Post by blythe on Oct 6, 2010 18:15:55 GMT -6
PercivalVizharen
The eastern coastline brought many land features, though primarily a long ridgeline. The coast itself was clear of English, but villages needed purging during the trek North. Operations moved with deadly precision as English forces were coaxed west, away from major fortresses along the eastern line. One such fortress was made into a prison. It jut out over the sea as if threatening to purge the world of the vermin posessed within its belly. Percival slowed his horse as he crested a small hill and peered out through the trees to the clearing. "Ah. Our next stop. Have you lot ever heard of Ireland's Butcher?" He glanced between them with an amused expression.
Spectre of Faith
Cassus rode along, chewing on some jerkey, giving a slight nod. "Not much... just rumor and myth mostly." His long gun shifted in his grip as he scanned the prison, "Is the Butcher our next addition?"
The Bean Shidh
Blythe's clothing was stained dark with the blood that she had freed from the bodies of those who she had slain in their progress. The mud-caked cloak looked less like the woodlands and more like a macabre masterpiece as it draped over her small form and the rump of her mount. Hood ever in place upon messy, red locks also served to block out the weather and the chill. Blues scanned the prison as the horse she rode upon was drawn to a halt between Percival and Cassus. Words were not offered from the woman, but she did give a nod to answer their leader's question. Like the lot of them, The Butcher had a reputation that spanned kingdoms.
A Merc For God
"The Lord reminds us to be careful, Master Vizharen. To speak a Death Dealer's name is to invite them to your doorstep." The aging Father halted his steed by the others. He looked far more humble and less threatening, hunched over with age. Old eyes peered from beneath the shadowed brim hat as he awaited their next move.
PercivalVizharen
"That is my intention, Father. This is our next comrade; butcher to the English and martyr to the Irish. This woman held a series of personal battles; alone she was responsible for Lord Macaby's demise, and the dispan of his army. " He smirked, making his horse move ahead at a slow walk. "She's trained by the Irish resistance, an underground force made up of rebel English and native Irish Lords. Bloody background, but I do not know all of the details. The butcher is more a mystery than myth; and her imprisonment only brought truth to her rumor." He continued toward the prison, unafraid of the consequences of being seen. "If we spring her free, we may have the opportunity to enlist her help. Or she'll kill us; so steady your focus."-- Percival raised his right hand, pointing to a high wall. "I have an idea; Cassus do you have a blunderbuss?"
Spectre of Faith
He nodded, shifting in his saddle. "Two actually."
The Bean Shidh
For the moment, Blythe merely listened to the two. Blues remained on the prison ahead as they slowly advanced on horseback. The slight form of the unassuming woman shifted and a glance was sent down toward the priest, but remarkably the Banshee had nothing to say in retort for the time being.
A Merc For God
St. Laz remained silent and followed with obedience. His trust in Vizharen wavered, but he found that this companionship was worth his while. Each member of their party did great things, legendary things, and he knew God had brought them together for this quest.
PercivalVizharen
"Might I use one? I need more gunpowder for this though." Percival slid off the side of his horse and landed with a soft thud. Dressed in black to hide the blood that caked his attire, he was death physically manifested. His grim look was one feared by many who had passed on. From a saddle bag, he pulled a grappling hook free, and tied a line to the front of the iron. He awaited Cassus's Blunderbuss.
Spectre of Faith
He gave a shrug, and pulled one of the mansized cannons out from under his heavy coat, handing it to Percival, along with a powder horn, smirking. "Subtle..." Swinging down from his saddle as he readied his long gun, aiming at the top of the wall.
The Bean Shidh
Blythe remained seated atop her mount, blues dropping to watch Percival and Cass as they readied for what was to come. A small tug was given to the rein of her mount to turn him about and make a small bit of room for the men to do what they did best. In doing so, she repositioned beside the priest, a man who annoyed her more than anything but for whom she would gladly bleed. It was the same for all of them, one could be sure. Alliance born of necessity and insanity.... It was a brilliant and frightening thing.
A Merc For God
The priest was readying for things to come. He watched his companions with a half-lidded gaze before looking skyward, toward the clouded skies. Ireland was cold and wet, but the weather was favorable. He made the symbol of the cross over his chest, then glanced down mumbling.
The Bean Shidh
"Your belief and faith never ceases to astound me, priest." German flowed as if second nature from the woman as she turned her eyes away from the older man and back toward the wall of the prison before them. Lips harbored no smirk or smile, just an unreadable thin and unpainted line.
PercivalVizharen
"Excellent." He slid the hook into the barrel and aimed up. Almost instantly, he fired and watched the hook sail up and over the wall. He slung the blunderbuss and yanked the rope down until the hook locked in place. He turned to Cassus, handing him the weapon. "I will go up first. If I fall to my death, find another way around. If I make it, follow up and find a good vantage of the entire prison. The rest of us will push in to start a riot, and free the Butcher." Percival stared a moment into Cass's eyes before turning without another word. He scaled up the wall as if it were an activity he did every day. When he reached the top, several bodies were cast off the edge to land by the party waiting below. None of which were Percival's. A few moments later, and Percival peered over the edge and waved.
Spectre of Faith
Cass smirked at the comments made by Blythe and shook his head, one last check was given to his rifles and pistols. The double barreled coach gun was hung across the front of his chest, giving a nod. "I would have it no other way." He watched the boddies fall to the ground and started his way up, hopping over the wall and looking around. "I'll be in the west tower." Smirking as he sprinted along the wall to the stairs leading up.
The Bean Shidh
As Talon ascended the wall, Blythe slid from the saddle of her horse, landing with hardly a sound. She was armed just as she had been in their assault on the English sailing vessel and the port they cleansed of the invaders. By the time the bodies were flung to the ground, the woman was standing almost beneath and casually side-stepped one unlucky fellow. Blues followed his fall until his body crumpled with a sickening thud against the ground. With her face as passive as if she were watching a parade, the Banshee merely turned away, grabbed the rope and began scaling up behind the other two. Percival had made it look easy, but Blythe made it look like a work of art.
A Merc For God
"So it begins. I am ready for battle as the Lord guides my hand per his judgement." Turning from Blythe as she ascended, he went to stow their horses. When he returned, he was the last to make it to the top of the wall. He had left his staff below, favoring his sword for this outing. Looking off after Blythe, he followed at a sprint in order to catch them.
PercivalVizharen
Several guards rushed the wall from both sides. Cassus had about six men to deal with, where as the trio working the eastern wall had about eleven. Percival led as the spearhead, and entered the fight expertly. He seemed capable of determining where the leading three men would strike. Side stepping as if it were a dance, he outmanuevered FOUR men, actively engaging all of them with ease. It took him moments to exercise his superior skill with a sword to dispatch his combatants. He moved like a pirate, scaling the rail that separated a long fall into the courtyard from the protective wall. Each man lashed out with their swords but only struck stone as he sliced across the face and leapt back into the conflict like a madman.
Spectre of Faith
Cas smirked, bringing a pistol up in each hand, triggers were squeezed as he kept moving forward, dropping the two closest guards, dropping the pistols and bringing up his coach gun, firing both barrels, sending a spray of shot into the remaining four. Three dropping dead and the last man falling to his knees clutching his throat. The bayonet sprung into position in time for Cass to drive it deep into the mans heart as he started up the stairs, letting the coach gun hand at his side, the long gun was pulled off his back, as he dropped to his knees and slid to a stop against the wall of the tower taking aim into the courtyard below. His first shot shattering a guards skull.
The Bean Shidh
The instant that Blythe reached the top of the wall and had her footing, her rapier and long knife were drawn from their sheaths. Only a second later, she was in motion behind Percival. With expert grace, the woman manuevered her way behind the rushing masses in order to flank them. She was quick, much quicker than most people, and it served to be her advantage in pulling off her feat. Three men found themselves at the mercy of a woman who knew not the meaning of the word. Her blades were swift and cut with deadly precision to drop all three before they ever knew she had flanked them, but their deaths drew the attention of the two closest. The two-on-one sword fight ensued, but the English were clearly outmatched by a woman much smaller in stature than they.
A Merc For God
Which left the remaining two amidst the constant shifting. Raising a pistol from having pulled it from his belt, he aimed and fired the instant he brought it up. The lead ball created a small trail of grey smoke that cut right in front of Blythe's face and caught a man in the head before he would've engaged her. Lazarus took his time to reload the weapon only to fire again in a similar instance. The shot caught the last man in the stomach and pushed him over the protective railing to fall to his untimely demise. Lazarus kept his blank expression as he moved forward, stepping on the bodies of the dispatched to make his way to the door leading into the prison. Before he could get there, another man emerged before Lazarus was ready to fire his weapon. However, Lazarus didn't pause, only continued walking toward him while reloading. A shot from the western side cracked loud, and the skull of the new combatant changed to a red mist that lingered as Lazarus passed the falling body aside. The Lord worked in mysterious ways.
PercivalVizharen
Percival caught a man in a choke hold while fending off another in a sword fight. He twisted, breaking the neck and tossed the body toward the combatant. Instead of backing off to allow him to recover, Percival reached for his pistol, aimed, and fired. The lead ball removed a portion of the man's head, and both bodies fell to the ground pooling in their own blood. Turning, he surveyed Blythe's situation then found Lazarus had taken the lead. Right, to the door. He jogged after him, shoving the empty pistol back beneath his belt. -- Inside they found themselves in the guiards' quarters. It was a mess and smelled like sweat, but a door at the opposite end of the room led down a series stairs which connected with the prison proper. The accomodations for a prison weren't great, which meant the bottom floor was nothing but a community cell.
Spectre of Faith
Cass reloaded and took aim again, the crack of the round from his long gun echoing through the courtyard as another guard fell to the ground. The sound of the door being pushed open got his attention, long gun was cast aside as a dagger was drawn and he spun to the door, driving the steel blade up into the mans ribcage, smirking as he pulled the trigger, discharging the small pistol built into the weapons hilt. Cass sheathed his dagger adn turned back to keep watch over the courtyard, taking shots as needed, laughing a bit at the attempts of the guards to seek cover from his fire.
The Bean Shidh
The heat of the shot that had passed before her was still fresh against Blythe's skin as she surveyed their carnage then set herself into motion after Percival. She strode with purpose but did not run, stepping fluidly over bodies and striding through blood that soaked stones. A brief pause was given at the door in order for the Banshee to cast her eyes toward where she knew Cassus had stowed himself. There was no motion or gestures offered, merely a glance before the woman ducked inside and then allowed briskness to catch her up to the priest and Talon alike. There was a light of mirth upon her features to go along with the madness and bloodlust that had found their home within her eyes so very easily yet again.
A Merc For God
When stepping through the door, Lazarus paused covering the obvious angle that led away from the adjacent door. If someone sprang a surprise attack, they'd be killed with his expert aim.
PercivalVizharen
Percival kicked in the second door and moved down the stairs leaving the priest behind. The quickness of his descent told a story. His team was responsible for the slash and burn war maneuver against nearly all of the southern English forces, and it all came from this unrelentless pace. The lock leading into the dungeon was bludgeoned off the hinge and Percival kicked the door open spilling a pillar of light into the dense, pitch dark prison hold. Bodies of aging men were strewn everywhere, all dying from starvation. He paused.. looking through the dark shapes silently.
Spectre of Faith
As soon as the courtyard was cleared, Cass turned to look out through the fields outside the prison. Smiling as he spotted something in the next tower as he looked back to the courtyard, He quickly displaced from his position and made his way to the empty tower. Once there, he began whistling a Norse drinking tune as he went about loading the cannon he had found.
The Bean Shidh
Blythe followed Percival, which seemed to be a constant for the beautiful but deadly woman. She didn't follow him fully into the dungeon, though, but rather stationed herself at the door should someone come from behind them to investigate. There were no hums or whistles of idleness that she offered, but the woman took the time to casually clean the spattered blood from her sword and the long knife, using an English coat of arms on the wall as her cleaning rag.
PanteraTheron
Glorified light spilled forth, slicing it's route through the darkness of the pit of sorrow. Dank and dirty, dust particles floated upward along with the stench of human waste and dispair. Light snuffling, groans and whimpers of men that had been cut throats and thieves. Now left to die in the forgotten cell. Bodies lay in disarray. Death hung heavy within this cage. Shadows hid well the bodies, when the light finally found its reaching point, it stopped before the last bench against the stone wall. Single dirty bare foot set flat on the ground, when eyes would travel upward, they'd find the slender frame of the Butcher. Tangled mop head of hair hang lifelessly but the narrow fingers were gripping the edge of the bench as the Butchers frame had leaned forward, seemingly waiting. As if she knew.. they were coming. Rasped tone.. cracked forth. " And with guidance of God.. I shall be set free.." Head slowly tipped upward and those once brilliant blues peered through the dirty strands of hair to Percival.
PercivalVizharen
Percival was a tall, slender man with great physique and beautiful qualities; if a man could be beautiful, he was it. His sword took a lean against his shoulder as he indicated to the Banshee the Butcher was there. He had a pirate's way about him, his stance telling the tale of his past, or perhaps what he wanted it to say. "Happy days! The Irish Butcher, in the flesh; I tell ya' my days are getting brighter with each new stone turned." As English as they came, the cokeney accented Percival smirked in the darkness. "On your feet, love. Let us be on our way.."
Spectre of Faith
Cass smiled, carefully aiming the cannon and touched off the powder. The report of the cannon and the impacgt of the cannon ball into the prisons gate shook the walls. Now to be certain the weapon could never be used again, he plugged the barrel and set a long fuse, lighting it as he rushed back to his original firing position, waiting for his companions.
The Bean Shidh
At Percival's gesture toward her, Blythe moved up behind him then to his side in order to look through the darkened room and let her gaze fall on the Butcher. There was no emotion on her features whatsoever, either good or bad, but a single dip of her chin was given in greeting to the woman who they had come to release from her prison. The truth of the matter was, it would be nice to have another among their ranks, but trust was earned with the redheaded wraith of a woman, and this Irish Butcher would be no different than the others had been upon their first meeting. After a moment, the Banshee glanced up toward Percival's features. She then turned and moved back out of the door, her rapier being given a faint, grandiose flick out of idleness.
PanteraTheron
Percivals voice had the Butcher watch him a bit longer, only to shift when the woman appeared. Cool calmness of the proposed insane butcher showed upon the features. Pushing upward, weak from malnutrition, hell, starving. Perhaps a few bugs and lice as well. No telling from this dungeon. It was a slow intent step forward, and then the left faultered slightly. Stancing before the slim frame straightened after a deep breath. Those blues seemed to gleam brightly. Gabran did not trust the English, with their wayward accents. Still, by divine fate, she was being released.
A Merc For God
From down the stairs came the priest, bulky with his religious like attire fitted with carious weapons, he held something dear to the Butcher. He passed by Blythe and came to stand in front of the smaller woman to stare into her eyes. There was a moment they shared then, a burning sensation etched deep and tempered by darkness. His eyes hidden beneath the dark shadow of the large brimmed hat, only his mouth appeared clearly. He was smiling. In german, he said something, but his arms lifted a shield with other more personal items. A weapon, boots, and a few posessions the Butcher may have lost in her capture. He spared her dignity by taking back what was taken from her; perhaps now she would feel her strength.
PercivalVizharen
"The time to leave is now. We will need another horse for our new champion. Banshee, could you get to the courtyard and secure the stables. I am certain our dear friend above is plotting an exit course." Percival glanced about, looking over the suffering bodies all around. This might have been harder had they not driven the English west.
Spectre of Faith
Smiling as the cannon exploded, followed by the powder stores, nearly collapsing a section of the prisons outer wall. A deep breath was taken in as he waited, reloading all his weapons.
The Bean Shidh
"Aye." The rasp of her voice was offered without Blythe looking toward Percival, Lazarus or the Butcher. There was no hesitation in Blythe setting herself into motion shortly thereafter. She would make her way through to the courtyard, deftly cutting down anyone that rested between herself and her goal. Once at the stables, she would again dispatch any guards and even stablehands she came across. If they were English, they were dying this day. Since the four of them had arrived on horses that were secured outside of the prison, Blythe procured a sturdy steed for the Butcher that would serve her well as well as a couple of less-capable animals they could use for pack animals or for emergencies. They were saddled quickly by an expert equestrian and, once ready, led out into the courtyard to await the arrival of the others.
PanteraTheron
Meeting the German speaking man. Gabran stared at him, meeting his eyes, they were light lightening meeting in the middle. If that was possible. A Spark, surge of sort of unseen power in between. Grabbing her things suddenly with such absolute surity, that it was questionable if she had been starved after all. The nasty shift was removed, uncaring for the men to see her naked, she began to dress in her battle wear. Boots jerked on and weapons replaced. The last thing to be set on was the lion head helm. She was quick to follow the small group as it was slipped onto her head, hiding the rest of her features, save for her eyes. Those brilliant blue eyes.
A Merc For God
The father of the cloth watched as she cast off her weakness to be reborn with strength renewed. His smirk straightened, his lips forming a thin straight line as he turn from her and kicked the doors wide to show the grey skies and horses gathered outside. He stepped out, letting the length of his long coat be caught by the cold chilling wind and lift in his wake. Heavy bootsteps sounded against the stone as he drew closer to the Banshee.
PercivalVizharen
Percival watched her out of mild, perverted interest. He wasn't one for temptation, but even the primal calling for man came to him at times. When Lazarus moved off to kick the doors open, Percival lingered inside waiting for the Butcher to follow. "More will be explained once we are away." He did not address her by name or moniker; he was unfamiliar with her preferences. He closed the doors behind them and reached up for a lantern. He smashed it against the prison doors and watched the fire spread. Turning back, he brought up the rear of the group.
The Bean Shidh
Blythe would hand one of the tethers off to Lazarus, effectively giving over one of the lesser horses to him for the time being. The other two were led toward the Butcher. Before the woman the small redhead stopped, the leathers shifting within her hands until she had each horse in control with each hand. At this point, the reins of the fine steed were handed over to her with an almost reverent bowing of Blythe's head. She had a great amount of respect for the woman even if she didn't trust her yet.
PanteraTheron
Lips twitched faintly hearing the crackle of the fire as it spread across the way. Then there came the woman once more. It was something out of the ordinary, but yet who was she to judge. A mere woman herself who led thousands to war and was reason for the fall of many Lords. The rein taken, she stepped on past and quickly mounted the steed. Settling with great ease. Cerulean hues swept from one side to the next, awaiting. Only curiousity kept her in this group for the time being, when they were in a much more suitable spot, she would begin the interrogation.
A Merc For God
Lazarus rode ahead to collect their horses from outside the prison. Cassus was already there, bringing them out to meet with him. All met at the main gate. Lazarus switched horses, and took the time to collect some trinkets from the prison which they could sell. Once settled, he moved at Percival's go.
PercivalVizharen
Easing ahead, he got his horse at the main gate. "We can move to the coastline below. We should a have a camp set up there for the evening." He turned to the Butcher. "Come with us. We have much to discuss."-- If the butcher came, it only took a hour to make it to the camp. Defensive positions from very able-bodied men were manned with scouts looking down from over the peaking penilulas. A series of small tents were erected for the soldiers and 'Lords' of Percival's force. Each member, the butcher included, could find a comfortable place to rest their head. At the center of the camp was a larger tent where Percival remained; waiting for everyone to meet. It was late evening, and a light, cold rain had begun. The sound of which was soothing.
The Bean Shidh
As they all met at the main gait, Blythe tethered one of the extra horses to her own and began to shift their carried belongings to ease the burdens of their reliable mounts. Once everything was settled, she moved out with the others, sharing nary a word throughout the time it took to arrive back at camp. When they arrived, the woman took her time to change out of her bloodied clothing and give herself a sort of sponge bath. New clothes were pulled on and the horses fed before Blythe headed toward the central tent and the man she followed almost blindly into death's wake each and every day. Banshee did not bother to rap against the canvas of the tent when she arrived; she merely made her way in out of the cold rain and paused a few paces in to get her bearings on the inside of the tent.
PanteraTheron
Gabran followed. Silently so. Keeping council within her own mind. When they arrived to this camp, it wouldn't be put past the woman to explore her surroundings. She disappeared for a long period of time. Some would fear she left, but she reappeared. Cleaned up, her hair was chopped once more to that short style. The Lions Head helm cradled under her arm as she entered the meeting place as where the others were. Taking a stance across the way, facing the entry way and those within this powerful, secretive circle of warriors.
A Merc For God
The last to attend was the father himself. Without his hat, he appeared to be an aged man well into his late fifties. Scarred by age alone, he looked nothing of the dangerous sort, but his silence bode others to think otherwise. He placed himself in a seat and stared at Gabran intently. Cradled in the palm of one hand was his pipe, and he methodically puffed with patience.
PercivalVizharen
Percival was there, in another addition of the tent. When he stepped in he appeared the same as when Gabran had met him. He brought a pale hand up to tuck his hair back while he began a slow approach to the table. Up close, the man looked incredibly dangerous. Every item attached to his various belts or sword harness was used in the killing of men. The spots around his knuckles indicated he was a veteran; scarred tissue made his knuckles seem slightly disproportionate. He looked as if he would speak, but instead he shut his mouth and looked right at Gabran with burning dark eyes. The expression on his face wasn't discernable, making it impossible to see what he felt. After another moment.. he broke the silence. "I imagine you have some questions.."
The Bean Shidh
Blythe moved from where she stood, each motion graceful and oddly silent. She was far smaller than everyone else here, but she carried that same look about her that they did. She was lethal, plain and simple. Within a moment, she was sitting in a vacant chair, her legs extended before her and ankles crossed idly. Red-capped head was given a small roll from one side to the other as she loosened the muscles of her neck, but when it righted again, her eyes fell immediately on the Butcher. Yet she remained silent, which seemed to be a reoccurring theme for the woman.
PanteraTheron
Again, there was narrow in those blues, slight pinch at the brows gave way of slight annoyance of the accent. "You have brought me here. You tell me what you want of me" That Irish accent thick. She did not seem to shift in her stance as she simply stared upon Percival.
PercivalVizharen
"I need your help." He spoke plainly, raising a hand as if to draw out the scenario for her. "I am in pursuit of a great organization that believes itself invunerable. At its head is a deadly man who nearly killed me, and tied to him is the fate of thousands of innocent people." He waved his hand back, gesturing toward the others. "We are all people of reputation. Flawed and legendary in skill, I sought each person out. The Bean Shidh, or the Scottish Banshee. The most notorious spawn of a witch's curse deep within the rural Scotland regions. Slayed hundreds, scared thousands." He pointed to the read head. "The most lethal of any hunter I have ever seen, her skill is unmatched." He moved along the table, patting Cassus on the shoulder. "The Roman Specter; a ghost some say. Others believed him a group of riflemen seeking vengeance on the treacherous. He is the most accurate musketeer in the world; he is recorded to have been apart of several armada encounters that ended before ships ever came within cannon range. He killed admirals on stormy waters from across the sea; battles won with a single shot." -- He stopped at the father. "Saint Lazarus of Heidelburg, German. Given unofficial saint-hood by the commonfolk when he lashed out against murderous travelers, smiting them with the strength of God. He is the judgement of His almighty in Germany, a true believer." Percival took a post at the head of the table, crossing his arms. "I am Lord Percival Vizharen, Butcher of Sleat, and most wanted fugitive of Avaria. I am a Talon, sworn to the peaceful resolution of humanity, and soldier against the unseen."
The Bean Shidh
Blythe dipped her chin in a nod at the introduction given to her, but she remained otherwise silent and unmoving.
PanteraTheron
"Who is this man you hunt?" She took account of each he introduced. Their legends, she was well known of them. Many myths and legends. Still, Gabran seemed unmoved by the fancy words. She honed in on Percival as he spoke his own title and his dealings.
PercivalVizharen
"An assassin who shapes the world's governments. He has more resources than my order, and has the Pope under his thumb. If you ask for a name, I cannot provide one. I have only seen him once and it nearly cost me my life."-- He took a deep breath, remembering the piercing ice cold water he'd been tossed in when his failed assassination attempt went crazy. "I understand you. I understand what you stand for, but your war.. your battle wain's. Good English purge the bad from Ireland as a measure of good faith in a new rekindling of alliances. Permit me, if you would, a glimpse into your past. How did you end up in that prison?"
PanteraTheron
Piercing stare upon the englishman. He was pissing her off unintentionally. The clouds rolled into her eyes at his question. That was the burning question of the lifetime for her. How did it happen? Where did she go wrong? She was sure, felt it in her bones, the betrayal of someone close to put her away. To make her look much like a heretic. "I give you no permit" Simply stated. Should he have any try to do so again, she'd be one pissed off lioness.
PercivalVizharen
"Hm yes, the bitter tone. I understand all too well I think. If I were to make a leap of faith, I would say.. betrayal. Now.. before you spring to attack.. know that I can help you; we can help you. Our resources are meant for just this. Seeking out the treacherous and making them pay!" He took a deep breath, daring and scary. "The only thing I ask in return is your help. What better cause to help millions rather than hundreds? To truly stand for something which will remain immortal beyond our time. We all carve our fate with the tips of our swords; what keeps you from making a masterpiece of your own? Hm?"
PanteraTheron
Again! He spoke again! Had he nothing more to do but go on about the past. It caused her hand to tighten about the blade at her sword belt, though she stayed it. " I will go along. For now. " She had to make that abundantly clear. Her help will extend as far as she felt she was on the right path, as much as she'd hate to admit it, through the stony stare of the St. she felt is finding her way once more.
PercivalVizharen
"Very well. What shall we call you?" He uncrossed his arms, seeming unaffected by her display of apprehension when he dared. Percival was arrogant to a fault, and persistence was a dominating trait of his. However, he took her temporary oath as a small victory for now. He figured that future persuasion would be needed, and he began to calculate their next move.
A Merc For God
Saint Lazarus stood from his seat, having heard enough for now. His persistent stare broken when Percival posed his inquiry. The pipe was pulled from his mouth, and he reached for his hat to make his way out. Soft, long gray lengths of aging hair moved when the rainy wind touched them, and he paused outside to put his hat on.
The eastern coastline brought many land features, though primarily a long ridgeline. The coast itself was clear of English, but villages needed purging during the trek North. Operations moved with deadly precision as English forces were coaxed west, away from major fortresses along the eastern line. One such fortress was made into a prison. It jut out over the sea as if threatening to purge the world of the vermin posessed within its belly. Percival slowed his horse as he crested a small hill and peered out through the trees to the clearing. "Ah. Our next stop. Have you lot ever heard of Ireland's Butcher?" He glanced between them with an amused expression.
Spectre of Faith
Cassus rode along, chewing on some jerkey, giving a slight nod. "Not much... just rumor and myth mostly." His long gun shifted in his grip as he scanned the prison, "Is the Butcher our next addition?"
The Bean Shidh
Blythe's clothing was stained dark with the blood that she had freed from the bodies of those who she had slain in their progress. The mud-caked cloak looked less like the woodlands and more like a macabre masterpiece as it draped over her small form and the rump of her mount. Hood ever in place upon messy, red locks also served to block out the weather and the chill. Blues scanned the prison as the horse she rode upon was drawn to a halt between Percival and Cassus. Words were not offered from the woman, but she did give a nod to answer their leader's question. Like the lot of them, The Butcher had a reputation that spanned kingdoms.
A Merc For God
"The Lord reminds us to be careful, Master Vizharen. To speak a Death Dealer's name is to invite them to your doorstep." The aging Father halted his steed by the others. He looked far more humble and less threatening, hunched over with age. Old eyes peered from beneath the shadowed brim hat as he awaited their next move.
PercivalVizharen
"That is my intention, Father. This is our next comrade; butcher to the English and martyr to the Irish. This woman held a series of personal battles; alone she was responsible for Lord Macaby's demise, and the dispan of his army. " He smirked, making his horse move ahead at a slow walk. "She's trained by the Irish resistance, an underground force made up of rebel English and native Irish Lords. Bloody background, but I do not know all of the details. The butcher is more a mystery than myth; and her imprisonment only brought truth to her rumor." He continued toward the prison, unafraid of the consequences of being seen. "If we spring her free, we may have the opportunity to enlist her help. Or she'll kill us; so steady your focus."-- Percival raised his right hand, pointing to a high wall. "I have an idea; Cassus do you have a blunderbuss?"
Spectre of Faith
He nodded, shifting in his saddle. "Two actually."
The Bean Shidh
For the moment, Blythe merely listened to the two. Blues remained on the prison ahead as they slowly advanced on horseback. The slight form of the unassuming woman shifted and a glance was sent down toward the priest, but remarkably the Banshee had nothing to say in retort for the time being.
A Merc For God
St. Laz remained silent and followed with obedience. His trust in Vizharen wavered, but he found that this companionship was worth his while. Each member of their party did great things, legendary things, and he knew God had brought them together for this quest.
PercivalVizharen
"Might I use one? I need more gunpowder for this though." Percival slid off the side of his horse and landed with a soft thud. Dressed in black to hide the blood that caked his attire, he was death physically manifested. His grim look was one feared by many who had passed on. From a saddle bag, he pulled a grappling hook free, and tied a line to the front of the iron. He awaited Cassus's Blunderbuss.
Spectre of Faith
He gave a shrug, and pulled one of the mansized cannons out from under his heavy coat, handing it to Percival, along with a powder horn, smirking. "Subtle..." Swinging down from his saddle as he readied his long gun, aiming at the top of the wall.
The Bean Shidh
Blythe remained seated atop her mount, blues dropping to watch Percival and Cass as they readied for what was to come. A small tug was given to the rein of her mount to turn him about and make a small bit of room for the men to do what they did best. In doing so, she repositioned beside the priest, a man who annoyed her more than anything but for whom she would gladly bleed. It was the same for all of them, one could be sure. Alliance born of necessity and insanity.... It was a brilliant and frightening thing.
A Merc For God
The priest was readying for things to come. He watched his companions with a half-lidded gaze before looking skyward, toward the clouded skies. Ireland was cold and wet, but the weather was favorable. He made the symbol of the cross over his chest, then glanced down mumbling.
The Bean Shidh
"Your belief and faith never ceases to astound me, priest." German flowed as if second nature from the woman as she turned her eyes away from the older man and back toward the wall of the prison before them. Lips harbored no smirk or smile, just an unreadable thin and unpainted line.
PercivalVizharen
"Excellent." He slid the hook into the barrel and aimed up. Almost instantly, he fired and watched the hook sail up and over the wall. He slung the blunderbuss and yanked the rope down until the hook locked in place. He turned to Cassus, handing him the weapon. "I will go up first. If I fall to my death, find another way around. If I make it, follow up and find a good vantage of the entire prison. The rest of us will push in to start a riot, and free the Butcher." Percival stared a moment into Cass's eyes before turning without another word. He scaled up the wall as if it were an activity he did every day. When he reached the top, several bodies were cast off the edge to land by the party waiting below. None of which were Percival's. A few moments later, and Percival peered over the edge and waved.
Spectre of Faith
Cass smirked at the comments made by Blythe and shook his head, one last check was given to his rifles and pistols. The double barreled coach gun was hung across the front of his chest, giving a nod. "I would have it no other way." He watched the boddies fall to the ground and started his way up, hopping over the wall and looking around. "I'll be in the west tower." Smirking as he sprinted along the wall to the stairs leading up.
The Bean Shidh
As Talon ascended the wall, Blythe slid from the saddle of her horse, landing with hardly a sound. She was armed just as she had been in their assault on the English sailing vessel and the port they cleansed of the invaders. By the time the bodies were flung to the ground, the woman was standing almost beneath and casually side-stepped one unlucky fellow. Blues followed his fall until his body crumpled with a sickening thud against the ground. With her face as passive as if she were watching a parade, the Banshee merely turned away, grabbed the rope and began scaling up behind the other two. Percival had made it look easy, but Blythe made it look like a work of art.
A Merc For God
"So it begins. I am ready for battle as the Lord guides my hand per his judgement." Turning from Blythe as she ascended, he went to stow their horses. When he returned, he was the last to make it to the top of the wall. He had left his staff below, favoring his sword for this outing. Looking off after Blythe, he followed at a sprint in order to catch them.
PercivalVizharen
Several guards rushed the wall from both sides. Cassus had about six men to deal with, where as the trio working the eastern wall had about eleven. Percival led as the spearhead, and entered the fight expertly. He seemed capable of determining where the leading three men would strike. Side stepping as if it were a dance, he outmanuevered FOUR men, actively engaging all of them with ease. It took him moments to exercise his superior skill with a sword to dispatch his combatants. He moved like a pirate, scaling the rail that separated a long fall into the courtyard from the protective wall. Each man lashed out with their swords but only struck stone as he sliced across the face and leapt back into the conflict like a madman.
Spectre of Faith
Cas smirked, bringing a pistol up in each hand, triggers were squeezed as he kept moving forward, dropping the two closest guards, dropping the pistols and bringing up his coach gun, firing both barrels, sending a spray of shot into the remaining four. Three dropping dead and the last man falling to his knees clutching his throat. The bayonet sprung into position in time for Cass to drive it deep into the mans heart as he started up the stairs, letting the coach gun hand at his side, the long gun was pulled off his back, as he dropped to his knees and slid to a stop against the wall of the tower taking aim into the courtyard below. His first shot shattering a guards skull.
The Bean Shidh
The instant that Blythe reached the top of the wall and had her footing, her rapier and long knife were drawn from their sheaths. Only a second later, she was in motion behind Percival. With expert grace, the woman manuevered her way behind the rushing masses in order to flank them. She was quick, much quicker than most people, and it served to be her advantage in pulling off her feat. Three men found themselves at the mercy of a woman who knew not the meaning of the word. Her blades were swift and cut with deadly precision to drop all three before they ever knew she had flanked them, but their deaths drew the attention of the two closest. The two-on-one sword fight ensued, but the English were clearly outmatched by a woman much smaller in stature than they.
A Merc For God
Which left the remaining two amidst the constant shifting. Raising a pistol from having pulled it from his belt, he aimed and fired the instant he brought it up. The lead ball created a small trail of grey smoke that cut right in front of Blythe's face and caught a man in the head before he would've engaged her. Lazarus took his time to reload the weapon only to fire again in a similar instance. The shot caught the last man in the stomach and pushed him over the protective railing to fall to his untimely demise. Lazarus kept his blank expression as he moved forward, stepping on the bodies of the dispatched to make his way to the door leading into the prison. Before he could get there, another man emerged before Lazarus was ready to fire his weapon. However, Lazarus didn't pause, only continued walking toward him while reloading. A shot from the western side cracked loud, and the skull of the new combatant changed to a red mist that lingered as Lazarus passed the falling body aside. The Lord worked in mysterious ways.
PercivalVizharen
Percival caught a man in a choke hold while fending off another in a sword fight. He twisted, breaking the neck and tossed the body toward the combatant. Instead of backing off to allow him to recover, Percival reached for his pistol, aimed, and fired. The lead ball removed a portion of the man's head, and both bodies fell to the ground pooling in their own blood. Turning, he surveyed Blythe's situation then found Lazarus had taken the lead. Right, to the door. He jogged after him, shoving the empty pistol back beneath his belt. -- Inside they found themselves in the guiards' quarters. It was a mess and smelled like sweat, but a door at the opposite end of the room led down a series stairs which connected with the prison proper. The accomodations for a prison weren't great, which meant the bottom floor was nothing but a community cell.
Spectre of Faith
Cass reloaded and took aim again, the crack of the round from his long gun echoing through the courtyard as another guard fell to the ground. The sound of the door being pushed open got his attention, long gun was cast aside as a dagger was drawn and he spun to the door, driving the steel blade up into the mans ribcage, smirking as he pulled the trigger, discharging the small pistol built into the weapons hilt. Cass sheathed his dagger adn turned back to keep watch over the courtyard, taking shots as needed, laughing a bit at the attempts of the guards to seek cover from his fire.
The Bean Shidh
The heat of the shot that had passed before her was still fresh against Blythe's skin as she surveyed their carnage then set herself into motion after Percival. She strode with purpose but did not run, stepping fluidly over bodies and striding through blood that soaked stones. A brief pause was given at the door in order for the Banshee to cast her eyes toward where she knew Cassus had stowed himself. There was no motion or gestures offered, merely a glance before the woman ducked inside and then allowed briskness to catch her up to the priest and Talon alike. There was a light of mirth upon her features to go along with the madness and bloodlust that had found their home within her eyes so very easily yet again.
A Merc For God
When stepping through the door, Lazarus paused covering the obvious angle that led away from the adjacent door. If someone sprang a surprise attack, they'd be killed with his expert aim.
PercivalVizharen
Percival kicked in the second door and moved down the stairs leaving the priest behind. The quickness of his descent told a story. His team was responsible for the slash and burn war maneuver against nearly all of the southern English forces, and it all came from this unrelentless pace. The lock leading into the dungeon was bludgeoned off the hinge and Percival kicked the door open spilling a pillar of light into the dense, pitch dark prison hold. Bodies of aging men were strewn everywhere, all dying from starvation. He paused.. looking through the dark shapes silently.
Spectre of Faith
As soon as the courtyard was cleared, Cass turned to look out through the fields outside the prison. Smiling as he spotted something in the next tower as he looked back to the courtyard, He quickly displaced from his position and made his way to the empty tower. Once there, he began whistling a Norse drinking tune as he went about loading the cannon he had found.
The Bean Shidh
Blythe followed Percival, which seemed to be a constant for the beautiful but deadly woman. She didn't follow him fully into the dungeon, though, but rather stationed herself at the door should someone come from behind them to investigate. There were no hums or whistles of idleness that she offered, but the woman took the time to casually clean the spattered blood from her sword and the long knife, using an English coat of arms on the wall as her cleaning rag.
PanteraTheron
Glorified light spilled forth, slicing it's route through the darkness of the pit of sorrow. Dank and dirty, dust particles floated upward along with the stench of human waste and dispair. Light snuffling, groans and whimpers of men that had been cut throats and thieves. Now left to die in the forgotten cell. Bodies lay in disarray. Death hung heavy within this cage. Shadows hid well the bodies, when the light finally found its reaching point, it stopped before the last bench against the stone wall. Single dirty bare foot set flat on the ground, when eyes would travel upward, they'd find the slender frame of the Butcher. Tangled mop head of hair hang lifelessly but the narrow fingers were gripping the edge of the bench as the Butchers frame had leaned forward, seemingly waiting. As if she knew.. they were coming. Rasped tone.. cracked forth. " And with guidance of God.. I shall be set free.." Head slowly tipped upward and those once brilliant blues peered through the dirty strands of hair to Percival.
PercivalVizharen
Percival was a tall, slender man with great physique and beautiful qualities; if a man could be beautiful, he was it. His sword took a lean against his shoulder as he indicated to the Banshee the Butcher was there. He had a pirate's way about him, his stance telling the tale of his past, or perhaps what he wanted it to say. "Happy days! The Irish Butcher, in the flesh; I tell ya' my days are getting brighter with each new stone turned." As English as they came, the cokeney accented Percival smirked in the darkness. "On your feet, love. Let us be on our way.."
Spectre of Faith
Cass smiled, carefully aiming the cannon and touched off the powder. The report of the cannon and the impacgt of the cannon ball into the prisons gate shook the walls. Now to be certain the weapon could never be used again, he plugged the barrel and set a long fuse, lighting it as he rushed back to his original firing position, waiting for his companions.
The Bean Shidh
At Percival's gesture toward her, Blythe moved up behind him then to his side in order to look through the darkened room and let her gaze fall on the Butcher. There was no emotion on her features whatsoever, either good or bad, but a single dip of her chin was given in greeting to the woman who they had come to release from her prison. The truth of the matter was, it would be nice to have another among their ranks, but trust was earned with the redheaded wraith of a woman, and this Irish Butcher would be no different than the others had been upon their first meeting. After a moment, the Banshee glanced up toward Percival's features. She then turned and moved back out of the door, her rapier being given a faint, grandiose flick out of idleness.
PanteraTheron
Percivals voice had the Butcher watch him a bit longer, only to shift when the woman appeared. Cool calmness of the proposed insane butcher showed upon the features. Pushing upward, weak from malnutrition, hell, starving. Perhaps a few bugs and lice as well. No telling from this dungeon. It was a slow intent step forward, and then the left faultered slightly. Stancing before the slim frame straightened after a deep breath. Those blues seemed to gleam brightly. Gabran did not trust the English, with their wayward accents. Still, by divine fate, she was being released.
A Merc For God
From down the stairs came the priest, bulky with his religious like attire fitted with carious weapons, he held something dear to the Butcher. He passed by Blythe and came to stand in front of the smaller woman to stare into her eyes. There was a moment they shared then, a burning sensation etched deep and tempered by darkness. His eyes hidden beneath the dark shadow of the large brimmed hat, only his mouth appeared clearly. He was smiling. In german, he said something, but his arms lifted a shield with other more personal items. A weapon, boots, and a few posessions the Butcher may have lost in her capture. He spared her dignity by taking back what was taken from her; perhaps now she would feel her strength.
PercivalVizharen
"The time to leave is now. We will need another horse for our new champion. Banshee, could you get to the courtyard and secure the stables. I am certain our dear friend above is plotting an exit course." Percival glanced about, looking over the suffering bodies all around. This might have been harder had they not driven the English west.
Spectre of Faith
Smiling as the cannon exploded, followed by the powder stores, nearly collapsing a section of the prisons outer wall. A deep breath was taken in as he waited, reloading all his weapons.
The Bean Shidh
"Aye." The rasp of her voice was offered without Blythe looking toward Percival, Lazarus or the Butcher. There was no hesitation in Blythe setting herself into motion shortly thereafter. She would make her way through to the courtyard, deftly cutting down anyone that rested between herself and her goal. Once at the stables, she would again dispatch any guards and even stablehands she came across. If they were English, they were dying this day. Since the four of them had arrived on horses that were secured outside of the prison, Blythe procured a sturdy steed for the Butcher that would serve her well as well as a couple of less-capable animals they could use for pack animals or for emergencies. They were saddled quickly by an expert equestrian and, once ready, led out into the courtyard to await the arrival of the others.
PanteraTheron
Meeting the German speaking man. Gabran stared at him, meeting his eyes, they were light lightening meeting in the middle. If that was possible. A Spark, surge of sort of unseen power in between. Grabbing her things suddenly with such absolute surity, that it was questionable if she had been starved after all. The nasty shift was removed, uncaring for the men to see her naked, she began to dress in her battle wear. Boots jerked on and weapons replaced. The last thing to be set on was the lion head helm. She was quick to follow the small group as it was slipped onto her head, hiding the rest of her features, save for her eyes. Those brilliant blue eyes.
A Merc For God
The father of the cloth watched as she cast off her weakness to be reborn with strength renewed. His smirk straightened, his lips forming a thin straight line as he turn from her and kicked the doors wide to show the grey skies and horses gathered outside. He stepped out, letting the length of his long coat be caught by the cold chilling wind and lift in his wake. Heavy bootsteps sounded against the stone as he drew closer to the Banshee.
PercivalVizharen
Percival watched her out of mild, perverted interest. He wasn't one for temptation, but even the primal calling for man came to him at times. When Lazarus moved off to kick the doors open, Percival lingered inside waiting for the Butcher to follow. "More will be explained once we are away." He did not address her by name or moniker; he was unfamiliar with her preferences. He closed the doors behind them and reached up for a lantern. He smashed it against the prison doors and watched the fire spread. Turning back, he brought up the rear of the group.
The Bean Shidh
Blythe would hand one of the tethers off to Lazarus, effectively giving over one of the lesser horses to him for the time being. The other two were led toward the Butcher. Before the woman the small redhead stopped, the leathers shifting within her hands until she had each horse in control with each hand. At this point, the reins of the fine steed were handed over to her with an almost reverent bowing of Blythe's head. She had a great amount of respect for the woman even if she didn't trust her yet.
PanteraTheron
Lips twitched faintly hearing the crackle of the fire as it spread across the way. Then there came the woman once more. It was something out of the ordinary, but yet who was she to judge. A mere woman herself who led thousands to war and was reason for the fall of many Lords. The rein taken, she stepped on past and quickly mounted the steed. Settling with great ease. Cerulean hues swept from one side to the next, awaiting. Only curiousity kept her in this group for the time being, when they were in a much more suitable spot, she would begin the interrogation.
A Merc For God
Lazarus rode ahead to collect their horses from outside the prison. Cassus was already there, bringing them out to meet with him. All met at the main gate. Lazarus switched horses, and took the time to collect some trinkets from the prison which they could sell. Once settled, he moved at Percival's go.
PercivalVizharen
Easing ahead, he got his horse at the main gate. "We can move to the coastline below. We should a have a camp set up there for the evening." He turned to the Butcher. "Come with us. We have much to discuss."-- If the butcher came, it only took a hour to make it to the camp. Defensive positions from very able-bodied men were manned with scouts looking down from over the peaking penilulas. A series of small tents were erected for the soldiers and 'Lords' of Percival's force. Each member, the butcher included, could find a comfortable place to rest their head. At the center of the camp was a larger tent where Percival remained; waiting for everyone to meet. It was late evening, and a light, cold rain had begun. The sound of which was soothing.
The Bean Shidh
As they all met at the main gait, Blythe tethered one of the extra horses to her own and began to shift their carried belongings to ease the burdens of their reliable mounts. Once everything was settled, she moved out with the others, sharing nary a word throughout the time it took to arrive back at camp. When they arrived, the woman took her time to change out of her bloodied clothing and give herself a sort of sponge bath. New clothes were pulled on and the horses fed before Blythe headed toward the central tent and the man she followed almost blindly into death's wake each and every day. Banshee did not bother to rap against the canvas of the tent when she arrived; she merely made her way in out of the cold rain and paused a few paces in to get her bearings on the inside of the tent.
PanteraTheron
Gabran followed. Silently so. Keeping council within her own mind. When they arrived to this camp, it wouldn't be put past the woman to explore her surroundings. She disappeared for a long period of time. Some would fear she left, but she reappeared. Cleaned up, her hair was chopped once more to that short style. The Lions Head helm cradled under her arm as she entered the meeting place as where the others were. Taking a stance across the way, facing the entry way and those within this powerful, secretive circle of warriors.
A Merc For God
The last to attend was the father himself. Without his hat, he appeared to be an aged man well into his late fifties. Scarred by age alone, he looked nothing of the dangerous sort, but his silence bode others to think otherwise. He placed himself in a seat and stared at Gabran intently. Cradled in the palm of one hand was his pipe, and he methodically puffed with patience.
PercivalVizharen
Percival was there, in another addition of the tent. When he stepped in he appeared the same as when Gabran had met him. He brought a pale hand up to tuck his hair back while he began a slow approach to the table. Up close, the man looked incredibly dangerous. Every item attached to his various belts or sword harness was used in the killing of men. The spots around his knuckles indicated he was a veteran; scarred tissue made his knuckles seem slightly disproportionate. He looked as if he would speak, but instead he shut his mouth and looked right at Gabran with burning dark eyes. The expression on his face wasn't discernable, making it impossible to see what he felt. After another moment.. he broke the silence. "I imagine you have some questions.."
The Bean Shidh
Blythe moved from where she stood, each motion graceful and oddly silent. She was far smaller than everyone else here, but she carried that same look about her that they did. She was lethal, plain and simple. Within a moment, she was sitting in a vacant chair, her legs extended before her and ankles crossed idly. Red-capped head was given a small roll from one side to the other as she loosened the muscles of her neck, but when it righted again, her eyes fell immediately on the Butcher. Yet she remained silent, which seemed to be a reoccurring theme for the woman.
PanteraTheron
Again, there was narrow in those blues, slight pinch at the brows gave way of slight annoyance of the accent. "You have brought me here. You tell me what you want of me" That Irish accent thick. She did not seem to shift in her stance as she simply stared upon Percival.
PercivalVizharen
"I need your help." He spoke plainly, raising a hand as if to draw out the scenario for her. "I am in pursuit of a great organization that believes itself invunerable. At its head is a deadly man who nearly killed me, and tied to him is the fate of thousands of innocent people." He waved his hand back, gesturing toward the others. "We are all people of reputation. Flawed and legendary in skill, I sought each person out. The Bean Shidh, or the Scottish Banshee. The most notorious spawn of a witch's curse deep within the rural Scotland regions. Slayed hundreds, scared thousands." He pointed to the read head. "The most lethal of any hunter I have ever seen, her skill is unmatched." He moved along the table, patting Cassus on the shoulder. "The Roman Specter; a ghost some say. Others believed him a group of riflemen seeking vengeance on the treacherous. He is the most accurate musketeer in the world; he is recorded to have been apart of several armada encounters that ended before ships ever came within cannon range. He killed admirals on stormy waters from across the sea; battles won with a single shot." -- He stopped at the father. "Saint Lazarus of Heidelburg, German. Given unofficial saint-hood by the commonfolk when he lashed out against murderous travelers, smiting them with the strength of God. He is the judgement of His almighty in Germany, a true believer." Percival took a post at the head of the table, crossing his arms. "I am Lord Percival Vizharen, Butcher of Sleat, and most wanted fugitive of Avaria. I am a Talon, sworn to the peaceful resolution of humanity, and soldier against the unseen."
The Bean Shidh
Blythe dipped her chin in a nod at the introduction given to her, but she remained otherwise silent and unmoving.
PanteraTheron
"Who is this man you hunt?" She took account of each he introduced. Their legends, she was well known of them. Many myths and legends. Still, Gabran seemed unmoved by the fancy words. She honed in on Percival as he spoke his own title and his dealings.
PercivalVizharen
"An assassin who shapes the world's governments. He has more resources than my order, and has the Pope under his thumb. If you ask for a name, I cannot provide one. I have only seen him once and it nearly cost me my life."-- He took a deep breath, remembering the piercing ice cold water he'd been tossed in when his failed assassination attempt went crazy. "I understand you. I understand what you stand for, but your war.. your battle wain's. Good English purge the bad from Ireland as a measure of good faith in a new rekindling of alliances. Permit me, if you would, a glimpse into your past. How did you end up in that prison?"
PanteraTheron
Piercing stare upon the englishman. He was pissing her off unintentionally. The clouds rolled into her eyes at his question. That was the burning question of the lifetime for her. How did it happen? Where did she go wrong? She was sure, felt it in her bones, the betrayal of someone close to put her away. To make her look much like a heretic. "I give you no permit" Simply stated. Should he have any try to do so again, she'd be one pissed off lioness.
PercivalVizharen
"Hm yes, the bitter tone. I understand all too well I think. If I were to make a leap of faith, I would say.. betrayal. Now.. before you spring to attack.. know that I can help you; we can help you. Our resources are meant for just this. Seeking out the treacherous and making them pay!" He took a deep breath, daring and scary. "The only thing I ask in return is your help. What better cause to help millions rather than hundreds? To truly stand for something which will remain immortal beyond our time. We all carve our fate with the tips of our swords; what keeps you from making a masterpiece of your own? Hm?"
PanteraTheron
Again! He spoke again! Had he nothing more to do but go on about the past. It caused her hand to tighten about the blade at her sword belt, though she stayed it. " I will go along. For now. " She had to make that abundantly clear. Her help will extend as far as she felt she was on the right path, as much as she'd hate to admit it, through the stony stare of the St. she felt is finding her way once more.
PercivalVizharen
"Very well. What shall we call you?" He uncrossed his arms, seeming unaffected by her display of apprehension when he dared. Percival was arrogant to a fault, and persistence was a dominating trait of his. However, he took her temporary oath as a small victory for now. He figured that future persuasion would be needed, and he began to calculate their next move.
A Merc For God
Saint Lazarus stood from his seat, having heard enough for now. His persistent stare broken when Percival posed his inquiry. The pipe was pulled from his mouth, and he reached for his hat to make his way out. Soft, long gray lengths of aging hair moved when the rainy wind touched them, and he paused outside to put his hat on.