Azreal Demian - City Street Chase
Azreal reached the square just in time to see his target leaving it. Duncan frantically organized multiple men to follow him into a windowless building. Windowless, but not sound-proof. From the outside, Azreal listened and could tell that he had them scared. From the sound of it, they weren't sure who had hired him, some suspecting the Arl. While the Arl may wind up owing him for this, Hailstorm was not his biggest incentive for this. He wanted them punished for the pain they had caused, and he wasn't going to wait for some politician to try to settle this in a court. As he continued listened, he heard talk of a crate. He wasn't sure what it was, but from the sound of it they wanted to bring it with them.
He heard Duncan shout to those within the building, then horses stirring up as the doors blasted open to reveal a heavily armored convoy take to the streets. Azreal wasted no time catching up, moving along the rooftops. The convoy was pretty well-guarded, maybe enough for him to not walk away unscathed this time. The men atop the carriage saw him and fired their crossbows. Azreal took his sword, spinning it in front of him to deflect their shots while maintaining his speed. While they reloaded, he leaped down from the roof onto the carriage, knocking one of the men into the streets. The other guard pulled out a short sword and swung violently at him, while two more came up from the front. A bad swing had the guard's head in Azreal's grip, and with a quick twist, his eyes were on the back of his head. The corpse slid off the back, knocking the rear guard off the carriage with it as he tried to climb up.
Two men left up top now, with more inside the carriage and around it. They both tried attack at once, while a spearman attacked from the side. The two on top were simple targets, but the spear caught Azreal off-guard, cutting into his leg. In anger, he grabbed the spear, pulling its wielder off his horse and onto the street. Now armed with the weapon, Azreal swept the men's legs out from under them before knocking them off of the carriage with a pair of kicks. Azreal started to catch his breath, but the second spearman came in from the other side, catching him in his arm and forcing him to drop the spear. Azreal jumped off the carriage to land on the soldier's horse, sending it's rider to the ground. With no one left but the driver and those inside, he took a quick moment to look over his wounds. Not too deep, but they would hinder the use of those limps for a short time. He would have to patch himself up later.
Azreal picked up speed to come up alongside the driver. "Stop this thing now, or I will!"
"I will not give in to you, Assassin!"
Azreal pulled out two throwing daggers and prepared to throw. "Last chance!"
"Burn in hell!"
This is SUCH a bad idea...
Azreal tossed the daggers with masterful precision. Not at the driver, but at the horses in front of him. As armored as they were, their joints were still exposed. A dagger in two horses' legs sent them to the ground, and all hell broke loose. The horses in front of the fallen ones couldn't handle the added weight, and were completely brought down by it, sending their riders flying forward into a wall. The chaos of its horses sent the carriage crashing down onto its side with bits of armored metal flying in various directions. Azreal pulled back to avoid the carnage. As the dust settled, he dismounted and approached the wreckage. Inside, two of the three men besides Duncan were dead, the other too wounded to do anything. In the back, miraculously for him, Duncan was alive, albeit bruised and shaken.
Azreal stared at the man, his weapon drawn. He was more than willing to end it, finish him off. But something compelled him to ask the man a question first. "Why...?" The sudden question seemed to catch the man off-guard. "Why the hell would you do all this for a bastard like Cousland?"
Deacon Reinhardt - Giving and Receiving
A small smile formed on Deacon's face as he watched the behemoth of a man calmly apologize and decline Vovin's request. For them to avoid senseless violence, it made him happy. He had heard stories of "Boulder Bill's" capacity for bloodshed, and he was glad that he did not bring that here. "He is right, Vovin. Acknowledging our mistakes for what they are is a part of life, and it allows us to learn from them and become better people. I too..." His eyes began to look to the past as they met Vovin's. "...Have made mistakes that cannot be forgiven. But now, let us assist Marcus in his task."
Deacon followed the two men to the forge to assist Marcus with whatever he could. Hold this, hammer that. The tasks were simple, but he didn't mind. To have a purpose again, to be able help others, was reward enough for him. Even so, the men there were kind enough to see to his old sword, restoring it to its prime. Between tasks, he watched Marcus at work. He felt like a man who had never lost his purpose. Someone who could always see the path to take, and when to take it. Him, Vovin, Isador, Valmyria... Deacon smiled at the realization that it was the Maker's will that had brought him to Redcliffe to meet these people. The Warden-Commander... I wonder where she is right now?
Deacon wiped the sweat from his brow as his work came to a close. The sword that Marcus was making was to be a work of art. It would shine as bright as the sun by the time the forgemaster would be done. While they handled that, an apprentice approached Deacon. "Forgemaster Hammerstrike has told me that you desire new armor."
"Yes, my previous armor was damaged at Redcliffe. I was hoping you would have something here to help me." The apprentice nodded, leading him to an area filled with many of the forge's works. Swords, axes, spears. Armor of varying weight types. The room was stocked with almost everything. Deacon looked through the armors, until he saw a set that seemed to suit him. A shoulder, gauntlets and greaves of a dark-toned metal. He couldn't find a chestplate, but he still decided on it. He also found an old mantle, one that suited the armor's shoulder plate. After a short time, he was equipped with his new armor. It was well-suited for him. It would help protect him without sacrificing mobility to any degree.
Deacon returned to the others, waiting patiently for a report from Isador. He hoped that his trip to the stables would prove a fruitful endeavor.
Last edited by Sigment
on Wed Nov 27, 2013 9:27 pm, edited 3 times in total.
"Stick around... I'm full of bad ideas." -Isaac Clarke
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