Searching the Streets

[Kamar Deythal]

Kamar stepped out from the Willow Root Tavern into the afternoon sunshine, taking a deep breath. It seemed a little cooler and less bright than when he had entered, and he looked to the sky. Wisps of clouds had begun to form over the city, and a large knot of dark, almost purplish clouds was making an appearance over the horizon to the south.

All of these he noticed in the merest moment. Observation was one of his strong points, and it always helped him with his practice.

He dropped smoothly to a knee in the dirty cobbles of the roadway, holding Lanya Caliope's dropped pack in his left hand. He trailed his right hand over the cobbles, noting that the amount of dirt that had built up showed several footprints in it. His mouth moved silently as he trailed his hand over the cobbles, putting a finger into this footprint, his palm into that footprint. Kamar's back was to the tavern door, so anyone coming from that direction would have to come all the way around him to see what he was doing.

Kamar finished his soundless speaking, and felt the merest tug on his mind as his location spell completed. North-east, he thought. Towards the forest.

Lanya was nearer than he had thought she would be, and she didn't seem to be moving any farther away.

Without waiting for whoever might be following behind him, Kamar started off in the direction his spell told him.

[Anonymous]

Orion had mixed feelings about being sent to watch Kamar. In the end he decided it was for the best. He took a second to wash the cut on his face with some beer and cloth. He gave the guitar he was holding one last look and followed Kamar outside.

It struck him as surreal, how early it still was. Dennison seemed to be studying the ground, when he stood up abruptly and began to walk in a certain direction. Orion quickly matched paces with the man.

"I assume we're going the right way," he asked.

[Lanya Caliope]

She was starting to hyperventilate, which the most distant extremity of her mind knew was a very bad thing. She'd seen this before in other people. Whatever it was, it could be deadly if it continued. Her distant mind reasoned, with complete calm, that she had about thirty or so minutes before she reached the stage where she would lapse into unconsciousness, and then later die.

See?, her brain reasoned. Your throat's starting to close up. You've seen this what, three times? You know what comes next. Soon you won't even feel your arms.

She blinked again, and mused at the blotting of the light as her eyelids closed. Suddenly, she was tired, and all she wanted to do was close her eyes and fall asleep. Only her shrieking reason prevented that, but it was a close call. And keeping her eyes open wasn't helping her mounting headache any.

Slowly, she realized she was in the process of dying. And she became irate. As if some little dagger would do her in. She wasn't even bleeding that much, and yet here she lay, letting the stress overcome her entire body. She was going to let her heart stop beating for this?

Her rationale continued the stream of pokes and prods until Lanya was mad enough to see red. Lying in the street like some dainty little noble who'd never felt pain in her entire life. As if she didn't have a lick of inner strength or resolve. Dammit, she wanted to live.

Her breathing eased and became normal as her mind finally came back into play, reminding her about all the good things that life offered. Music and stories, and the sheer act of living itself. She coughed and winced as the muscles in her back contracted around the knife. Step by step, she took control of her body once again, acting on sheer force of will to pull herself back from the brink of hypovolaemic shock. She was better than a few shivers.

Slowly, she reached a hand back and grabbed the hilt of the dagger, then gave it a tug. Of course it didn't budge - she was still groggy, and her strength depleted. She waited a minute, allowing her muscles time to bunch and prepare, then pulled again, harder. This time, the knife slid out along its path, though she winced at the suction it created inside her. How unbelievably vile a feeling. And people enjoyed causing this in others?

The wound opened fresh, but it wasn't terribly deep. Enough to be sore and take a month or so to scab. But it still bled. Combined with her now-sore and previously bleeding hand, she was a mess. She regretted leaving her pack in the tavern; it held her only change of clothes. This shirt would have to be burned by the end of this ordeal.

She sat up with another cough and pulled the dagger around to the front, to have a good look at it. Now she noticed that Flame lay impaled on the blade. She dropped the dagger in the dirt before her in shock, then grabbed it up again, wrapped her fingers around both the bird and the hilt, and tugged. The wooden robin didn't budge. She tugged again, this time with a small sob, but she couldn't get a good grip due to her sore palm. Flame remained firmly lodged onto the dagger, and, feeling absolutely pathetic, she started to cry to herself, allowing the tears to run unheeded down her cheeks. Of all the magical things, it had to be the little bird she loved...

"Flame, oh Flame, please don't be...dead. Wake up, little wooden bird."

She cupped both dagger and bird in her hands, sniffling over the little thing. The bird neither moved nor chirped. She hadn't thought he could die, being a magical block of wood. But staring down through her tears at the lifeless wood, she realized that whatever magic had kept him animated was gone, perhaps released by the puncture wound through his little robin's breast.

Lanya was still too groggy and disoriented, having forgotten that only a few yards away, a man who wanted to kill her faced a man who wanted to save her. And even if she woke up to reality, what could she do? She was tired, and injured, and her powerful will was starting to drain as the one source of joy remained lifeless in her palms. She was old for a mortal female, and a commoner no less. Unmarried, no prospects or dowry and even a future to speak of. Maybe, just maybe, she should give up the ghost, too.

[Kamar Deythal]

Kamar half glanced over his shoulder at Orion momentarily, but continued his quick pace. People seemed to sense his hurry, and the look on his face made many pedestrians scurry hurriedly out of his way. He was a man on a mission, and nothing would come between him and his prey.

This was Kamar. This was the predator released. He lived by the philosophy that if you weren't a predator, you were food. And he was hunting food.

Brows still furrowed in concentration, Kamar finally answered Orion's question with a smooth lie. "She at least started this way when she left the tavern. I had my hand in her foot print, and it pointed in this direction."

He paused as he reached a corner, quickly feigning looking at the various scuff marks on the ground, then looking up one side street and down the other, then staring straight ahead down the continued road. He stooped quickly, running a hand through the dirt and pointing out another half formed foot print that pointed in the direction he wanted to go.

"This is hers," he said confidently, and it may actually have been for all he knew. He had the rudimentary skills of a tracker, but he often relied on his other skills to track. Besides, only the best of trackers could track in a city, and then only the best of those ever found what they were looking for more than half the time. Kamar found his prey every time.

He stood again and continued on, quickening his pace until it bordered on a trot. His right hand rested at his hip, almost like it rested upon the hilt of a sword. Lanya still wasn't moving, and she was quickly getting closer. She hadn't run as far as he had thought she would, especially with the wolfman following directly behind her. Perhaps she thought she could go to ground right beneath his nose and survive.

A small, grim smile of enjoyment crossed his features, one of such malevolent evil that it caused several people in front of him to run swiftly out of his path, one woman dropping a basket of laundry as she brought her hands to her mouth in a gasp. Even lost in the moment, Kamar was not careless enough to let Orion see his face.

Lanya would be his soon. He could almost taste it.

[Anonymous]

Orion brushed aside the shocked woman from the middle of the street and caught up to Samuel.

"You are a good hunter, I can tell."

The crowd parted for them like water. Orion's face still bore blood from his earlier encounter with the wolf-man. He couldn't see Samuel's face but he was sure that the hunter was near his prey.

"I rarely hunt anymore," Orion said still moving. "I used to hunt game when I was a child, but for a few years I've only hunted men."

"You seem like a good fit for that job."

[Lanya Caliope]

Her vision switched from one haze to another, as the film of shock lifted and left in its place the film of unshed tears. Her eyes continued a steady stream of welling and falling water, but she wasn't a vocal cryer, and she didn't care anyway. Flame was still dead, dead as a doorknob, and now the plump little body even resembled one. She thought that it was good enough quality to make a decent knocker, even, and her imagination drew up an image of Flame with a hunk of solid metal wedged into his back, dangling against a door like a pendulum, weathered on the back from use by visitors.

She shifted her weight and drew her legs around, resting them before her like a lazy child for several moments before slapping her uninjured hand into the ground and shoving her weight up. She kept the bird in her injured fist, since his bulk was easy to grip, even for the sore hand. Her dried blood flaked onto the little wooden body. She thought of old gods and offerings, and wondered if it would work to bring him back. Of course the bird made not a sound.

Time. To. Go.

She stood, groggily, but didn't stumble. She blinked through her filmy eyes at the two men, facing off in the road, and staggered back a few paces. She remembered they were fighting over her, but she couldn't remember why. And she still didn't care.

Cupping Flame protectively to her chest, she turned and began a stagger-walk away, tears still blinding her to her path. An idea had entered her head, the first one in what seemed like hours. She'd once seen a dryad heal this little robin, this little wooden redbreast that she so loved. This dryad had said wooden things, wooden living things, healed better in nature. Maybe, if she took Flame to the forest, he would wake up and draw strength from the earth around him. Maybe some tree would reach down its loving arms and take him up into its branches, take him home where he belonged. Perhaps his little wooden wings would shine in the magic of the noon's sunlight, and suddenly they wouldn't be wooden at all, but real, true feathers, fluttering and fluffing in the breeze. Yes, and then Flame would lift his downy robin's head, and sing a real robin's song, no mere whistle anymore, and fly, fly like a real robin should, like he should've years ago, into the sky and away...

Lanya's thoughts jumbled with the hundreds of stories, myths, and legends which plagued her very dreams. She ran, blind to the real world, surrounded by illusions and fantasies of ideas. But once again, as always before, she ran.

[Lucian]

Cities. Everywhere he went, they shared the same wretched stink, the same oppressive feeling of crowded spaces and tight corners and narrow streets- people with shifty eyes, filthy hands, crooked smiles and dark hearts. Lucian hated cities, and not with a wistful 'oh I wish I didn't have to do this' kind of hatred, but a deep and uncompromised loathing. They were breeding grounds for every kind of indulgence and perversion that he had grown to despise.

The only things he had ever received from cities and their people were mocking sneers, cruel words, unprovoked blows, and disdainful looks. He didn't have to be able to hear them to feel the lash of forked tongues, or hear the empty sound of decay to sense it all around him. In truth, these days the gypsy never entered a city unless it was absolutely necessary. But it had been months since he had last eaten cheese or bread, and while he was quite capable of living on roots and forage, it began to stick in the throat after a fortnight, and it had been four of those since Lucian had been anywhere he could acquire grain or cream.

The dirty cobblestones were warm on his bare feet in the afternoon sun, but he shivered and shot a quick glance behind him. Everything about this place made him cautious, like he could feel eyes watching from the shadows and death lurking in the dark alleyways. It did not help that the broken street made any vibrations he felt come across in a meaningless jumble, rendering him even more vulnerable to surprise. There was rain coming- before he had entered the city he had felt the subtle shift in the wind and the still hush of anticipation from the earth, a stillness that did not require ears to hear it. Again glancing over his shoulder, untamed green-and-gold-flecked eyes darting about, the idea of being caught in the middle of this city during a storm was not an appealing one.

Get the bread, get the cheese, and get ou-

His thought was abruptly interrupted as a person came barreling around the corner, plowing into him in an attacking sprint.

Instinct took over, the shock of the collision forgotten in an instant as Lucian let himself fall backwards, not fighting the energy of the hit but letting his course be naturally altered by it as he arched his back and planted his hands over his head on the street behind him, hand-springing away from his assailant. He landed upright in a half crouch, feeling his anger and adrenaline feed his strength as he balanced in a stance from which he could swiftly react to continued assault from his attacker-

... who was a now-staggering, red-haired woman, obviously not taking the collision nearly so well as he had, blood apparent on her hands and clothes and streaks of moisture down her face.

His anger came to a strangled halt, confusion knitting his brow as his preconception of an attacker roughly clashed with this new scenario of a wounded, incoherent woman, in probable need of a healer. Lucian hesitated, questions cropping up together in a confusing buzz inside his head. Her clothes were dirty like she'd been rolling in the street, sweat standing out on her forehead from shock or excertion, possibly both. He had seen people like this many, many times.

And then one question stood out in his mind, clearing away the others like a large ripple in the water momentarily quelling its brothers;

Why does a hurt, crying woman go blindly running through the streets, unless there is something giving her good reason to do so?

With a sinking sensation Lucian noted that the corner she had just run around prevented him from seeing what could be following. Maybe she had evaded her trouble and was just traumatized. Maybe pursuers were a few seconds away from tearing around that corner after her. Maybe minutes. Maybe she was a criminal fleeing justice.

Maybe she was just insane.

His gut told him in no uncertain terms to turn around and disappear. This did not look like something that he wanted to get involved in, not in the middle of a city not with the rai-

But what if she was really in need?

Gritting his teeth, he knew only one way to find out.

Ignoring the warnings being raised in his head, Lucian straightened and took two full steps that placed him within a meter of the red-haired woman, who had almost recovered her footing, pain clear on her face. She was a trifle taller than he, but he was unfazed as he gently took hold of her arm with one hand to steady her, and the placed the other on the side of her face, turning her gaze to lock with his own.

Her eyes were gold and brown together, watered-over with tears and clouded with hurt. The gypsy stared into her eyes with unwavering intensity as he carefully rasped,

"Why are you running?"

[Kamar Deythal]

The thug shifted nervously, obviously not wanting anything to do with Wolfhound, but just as obviously not wanting to leave while Lanya lay injured and in one spot. He also wanted nothing to do with an angry, disappointed Samuel Dennison.

He took a step forward, a half-hearted attempt at aggression towards Wolfhound. He raised the knife as if to throw, but made no further aggressive movements. His eyes trailed momentarily from Wolfhound to Lanya, who was just now rising from the ground, his knife and what appeared to be a wooden trinket held carefully in one hand.

The thug returned his gaze to Wolfhound, knowing that too much inattention would get him killed. He still wanted no part of a fight with a creature like this.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Kamar shot a glance over his shoulder at Orion, giving him a penetrating look before again searching the streets before him. He grunted a response, then decided to elaborate.

"I have hunted men, and women, for much longer than that. As a bounty hunter, it is much of my job. Should I decide I like this area, I could probably help you track down your friend, Chrishton whatever-his-name-is. You know, the one who recently escaped the guardhouse from under the nose of a battlemage."

Kamar looked back over his shoulder to gauge Orion's response, a small smirk on his face. He turned back forward again as he rounded the next corner. Halfway up the street a crowd was gathering as two men, one obviously much larger than the other, faced off in the middle of the street. A solitary figure was stumbling away from the scene in an almost-run, what appeared to be a woman. Kamar's gaze narrowed as the location spell told him Lanya was on the move again.

"That's her," he hissed, and broke into a run. His cape flapped behind him as he picked up speed, running on the balls of his feet to keep his steps light and silent. He slipped into the shadows on the near side of the street as wisps of clouds began to block the late afternoon sun, turning the shadows deeper. His body seemed to blend with the shadows as he ran, not waiting to see if Orion followed.

Ahead of him, Lanya rounded a corner.

[Anonymous]

There it was again--just like the first time Orion saw Dennison in the Willow Root, again when Orion caught sight of him procuring a knife of a sort from nowhere. The mercenary seemed to half disappear from his sight, the shadows almost embracing the man, urging Orion to pay attention elsewhere. It was almost certainly magic. The truth of the matter was that Orion did not care for magic. He persecuted illegal mages to fulfill the laws of the state, not for any personal dislike. In fact he found it strange that magic was tethered up so in Thar Shaddin, and during his free times had been wondering about it with some zeal.

He caught sight of Wolfhound facing a much smaller man. He repressed the urge to kill Wolfhound on the spot while he was distracted. But had he not been charged with keeping an eye on Kamar, which he supposed was Captain Camulous' intentions for him, Orion would surely have taken the kill. He hid himself behind the gathering crowd and jogged a pace and a half behind Dennison.

"I must confess something," Orion started, controling the volume of his voice so that it would just reach Kamar's ears clearly, speaking as fast as he could without jumbling his words. "I take much joy in the hunt. It is perhaps the only thing that brings me this kind of feeling. Are you familiar with those who call themselves philosophers? They are pseudo-mages, ones who meddle with the nature of reality and knowledge. Some worship magic, others abhor it. They labor day and night with the meaning of life, and death."

At this point Orion could feel the guitar in his hand begin to hum, almost vibrating with some sort of unrestrainable energy. It both surprised and amused him that he could feel such a physical sensation from something so metaphysical.

"I am not a philosopher. We are hunters, you and I. I will tell you something, I think that you possess magic same as that woman around the corner. And I tell you that to deny it is no matter; whether true or not the Captain surely suspects as much. For me I am unconcerned with a beast using the fangs he were given," he paused quickly here, "but only that the hunter be competent to share the game with me."

His final words he threw out just as they turned the corner. "If you are a hunter of calibre, perhaps we will do business again in the future. Take care Sammuel Dennison, that you not find yourself in a compromised situation--it'll be bad business, for both of us."

[Lanya Caliope]

She was moving forward, and moving forward, and gaining speed. And she was gripping her block of lifeless wood and crying, and in her head images of him, a living robin, soaring and twittering and being free skittered across her vision, taunting her with pointless hope. And as she sobbed out her reason, her logic, her knowledge that it wasn't going to happen, that this one last link to a life she'd once loved was gone and would never sing again, she ran smack dab SLAM right into a pedestrian, and stumbled back, and almost fell on her sore and aching back.

But a hand reached out and steadied her, and another hand drew her face into the calm tree-covered mountains of another's eyes, and she felt pieces of her clicking, and others snapping, and she wasn't sure whether she should scream or cry or flinch, or maybe shake him off and yell into his face. But then she realized she already was crying, and she'd flinched out of reflex. Her body had made a decision without her permission. Another decision, made without her consent or approval, and completely out of her control. Her heart broke, again. She couldn't escape this pattern.

And so the eyes he met were panicked due to the situation, but sad. A gut-deep, through and through sorrow that showed in the way she sagged, in the way her eyes dulled and steeled themselves for more pain. She wasn't sure she could take another blow, but her resignation reflected in the droop of her body, in the way the light, and some of the life, left her tired eyes.

She had some difficulty with the question, spoken with such a calm and almost caring manner. But she couldn't believe that, not in this situation, not with these men chasing her, and so she widened her eyes for a moment before turning her face away from those rolling hilltops and the reason they promised. She wouldn't be fooled again. It wasn't worth the inevitable.

I'll bet, she mused, that he's a mage. Wouldn't it be my luck?

His words were harsh due to misuse and careful calculation of sounds; hers were harsh due to resignation.

"Because someone is trying to kill me."

She wasn't shocked by admitting it out loud. She understood what was happening to her, and she'd come to terms with being a mark days ago. But she didn't have to like it.

Kamar rounded the corner then. She heard light footfalls, barely there, and turned to see. And when she realized she couldn't see what she was looking for, she knew who had come around the corner. The moment's sanity had been enough; she didn't want to die.

She sobbed and grabbed the stranger's arm, and began tugging at him as she tried to start running. She didn't want anyone else to die for being in the way, either. Flying sharp objects didn't care who they killed, and this man didn't deserve to die.

"Run, for God's sake, run, and don't ask why."

She dropped his arm, then, and was off, using the full advantage of long limbs. She clutched Flame tightly enough that her knuckles were white - she couldn't stand to drop him behind yet - and made for the woods. If Wolfhound stayed away, his pack might be safe. And besides, she had no other options. Flame needed healing, and somewhere in the forest the answer to her longing waited to work her a miracle. And death itself was on her heels, wanting to spill more of her blood on the road's rough surface.

She wasn't sure she could make it, but she had to try. For Flame.

[Lucian]

For a moment, Lucian thought he had truly seen her spirit. That he had caught a glimpse of the mysterious force holding her body and mind together. It was like a wounded dragon, fierce and vital, but shattered. Let-down, hurt- and afraid. Very afraid.

And then as quickly as he had seen it, it was gone, doubt and resistance raised in those eyes, barring him from seeing any further.

"Because someone is trying to kill me."

Her lips moved fluidly, shaping her words with little accent, making them easily read. While he had sub-consciously been expecting an answer very much like that, seeing her say it made him clench his jaw muscles involuntarily as for a moment he was stuck, halfway between two contrary thoughts.

One: She was telling the truth, and death could be sweeping down on them at any moment.

Two: She was a liar and likely a thief or murderer herself, on the run from justice.

The two could not coexist- if one was true it demanded a completely different course of action than the other. He silently kicked himself for not disappearing in the first place, getting himself to this point where he now felt an obligation to discern the truth and-

But then the decision was made for him as she grabbed his arm and tugged him urgently after her, fear and despair flowing out from her in waves that made Lucian's blood cold. Her mouth moved again, and he struggled to read her lips even as she was looking away from him, breaking into stride,

"... God's sake... run... don't ask..."

On the long, unforgiving road of gypsy living, Lucian had learned many valuable skills for survival. He learned to steal, to hide, to deceive by action. And, as a matter of course for when any of the other three went awry, he had learned to run away.

There was no faking the pure emotion washing out from her like a frigid wave. Instinctively Lucian began sprinting along side her, glancing back over his shoulder.

There was one man, wearing a uniform and armor. Even the brief glance told the gypsy that he was a powerful fighter, not one with whom he would care to melee.

But there was something... else. Not seen. Invisible, and that is what made Lucian quicken to match the accelerating woman. What was not seen was always more dangerous than what could be seen, and he felt the cold certainty in his bones that he was not seeing the greater danger.

The knowledge was not comforting.

The street they were on ran parallel to Main Street, heading roughly North- Lucian knew because it had been necessary to enter Marn from the woods on Main Street, and he had gotten off of it as quickly as possible. As he and the woman sprinted through an intersection where the side street ran across a cluttered alley, Lucian glanced to his left down the alley and briefly saw the wider, more evenly-cobbled surface of Main Street, with people walking on it.

In a side street with no witnesses, anything could happen, he thought to himself. In view of people...

Bare, calloused feet practically skidding as he changed direction, Lucian latched hold of the woman's arm and strained to pull her after him, no slight task as her momentum was considerable and she herself was nearly as strong as he, perhaps equal.

"This street dead-ends! We have to take Main to get to the bridge!"

Merciful gods, it felt like his vocal cords were shredded and on fire from raising his voice to yell. They were damaged to begin with and long sojourns alone in the wilderness kept them in disuse.

She had to follow him. If she ran to where this street dead-ended... well. Lucian would do what he had to in order to make it out alive. He just prayed that he wouldn't have to do so with the knowledge that he had left a woman behind to die.

But survival was paramount.

[Laz]

Wolfhounds eyes flickered between watching the thug and trying to see Lanya out of the corner of his eyes. Although he failed to see her, his sharpened ears allowed him to hear her move. Cursing under his breath as she got up and left the area, he knewhe couldn't follow untill the thug was dead.

Turning around could easily mean a knife in his back, or just as bad, a knife in Lanya's. The waiting game had been played and he could not afford to continue, now he just needed to get out of here, which happened to mean killing the thug.

His eyes flashed a darker shade of golden and his eyes narrowed even more than normal in his transformed state. the daggers in his hands flew towards the thug as he pounced, two more appeared in his hands as he covered the distance between them, it could almost be said he zig zagged, throwing the thugs aim off if he decided to throw a knife back. As the gap was crossed, he ducked down, swinging his right hand knife upwards in an uppercut slash before smashing his left hand dagger at the midriff.

If you were to find time to look into Wolfhounds eyes at that particular moment in time, you would have been shocked, the grit, determination, and anger directed towards this thug he didn't even know was so intense you couldn't describe it.

Wolfhound bega n to pull away after he made his attacks, weather succsessful or not they certainly would have shocked the man, a smirk tugged at the corner of his lips as he felt his wolves come nearer, soon this thug would be dead and he could begin again his hunt for Lanya, after fixing her up he was clean out of ideas though.

[Camulous Smithson]

Camulous reached Main Street on horseback, riding at a full gallop. The captain had watched the sky as it turned so suddenly from clear and pleasant hues of purple and red, to the colourless grays of some rather suggestive clouds. The streets darkened with newfound shadows, only made worse by the city's inadequate electric and torch lighting. Bad omen or not, those clouds weren't going to make his job any easier or his mood any better. If it rained, it would pose a real problem.

Wearing the full armor of the city guard clearly identified him as a member of their ranks. There were no indications that he was in fact their captain aside from, perhaps, the presence he carried with him. Not always visible in this way, his otherwise plain facial features were now marked with the gravity and determination of a proud man with a job to do. A job that, no matter how routine, would be done to the north degree simply because it had to be done and he was responsible for it.

The civilians knew him well enough and watched him when he rode past, making haste for the Willow Root Tavern and the place he had left Orion and Dennison. He had a vague idea in his head where they might have gone, but the rest was up to fate... and fate would comply or he would have a word with it later.

As he approached he slowed down to let another guardsman on horseback catch up beside him. He spoke up over the hoofbeats but avoided yelling for everyone around to hear.

"Somewhere here."

He motioned a circling gesture with his hand to the area just east of the tavern and yanked the horse so it would move, now at a reasonable pace so he could keep his eyes and ears open. There were a number of civilians around, some of whom must have seen where they went.

[Lucas Hild]

Lucas kept pace with Camulous. He watched the man work as he conferred with his men. He could not help but muse at the fact that this is how things worked when a man had a choice in his life's work. When a man's occupation involved magic and generally tormenting other people he couldn't exactly pick a simple road in life. Sometimes it meant servitude, long servitude. Sometimes servitude led to resentment, restlessness, fear...

But Lucas had little to fear. He supposed Camulous feared a lot of things, just nothing he would admit outwardly. He looked fearless now and that was good. He was a good leader. Camulous's reaction to Lucas's earlier remarks had been one of fear. Of course, Camulous feared magic. That was a well-placed fear. Lucas had little doubt Camulous would find more to fear before the day was through.

Lucas tasted salt in his mouth once Camulous had a general location. It wasn't uncommon for him to feel that way when he knew he was about to ride into something unpleasant. His ears would ring slightly and his stomach would turn over with a swift wave of nausea.

He spat on the ground to clear his mouth. It was time to lose himself in the job again. He had told Camulous he wasn't an enemy, this was probably mostly true. Sometimes he thought of himself as his own enemy. There was who-he-really-was and who-he-had-to-be. One couldn't exist without the other and they weren't necessarily one and the same. It was a dangerous dichotomy, one that would surely take him to his grave one of these days.

But not today.

His horse galloped along with Camulous and his expression became more purposeful. He still seemed to look the part of another of Camulous's guards save for the thick battlestaff he wore upon his back. The unusual stone on it appeared dull and lifeless. Lucas knew it wasn't a weapon typically used by the guard, but he was confident and figured that while an element of surprise was nice, if their quarry had an ounce of intelligence, he deserved at least a subtle hint that it would be wiser not to resist arrest.

[Kamar Deythal]

The thug blinked, and Wolfhound was in motion. The first dagger missed high, stirring the thug's hair as it whipped by scant inches from his ear. He dropped as soon as he realized what was going on, but the second dagger from Wolfhound took him high in the left shoulder, knocking him backwards. He went with the momentum, ignoring the pain as he rolled back to his feet, survival instincts kicking in at full force.

The backwards roll saved him from the uppercut slash from Wolfhound, although the thug could barely register the movement. He knew his only chance for survival was to attack, hoping to catch the wolfman by surprise. Even as Wolfhound's left-handed midriff thrust came, the thug, moving more on instinct than any planned maneuver, circled to his left and forward, thrusting his own dagger with his right hand for Wolfhound's stomach. Again the thug was saved by pure luck, but was too intent to realize it. A sharp flash of pain registered in the back of his mind as Wolfhound's dagger cut to the bone, deflecting off the thug's right hip. His only hope for survival was whether his thrust wounded Wolfhound or not.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Kamar rounded the corner, vaguely listening to Orion rambling on. As he came around the corner, he replied in the same loudness and tone as Orion had used.

"You speak too much, Master Black. If you would help, then I will gladly thank you for continuing to push the woman forward, causing her to run blindly. I will ..."

He paused, taking in the new scene as it unfolded before him. It seemed that Lanya had developed another protector, a rather thin, bare-footed young man who was even now attempting to steer her down a side street. Kamar murmured under his breath as a mental map of the city flashed in his mind. The side street would come out on Main, where many people would be around as witness.

Kamar continued to run, reformulating his plan as he followed. He glanced back to be sure Orion was still there, then spoke.

"If you would share this 'hunt' with me, then follow them. That young man is likely now obstructing justice by aiding that criminal, if I understand your laws correctly. We need him to stand aside."

Kamar made sure that nothing in his tone would sound like he was giving a command. Rather, it would sound more like he was making a suggestion. On the run, Kamar eyed up a likely spot, then suddenly put on an extra burst of speed.

Lightning lit the air in the distance to the south, and the rumble of thunder came close behind. The wisps of clouds had turned into something more foreboding, and the air smelled of rain, though it had yet to begin falling.

He leapt just before he ran into group of barrels. His right foot planted and pushed off the outside barrel, causing it to fall. Kamar soared higher into the air, reaching his hands up to catch a sturdy looking rope that was hung between two buildings on opposite sides of this side street, used to hang laundry out to dry. He let the rope slip slightly in his hands, letting his forward momentum carry his body forward and up, releasing the rope as his body was diagonal in the air, head towards the ground. Kamar twisted in midair, rolling from his back to his stomach, and landed on the roof of the next building.

Wasting no time, Kamar stood and began to track Lanya from the rooftops.

Another flash of lighting and rumble of thunder from the distance was followed by a sudden light rain.