off hard and arching her body back to slide between his legs, her iron blades flashing up for a disemboweling strike.

Celeste finds herself kicked squarely in the stomach; she grunts loudly, and staggers back a step, but maintains her footing quite comfortably. After the failed jab she smoothly retracts her spear; and not only that, she retracts herself. The mouse warrior keeps within range of Alba and Raziel as best she can, while adopting a range that allows her to make full use of the advantage her weapon's length brings her, particularly against those armed solely with daggers (or at least so it would seem). "Fin'y grown yer balls, hunh?" she taunts, just as she takes a swipe at the man now sliding across the ground. She sets her feet once more, and spins her spear, shifting the weapon to be held entirely behind her back; a deception she has practiced, to expose her front but keep the long weapon held so she can still jab it swiftly forwards. A glowing, reddish-orange rune bursts into view across her left hand. The warrior chants loudly, before flinging a trio of fiery darts through the air, straight for the murderer who'd just avoided having his brain punctured.

Raziel grimaces as the man starts to slip towards him. That hadn't been his intent, but somethings you cannot choose. With Alba and Celeste already in the fray the mage takes the opportunity of the man's lack of balance to rush in, aiming for a quick kill as he draws both the blades. Holding them in a back handed manner the man strikes out swiftly, slashing with the crystal weapons, each of them containing what looks to be a feather. To Alba, as the blades sing towards the unsteady target, he comments, "she talks alot doesn't she?"

Each man meets their death in stoic silence as they are overcome by each of your counter-attacks, not even grunting in pain. The one attacking Alba manages to react swift enough to jab one of his own daggers down to block one of her blades, the two weapons clashing off each other, but the second one manages to get through, and cuts a long, bloody line right from his navel down to his thigh. Causing him to steady forward a few steps, before all his energy seems to leave him at once and he simply collapses to the icy floor, likely overcome by the poison, and his blood spreading out in a gushing, fast flowing pool beneath him. The one who's facing Celeste in the meantime staggers back on the ice after his foot connected to her stomach, leaving him off balance on the slippery floor. But he still has the presence of mind and the reflexes to spin himself out of the way of two of those fiery darts, letting them fly right past his head... And the third one bursting into his face just a moment after, sending him landing on his back as dirty smoke curls out from under his hood and he lays still. And finally, the one sliding near-helplessly towards Raziel manages to narrowly avoid Celeste's strike, atleast in the sense that it fails to kill him, instead cutting a deep wound through his bicep... And he goes on sliding past the Aegyl then. Except he seems to be in several, neatly severed parts now... His head sliding away from his body, a forearm going the other way. The Aegyl's finely honed crystal blades having made short work of him.

Alba's toeclaws scrape over the rime of ice coating the deck, standing slowly so as to keep her balance. "She only has the one weapon," she explains in answer to Raziel now that there's a moment of leisure. "What she need not think, she replaces with her mouth. Strange, aye, but it has use." Flicking the blood from her dagger, she turns her attention to the smoke cloud. "...The crew should have moved," she mutters. "Ware they have not been murdered while we fight. Come."

Celeste looks very ready to continue the assault; but the immediate group of foes appears to have been vanquished. The mouse warrior continues to hold her spear upright behind her back, as she gazes at the various slain... at least until Alba gives her explaination to Raziel. "...Oi," she declares, albeit without a raised voice, as she might usually use to convey her indignation. "That all stings... I'mma do me thinkin' plenny." She humps softly, and turns to start off in the direction of the hatch. "I'mma go check onn'a crew... 'r 'least yell down'a hatch."

Raziel stares for a moment as the body tumbles beside him in pieces. This isn't really the way that he's used to seeing his foes fall. Usually it's in smoldering heaps of burning flesh. The man blinks, his expression shifting to one that reveales his shock and even a bit of uncertainty. He blinks again and the look is gone. Now he turns back to Alba and Celeste both, a slight nod given as he comments, "I've never been good with a quick tongue." Taking the statement a different way than Celeste it would seem. The comment about the crew gives him pause, but he nods and motions for them to lead the way while he takes a moment to clean and sheath the blades.

The moment the three of you clear the smoke infront, to reveal some of the rest of the deck, there's the immediate, though muted sense of battles being fought up ahead. Dark, unclear figures darting and fighting in the billowing smog, likely some of the crew members engaging other assassins, random cries of pain and strain sounding out as weapons and bodies clash. But any possibly ideas of rushing forward and coming to their aid are quickly negated by the fact that your presence quickly attracts the attention of other killers, showing up to confront you... Alot of them infact, nearly a dozen robed men springing into view, more of those daggers briefly glinting as each of them rounds on you and charges forward! ... And this could be the end of everything. One big, glorious, close-quarters battle before you might be dragged down and swiftly killed. Yet, something quite unexpected happens then, throwing everything in disarray for both parties. As seemingly out of nowhere, a lone figure suddenly lands on the deck between you and the assailants in a crouch, as if falling from mid-air. A tall, muscular man in loose, white robes, his head completely shaved and every exposed parts of his body, up to the neck, covered in strange, intricate tattoos which stand out from his pale skin. And just as fast and sudden as he appeared, he's rushing forward then to meet the group of Guild killers. Everything happening quick and brutal as he attacks head on, and engages them completely bare-handed. Daggers flash towards him, but are easily parried with the flats of his palms, and he retaliates for each strike near instantly with a blur of strikes and kicks. Men falling away from him with just one hit, flopping to the deck as if struck by bullets, all of it leaving him untouched from harm, getting the upper hand in what seem to be only seconds... Until only one assassin is left standing. Said assassin however giving no thought to escape or surrender, as he slashes towards the stranger with all he's got. Only to have his wrist caught, and in a blur, his arm pinned behind him as he's turned with his back to the bald warrior's chest- facing each of you now, staring blankly from under his hood, until a pale hand comes up around his jaw, and with a vicious crack and snap, twists his head at a near 180 degrees... Leaving it flopping on a broken neck. But the body isn't dropped then, as might be expected. Instead, the stranger holds onto the corpse, and stares out across it with eyes that should be completely sightless, the milky white of a blind man, straight at each of you. And then he speaks, his voice almost gentle, and certainly polite, "Please, do not attack."

The dance of death holds Alba mesmerized, it would seem, for she does not leave her battle-crouch, even as the bodies begin to fall to the deck. Only ears and eyes move, following the tattooed monk as he lays waste to the Guild murderers. Once the final neck is snapped, her ears twitch backwards. "It kills all the Murderers," she mutters, half to herself, her tone that of black humor, "and it asks that we do not strike. Does it fear us, or fear killing us before we are well used? Like as not the latter, tchah."

Celeste watches as well, standing beside Alba. She spares a glance to keep track of Raziel's position, and when the killing is finished, she unceremoniously slams her spearpoint into the deck, leaving the weapon standing upright, haft quivering as she crosses her arms beneath her breasts. "An' jes' who all are yer s'posed ter be?" she demands, presenting a harsh tone of voice as she narrows her eyes. "We all haddit handled, b'fore yer makes any claim 'bout savin' us, a'ight? A'ight."

The man continues to stand there, surrounded by bodies, and still holding the one infront of him, though seemingly not as a shield. More as if he's... Showing it to you. And he turns his head slightly at each of your voices, as if pinpointing them with his hearing... And he calmly shakes his head then, his oddly serene expression not changing as he speaks once more, "Save you? No. I would not intervene like that. But these men, they are not yours to kill. Their lives were mine to take, as they were pledged to me." He pauses briefly then, before continuing, "They had fallen out of my control. The Guild has no quarrel with you, Alba, Celeste, and Raziel. We were not asked to strike. But this..." And he pauses again, only to bring a hand down to the corpse's robe, and promptly tear it open at the chest... Revealing it beneath, bare but for a familiar red, fungal or algae-like growth on the skin, a large cluster of it where the man's heart would be, "This, the Old One's taint, has a different goal, and it borrowed without asking."

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