Ayre had begun her day with a simple, if not overly simple, stroll to Angband. There was really no way of going in directly with the Goddess's network of teleport pad gizmos, unless she wanted to attract more attention than a full army. Thus, she came in at a distance, dressed in man's clothing, and walked to Angband through the desert. But as she reached the gates, her day started excellently.

Angband used to be a prison. Most everyone in Angband had a bounty on their heads. This meant enough gold to stock Ayre's pockets with enough to start a business of her own. Her eyes fell upon her first mark, and she fingered the grip of Windcutter. It was a relatively unremarkable blade, at least in its appearance.

With a bolt she started her day, taking her hands from Windcutter and barreling after the man. She couldn't afford to cut a bounty up in such a crowded place. The man caught her charge, and bolted into the nearest tavern. Ayre followed.

He sat down on a bar stool, and tried to act nonchalant as he hurried to order a drink. Ayre hurtled through the rows of drinking sluggards and seized the man's shoulder and dragged him off the chair. She took a moment to find the tattooed ear, and smiled. Mark number one.

"Hey, the girleh is takin' Arkus!"
"Yuh know what, she can take Arkus!"
"Like hell she can!" Came another shout. At this moment, the entire bar broke out into a massive brawl, complete with barmaids screaming in terror and fleeing. Arkus gave a lopsided grin to Ayre, who returned the favor with a brutal punch to the face. He fell limp, blood pouring from his nose, as Ayre was picked up and thrown at another man.

Whatever in the world had she started!?

Valec took a glimpse of the sky through a frosted window of glass as his crimson glazed eyes came into a fierce glow while he stared into the moonlit night. It had begun to darken as if a blanket had covered the heavens like an unholy cloud... a sheet that spelled imminent danger down to its feathered composition of gray and black.

Within the confines of a mere humble tavern, the air was starting to form into a dry chill that proved quite a discomfort for the less clothed. It must be quite a task for such scantily clad damsels, the demon smiled inwardly as he watched the very nymphs who tended the drunken guests. He had been watching them quite carefully, from the bare paleness of their thighs to the round curvature of their hips. Certainly he was far from the gentlemanly kind who thrived in the arms of chivalry and all that was noble.

Outstretching his arm, he reached for one of them; slender arm trapped between his gloved hold. He pulled her to him. She could not be any less willing. His orbs feasted upon her almost undressing yet the young female could not help but merely return his gaze with equal seduction until… BAM!

A man was thrown at him in a forceful push that toppled the female unto his lap, causing her to tumble unto the floor past him. Had Melandro been here instead, he , the true master of this form would have offered at the very least, a slight sign of assistance however it was this kind of nobility that was the very least expected of the now infuriated soul that thrived within.

“What nonsense is this?”

He rose just as his arm thrust against the spine of the man who had struck him by accident.

She hit not one person, but two. One of which went tumbling off the other's lap, some pretty little barmaid, and she found herself staring up into the eyes of some man. Hadn't she heard of this man? Seen sketches? Oh by the lady life!

"What nonsense is this?" He declared. Ayre stared up at him some more with wide eyes as his fist and her spine met. She came tumbling off of him, and her face met the floor of the tavern. It struck her how much cheap and likely lethal alcohol had been thrown upon it simply by the coloration. The smell told her that this little establishment never cleaned the floor.

A man fell beside her, his head bleeding from contact with a barstool. Ayre struggled to stand up, but gave up, and instead crawled across the floor. She picked up a fork on her way, and pulled herself up onto the barstool that her mark was trying to pull himself up off of. His eyes touched the platinum blonde hair, and he flinched. He flinched even more as he noted the fork that plunged into his throat, and withdrew. A fountain of blood stained her workman's clothing, as she was struck by yet another cur.

"EY! She killed Arkus wid a fork!" Came a cry, and the fighting tripled in fury and intensity. Ayre on the other hand found herself sprawled out on the bar, and struggling to stop her head from ringing. She picked up a bottle of some nameless poison called alcohol, and heaved herself off the bar. The first target of the bottle was Arkus's skull, and the shatter remnants came into use alongside the fork. A couple withdrew from the fierce weapons, but others came inwards, trying to reclaim the still-bleeding Arkus. Maybe she should have planned ahead for once in her life!

How at that very hour his orbs flared with tremendous fury, burning a fire beyond that of a hearth’s flame. It was almost by instinct that he knew that this event would brew into something more than a mere petty brawl for then came a series of incidents that would certainly incite quite a rumble.

The maiden fell unto her back, emphasized by a loud thump against wooden boards. And it was there upon her descent that her arms, misplaced in position, paved to harm’s way. A passing seafarer or at the very least one who had mimicked the image of that of a sailor: adorned by a long coat of midnight but soiled with patches of dirt and grime, came passing. His chin was lifted high in equal reference to his head in the clouds. For lack of a better word, he was inattentive to his path thus leading him to an untimely trip.

How the world began to slow before the man’s eyes as the floor came to him faster than even a mind could comprehend. He sought for anything within his grasp for stability and though he would succeed, he would as well fail. For then his hold caught what no man would dare seek, the buttoned down fabric of a fellow man’s collar.

One after the other, what kept such garment intact fell unto the wooden planks like pebbles laced with thread and what was once a newly sewn piece of clothing would become nothing more than two white folds barely covering a rug-like chest of blonde growth.

It was the least of Valec’s concern as his gaze focused with utmost attentiveness to the man… (or was it really a man?) that had inadvertently crossed his path. All the while however, in the background played a world that had started a series of shoves and punches.

“How dare you disturb me when I could crush your neck with my bare fist and turn the rest of your spine into bone meal if I so wished?”

He scowled in a tone deep with foreboding reverberation across the chamber that would certainly silence many and with irony cause a momentary peace. The thrust of fists came to a pause and eyes drifted to curious vigilance. Such commanding voices were rare just as the air of intimidation was equally as scarce in this world where injustices were prevalent in a den of thieves. Soon, the interiors came into a hush with a subtle play of wails from fork-inflicted wounds and scrapes. Ahh He thought to himself. The poor man at a bleed

“Even the merciful thinks it best that death be the ultimate solution.” He continued in a manner that was almost at a whisper as he pushed his way through the crowd. One shove after the other, he began his approach.

The first man came with a furious fist, trying to smack around the elven girl some more. She stabbed the hand with her fork, and kicked him away. The man whimpered at the cheap utensil sticking out of his hand, and tried to flee the bar. The next man managed to break the rest of her bottle across his shoulder, after striking her across the opposite shoulder. Ayre was not having a good day at all.

She struggled to wrench a barstool's seat from the pillar it sat on, and succeeded in doing so as a man struck her across the back. Ayre grunted, and smashed him across the face with the thick wooden disc. He smiled, spat out a tooth, and struck her in the ribs, barely missing her gut. She hit him across the face with the seat again. He went down, nursing a broken jaw. Ayre glanced around the bar again, her eyes catching the man she had been thrown into. Another fist found her, and across the same shoulder she had been hit across earlier. Ayre gave a squeak of pain and smashed the top of his head with the seat.

Then came back the more pertinent issue. The only thing she had to remove Arkus's ear was her sword. If she drew her sword, this would stop being a brawl and turn into an honest-to-goodness fight. She lashed out at another man with a kick, and found that he knew a little more about unarmed fighting than she did. His hands found her ankle, and he pulled. Ayre clumsily came off her stabilizing foot, and struck the ground. Hard. She groaned in the direction of the identical twins coming at her with their identical chairs. She heard the oddest of comments, all about death and how people were going to die and pretty much describing how worthless she was. The usual.

Every stride brought him closer, every footfall allowed his soul to delve deeper into the realm of unforgiving mercilessness.

For a moment he stooped to claim a token within his grasp while his visage would not change; pale as a corpse possessed by an entity consumed by madness. Ebon strands were pushed back as damp strays mingled with the scar that once freshly adorned a warrior’s brow. He glared at her with much intrigue as the full length of her lay sprawled upon the alcohol –coated dampness called the tavern floor. It must have been a sickening sensation for the poor lass to be copping a feel of what was apparently, heavily tainted with sand and mud cemented by dried ale.

Tightly, gloved fingertips encircled the peg of a stool as the greater half of its breadth lay lowered to the ground. To all the world and perhaps to her, he came to punish her petty misdeed with an act as painful as the judgment imposed by the striking of a chair upon her nape… yet was that truly his intent?

Full force, he swung the blunt object to his left in a single-handed swipe that spoke greatly of a hidden yet tremendous strength that would not require the aid of a free hand. Wooden and nailed to security, the stool may have been yet it would not be sufficient to withstand the velocity and impact by which its foundations would be tested. There it struck fiercely upon another man’s chest. It would cause almost every bone to collapse beneath its force and into the unfortunate one’s lungs. The sheer gravity of which sent the man into a state that almost mimicked flight, tossing him into the air and thus leaving the protests of his two feet helpless. He would not be flung far, his fall broken by several others only a few meters away.

Shards of wood flew to blind the few who were near to reveal the only remaining piece within Valec’s grasp: a wooden peg that would be transferred to his right hand’s hold in a casual pass. Within seconds he found himself at a charge towards the poor female only to stray at the very last moment as he turned for Arkus.

Pulling back his right arm, with full force, he shoved the sharpened edge into the man’s abdomen. The poor victim then unleashed an antagonizing painful scream as he pushed the item further into the man’s body. Blood oozed from the wound that was raw from the slaughter, coating the wooden planks beneath with a crimson pool.

And as the unfortunate Arkus wept and fought for what remained of his pitiful life, the Nocturne grazed his belt in a pass that swept with it a sharpened blade. It bore a jagged edge that would no less be painful when…

A dying cry lit the room for then Obsidian claimed with a lesser effort than she, the mark she had so dreamt to partake as her own.

Then the chair never came. Her groggy vision watched as it shattered upon another man, and she struggled to her feet. Ayre knew she was well beyond her capabilities, and she moved in a nauseated fashion. But she couldn't think straight, even as more warm blood pierced the air. The milling masses became one creature, and she felt at the hilt of her sword. Windcutter could solve all of this, but she had no urge to murder. Instead she knelt down to pick up the seat of the barstool, and stood back up like someone taken by alcohol.

"You--who are you?" She asked, slurring her words together. Windcutter could solve all of her problems. Her eyes went back to the sword as she prepared to defend herself with the meager tools available. Ayre caught a punch with the seat, and twisted his arm away. Windcutter would finish this. Her mind flickered off and on, her consciousness a question of how long it was to last. It was repayment, she supposed, for being such a slight maiden with a compulsion to fight. Her eyes drifted back to her somewhat savior. Another blow took her, and she stumbled backwards into the bar. Windcutter. She struggled with the urge, knowing that even though these men were vile and wicked, she'd caused the incident.

"Sir, sir, we need to..." She murmured, her words nearly becoming one. Ayre forgot what she wanted to say, her mind drifting around as it was. A chair collided with her seat, tearing it from her hands and throwing wooden debris into her. She blinked. Her hand found Windcutter, and released the hilt from its belt. Yes, she could use it like this.

At this point in time, his vision shifted to the bounty hunter female to watch her in her state of being. A sly smile captured his portrait best as the corpse’s ear vanished within a pouch that hung upon his belt. He was provoking her. He was testing her of how far she would venture for this prize that he manipulatively stole while she was occupied with other things such as caring for her own welfare on the floor.

Little to his knowledge however, his shift of attention would cause him to pay little focus on the other elements that surrounded him. Arkus, his victim, was graced with the presence of companions: allies that supported him even in death. The man would not pass on to the netherworld without even the slightest payment of justice.

A bottle was then sent towards the back of his neck, breaking it upon his skull in an attempt to render him unconscious which most humans generally succumb to. Glass collided with bone thus shattering into several hundreds of shards. The impact sent him to an immediate kneel with his eyes lowering to the female who had sought to speak nonsense to him earlier. What was expected of him however would not occur. Nay, Von Mortem will not fall for the human weakness of fainting.

Though he bled with blood red mortality, the demon with utmost swiftness, tossed his blade into the air. There it would swivel and turn until it faced down towards the ground as his fist encased the handle. Ferociously, he thrust blindly at the presence behind him in a belief that luck would guide him to strike true.

True indeed for a twisted cry resonated soon after as the jagged blade's edge struck below the man's belt in an area that would certainly cause much displeasure or rather for further accuracy, tremendous, antagonizing pain that would certainly vouch its contribution to hindering the population boom in Arda.

As if that was on its own, insufficient, Obsidian twisted the blade like one would to a screw. It was pure and merciless decapitation that would certainly make one wish that he were dead instead of being reproductively impaired for a lifetime.

A single, forced pull would cause the man to shriek in the highest pitched tone... definitely more ear-drum wracking than a woman giving birth in all her momentarily deranged fury.

Her blade was a blur. Strikes came down, breaking men and the few woman as easily as she broke the mugs on tables. Ayre was trying for nonlethal strikes, but every once and a while there was a crumple that was too realistic. Windcutter was winning her war. The combatants slowly backed away from the leather sheathed streak felling men as though the blade was unsheathed. Nothing exposed lived in her blind fury, and as time went on the movements sharpened. Drunken strength had been replaced with elven finesse, the muscled arms doing less and the mind doing more. Then came the scream, a murderous, feminine scream. The man who had taken Arkus's ear had just killed another man with that slim little dagger of his. In this moment of moved attention, the blade shifted from a simple shoulder blow to a temple strike. He fell without a sound, motionless and emotionless eyes gazing upon the elven girl who had slain him.

They stared in awe at this dealer of death that stood before them, the delicate motions of an elven girl combined with the brute force of human knights. A crooked smile was the only reply she had to their gawking, as sorrowful eyes gazed upon the corpse, and her ears flattened to her head rigidly. She looked to the other murderer, and as simply as she could...

"We need to get out of here, murderer." Came the shaking and not quite confident voice. Her eyes fell upon the door to the rooms upstairs, and she shifted over into the safety zone he had created.

"The second floor is a good candidate. You open it, I'll shatter some scoundrels." Ayre explained, her voice crystalline and having run dry of the shock before. Now was time for survival. The blade moved into a blur again, and she placed herself between the man and the mob. The sheathed blade encountered guts, legs, arms, and every so often a scream and the sound of bone shattering would follow. Survival at any price.

A single eye squinted in scrutiny as Obsidian dissected the uncertainty in Ayre’s voice. Many things after all can be derived from a single line: self-confidence as well as skill. The girl seemed young and though she may be talented enough for a regular tavern brawl, such did not define her to be a prodigy of the knife.

Few were the instances when Valec took into approval the darkness of other souls. Perhaps he and this newly revealed elven female could possibly form an alliance after all… that is until he has achieved all that he requires of her. Only then would the subject of disposal be considered. The demon smiled inwardly to the worth of his new found friendship. The girl should have known better not to choose a murderer as a vigilant watcher to one’s back. They weren’t particularly renowned to be the most trust-worthy breed.

The Nocturne smirked to the girl as she offered her services of hack and slash. He had more convenient ideas such as instantaneous travel with a blink of an eye but that certainly would put a damper to the excitement of eliminating a mob.

Immediately shifting his hold upon his weapon once more, he met the fury of another drunken challenger. If there was anything convenient about battles with alcohol-drowned men, it would be the fact that they are extremely inaccurate. A stab aimed for the center of his body, slipped by a mile for the poor man couldn’t even hold his stance.

Twisting his form to the side with urgency, Obsidian sent his sole directly to the man’s crooked nose, breaking it as with the rest of his facial assets including two pearly whites. Unable to balance himself, the man fell to his back, taking others with him at the mercy of his weight. It was like a domino effect that paved the way to the stairs beyond, a flight of stairs that with haste, Valec took without hesitation.

“Now move!”

He commanded the lass who trailed behind with the rest of the mob before he disappeared into the dimness beyond.

Her arm was tiring. The longsword was designed to be used in one hand, and that was how she was trained to use it. Ayre took the moment to trade from her favorite hand, the left, into her right hand. She breathed heavily during the momentary lull in combat, then she realized why.

"Now move!" Came the cry. Ayre delivered a couple more wide slashes with malice, and then bolted after him. Her hand bolted down to her hips, where she pulled her pants higher up on them. There were some issues with breaking one's belt to use one's sword as a blunt weapon. There were more issues when one was female. But in her dash over struggling men, she had no time for worries about her pants falling off. She bolted up the stairs behind her savior, thinking as fast as she could to get them the rest of the way out. Angband was initially a prison, so wouldn't the buildings be flat-roofed and prison inspired?

And there came her genius. She took the first turn she could, kicking out a door and interrupting the young couple within. Ayre wrenched up a rather heavy metal vase, and hurled it through the window.

"You think you can jump across a couple buildings, sir?" She inquired of her ally. Then, with a running leap, she bolted out the window, and to the awe of the people in the street below, she landed gracefully on the building across the way.

Obsidian waited till the woman had ventured past him before he turned towards the staircase once more. As expected, several others were in urgent pursuit after her. With little time to spare, Valec opted for the very first solution that came into mind.

Shifting his gaze to his surroundings, he searched for anything that could possibly block the path at least for a time till the tandem could find a suitable escape. It was then that a certain large object caught his attention. A large keg was rather fitting for a flight of stairs and the five infuriated victims below.

Using his boot’s heel, he urged the round barrel into instability thus sending it to its side. Ale spilled as it first began with a slow roll which would be quickened with a second shove towards the second floor entrance. One thump was followed by another as it began its descent down the stairs. Picking up in speed, it began to bounce flight after flight which upon sight struck fear upon the once eager pursuers.

“Run back! Retreat I say!!!”

One called out in sheer desperation as he turned for the bottom.

For a moment, the Nocturne could not help but watch as live men became like pieces that fell victim to a bumbling boulder.

"You think you can jump across a couple buildings, sir?"

Von Mortem heard the female call from across the hall. It was this that led her to the chamber of two who seemed rather dismayed by such an unwanted interruption of their private affairs.

Ignoring the tenants and their rather raw state of affection, Valec entered the chambers only to bolt the door immediately behind him. It was then that he strode towards the window which with confident strikes, he shattered with the aid of cloak and fist. There, he looked into the world beyond through a mere glimpse that was sufficient enough to assess.

“We must scale the wall to the ledge’s corner….”

He spoke in reply as he observed how a taut rope connected this establishment to the next, however lower building.

“You may want to take for yourself one of these two lovebirds’ pieces of linen unless you prefer to burn your hands upon that cord.”

Ayre took a moment to shake her head and wave from the other building.

"It was only over an alleyway, we don't need to use the cord!" She shouted at the man in the window. Was he one of those noble-born types who can't fathom physical fitness? Ayre hoped not, it would make for a miserable start and end to her bounty hunting career. Then came boisterous shouting and a people running around on the streets. The guard, or mafia, of Angband had arrived to fine, or extort, the troublemakers. Ayre went prone immediately, and observed the men hustling the crowd. They weren't well armored, but they were armed with some rather wicked looking swords. Her eyes flitted amongst their faces, seeing if there were any bounties amongst them out of curiosity. Not a single one, but she couldn't be that lucky all the time.

But alas and alack, people were pointing up to her, and the guards surged into the building she lay upon. A scream of a surprised woman, then a wooden knocking sound. She stood up, and looked over. There was a trapdoor that was locked, and they were trying to break it open. Weren't those things locked from the inside? Idiots. She drew Windcutter from her sheathe, and threw aside the scabbard. Ayre walked over to the trapdoor as a blade pierced through it.

"Heeello!"
"In the name of the Angband Guard, cease, desist, and pay your fines!"
"What happens if I don't?"
"Your execution will be swift." Came a voice. Ayre looked over to the man, and shouted over.

"Hey, the guard wants us dead!" She declared, nearly proud of the feat. Moments later, her blade plunged through the trapdoor, and found nothing. She raised it up again, plunged it down again, and found nothing. Then came a tremendous strike, and the door heaved, then collapsed into the house. Ayre recoiled, and prepared to defend herself yet again.

“Enough of this… let us take to the streets! We will have more chances there than to be cornered here on the hour of a ‘siege.’”

With haste, Valec set the sole of his boot upon the window’s ledge as he brought his form to observe the exteriors of the building. Life continued there as if not a scene of murder had transpired merely minutes before. A commotion, however, had begun to brew. News had begun to spread like wildfire and it certainly wouldn’t be long before more than just a handful of goons would come for them.

Sheathing his tools of war, his gloved fingers reached for the upper extrusion above his exit, feeling upon the crevices for a more suitable protrusion to support his weight. The edge of his boot however sought for the ledge below. It was at such time that the events upon the ground escalated as people began pointing towards his direction.

“There he is! The murderer! They are escaping!”

It wouldn’t have surprised him if he were to be the target of projectiles soon enough. In which case, he would be forced to rush his movements towards the edge where the taut rope lay tied conveniently unto a stone gargoyle.

Arrows, spears, javelins, rocks, all of which came for him as he called for his companion to follow if she so desired with a note of warning regarding the impediments she would have to face.

Adjusting his stance, he would miss the arrow aimed for his left arm while the others buzzed past his form in rather fortunate inaccuracy.