• PM To Join • We Stole a House?

[Vluharqih]

CREDIT

Date: Arc 716, 11th trial of Zi'da
Time: 15th Break
Location: Midtown House

She tore down the street, not caring about the looks people were giving her. She had to make it back and pack- and she didn’t have much time. Soon the guards would be there, and she couldn’t be caught at the scene of another crime. She had barely got away with the first one, what were the odds of escaping that a second time. She tried to turn too quickly, the ice beneath her feet giving way as she slammed hard into a wall.

Gasping, she took a moment to curse her father. How was she supposed to know that he had stolen the house they were living in? Now that she thought about it, it made sense. No servants, the over-the top pretentiousness, and even the jewelry and clothing hanging in “her” closet. She hated herself for not seeing it coming almost as much as she hated her father right now. She forced herself back into a run, pushing her body as she burst through the front door, shouting, “Hey! Warren! Time to go. Guards on the way.”

Without waiting to see if he would react, she tore up the stairs, throwing her few clothes into a bag, tossing it over her shoulder.

She nearly crashed into her father as she ran back into the hall. His face had a slight smile, as if this was all a game. He opened his mouth to speak when a loud knocking was heard at the door.

“Open up in the name of the King! It’s the Guard!”

His smile wavered for a moment as he muttered under his breath, “faster than I thought.”

He grabbed the bag from Alex and slung her over his shoulder, running down the stairs. Alex let out a scream, and she heard an oath from behind the door. She felt the floor shake as something heavy hit the door, the wood groaning under the stress. As her head bounced on her fathers back, she saw the door begin to splinter, a heavy boot trying to kick it down.

He tossed Alex's bag out the back, over the wall, and pulled open the cellar door. The front door groaned and he looked back at Alex, pressing small beads into her hand.

“Crush these under your foot when I yell 'Back', okay?”

Without warning, his fist flew out to crash into her face, and she fell to the floor, crying out loudly. He hit her again and again, marks appearing across her body. She began to fight back, her anger bubbling to the surface.

“Stop it you idiot- I’m saving you,” her fathers voice hissed out as an errant fist caught the side of his head. He grabbed her hand with one of his, winding a coil of nearby rope around her wrist and rubbing it back and forth quickly. The skin soon was raw and he nodded, grabbing the other wrist and doing the same. Alex forced the pain down, finally trusting her father. If she tried to fight him now, it would just kill them both.

The door crashed open, footsteps sounding loud in the hallway. Warren grabbed Alex’s hair, baring her throat as he pulled them to their feet, a blade at her neck.

[Andráska Venora]

"My two natures had memory in common."

• 11th of Zi’da, 705

• Proper crossbow maintenance required attention to detail. You had to clean dust and debris from the flight rail, making sure the string was cared for properly to avoid wear. Long, graceful fingers held a small bottle of oil perched above the shooting groove and began to massage the substance into the grain, lubricating it for a flawless and fast shot. Beside him was a red tube of string wax that he ran along the cord, lifting the weapon up and looking down the barrel to assess the application. He repeated this step, using a rag to wipe away any excess and was admiring his work and wiping his hands clean with a voice snapped him from his reverie.
  
  “Venora -- we got a lead. Some squatters up the street. We gotta clear 'em out. You coming?”
  
  The noble looked up to see a pair of knights staring at him expectantly, and Andráska couldn't help but glance over his shoulder to see if somehow another member of his house was hiding behind him. It was no secret András was not the first person chosen to go on missions, even small ones like this, so being approached surprised him. He stared at the pair of armored men with a steady gaze to try and decipher if they were messing with him, but their garb and weapons proved otherwise.
  
  “Well?”
  
  “They dangerous?” His voice was flat, not quite revealing whether or not he liked the idea or not.
  
  The man who invited him shrugged, “Might be some beggars, might be some criminals. They're stashed away in a merchants house, apparently.”
  
  Andráska nodded. He didn't like the idea of ripping a poor man trying to escape the cold from his shelter, but after Tristan's play and his reformed approach to his job, he nodded, thankful to still be in his leather uniform. It was his job to enforce the law, he might as well do it.
  
  “Alright, I'll go,” he reattached the sheath of bolts around his waist and slung his fresh crossbow over his shoulder, briefly debating whether or not he should grab his sword and instead opted for his knives. He slide one in each boot, one in his bolt sheath, and the last two behind his lower back. In comparison to his plate wearing brethren, he looked like quite the roguish figure, hardly a knight at all.
  
  The trio marched down the streets to where the tip had been, and Andras leaned his head back to admire the structure. It wasn't half bad. Definitely a good spot to camp out for a little while. His comrade's voice was loud and authoritative, pounding on the door with absolute sincerity, “Open up in the name of the King! It’s the Guard!”
  
  Andras grinned. The guard. Cute. He side stepped, trying to lurk around to the windows and see if he could catch any movement from the inside. He thought he caught the sight of two figures when the other knights began conspiring and the sound of discussion distracted him. An enormous explosion of force against wood pulled him from his reconnaissance and Andras prepped his weapon and knocked a bolt. The enforced pulled back and with a grunt, slammed into the wall again. Whoever was inside wanted resistance and the door shuddered under the impact, sending splinters flying.
  
  Maybe this wasn't going to be easy after all.
  
  Andras thought he heard a cry of pain and his green eyes furrowed in nervous concentration. The guard's boot was reared back for the last time the door gave way, his men storming the building. He hesitated, lifting his bow and following after.
  
  A woman with a knife to her throat was staring back at them, her face recently pummeled. Orders were being shouted for the older man to release her; things much more interesting than just some homeless hiding out. Things were tense, the knights unsure if they should charge or negotiate.
  
  Andráska crept up to get a clear shot, watching the man from the sight of his crossbow and and smiled at the kidnapper, taking control of the situation, “You think you can slit her throat faster than I can send this bolt through your skull?” His finger hovered over the trigger and green eyes fixated on the man's hand. The tension in the room doubled as and his heart was secretly frantic. He stared down the kidnapper, clenching his jaw to force a straight face. Andras refused to look at the woman, knowing if he saw fear, his resolve would rip like paper.
  
  Do or die.
  
  Do... or die?

[Vluharqih]

CREDIT

Alex felt frozen, her fear making her limbs stiff and uncooperative. She jerked weekly as her father’s blade nicked at her neck, sending a thin line of blood trickling down.

Three men appeared in the doorway, stopping as they caught sight of the scene before them. They seemed unsure, and the moment stretched before one of them until the one wearing leather crept forward.

He spoke to Warren and Alex felt her father’s hand tighten its grip on the blade. The knife didn’t tremble at all as he evaluated the guard, letting a small snicker escape.

"Aye, that I do. You sure you’re not going to miss and hit her instead? Wouldn’t that just be terrible? Another life cut short in its prime because of you. Now back away, and no one needs to get hurt.”

Alex didn’t notice the word, her mind shutting down. A crossbow was pointed at her, a blade held at her neck, and her face was throbbing. Her right eye was beginning to swell, and the vision was blurry, though if that was from tears or permanent damage, it would remain to be seen.

Her father pulled her hair harder, forcing her chin up as he repeated himself, his voice growing hard.

“I said, back away!”

[Andráska Venora]

"My two natures had memory in common."

• 11th of Zi’da, 705

• The tension in the room was palpable, and a line of red slithered down the woman's throat – a testament to the sharpness of the weapon the man was holding. The other knights in the room looked between the two, their breath holding when Andráska's bluff was returned.
  
  “Andráska,” one of the knights said soothingly, knowing the other to be known for his rash behavior, “Let's talk this out.”
  
  The other knight looked to the man, a hand held up to try and ease the situation, “Easy now, we just want you to release the girl. No one has to get hurt.”
  
  Meanwhile, Andráska was calculating the odds of success in his head, still staring intently down the sight of his crossbow. The others had stepped back as the kidnapper requested, but he held firm. Why had he not killed her already? The noble's eyes skimmed her arms, her legs. All the injuries on her were... fresh. No bandages, no scabs of old abuse... They had been here together... willingly? If that were the case, all he had to do was keep his aim true. His mouth set into a line, his aim shifting slightly to the right,“I don't miss.”
  
  His finger pressed on the weapon's trigger, the bolt being aimed at the man's shoulder in hopes to jolt him, and as soon as it left the bow, Andras was tossing the weapon away (knowing it would take too long to reload), and threw his weight towards the two. He had a clear shot, as the other men had moved away, and his hand was already unsheathing out a knife of his own.
  
  Madness and adrenaline was everywhere, suffocating the group and he reached out for the girl. Andras had reasoned like this – if his aim was true, he would bury a bolt into the kidnapper's body. If he missed, and hit the wall, or if it was the girl instead, it would likely land into her collarbone – too high to hit her heart. In such close quarters, the power behind the shot would likely go right through her and bury itself into the criminal. Either way his goal was to keep her alive – doing whatever was necessary.
  
  He hoped it payed off.

[Vluharqih]

CREDIT

The two knights to either side backed off at Warren's request, but the one with the crossbow simply adjusted his aim. Alex felt Warren tense behind her as he realized that the man wasn't planning on letting him go.

"Aye, Andráska, let's talk it out," Warren said, picking up on the name. He turned to the other knight, nodding. "No one has to get hurt. You let me go, she's safe."

Just as Warren's head turned back, the bolt flew. There was a blur of action, Alex's eyes unable to follow the blindingly fast shot. Warren threw her, her head spinning as she finally dropped the beads. She couldn't help but let out a scream as pain tore through her her bicep, unable to see what was happening.

Warren moved like a blur, impossibly fast. He had picked Alex up and thrown her in the way of the bolt while he dodged himself. Whether by accident or design was impossible to tell, but as he moved his feet crunched the beads Alex had dropped, and mini explosions went off.

Smoke filled the room almost instantaneously. Still moving with the unnatural speed his magic gave him, Warren threw open the small window and began to morph, slipping out through the minuscule window without issue and dropping to the ground within a trill after the shot had gone off. He quickly climbed the walled backyard and disappeared into the alley, changing his appearance to that of a short, fat man who was pleasantly oblivious to the fact that he was balding.

If he was lucky, the guard would think he disappeared into the open cellar door behind him, and their search would give him the precious few bits he would need to disappear.

Alex felt a hand grip her good arm, and she groaned as another lance of fire slithered its way up her arm. The smoke made it impossible to see more than a foot in any direction, so she had to force her arm up to inspect the wound.

Stuck through her bicep like a shish kebab was the bolt, protruding from the meat of the muscle a few inches on either side. She snarled, anger at her father coursing through her veins.

She tried to yank her arm away as the smoke began to clear, but she was weak now. Her eyes were both beginning to bruise, and her lips and tongue felt swollen and awkward. A trickle of blood coursed its way down from her nose, and as she lifted her bad hand to touch it, she winced and thought better of moving that arm.

"Why? Whad is wrong with you? Shid!" Alex said, turning to look at her erstwhile savior.

"You couldn'd jus dalk id oud? Ymideng's curly ass hairs, dhis hurds!" She said, her voice sounding odd to her own ears. "Led go of by arm, I need to deal wid dhis," she added.

With her good hand, she reached down and tore a small strip of wool from her ratty dress and gritted her teeth.

This is going to hurt

Bracing herself, she reached up and snapped off the barbed broadhead, thankful for the fact it went all the way through. With one smooth yank, she jerked the shaft out of her arm, blood pouring out after it. She quickly tied her makeshift bandage around the wound, eyeing it nervously. She didn't have any Claytona to ensure she actually healed, and most of the normal, human medicines wouldn't help her anyway. She still would have preferred to have a few more bandages, and as she frowned, she realized her face was a mess.

With her good hand, she reached up to find a broken nose, but it was too painful to do herself. Turning to the crossbow soldier, Alex said, "Hey, I need a hand. My nose is brogen. Sraiden id out."

She turned to face him, waiting for his help. She didn't particularly enjoy the thought of a permanently bumpy nose in this form. She needed it for far too much.

[Andráska Venora]

"My two natures had memory in common."

• 11th of Zi’da, 705

• There was a crack and smoke filled the room, leaving Andraska to inhale a good portion of the first wave. He coughed, burying his face in his elbow and trying to see past the smog and the tears stinging his eyes. Movement, shadows... he cursed, knowing the man was getting away, but unsure how to stop it. His hand wrapped around an arm, but it was the woman. By the time the smoke cleared, the man was gone and blood was dripping down her arm. The other knights stood flabbergasted for a moment before one of them drilled in on Andráska.
  
  “What is wrong with you?” he screamed, his hand shooting out to point at the injuries party, “She could have been killed!”
  
  The women in question scolded him and even the other guard, was quick to condemn him, “Are you insane!”
  
  Frustration and anger immediately stole his sense, “Yes!” he shouted, his hand releasing the woman and he whipped around to face his comrades, “I made a decision,” his voice was cold, authoritative, “Which is more than I can say for you cowards, you were going to let him get away,” At least he had attempted to do the right thing, “Go check the cellar, you,” he pointed to the other, “Secure the perimeter. I'll fix this.” Suddenly he was the leader - the one who gave the orders and did what he thought was best. Just like his mother had instilled in him at a young age - good leaders... good men... followed their intuition. He had done that and he wasn't going to apologize for it.
  
  Andras turned to watch her ripping off a strip of her dress, as the men behind him slowly dispersed. It was no secret they were mad at him, worried about what this might mean for them, but Andras was right. They needed to stay focused, and they dispersed quickly. He could hear their footsteps, leaving the noble to awkwardly stand with the women.
  
  He shook his head, moving around and opening drawers. One cabinet, then another. It took him a minute, but he found a proper bandage and some rags. A bottle of brandy later, he materialized before her as she was tying off the fabric.
  
   "Hey, I need a hand. My nose is brogen. Sraiden id out."
  
  She turned to him and he stared at her for a moment, her words a bit.. hard to understand. He had heard 'nose' and he nodded, crouching before her, “Sorry,” he finally said with a deep sigh, tossing the bandage in her lap and settling on his knees. Rolling his shoulders, he examined her face, his green eyes running along the damage.
  
  Why had the criminal beaten her?
  
  Andráska had seen the resetting of broken noses a few times in the barracks but doing it himself had not been a necessity. He'd never broken a bone. He held up the rag to her face, “It'll hurt like a bitch, but blow the blood out,” he instructed, not sure if she would listen. He wasn't exactly her favorite person, “Alright, let me see,” he pulled away, and made an inverted v with his fingers, palms facing towards her and his fingers were feathers floating above her jagged bridge.
  
  Knowing they were alone, Andras looked into the woman's eyes, “So,” he began, searching for signs of truth, “How long have you been running around with him?” If she was surprised by Andráska's guess, he didn't give her much time to react before applying sudden pressure and yanking downward. Beneath his fingers the cartilage pulled and settled – suddenly straight. Pain would explode through her face, and he felt bad about it, but it was what she had asked for. “You need better friends, or at least better partners.”
  
  Leaning back to look at his handiwork, Andráska reached back and wiped his hands on one of the rags he had brought over. He shrugged, the apology in his face leveled with seriousness, “You got a name?”

[Vluharqih]

CREDIT

Alex shrugged away an apology. It wasn't the first time she had broken a nose, and it likely wouldn't be the last.

Dutifully, she blew the blood out and let him inspect it. The wound hurt like a bitch, but she would survive.

She met his green eyes easily and evenly.

"As long as I've had to. Been what... just over a season now," Alex said in an excellent Lowtown accent. It was unlikely that he'd be able to tell the difference, but she had prepared a story just in case.

"My dad died, left my mam with too many debts. She borrowed from the wrong person to pay them back, and they said they needed to use me for a cycle." She cleared her throat and spit a bloody wad onto the floor. Luckily all her teeth were still attached, and she hadn't bit off her tongue.

Alex rolled her injured shoulder, wincing as it burned."You mind?" She said, gesturing to the bottle in his hand. She needed fuel to replace the lost energy, and alcohol was the easiest way.

"Told me they'd kill my family if I didn't cooperate. Heard the guard and figured it was time to give up, but Fitch didn't agree," she said, gesturing to her battered face.

She had debated being silent and quiet, but she felt things would go far better for herself if she appeared open and regretful. Really, all they had on her was a trespassing, and she could weasel her way out of prison. Her belongings were safe with her father, but she needed get out of here, preferably before the whole jail part.

A terrible thought occurred to Alex- he was the only one here. Could she change her story now? Say she was his prisoner, that she was a merchants daughter? Cries and complaints of 'use of unnecessary force' would make them nervous to be sure, but Alex discarded the thought. It would take more foresight and planing to pull off something like that.

"Look. As long as we've been here, we haven't harmed the house. Look around- I promise you this is Better shape than how we found it. The owners are slobs, let me tell you. Dust everywhere, unwashed dishes left behind, it was gross. You hadn't come along, we would've been long gone by the time they returned," Alex explained. She doubted it would work, but there was better odds of escaping now rather than later.

"I know where he kept some gold. You let me go, I'll tell you where it is, otherwise I'll pretend I never said or saw anything." It was bald-faced bribery, but Alex was at the end of her non-violent tactics. It was either this or she be forced to use one of her needles, and that was never pretty for anyone involved.

[Andráska Venora]

"My two natures had memory in common."

• 11th of Zi’da, 705

• “You're bribing me?”
  
  Andras was grinning now, amused and surprised by the offer. He had no need for gold, being royal and paid well enough by his own jobs. He lifted a hand to run over the stubble that been forming on his jawline, thinking over her offer, “Interesting,” he admitted, “Truth be told, I don't really care about squatters, however...”
  
  Moving to walk around the room, he glanced around, trying to picture her story to be true, “You say this man is forcing you to help him. Do what?” He noticed that she had asked to drink some of the whiskey, and waved in admittance, “Yeah, go on, I got it for your pain,” He pulled the cork free with his teeth, took a quick swig and nodded in approval. He held it out to her, licking his lips and enjoying the taste of the brown liquid.
  
  He leaned back, pulled one of the throwing knives from his side and started picking at his fingertips, “Now, here's the thing,” he finally said after giving everything a bit of thought, “Like I said, squatters, beggars, pickpockets... Eeeh,” He shrugged, as if he could care less. Andras was good, not perfect. In fact, the last thief he encountered he ended up taking to lunch. The memory of that day played in his mind as he thought of the strange woman's accent, of her story, “ SinceI shot you, I think I can overlook this little... crime. The things is,” he stood to begin pacing, and tapped the tip of the weapon to his chin, watching her from the corner of his bright eyes, “What I can't seem to figure out,” he placed the blade between his teeth, bent to gather his discarded crossbow and turning it over in his hands to casually check for damage. His brows furrowed and he pulled back the string, and knocked another bolt. Facing the wall and staring down the sight, he seemed satisfied and lowered it, removing the knife from his mouth. He lowered his voice, as if conspiring with her, but his mouth was set in a teasing grin, “Why would the victim be bribing the guard?”

[Vluharqih]

"Help him steal from people," Alex answered.

"Nothing major, but he used me to gain entrance- I would pose as a maid, begging for work with some Sob story. They'd be suspicious, but after a few trials I'd explain some family situation, and quit. By that point I had studied the outline of the house, and he could break in."

The story was elaborate, but pretty straightforward. What else would a young girl be able to do that a professional thief couldn't?

She gratefully took the alcohol, her hand shaking a little from the energy streaming out of her, and she downed most of the bottle at once. Almost immediately, she felt the warm rush of energy through her body and she rolled her neck painfully.

"Appreciate that," She gestured to the nearly empty bottle.

Oh come on. Alex must have found the one Guard that wouldn't take a bribe, or that didn't need one as it were. On top of that, he was now suspicious of her, which made her job that much harder.

The Cauldron would not be happy.

She tossed up the idea continuing with the charade. She was sure she could convince him, given enough time, that she was in fact a young girl from Etzos who just got tangled up in the wrong thing. It would take them a long time to find out if she was telling the truth, and odds were they didn't want to keep her prisoner for that long.

But there was the off chance they did, and Alex couldn't be locked up for that long.

Alex looked over at the guard and shook her head. "You could've just accepted that story, you know. Gone home, happy with the fact that you saved another innocent girl." She shook her head again, straightening and allowing confidence to radiate off her. She seemed radically different, as if she was suddenly someone else. The Lowtown accent dropped too, and Alex regarded him as one might a cute puppy baring it's teeth at you.

"But fine. Things might not have been exactly how I said. The fact remains that you dont particularly want to keep me here. People are expecting me, and they're the type of people no one wants to piss off."

She sighed. She wasn't the best at intimidation- Alex supposed it stemmed from the fact that she was tiny and a woman, but it could come in handy here. At least she was using a threat beyond herself.

"I've already enjoyed the comforts of your jail before, and I have no desire to return there." She looked around, happy to see that the other Guards were still occupied, and well out of earshot.

"This isn't my first crime. If trespassing is all you've got me on, and it is, it's more of an inconvenience than anything else. If I need to I'll make reparations, and then be out."

She didn't know exactly what happened to trespassers, but she could give a fake name and make herself look different enough that this would be her first offense, as far as the court was concerned.

"So, Mr.Andraska, what are we to do now?" She wasn't sure how it would go over, but she braced herself; she had been stuck with enough bolts today.

[Andráska Venora]

"My two natures had memory in common."

• 11th of Zi’da, 705

• Andráska listened very closely to what she said, as if a student might a professor. She supposedly would act as help and infiltrate buildings to understand layouts, schedules.... After the hard part was over, the actual job was in and out. Quick, painless, easy. The plan was simple.. So easy, in fact, it inspired something within the noble. He opened his mouth to ask a question, curious as to the tactics used by the underground, but remembered his position and held his tongue. Images of him doing the same to other noble houses, or god forbid, someone doing it to his own garnered his attention. He made a mental note to do a throughout check on those who worked for his family.
  
  If someone could do it to the king's guard, surely they could do it to House Venora. His question about her bribery had apparently unraveled her story, however, because the nameless girl changed completely. Her voice dropped the accent and his brows raised in interest. She stared at him coldly, as if he were the problem. He tucked his knife away.
  
  “Oh, Seven,” he groaned, rolling his eyes, “Please don't try to use threats of status on me,” Saying you 'knew people' was the first way to get the knight to scoff. He was noble born. He played music for kings (well, a king, but still). His father was a baron and his sister had started a war. Immortal's blood, his brother raised the dead. What did he fear?
  
  “Love,” he addressed slowly, “You're so tense.” Footsteps of his comrades rustling in the cellar, sounded. It wouldn't be long before one of his partners returned, “I'd suggest we play a game, but we're all out of time. How about this: Let's make a deal.”
  
  He took a step closer, his movement catlike and graceful, “I have a few pieces of business I need to attend to and I think that red little head of yours could help,” he shrugged, “I'm going to need to take a statement about what happened. Come with me, let me ask you a few questions. Lie if you want, I don't care. But after all the technicalities are done, we have a nice chat. Otherwise,” he reached for the bottle they had shared and shook it, frowning momentarily to find it mostly empty. He drank the few drops remaining and with callus force, threw it on the ground. It shattered and glass skittered across the floor. He lifted a booted foot and kicked at the nearest piece of furniture – a coffee table that growled against the floor and toppled over. His comrade was already shouting his name, the rail shaking as he ascended the steps. Andras shrugged, “I'll say you attacked me.”
  
  His intimation was done much differently than she had demonstrated. While she tried to make herself imposing, he had gone the route of applying pressure. He hoped she would see the benefit of accepting such a deal. He was basically agreeing to her terms, but countering with an added bonus – talking to him. Did it matter if she could smooth talk? Wasn't assaulting a noble born pretty vital? Or any guard for that matter? Two added crimes for one.
  
  Truthfully, he just want a lesson in deception, but preferred not to tell her his own origin. Most commoners were willing to exploit him for money. She was a bold criminal, it wouldn't take her long to figure out she could try to use his birth as a way to demand money from his family (not that his father would pay. Maybe his brother, but Alistair was gone). Andráska was very interested in the group she worked for, but more so in the skill set she possessed. She was no doubt good at acting, at disguise, maybe stealth... He needed these skills if he were to kill his own father.
  
  “Andráska! What's going on!”
  
  He winked at the nameless woman, “C'mon,” he purred,“A little bit of paperwork with yours truly?” His green eyes burned mischievously, and as always, Andráska Venora was a difficult as ever.