• Closed • A Violent Reunion

[Max]

120 of Vhalar, Arc 717

Another trial, another Nel.

It was a pathetic attempt at motivation to rouse herself from the warmth of her covers. Even she knew that. Given the choice, she would've happily remained there for the rest of the trial, counting the imperfections in her ceiling while she lazily lounged. Her lack of Nels in every category, however, maintained such notions of a day-off firmly in her daydreams. Max gave a begrudging groan before she relented, throwing the comforter off her body. The cold air rushed in to ambush her skin, giving quick rise to goosebumps that sent her body into a short fit of tremors. Oh how she loathed the morning.

Max swung her legs off the side of her bed and placed her head in her hands. The very motion of righting herself had brought on a migraine of epic proportions, and its throbbing was enough to make her reconsider the worth of last night's boozing. She rubbed the sleep from her eyes and made an attempt at re-orienting herself to the new trial. What had Dana said again? Arrive by sun rise? Midday? Max sighed and set to clothing herself. All the other Hounds at The Kennel seemed to show up on their own whim. What did she care to be different? Once she'd managed to dress herself and scoop her sheathed short sword from the other side of her bed, she vanished into the dim glow of morning with hopes her bosses wouldn't notice her tardiness.

"Nice of you to join us, Max," Dana sighed with eyes glued to the unrolled scroll upon his desk. The Rusalka cringed at his voice and continued her attempt at discreetly shutting The Kennel's doors behind her anyways. When she turned to face The Kennel Master, she did so with an attempt at a friendly grin.
"Ah, don't be so doom and gloom," Max jibed without much potency. Dana lifted his unamused stare to find her face. Perhaps the phrase "doom and gloom" was best reserved for someone whose grey pallor didn't literally fit the description. A couple trills later that notion seemed to occur to her, and Max was plunged into a quick pivot with a rushed, "Don't let me interrupt." Dana rose from his seat and rounded the desk.

"You're lucky Gibney is out personally handling a contract," The Kennel Master warned. "I had been hoping to leave this four man job in more capable hands...alas the fourth Hound I was counting on didn't show." Max stifled the inclination to guffaw. She thought she recognized one of The Kennel's "more capable" Hounds just last night at the Buckle and Chain Tavern. His "capable hands" had been double fisting booze and breasts all night long, and given what she'd seen, it was more than likely he was either sleeping the night off in an alleyway or wrapped in a whore's sheets. "The time sensitive nature of this contract dictates I take a gamble by throwing you in, Max. Don't make me live to regret this, and don't think this means you're ready for more like this when you come back either." Max's expression darkened. Part of her dictated she defend her own honor and tell Dana to shove his doubts up his stony ass. The small voice of logic in her head reminded her that he'd also given her a big opportunity. Before she could give some idiotic reply Dana instructed, "Grab your gear and meet the other Hounds waiting out back. I'll give further instructions in a bit."

Max wandered into one of the back rooms of The Kennels to drag out what little gear she had to defend herself. Usually her jobs consisted of couriering, simple guarding, and other minor errands she swore a child could likely handle with ease. Dana's frustration over the loss of the man he had in mind and the concept of working with others, however, signaled to Max that this contract was far different. More dangerous, even. Her heart kicked up a gear in her chest as she set to covering herself with her full set of leather armor, greaves, and fauld. She debated for some time over the ridiculous helmet, but ultimately left it behind. She always hated the feel of it on her head anyways.

Once she was ready she meandered outside to the back of The Kennel. Sure enough she heard a couple muffled voices and the shifting of metal chainmail as she rounded the corner. Quite frankly, she was perfectly content with not speaking to any of them. They didn't care to know her name, nor she theirs. Small talk was always a waste of time. Yet her plan of isolation was thwarted the moment she saw him. "Merces?" his name slipped out in a surprised manner despite herself. Just like that, everything got a whole. Lot. More. Complicated.

[Mercedes]

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Labored breathing, beads of sweat, aching muscles, and a high body temperature were all that came of this trial. Merces preferred easy work rather than difficult tasks, much like the ocean of common laborers. Trial in, and trial out they spent time doing nothing more than constructing various tools from boats. Building both small and large scale ships, and working until they were far beyond old age. Merces wanted to do the opposite of such, and find a way to be successful in his youth, so that he would not require hard labor the entirety of his life. Mercy thought living alongside the elements had always been a possibility. However, that came with a life of hardship; thus he chose to take the path of a mercenary. They did nothing special beyond sell abilities they already possess; in order to fight, kill, capture, or escort cargo. From the perspective of the Sorcerer this was the easiest line of temporal work.

The nel was inconsistent, but when work came things were often entertaining for the moment. There he stood, outside the post alongside the other mercenaries. Black clad in his heavy leather boots, large cloak, black tunic, and trousers. His hair as always remained damp, and somewhat dripped as per usual. However, one notable change to his appearance had taken place over the course of the night he spent with Max. The pupils and iris of his eyes danced with flame, on occasion the flame exited his eye-lids and flared. His eyes were bright now, and could be seen even more obviously in the dark. Such a mutation removed a large portion of his ability to be stealthy. Magic seemed to become a parasite much rather than a companion. Did defiance continually take away portions of ones humanity as they progress in the practice? He could have sworn the weather should have been much more mild, and cool. Yet, his body seemed to have adapted an increase in temperature; he felt warm rather than cold in light clothing.

His appearance in nothing but light-weight clothes forced several odd looks from many of the others. However, when he looked off to the left things became far more interesting. The woman that he shared a bed with a few nights ago arrived too; had she been a mercenary too? Perhaps her large, plump rump served far more purposes than he used it for. She could attract a man, and stab him in the sternum just as easily. Just how many talents could one person possess?

Mercy wanted to find out, and thus he approached without hesitation. A slow, steady and calculated march took place; his boots clicked as they collided with the surface of the ground. He knew that she would see the new change in his appearance, but he did not bother to question it himself. Thus he did not think she would either, considering that it had only just taken place. Had he found both a lover, and a sister in arms ?

“Hello, Maxine.. “ Merces spoke with a signature smirk upon his visage.

Boxcode credit: Yolande

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[Max]

Her eyes settled on the black-clad man, who seemed to stand so nonchalantly proud with his somewhat long, oddly damp hair and controlled demeanor. She'd verbalized his name but her own ears failed to register the sound. Her eyes were possessed by his presence, and even more so her body and mind when he turned at the sound of his name.

Her body trapped between the cool wooden walls of the Sapphire Inn and the firm, commanding presence of his body. His lips, warm and inviting, pressed against her own. Then moving, teasing, about the vulnerable flesh of her neck. An off-guard sigh of pleasure escaping her.

Max was called back into the present by Merces' greeting. Her rattled expression was quickly smoothed over. She had no desire to validate the smugness of his expression. "Merces," she cleared her throat. "I didn't expect to find you here." Let alone ever see him again. She let her hand rest lazily on the hilt of her short sword.

"Listen up, Hounds," Dana appeared and clapped his hands to garner attention, effectively rescuing her from conversation. "The four of you have a simple task: escort a merchant from the guild halfway to Havardr to trade with a hunter, and ensure his safe return back to Almund." Max's brow furrowed. The job seemed easy enough for two, let alone four. Dana smoothed out the front of his coat. "The details are straight-forward," he continued. "The guild has been kind enough to provide horses for those that lack them. Once you leave here, you'll meet the merchant at Almund's gates. He goes by Edmund. He'll be taking charge from then on. Remember that you're representing The Kennels..." Dana's eyes seemed to bore into Max brieftly, "...and as such you should act accordingly. Remain alert. Good work will result in good compensation, as always."

Max found herself glancing toward Merces again. She really didn't know the man well at all. Something was different though. That much she was certain of. When she searched his face it finally dawned on her: his eyes. They were radiant. Bright. Quite literally they appeared as though they contained...

Fire, crackling and roaring beside their intertwined bodies. The heat of his skin. Her nails digging into the small of his back. Spine arching. Eyes closing and lips parted. The warmth of his labored breath beside her ear. Fingers curling about a fist-full of sheets. The taste of his name upon her lips.

"So," Dana wrapped up his lengthy speech and folded his arms across his chest. "Any questions?" Max swallowed hard and tore her gaze quickly from Mercy's face. Perhaps later she'd inquire about his bizarre iris changes. Maybe she'd even press him further on how exactly he'd stopped that bottle in mid-air. For now, it was her sole mission to push thoughts of him from her mind. At least for the duration of the contract. When Dana's eyes fell upon Max, she shook her head. She might've missed half of what he said, but with what she did hear she figured she'd manage.

[Mercedes]

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The sorcerer had all of his attention stolen by Maxine in an instant. After the endeavors of their previous night, how could she not captivate him? Never before had he experienced a woman that could physically suck out his soul. She alone made him rest harder than he ever had in multiple arcs, after a long night of them becoming familiar with one another. He remembered each and every detail, from his aggressive attempt at seduction. To the sweet sounds that exited her lips during their excessive love-making. She left one particular part of him drained, and sore without effort and he smiled at the thought of her.

With her statement of not being expected to be seen here; he could have obviously said the same. Yet, he did not bother with the small talk. They were here to receive a task to carry out, but that would not stop Merces from acting upon his desires. As their conversation began, a loud voice brought it to a halt; the statement was clear. They were to escort someone off somewhere, and “The Guild” Provided horses for those who went and did not have them already. Merces prepared ahead of time, and as per usual carried nothing more than the clothing on his back. Their work was representative of “The Kennels” a group of mercenaries that needed to act accordingly? The sorcerer scoffed at the notion of “behavior” among a bunch of murderous men and women.

The job of a mercenary was to kill, to capture, and or dispatch; not to be told to behave as if they were children. A true mercenary was battle hardened and prepared to do anything at all times. After her speech silence followed. There were no questions needed to be asked, and Merces stepped forward again. This single pace removed all distance between himself and Max. He did not bother to speak until he gave her a “formal greeting”. In front of his fellow “hounds”, Merces leaned forward and gave her lips a gentle kiss.

“I cannot say the same. You seemed like the type to be battle hardened and ready to kill. Only a true mercenary is capable of saying such a thing about themselves. After all, a few nights ago you proved to me just how ferocious you can be.” Mercy spoke hastily, and turned only to notice that their fellow mercenaries began to depart. However, there were two horses left behind, and Mercy glanced at Max only to cut their reunion short. “We have to go... I will see you there.” Mercy spoke as he leapt atop the horse and set off behind his fellow hounds.

Getting atop the horse was difficult, he found the foot-holds awkward and strange. The horse saddle felt odd to say the least, and he continued to bounce as he leaned forward. The moment he secured his position atop the horse; he adjusted himself. Although he had never ridden one on his own; they had a tendency to beat up a males genitalia if they were ridden incorrectly. Following his position being secured, he grasped hold of the leather strap attached to the back of the horses head only to give it a whip-like motion. The horse set off, and he followed the others through the entirety of the bumpy ride to come.

Boxcode credit: Yolande

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[Max]

She was beginning to feel more acclimated to her task again. It was necessary. After all, Dana didn't even have enough faith in her merit that her being there was out of anything more than pure desperation. That notion was one that seemed to be shared by the other Hounds. When their gazes fell upon her out of curiosity, they were brief and dismissive. One even dared to lean over to another, whispering something into his friend's ear to elicit a booming laugh from the man. As always, Max would have something to prove.

Yet when Dana's call for questions was met with silence, Merces stepped forth to plant his lips against hers. They were gentle and warm. No more did she need to let memory serve as a reminder of his touch. When he pulled back to speak to her, however, the only expression he'd notice he'd left on her face was anger. The two other mercenaries shared a laugh. No doubt what Merces had just done had validated their previous joke at her expense. If her once-lover hadn't immediately followed up his kiss with praise one might've mistaken for genuine respect, Max might've decked him right then and there. Her dark eyes followed him as he mounted a horse. Maybe she still might. Max adjusted her jaw and wandered to the last remaining mount available.

It just had to be a horse. We couldn't just take a ship.

Looking up at the horse, she realized she was squared to execute a task more daunting than she'd realized. The horse was appropriately the smallest of the lot. Getting up on it would be easier than one of the large beasts another Hound had chosen. Deduction alone helped her figure out the hanging stirrups and the saddle's horn were likely designed to help her rise. The Rusalka placed her left foot on the horse's left stirrup. Her hands reached up to clasp the saddle horn. Then, with some mental coaxing, she willed herself upright on the saddle after a third attempt. The horse stomped impatiently while its brethren trotted ahead. Max grasped hold of the reigns.

"Uh," she murmured, looking down at her black mare. "Go. Forward!" The animal tossed its head and lazily went to grazing. Apparently this wasn't going to be as easy as it looked.
"Gently kick your heels against its side," Dana instructed, exasperated from the sidelines. "Steer with the reigns." Max flashed him a false smile of confidence and tightly gripped the reigns. Then, as though she had a clue what she was doing, she kicked her heels against the side of the animal...launching it into run that nearly unseated her.

Shit, shit, shit!

She bumped along the saddle, hands unsure whether clutching the horn or the reigns was a better bet. The mare raced past the other Hounds through Almund's streets, sending pedestrians practically diving out of the way to avoid being trampled. Oh, how clear it was that she'd taken smooth sailing for granted all along when this was the landlubber's alternative. Before she passed the city gates and the loitering merchant that must've been Edmond, Max gave a firm backward yank on the reigns. The horse obediently stopped only to rear up, which promptly threw the rider into the mud. The two other Hounds came to a stop, both of their armored bodies practically doubled over the saddle with laughter. Max ignored the ache of the fall and rose to her feet, wiping a speck of mud that managed to land upon her tongue. Edmond raised a brow.

Yeah, Merces. Look at me. A real fucking killer.

"You lot from The Kennels?" Edmond asked.
"Aye," one of the other Hounds confirmed when he could breathe again. "All four of us."
"Bollocks," Edmond muttered to himself with a shake of his head. "Well, two horses pulling a wagon is better than one I suppose. Here." The merchant hopped off his large covered wagon to take the reigns of Max's horse. "I'd rather have a sword sitting next to me anyways. Just promise you wield that thing better than command a ride, yeah?" If there was a big hole she could've crawled into right then, she would've buried herself alive in it. Edmond set to hooking the black mare up beside a brown stallion ahead of his wagon. Technically, it was more than likely he owned every horse they were using anyways.

"So, Hounds," Edmond began to instruct once he was in the driver's seat and clutching the reigns. "I reckon this'll be an easy job for us all, but you can never be too careful. That's why you're all here. You're the mercenaries, come up with a formation to keep me and my Nels secure for the duration of the trip. Let's get a move on." Max avoided Mercy's gaze and leaped up to take a seat beside Edmond. She kept her hand on the hilt of her sword and eyes on the horizon, practically praying for Chrien to screw their luck if only to grant her the opportunity to fix her suffering image.

[Mercedes]

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Trembling hands had been the direct result of having held on to the leather straps in order to secure his position atop the horse. While the others seemed to ride comfortably atop their steeds, Merces did the exact opposite. He hardly managed to uphold himself with the indefinite number of turns. Whilst one of the members of the mercenary “party” confirmed that the group was with “The Kennels” the “leader” of the group requested a formation. Merces did not question it, and paid close attention to their surroundings. Why did the kennels send two new members out to escort cargo, especially when it was precious? Their job was to ensure his safe return, and in spite of Mercy being incredibly arrogant; he knew the limitations of his skill. He was no fighter, and could hardly stand in a fist fight against another unarmed opponent, let alone an armed one with common sense.

The sorcerer listened to each and every word that exited Edmond's lips. He stated that he carried nels, and something more in the wagon. He steered the horse a the vanguard of the “formation”, and made a comment not taken too well by Mercy. “Promise that you wield that thing better than command a ride” had been all Merces needed to hear. Maxine was no whore, and certainly did not deserve backlash for his choice to kiss her. The sorcerer would not sit idly while another individual; especially a male mouthed off to her. His level of frustration increased drastically, and without hesitation the entirety of his attention had been directed at Edmond.

“I don't give a fuck who you think you are, I don't care what you are carrying. If you ever speak to her like that again, you will find bandits are not the only worry you will have on this journey. I will burn you until your flesh separates from your bone, Edmond.” Mercy spoke without a care for who had an opinion about it. Although Maxine was more than capable of fighting her own battles; Mercy did not believe a man should be so crude to a woman. Although he had a tendency to do just that, and deliver a brutal choice of words; he did not do such a thing without reason, as Edmond did.

Mercy would more than willingly kill Edmond if the opportunity arose. People like Edmond were the reason that men were seen as pigs. He deserved to die, and although they continued to move into position for battle; his gaze never left the merchant. Merces assumed a position directly behind the wagon; he was not physically stout. However, he could unleash deadly attacks from the back of the formation while the others occupied opponents.

The entire time they moved into position, Merces wondered what was in this wagon worth protecting. Why should he not kill the remainder of the party and take the loot for himself? What would stop him? Who would stop him? Edmond was the scum of idalos anyway, he deserved to die, right?

Boxcode credit: Yolande

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[Max]

Stupid, stupid, stupid! You don't need Merces to undermine you, you do it all by your gods damned self!

Max was entirely invested in the torture that was her own mind. Her idiocy was playing on repeat: the way she lost control of the horse and how it tossed her like a rag-doll into the mud. Earning Dana's trust seemed impossible. She was stuck in her own cycle again. No matter how hard she tried to excel and find her niche, it was never good enough. Always she was falling self short even when she managed not to self-sabotage. The only merit that perhaps kept her in the employment of The Kennel was her ability to keep her mouth shut despite a brief beating. That, Gibney had reminded her, was simply a skill no man could teach.

Out of no where it was Mercy's voice that raised in venomous tone to shift her image. Maxine looked up from her boots with a raised brow, as did nearly everyone else in their small company. The two other mercenaries exchanged nervous glances but made no move to challenge Mercy's bold words. The Rusalka couldn't decide whether she wanted to admonish Mercy with a reminder she could damn well defend herself, or to tear him down from his horse with more than a peck to his lips. The middle ground she chose was stunned silence.

"Fucking gods man," Edmond scoffed. His face turned red. "I was referring to the damned horse." One of his fingers released its curl to gesture at the black mare now presently hooked up to the wagon. The merchant looked about the lot of mercenaries charged with protecting his life and cargo. "Dana and Gibney can expect a word from The Guild. Easy job or not, I expected a little more professionalism from The Kennel...even for mercenaries." He shook his head and gave the reigns a flick. The start of the horses caused a minor jerk of the wagon as it began to move. "Let's just make this quick and painless as possible, yeah?" While Edmond focused on wielding the wagon through Almund's gates, Maxine eyed Merces with a neutral expression. The other two mercenary men took initiative as the evidently most senior in their guarding party. They raced ahead to ride in a pair on the path ahead of the wagon, leaving Merces to bring up the rear.

Breaks passed without incident. Once in a while one of the mercenaries leading the pack would let out a stiff laugh as they joked to pass the time. Max did her best not to fall asleep to the lull of the ride and Edmond's talking. Gods could the man talk.

"...and then, if you can believe it, he says to me, 'we can't, there's been a mismanagement of the fleet.' Isn't that crazy?" Edmond practically shouted in her ear, effectively rousing her from daydreaming.
"Yeah," she prompted with little interest, though the merchant needed no encouragement to continue his rambling.
"I says to him, I says, 'but this is a trade best done by ship and safer that way too, sir! Surely we can wait until one from the fleet returns!' You know what he says to me?"
"No."
"He says to me that I don't understand business, that if we delay the consumers won't be happy, and yadda yadda! Those tight-arsed pricks from The Guild never listen to Old Edmond."

I can't. I just---I can't.

She didn't give two shits about drama in the Merchant's Guild or why they were out on their current errand. At this point all she wanted was to get paid and be done with it all. All she wanted was to focus on not royally screwing the gig up, and if she sat next to the jabbering man a moment longer, she feared she'd be driven to permanently silence him. Certainly that was an outcome that would color Dana darkly disappointed.

"Protocol says I should lend a second pair of eyes to our back," Max lied to the man and rose from her seat. "I'll be back up front in a while." Despite the shakiness of the wagon, she managed to duck inside its cover. When her eyes adjusted to the dim light she recognized a large chest. It was worn, especially on the corners. No doubt it had exchanged hands many times. Curiosity drove her to crouch before it. Quietly, she unsheathed her sword and tried to pry the lid open enough so that she could see inside. Alas, as she should've guessed, the lock left it firmly closed. She scowled. Then the wagon bumped, nearly throwing her off balance, but betraying a sound from the chest that was practically music to her ears.

Nels. Lots and lots of Nels.

Maxine sheathed her sword and continued on so she could seat herself on the back edge of the wagon. For a bit she merely watched him as he rode, letting only the snort of horses and labored turning of wagon wheels persist between them. What was there even to say if anything at all? Moreover, where would she even start? She didn't need to ponder longer. She knew.

"You shouldn't have done all that," Maxine began. "Kissing me...and defending me I mean." She shifted in her seat. One of her hands reached up to grab the post of the wagon to ensure she didn't manage to fall off this ride as well. "You make me look like what they already think I am: a liability, like I'm another fragile little damsel in need of rescue. We ate, we drank, we fucked. I'm not your girl. I don't need your protection." Her words were sharp but not in a way that seemed to intend to inflict injury. There was anger, there was bitterness, but the stone-cold resentment that should've been there simply wasn't. Up ahead one of the wagon's horses stirred and attempted to grind the wheels' rolling to a sudden halt. Edmond grouched and prompted the animal with the reigns, cursing foully though the animal indeed relented to his will.

[Mercedes]

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The sorcerer had only just begun the process of loosing the anger from his system, when he noticed Max fall back alongside him. Mercy paid close attention to just what-ever could be in that chest of wonders. If this were a chest full of nel; a stealthy enough bandit could swipe the nel and run away effortlessly. Why hire escorts to guard cargo when the cargo was exposed, and practically visible from behind? This mission became far more suspicious to Merces with all of his analyses taking place simultaneously. Why bother hiring only four guards for such a large amount of nel, and if the guild used open path-ways to trade goods, and currency how did they survive? They obviously had no true need for mercenaries, and could take care of themselves. The sorcerer while lost in thought tuned in to the voice of Max.

While she spoke at first he did not pay any attention, but what he did pick up on were bits and pieces of information. She was not happy with him rising to defend her; rather than letting the men behave like children. What else was he supposed to do in the face of fools? A mission was no laughing manner, and any of them could be killed in an instant. If he truly did carry a large amount of nel, treasure, or anything else in between; being loud was not optional. An enemy could have heard the loud screech of the wagon from several paces away. Merces could hear the mention of a mismanagement of the fleet from behind the wagon. Surely if anyone else had been around they could hear the loud cacophony of voices.

Maxine proved herself to be a good liar, as this mission had no “protocol”. Yet, there she was alongside him on the far end of the wagon. She was correct, he did not have to kiss her, but he wanted to. He did not have to defend her, but the fools gave him no other option. Was he supposed to sit idly in the face of adversity, and allow wrong to be done continuously? Mercy refused to watch a woman be attacked, whether that be physically or verbally by another man. She went on to state a multitude of other things, such as the events prior to this meeting. Yet, what he heard that echoed through his thoughts for several bits had been

“I'm not your girl, I don't need your protection.” Had she truly just said that?

“I'm not your girl, I don't need your protection.” What did she just say?

“I'm not your girl, I don't need your protection.” Mercy became furious in what could be called a split-trill. The flame in his irises flared momentarily, and with a sharp turn of his head; the sorcerer stared at her with a look of malice. He drew a breath in slowly, and without hesitation; in the most hushed, yet audible tone possible he spoke.

“I do not care about a title, and you know just as well as I do that you are no fucking liability. If the other hounds think such a thing they are pigs. Just like that fat fuck over at the front of the wagon. No one has an opinion that should matter to you as much as your opinion of yourself! Imagery means fucking nothing! Will an image save you from anything? No it will not!” He voiced aloud and the conversation had been cut short by the sound of an obvious struggle. Loud curses, scowling and yelling took place simultaneously. The sound of blades colliding, hooves of panicked horses, and neighs put him on high alert in an instant.

They were being attacked, not only attacked but overwhelmed by a small group of common thieves. The group of enemy combatants were armed with nothing more than tools of the poor. One carried a hoe, and wore tattered cloth clothing. The other had been somewhat armed with a long-sword and somewhat heavy chain mail. Another armed with nothing more than a hoe, and leather armor. The assumption Merces made, was that they should have been easily dispatched.

Yet, this was the opportunity Merces had been looking for to begin with. His wish had been granted, almost too perfectly on time. The men forced Edmond off of the steed, and attempted to capture him. While both of the other two mercenaries had been occupied with the two thieves Mercy climbed off of his horse. As he landed the flame from his irises began to dance, and spread around the circumference of his eyes. Although such a thing caused no harm he extended both his arms as he typically would and attempted to attack his opponents with wind.

However, the unintended result of such a thing was that flame exited a few inches away from his palm. The flame curled in an almost snake like manner, and coiled about the circumference of his comrades body rather than that of the thief. Screams exited his lips briefly, and all of the cloth beneath the surface of his mail had been set ablaze. The man looked almost supernatural with the way the entirety of his body seemed to go up in flame. Merces smirked, and the smirk transitioned into a smile as he attempted to direct the fire to leap from the surface of his companions charred flesh. With a slight delay, the flame leapt from one fellow mercenary to the other. A maniacal laugh exited his lips as he watched them both succumb to the effects of the flame. The scent of burning flesh was not a pleasant one, and he looked to max to assist him in completing the remainder of the task.

“That cargo is ours, Kill the thieves.. I will deal with Edmond the legendary cunt on my own. “ Merces spoke as the thieves halted in their tracks; shocked at what they had just witnessed. The sorcerer was supposed to be good, and fight for justice as the average mercenary should. He was supposed to be a protagonist, and only do the right thing at all times, right? Such a question was answerable with a single word, “wrong”. Justice in the eyes of the beholder can mean one thing, but what was justice after-all?

Boxcode credit: Yolande

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[Max]

The man she'd met in the tavern was different somehow from the man trailing the wagon at present. The tavern man had taken her to fine dining at the Sapphire Inn, catered to her every desire, engaged in flirty banter, and satisfied her in a suite he paid for like no lover before him. Yet, above all, he'd seemed far smoother and more calculated then. Little at all seemed to bother him. Now, however, she was beginning to see the chinks in his armor. Merces was really a man with little patience. Little patience for idiocy, for disrespect, for slights against his ego. Maxine didn't really know the man she'd shared a long night with. Not yet. Glimpses of the real Merces, however, were slowly beginning to present themselves.

Maxine stared long and hard at him. The words he said were the sort she'd never heard. He believed she was more than what she appeared. He implied that she had worth, real merit that rendered those that ridiculed her unworthy of sharing even the very same air as her. There was no logical reason evident to her as to why he defended her so fiercely. Nothing came to mind as far as to why he saw it fit to think so highly of her at all. His words moved something within her spirit nonetheless. Never had she been so bolstered before. Not by her friends, not by her caretakers. Not like this.

Edmond's curses turned to shouts of alarm in an instant. Foot steps and shouts emerged from the flanking treeline. Maxine's brow furrowed and she looked to Mercy with wide eyes before darting back through the wagon toward the driver's seat. When she tossed the beige cloth of the wagon's cover aside, she was greeted with an entirely empty driver seat. Her bright eyes glanced down to watch a pair of brigands tug Edmond to his feet in an attempt to drag him toward the tree line. The entire moment felt surreal. Only an idiot would steal from the rich and influential Merchant's Guild. An even bigger idiot would take one of their own hostage, likely for the purpose of ransom. Maxine drew her short sword free from its sheath and looked dumbly out at the fray. Edmond screamed for her help, thrashing in the arms of his captors. The two senior mercenaries were already setting to cutting down the bandits that served to distract them. When Merces dismounted, however, it was he that stole the show.

Forget the bottle careening toward her head that he'd stopped in mid-air at the tavern. With arms out-stretched, her one-night-stand cast a plume of flame into the body of one of their own. Maxine watched in utter horror as the Hound shrieked and clawed at his armor as he tried in vain to put himself out. Merces wasn't done. His hands gestured from the suffering mercenary and seemed to coax the fire to lunge at their last remaining ally. He too was engulfed in a fire as though he had combusted, screaming while the mage's maddened laugh filled the Rusalka's ears.
"No!" Edmond wailed in the arms of his equally bewildered kidnappers. "You mad bastard! They'll cut you down for this! They will!"

Max was paralyzed in place with her sword hanging in her fist at her side. They were dead. The two other Hounds were burned to literal crisps where they laid. The thieves that had been battling them stood over their charred bodies as though frozen. She knew Merces' homicidal orders were intended for her ears. They had been charged by The Kennel with protecting Edmond and his Nels. They were supposed to kill any bandits they came across, not each other. Merces had made it clear that he had alliances on neither side. Unlike the bandits, he was offering no quarter and sparing no lives. Only hers. For now.

Her mind wandered back toward The Kennels. Dana, the gentle, grey giant, was a master she was desperately eager to please. This was her chance. Against his better judgement, Dana had awarded her the opportunity to prove that she was more than an errand girl. Gibney, while he'd tested her with violence, was the man behind the curtain she truly respected most. He was someone she wanted to make proud as one of his loyal Hounds. That was the future she wanted...but that was before her heart was racing in her chest and death was ringing in her ears. That was all before she was left completely alone on the battlefield with an ambitious, arguably insane mage. Before she laid eyes on the man that was threatening everything she wanted, and found her heart skipping a beat instead.

Max dropped down from the wagon and moved toward the two thieves standing dumb-founded over the dead Hounds. They looked from her to Mercy and sprinted into the cover of the forest. Max broke into a run after them, vanishing without once daring to meet Edmond's gaze. No one got far. Instead of finding themselves greeted by a stretch of dense trees, the thieves instead found themselves welcomed by the roar of the ocean beneath a set of cliffs. The water below tossed and turned among a vast collection of rocks rising up from the tide. Max slowed to a walk as she approached her quarry. Her eyes might've been darkening as she acclimated her mind to the butchery to come, but in reality, she was far from settled. She couldn't think. Her peripheral vision was gone. She hardly heard her own footsteps beneath her. It was as though there was only the roar of the ocean in her ears. Everything else felt like it was happening to someone else.

"Bollocks!" the fool with the farming hoe and tattered clothes shouted when the pair reached the edge of the drop.
"Think the bitch can light us up, too?" asked the other wearing leather armor that had clearly been made to fit someone far larger.
"She can't set somethin' wet on fire!"
The pair nodded solemnly at one another before throwing down their crude weaponry. Then, like the confident Biqaj they were, they dove from the cliff toward the rocky inlet below.

Max peered over the edge and waited, practically praying they perished when they breached the surface of the sea. She'd see no such luck. Instead, a pair of heads bobbed up to the surface to battle against the rough waves rolling in to crash against the rocky inlet. Her brow furrowed with frustration and she sheathed her sword. They saw her face. They'd tell everyone how she was with Merces, the mage that single-handedly murdered their gang and The Kennel's precious Hounds. The Elements would come for her. She and Mercy would hang, and that foul end was a best case scenario. There was no way around it. Though they escaped her, these men had to die.

Max looked down at her clenched fists. She let the anger within her rage and roll like the waves down below. Then, when she could hold it no longer, she extended her hands and opened her palms toward the ocean beneath with a yell. Without thunderheads looming above the ocean responded to her spiteful will as though roused to life by a storm. The thieves shouted in confusion while the water tossed them about. An undertow rip-tide tugged them further from shore, harassing them with crushing waves until the turbulent waters neared its peak. Like play-things the agitated water pulled the men under and threw them in every which way without rest. Their bodies broke repeatedly against the rocky surfaces that littered the inlet, beating them bloody until the waves drifted them lifelessly out to sea.

Max fell to her knees with a gasp. Try as she might, her lungs simply refused to suck in air. Her heart was pounding incessantly in her ears. She balled loose gravel up in her fists and doubled over in her fit. Her head felt lighter than the clouds spectating her sins overhead. The feeling of panic was overwhelming, and she felt for sure she would perish right then and there from the unexplainable asphyxiation. Life offered her no such sweet release from what she'd done. Eventually she calmed and breath returned to her. When it did she had but one thought:

Mercy.

It was then that she scrambled to her feet and made her way back toward the wagon. Each step came with a feeling of impending doom. There was no telling what further carnage Merces had created since she'd seen the man last. A large part of her wished she'd never know. Maxine couldn't decide whether she hated him more for what he'd done or for turning her into his unwilling accomplice.

[Mercedes]

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Following the delivery of a direct order to Maxine; Mercy set out to finish the process of elimination. While the not-so well armed thieves exited the scene like jack-rabbits, Maxine gave chase which left Mercy alone with Edmond. The sorcerer took away the lives of two men that may or may not have deserved such a horrid fate. Mercy burned them beyond recognition and with a swift glimpse of both corpses he slowly made his way toward Edmond. What could the consequences of his actions be, and how long would he have to suffer them? Perhaps his tongue should be carved from his skull with one of the weapons left behind by the thieves. He could plunge the long-sword into Edmonds gut, and leave him to die. However, without one recognizable corpse to return to The Kennels with; he could not so much as hope to steal the loot without consequence. Betrayal was a task best left to the professionals, Mercy on the other hand had been an amateur.

As the sorcerer reached the poor excuse for a man he knelt down to eye level with Edmond. He was an elderly gentleman, and on the basis of observation Mercy assumed he was easy prey. Edmond locked eyes with Merces, and took a lengthy gaze. In nothing more than a few trills the merchant came to a grim revelation. The sorcerer did not joke when he mentioned that he had the capability of charring a man to death. His pupils danced with flame like a pair of torches, and with each moment that passed another realization could be made. Zeal compelled Merces to murder the members of his own party; why had Edmond brought such a fate upon himself? The mission could have been carried out peacefully, the thieves dispatched, and the cargo delivered successfully.

However, this pathetic merchant chose to mouth off to Max. Why were men such incompetent, unsympathetic, fools? Edmond deserved Merces righteous retribution, and fell to the ground with a hard thud. Merces spoke slowly, and used a few choice words that made the hair on the back of the old merchants neck stand.

“Death is not the end for you Edmond. I will ensure that for the remainder of your life that you suffer. Much like the population of the poor that you economical giants refuse to feed. Even in death you will remember me, and yet be unable to utter a word about who did this to you. “ Merces concluded his speech, and stood swiftly as his cloak fluttered about in the gentle, cool breeze. The sorcerer grasped hold of Edmonds skull in both hands with a firm grip.

“Burn” The sorcerer spoke as his maw opened wide, and he coaxed out a bit of ether to manifest flame within the mouth of the merchant. Flame engulfed the innards of Edmonds mouth; only to scorch the entirety of it beyond reasonable repair. Following the attempted, hushed screams Mercy stepped away and grasped hold of the Long-sword once wielded by his fellow Hound. The sorcerer approached the merchant again who continued to deliver muffled screams. With a gentle swing of the “Heavy” long-sword, he carved through both the mans irises across the bridge of the nose. Mercy finished the job with a kick to the sternum, and demanded Max's presence to his side.

“Maxine.. Get over here! We have to secure the cargo, and bring back a body for the Kennels. We look roughed up enough. The story is simple, we were ambushed the cargo was stolen, and the remainder of the party killed. The thieves prioritized the cargo, we got away.. You secure the cargo, I will bring back the body myself. You went in search of the Thieves.” Merces spoke aloud

Boxcode credit: Yolande

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