Mri
Apprentice Scribe
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Posts: 207
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Post by Mri on Jul 26, 2010 12:47:23 GMT -5
Only two hours had passed since the Krackatowan Razor had pulled into port at Seacliff baring the passengers Angel had managed to secure onboard with the promise of a payment. It was a well enough sum, though nothing too hefty considering what little they'd parted with, and acted as the facial front to a body of politics - exactly as she needed it. Most of the passengers had departed less than an hour ago and Angel planned on following their trail shortly.
She'd arranged a last meeting date with Tony before they left ship, promising him protection in a list of waters and multiple countries, though never dropping a name or her actual occupation. Dougal was going to skin her alive when she next saw him - if she were to be so lucky. Of course, ditching Rip before that unfavorable event occured could probably save at least some part of her body from being flogged. But, then again, she doubted that particular task wasn't going to be easy. There was something about him that put her on edge...
Angel shook the thoughts from her mind, needing it completely clear in her dealings with him so she wouldn't give away anything that would cause her further harm. She'd leaked too much information already and as she thought back on it, she came to wonder why the hell she'd chosen that path. But, there was no use crying over spilled milk and so there was only one option left - or two if you counted desposing of Rip as one.
Having settled on her course of action, she slid her hands down the skirt of the dress she was considering and checked herself in the reflection. It was plain in its design: fully olive green with the exception of golden hemming and beltline. The skirt swept down to her feet and its sleeves decorated her hands in a V, held by a band on her middle fingers. She'd rather have a dress purely of her own design, but this one would have to act as simple camoflauge until she could access her own wardrobe. Flicking her eyes to Rip she smiled, betting he was probably bored and impatient out of his mind. After all, she'd spent a great deal of time shopping for their journey - or more truthfully, stalling their departure. If she was on his end she doubted she would've been able to stop herself from dragging him out with a knife to his throat.
She wondered briefly, if he'd leave if she took too long, but figured she was wasting her thoughts. Exhaling sharply, she smiled at the dressmaker and paid for the gown.
"Ready to go, love?" she asked Rip with a smile before passing him through the doorway to outside. Not waiting for a reply, she headed off in the direction of Araluen and if she was lucky...well, she never did hold luck in much high regard.
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Post by Tandar on Aug 22, 2010 13:29:34 GMT -5
Sighing inwardly with pleasure, Rip Cannon took his first steps on solid land since leaving the island countless days before. His clothes and skin felt crusty and rough from the accumulation of sea salt, and he imagined he looked like hell. Seacliff was by no means a large city, but at least there were enough shops to satisfy most basic needs.
Angel had already been shopping for provisions and making preparations for their trip. While she headed off to yet another shop, Rip took the opportunity to visit the men’s tailor across the cobblestone street. After browsing the selection of finished apparel for a few minutes, Rip picked out a pair of trousers that appeared to be tan in color, a simple white tunic, and a maroon vest. Requesting a washbowl from the tailor, Rip quickly cleaned himself up and changed into the new outfit. At least he would look somewhat respectable when he met whomever Angel reported to. Rip paid for the clothing on his way out and left the rest of his coins as a tip.
Cannon had lost most of his supplies in the shipwreck. As such, he was ill prepared for a long journey. It was a good thing that Angel had everything covered. As he crossed the street to wait outside the shop she had entered, Rip anxiously glanced left and right just in case she had slipped away while he had been changing. He was relieved to see Angel, wearing a new olive green skirt, standing at the counter inside.
Her attempts to delay the trip annoyed him, but Angel was his only link to the mysterious organization. Rip closed his eyes momentarily and inhaled deeply before releasing the breath. His eyes opened and the pent up anger passed.
“Ready to go, Love?” she asked.
“I am,” he replied with a smile.
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Mri
Apprentice Scribe
:)
Posts: 207
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Post by Mri on Sept 14, 2010 8:40:55 GMT -5
Seacliff was not a large island and Angel figured they'd reach the other side within the hour. From there, they'd set sail for the mainland and though it was a short enough trip, she couldn't help a small feeling of anticipation from leaking through. Hell, if she was lucky, this time Rip wouldn't survive. And to a slightly lesser degree of luck, if he did survive, she wouldn't. Some things really were worse than death and facing Dougal was one of them.
Her lips fell into a flat line at her upcoming future in the Corps - if, and that was a big if, she managed to somehow not get kicked out of it. Or assassinated. She wondered if they plugged up possible leaks that way and truth be told, she wouldn't be surprised if it were true. Of course, it was impossible to stop all leaks, but most of the stories currently curculating only supplied it with an air of mythical legency. Few, if any, actually believed in its existance, let alone all the things it'd done. She however would be more of a threat to its secrecy. Fortunately, she had other options; in no way was she above running to fight another day - or fighting dirty. Real dirty.
Angel shifted the small sac of provisions she bought in town to a more comfortable position and eyed her new companion. "So why the interest anyway? You do know that it won't be easy."
Might as well fish for information. Despite all her experience in bluffing, lying, deceiving, and manipulating, it wasn't like she could squirm her way out of this one. She was bound to be spotted by some secretive operative of Dougal's sooner or later, so it was in her best interest to seem like she had the situation under control. At least her ability to bluff would still work in that event...if there hadn't been one on the ship. Though the SWC wasn't a large band, it was proficient and she had yet to meet everyone and she highly doubted she ever would.
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Post by Tandar on Oct 15, 2010 19:43:34 GMT -5
Rip Cannon took his first steps on the mainland as the pair headed toward Araluen, away from the boat they had just disembarked. Since he had no money left, he let Angel cover their fare. In return, Cannon offered to carry the pack containing most of their supplies for the journey.
He had been quiet so far while they walked. The assassin had been contemplating Angel's question. He was unsure of the answer himself.
"I don't expect it to be easy." He paused as he selected his next words carefully. "I feel like this is the opportunity I have been waiting for. This is a chance to make something of myself." Rip smiled as fond memories flooded his mind. "When I was a kid, I wanted to be a soldier, but when I came of age, I was denied on account of my father. He was still a citizen of Teutlandt at the time, and even though I was born in Araluen, they didn't buy it." Rip chuckled. "They probably thought I was some kind of spy from Teutlandt."
"Why don't you tell me what to expect?"
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Mri
Apprentice Scribe
:)
Posts: 207
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Post by Mri on Oct 24, 2010 18:47:04 GMT -5
"They probably thought I was some kind of spy from Teutlandt."
Of course, that’d be just her luck. She was bringing a potential spy into the corps. Dougal was definitely going to skin her alive. Best not to answer any of his questions until he answered hers to her satisfaction.
“So what are you if not a spy?”
Because he was definitely something. There was no way a regular civilian would know those moves. Just as she was not a simple dressmaker, he wasn't a simple civilian. So what did he do if not spy? He had training and by his previous performance, it was something rigurous at that. Though he kept to the back...didn't put up a protest when she knocked out Rick...So he had little moral issues, or just bigger survival instincts, and probably didn't work alone. So which congregation did belong to? If he couldn't be a soldier of Araluen, there was little chance he was affiliated with a different Araluen-based order. So which country did he work for? Or maybe she was just being paranoid and he just had a rough childhood. Or a military father.
"So what did your father do for a living?"
Still, if she was bringing him back to Dougal best to be as paranoid as hell. For if she let even the smallest knowledge of him escape and it turned out to be dangerous to their incorpation, she could darn well belive there was a 200% chance that she'd be living in such quarters.
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Post by Tandar on Mar 4, 2011 11:17:36 GMT -5
Rip sensed Angel’s unease, but he answered truthfully. “I am—I was an assassin. Now I am looking for work.” He didn’t want to reveal too much about himself, especially since he knew very little about his companion, so he did not elaborate on his past. However, the thought of it brought back painful memories.
Victor led the way to the target location—a two-story house on the south side of town. It would be dawn in a few hours, but most people were still asleep at this time. Rip and Andrew followed in a single file line, their boots barely making a sound on the cobblestone street. The three of them were like brothers. They were close, and Rip couldn’t think of anyone else he would rather have watching his back. The trio worked together and celebrated together. They were inseparable and lethally effective. Their target was a male guard. Supposedly, he was harassing many of the locals and someone got tired of him being around. It seemed like a fairly straightforward job; Rip only had to keep an eye on the street to ensure the night watchman didn’t see them.
The group arrived at the house and Victor tried the door. As expected, it was locked. He motioned to Andrew, who moved up and produced a set of lock picks. After a moment, the simple lock clicked and the three assassins silently entered. They each knew their task since they had rehearsed ahead of time. As Rip shut the door and looked out the window, Andrew and Victor proceeded upstairs. If all went according to plan, the guard would be murdered in his sleep. He wouldn’t even have a chance to make a sound. Rip cocked his ear. He heard muffled noises from the bedroom above him and the sounds of a struggle.
“Rip!” Victor yelled. “Rip, help me!”
Leaving the window, Rip ran to the stairs at the back of the building and ascended to the bedroom. It was eerily quiet and the room was very dark. Through the open doorway, he could see a body on the floor next to the made bed. It struck him as odd that the bed was already made at this hour. “Victor? Andrew?” he called hesitantly. Something didn’t seem right. A lamp flared and Rip could see Victor standing in the corner wielding a short bow with the string drawn back.
He released it, and the arrow struck Rip in the torso, easily piercing his leather armor and causing him to stagger backward, stunned. Victor fired again, hitting Rip just inches from the first arrow. The shot dropped Rip to his knees, and he gasped, struggling to breathe. Victor saw his lips moving and moved closer to hear.
“Wh-why?” Rip managed to whisper.
“I’m cleaning up,” Victor replied. “You and Andrew were becoming a liability. Besides, the pay is better this way.” The corners of his mouth twisted up in a smile.
Rip lifted his gaze to the still body on the floor and saw Andrew’s bloody face. A man approached Victor from the bedroom and passed him a large bag of coins. The two of them shook hands, and then Victor knocked another arrow and fired it into Rip from a few feet away. Rip tumbled down the stairs, breaking off the shafts and landing facedown, unconscious on the floor.
Angel’s voice brought his mind back to the present.
"So what did your father do for a living?"
“He was a shopkeeper. It didn’t pay a lot, but it put food on the table.” He didn’t tell her that he hated his father, that his father had beat him regularly, and that his father shoved him out of his life when he was fifteen.
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Mri
Apprentice Scribe
:)
Posts: 207
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Post by Mri on Mar 9, 2011 17:23:10 GMT -5
"I am..."
Her eyes had flicked toward him as he spoke, narrowed slightly as the words registered. So it was recent, very recent that he had left that occupation. Or maybe he hadn't left at all?
The thought that he had been hired to kill her flashed through her mind before she quickly dismissed it. She would've known if a hit had been called out on her, especially considering her connections. No, if anything, his target would be Dougal...or someone higher. Despite that the civilians believed it to be a fairy tale, or a nightmare depending on their country of origin, the military was another matter. Some had come up against it and though the SWC tried to make sure they left no survivors...well, things hardly ever went according to plan. In fact, if it did it meant you were being set up big time, probably ambushed.
She dismissed the rest of her thoughts, reminding herself to keep focus on him, to read him hard these next few days. So she turned her head slightly back toward him to ask her next question, it being in her nature to look at those she was talking to - this way she could read the first emotions before they tried to hide them.
Anguish. Regret. Denial - though only slightly. Covered more up by a growing hatred.
A look she knew all too well and would have to think on later; right now she needed to know about his father.
“He was a shopkeeper. It didn’t pay a lot, but it put food on the table.”
A statement. Avoid of any caring emotion - love was hard to hide, anger on the otherhand, could be cover up in a number of ways whether it be lack of any emotion at all or behind a smile that never quite reached the eyes. But even if he had put inflection in his voice, his word choice would've given it off.
Bad childhood, aye. He used 'it' instead of 'he' in places where 'he' would've shown care and didn't even bother with 'father,' 'dad,' 'papa,' or any other family name, which would've shown an acknowledged tie. His father wasn't a father in his mind; he was a figure, an 'it,' needed only for the money he provided to his family. He was not respected; he was not loved - at least not by him.
Angel wondered if 'it' had been as bad as hers and then almost laughed at the thought of it. Almost, but not quite. Instead she released the remembered hatred by unconsciously rubbing the right side of her neck. Though once she realized what she was doing she let it drop in disgust. How could he still upset her from the grave?
As she continued to dig into her companion's past, her face went completely emotionless - it being the only way she could confront it without getting lost in her own screams.
"And all you needed was food?"
She wondered if he would tell her or simply deny the abuse because despite if the scars were physical or not, they were there. She could read that his relation with his father wasn't kind, but she had no way of knowing how bad it'd been...as of now. His movements would tell her in time: if he had unconscious habits when he was remembering and he would remember - nightmares did not go away so easily, if he avoided things for seemingly no reason - just as she avoided abandoned places, if he so much as let any emotions or even lack of flicker across his face, she would know. In these next few days as she journeyed with him she would come to know him extremely well, especially with her own experiences to catch the signs.
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Post by Tandar on May 25, 2011 21:54:53 GMT -5
"And all you needed was food?"
Rip ignored the question. After all, she had ignored his. He raised a finger, pointing at a wooden footbridge ahead of them. The bridge provided passage over a deep ravine that would be perilous to cross any other way. Though it was still some distance away, the assassin could make out figures loitering around the structure. "Bandits, most likely. Are you armed?"
He shifted the weight of the haversack onto his other shoulder as they neared the ravine. One of the men blocking their access to the bridge raised an empty palm; his other hand rested casually on an iron shod morning star. The man appeared to be the leader because he was dressed in finer clothing, and he had an air of awareness about him. He bowed his head slightly in Angel's direction as Rip and Angel came to a stop.
"Passage will cost you twenty-five silver per person," he stated. "Pay it, and you can carry your sack over for free."
The other men were sitting around the remains of a fire playing cards and drinking. They began to stand reluctantly and move closer to their leader as they realized a pair of travelers had arrived.
"So what will it be?"
Rip glanced at Angel.
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Mri
Apprentice Scribe
:)
Posts: 207
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Post by Mri on Jun 6, 2011 8:14:02 GMT -5
Angel's eyes narrowed ever so slightly as her companion turned their attention ahead. Despite that they might be heading into a dangerous situation, Rip's change of topic was too coincidental to not be of value - after all, the bandits were still quite some distance away. Her suspicions of an unloved father confirmed, she followed his finger and quickly counted seven humanoid figures standing on the path. Bandits: most likely guarding the bridge.
It seemed the ex-assassin had come to the same conclusion as his words mimicked her thoughts. "Are you armed?"
Unfortunately, the sea had swept away all of her knives and she hadn't enough money to buy another as well as rations, though it wasn't as if she actually needed them to do damage. The only answer she gave him though was a small smile and shake of her head.
Within a few minutes they walked into the bandits' band of arms and Angel received a small bow from their leader. She mentally crossed her arms in a scowl as she realized it as a concealed up-down of her figure, but was wise enough to look like a nervous lady on the exterior as she eyed Rip for silent protection. The man would pay soon enough for she had spent all but three copper in Seacliff and there wasn't a bandit alive who would allow free passage on whichever bridge he called his own.
Angel nervously eyed the other bandits moving away from the comfort of the fire, but all pretense dissolved as she sited the bottles. It was going to be a hassle changing her plans, but oh she would enjoy this. Didn't they know alcohol kills?
She waited for them to get close enough to their leader to be within striking distance, but still too far to offer much assistance on the initial strike before snapping her hand forward in a knife strike at his throat. She felt the crush of his voice box, but snapped a kick into into face as he fell to his knees anyway. Her control was never strong enough where her father was concerned.
A growl issued from her throat as she felt herself falling too far into the haunted memories of her childhood: her father forever drunk, angry, screaming, creeping into her room, reaching, always swinging, and his friends, clients...
She rushed forward in an effort to rid herself of the pain, punching the closest one in the jaw and forcing his head sideways to leave him open to a quick strike to the back of his neck. The breaking of the two disks cut off his air and blood supply, but before he dropped dead to the ground, Angel's foot snapped out to her second target. Her aim was perfect as it crashed into his solar plexus, shoving him into the recently drawn sword of his companion. Angel rushed forward as its holder stumbled backwards in surprise causing him to yet out a yelp as he feverishly tried to rip his sword free in time to defend himself. He never stood a chance as she grabbed the blade from the dead man's belt and slammed it through both its owner and the bandit caught behind him. She jerked it upward, reveling in his gurgling gasp of fading life.
She watched them drop with a wicked smile that resembled more of a snarl before turning to face the other three. They were ready for her now: circling the two newcomers, their swords drown, and their movements the complete opposite of a drunkard. They hadn't consumed enough alcohol to be even close to the swaggering stage yet, but it was too late. To Angel, they all moved as her father did, looked as her father did, and they would all die as her father did.
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Post by Tandar on Dec 28, 2011 12:33:09 GMT -5
Although Rip had seen her fight before, Angel’s lightning fast attack surprised him, and for once, he was thankful they were on the same side. As Faulkner dispatched four of the bandits in rapid succession with the skill of a trained killer, Cannon went for the leader’s morning star, managing to pry it from the lifeless grasp before the remaining three bandits circled them with weapons drawn. Glancing at Angel, Cannon saw the disturbing look of pleasure. His grip on the morning star tightened, and he swung it hard toward her head in an overhand motion. At the last moment, he redirected the weapon to the right, striking the man over her shoulder. The bandit’s forehead took the full force of the blow, the sharp flanges dealing a great deal of damage. The body collapsed to the ground, and the remaining two outlaws rushed in, one aiming at Cannon, the other at Faulkner. Rip blocked the first sword swipe with the morning star, but his inexperience with the weapon prevailed. The second strike sliced open his forearm, causing Rip to drop the morning star and recoil in pain. Bright red blood spurted from the wound, and Rip could see the O-shape of the severed artery. He grabbed his forearm with his hand, trying to slow the bleeding with his palm. As the outlaw moved in for what he thought would be the finishing blow, Cannon lashed out and delivered a swift kick, effectively disarming the bandit. The shortsword flew off to the side, landing point first in the ground. Still holding the cut, Cannon lunged forward and elbowed the man in the abdomen. The bandit doubled over, gasping for air while the assassin used his other elbow to finish with a knockout blow to the temple. Breathing heavily with blood flowing out from between his fingers, Rip looked to see how Angel was faring.
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Mri
Apprentice Scribe
:)
Posts: 207
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Post by Mri on Dec 28, 2011 22:18:42 GMT -5
She faced her opponents with a hungry snear, shifting her weight to ready herself for a multiple rushed attack, when her right shoulder flashed in pain. After processing that it wasn't anything serious she immediately shoved it out of her mind - just in time to counter the man rushing toward her. Unfortunately, he'd only had enough drink to make him more reckless and dangerous. Fortunately, she was used to drunkards...well, unfortunately given the scars she had littered across her back.
She waited until he was only fifteen feet from her and at full charge before lunging toward him, twisting her body to hit the ground in a horizontol roll. The sword she'd stollen from his now ex-companion lay flat against her body in her desire to get as close to her prey as possible, to make them pay for daring to drink while on duty. As she connected with his legs she swiveled her body to arc herself back on her feet to face him. He was already staggering to his knees and elbows when she sent an outward axe kick into the base of his back, fracturing his spine and paralyzing him from the waist down. His scream sent a river of thrill racing through her veins, but her hands were as steady as a painter's as she used both hands to plunge the blade into his left lung before following up with a swift snap of his neck.
Angel wrenched her blade free of his ribcage and took a moment to stand in satisfaction over his broken and bleeding body before turning to face Rip, her eyes immediately going to the blood seeping through his fingers. She then spotted the downed bandit with a look of surprise that quickly turned to a fighter's respect given his current dire condition. Not wasting another thought to it, she rushed towards him just as he began to fall and caught him in her arms.
She hesitated for a second as she considered just leaving him here - after all she didn't know much in the field of saving lives and she had wanted to get rid of him before meeting up with the SWC, but for the same reason she had found herself telling him the truth back on the ship, she found she couldn't. Not like this.
Telling herself she'd leave him with the doctors and head on alone, she lowered him to the ground, swiveled the half-sword back into its proper held position and cut two strips off the bottom of her dress. Thinking it couldn't be much different than killing, just backwards, she applied the first bandage tight above his elbow to put pressure on his brachial artery before turning her attention to the wound itself. Despite her extensive experience with death, at the sight of all the blood her stomach did a nastly flop, shocking her into a momentary stun. Angry at herself that her hands had begun to shake, she quickly shook the thoughts to the back of her mind.
How to stop it bleeding? She doubted simple pressure would do it; he'd cut his radial artery and she had severed enough of those to know he had only two minutes of life at the beginning of the cut. Considering he had passed out roughly thirty seconds ago she figured she only a minute left to administer enough first aid to get him to the next town. Luckily they were just outside of it, having just passed the bridge. It would be a fifteen minute walk at the most - probably a seven minute run even with him to slow her down. There was no way he'd make it if she didn't stop the bleeding. But how?
Going on pure chance and desperate measures, she reached into the cut with both hands' finger tips and awkwardly tied the two ends of the severed radial artery together before hastily applying the other bandage. Knowing there was nothing else she could possibly think of, having already used the unlikely idea, she slung him onto her back by his forearms to levitate his limbs and half dragged, half carried him into town. Within six minutes she was yelling for a physician; two more and she was laying him on a fresh cot and sitting in the chair beside him, refusing all care for the cut on her shoulder.
She had never believed she needed to know how to save a life since all she was doing was destroying, but after today... With watchful eyes she took in everything the doctor did, telling herself that the only reason she wasn't gone yet was because the information was too vital. But even when the doctor left, Angel was still sitting there - dropped supplies and sword forgotten at the bridge.
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Sometime later Ms. Faulkner was sweating almost as profusely as Rip was as she forced herself from the nightwarish memories. She jerked to the side as she realized a body standing over her and though she recognized it as one of the doctor's handmaids she glared waringly at her. The nurse didn't even seem to notice as she applied a bandage to the freshly cleaned cut and practically shoved a glass of water under her nose. Angel sniffed it before raising her other hand to take it and down it under the woman's watchful glare. For some reason she felt an odd stirring in her chest and with a frustrated glare, she shoved out of her chair and headed outside.
There was about an hour until sunset and nothing keeping her from adventuring alone. Still she hesitated before finally walking away from the physician's house and his patient inside.
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