Marius lay on the cold cobblestone with the familiar aftertaste of vomit in his mouth. A small puddle of churned food and too much ale lay next to him. He tried to shut his eyes and ignore the pounding in his head, but it was to no avail. Instead he simply welcomed the cool drops of rain as they began to lightly fall on his face. Breathing deeply he heard the square bells ring out for the last time, and an array of cheers followed. Finally night he thought time to go to work.

As he opened his eyes he gazed up at the last vestiges of purple and red streaking across the sky from the Tarnath sunset. It was getting dark, quickly, and he figured he ought to pull himself together. Pub back alleys weren’t exactly the place one wanted to be under the cover of darkness. Not that Marius would be out of his league in a fight. He stood a fairly sturdy six feet tall, and his work kept him in peak physical condition. He might not be as massive as those crazed rhodian fighters, but he still wasn’t the kind of person you’d want to end up on the other side of the table of. Still, he didn’t need a fight right now, and if he stayed here much longer the bandits would certainly come knocking.
Marius wasn’t a particularly flashy man. He had no need for it, and in fact he’d constantly found in his profession that going unnoticed aided him quite a bit. His manner of dress was simple and functional. He wore heavy boots and straight black pants made from an extremely sturdy Callaba tree fiber. His white long sleeve shirt was made of the same fiber, and while they certainly wouldn’t stop a blade, they’d do they’re part to slow it down. He found it a suitable replacement to armor, and it kept him fairly warm during those cold nights in the city. While his clothes could have certainly been top of the line at one point, they were now ratty and worn. His pants were ripped and covered in dirt. His shirt had been torn at the neck into a ‘v,’ and was soiled in stains. The closest thing to flare that he had was the black vest that he wore to try and cover himself.
As he pulled himself to his feet he dusted himself off, and scratched his thick beard, noticing a few small crumbs fall out. He ran his hands through his thick black mop of hair, and tried to get some of the grease and muck out of it. Looking skyward he could see that the rain was beginning to increase. It wouldn’t be long before the storm was upon them. The thunder would mask the commotion perfectly.
He moved to the other side of the alley to pick up his belongings, having been scattered across the ground when the hired help at the pub threw him out the back. Some people in this city just don’t have any manners anymore.
First was his belt. It was a simple affair. It held little more purpose than to support the small four-shot he held in his holster. It was a classic artillery piece from Ryker’s. No more than a quick and bloody defense for the plains. Out there, disagreements tended not to be so honorable. The bronze handle was nothing familiar, and the cord was made from a tight sliver of Maka Tree skin that had been twisted and pulled taught. Inside, the deadly pieces of Chard rock waited patiently in their chambers.
Next came his djerik. About three feet long, and four inches wide the instrument was hand made, carved out of a branch from a Bulsa tree. The long wooden cylinder had five small strings attached at the bottom, all tuned accordingly over a small opening. A number of small holes and pegs adorned the top. Inside the cylinder were a number of intricately carved chambers and pathways, which could be closed or rerouted by the pressing of the pegs or covering of the holes. As the strings vibrations slid through the center, they would eventually emit a brilliant ethereal and strumming sound. They were rare, so it was seldom that people happend to notice the added peg near the hilt.
Finally, his wide rimmed black hat. He pulled it down over his eyes in order to somewhat mask his face.
And with this he stepped slowly out into the crowd that now filled one of the massive squares of Cabnic. A smaller city, Cabnic held only around a few thousand citizens. It lay far enough from the nation capitol of Olivia, that it rarely got caught in its conflicts, though its effects were certainly felt. Poverty was rampant, and if you weren’t able to afford the better life, you were reduced to dealing with the criminal underground and crooked politicians.
Still, Cabnic was not a city without its character, and the Harvest Festival was without a doubt the highlight of it’s culture. Every year thousands of people flocked to the city streets to join in on the legendary drinking and feasting. It was the grande time, and the perfect time for Marius to make a few quick bucks. Lanterns practically covered the square, and despite dal piente rapidly descending, it looked as bright as if both suns were still high in the sky. Fireworks were being launched here and there. A small Tynska band played on a small stage, while a number of tourists sampled local vendors brand new creations. Even as the rain began to pickup and the wind began blowing harder, the festival simply continued on unabated. The starving was over for now. And if that wasn’t sufficient cause to celebrate, then what was?
As Marius moved through the crowd, he remained mostly unnoticed, for that was Marius’ most defining characteristic. He had the innate ability to blend in with a crowd. No would ever think to look twice at Marius. If they happened to, as a rare few had before though, it would be clear that he was not a simple errand boy. He moved with purpose, and weight, as if the great pain of a memory slowly dragged him back. Yet he had resolve, and he let little deter him from making it to the next job. He was a creature of survival, and his gift for this left him cursed.
As he crossed the square a young woman, complete in a large frilly, red dress spun around with the music. Her path took her completely out of the circle until she was disorientated and laughing like a giddy little girl. As she caught her breath she realized that she now stood in the way of the dirty and mysterious man in front of her.
Marius kept his hat down for a moment before lifting slightly to meet her eyes. He reached down and clasped her hand, elegantly bending down and kissing the back of it quickly. He then looked back to her eyes and nodded.
“Ma’m.”
And like that he moved past her and continued to his destination. She watched curiously as he made his way to a large pastel home right on the square.
He banged against the wooden door, and the eye slot was immediately slid open. Two eyes peered out, and Marius responded by presenting his djerik. The slot shut quick, and the door opened with a bang.
Inside a large Marahari man stood at the door as guard, he called down the dimly lit hallway.
“Boss! The entertainment’s here.”
It was mere moments before Bard Gandit, presented himself, bounding down the hallway. A rotund man, Bard had a large beard and balding head. He stepped down the hall shirtless with a goblet in his hand, clearly stumbling from ale already.
“It’s about fucking time!” he roared, “I was told you’d be here while we were still young.”
“My apologies sir,” Marius responded, “I was caught up in the celebrations.”
“Oh just get in here already. My wife’s already half-cocked, and if she doesn’t get some music to seduce her quick, she might actually attempt to fuck me.”
Bard laughed as he stumbled away and back into the main room. Marius made to follow but felt a hand quickly stop him. The Marharian touched his holster and scolded him.
“No weapons inside.”
Marius studied him for a second before taking out the small fourshot and handing it to him. The Marharian smiled as he looked at it.
“Beautiful piece you have here.”
“Well take care of it for me. I’ll be back for it.”
“I’m sure you will,” he laughed.
“That’s a promise.”
With that Marius moved out into the main room. Here he found the party in full swing. A number of greedy old nobles were pawing at the whores scattered about, and servants were throwing large quantities of Lotus Leaves on the fires at the center of the great hall. The hazy smoke scattered about the room, and even Marius struggled a moment to keep his head straight. A feast like he had never seen before was spread across the banquet table.
Marius took no notice of this however. He pulled out his djerik and began to play a slow tune. He milled about the room, providing a kind of brilliant ambience. No one really listened closely to him, rather he registered as simple background noise. He crossed behind Jorge Blantiff, fresh off his most recent scandal. Here he was high as the wind and tightly pressing a prostitute against one of the stone pillars. Krad Aseus, head of the city guard was enjoying a full cooked chicken along with friends, while Nashano Peitt, local family boss was discussing business with another reveler. Professional rhodian fighter Hin Toloku sat in a small private section with a mug constantly full of ale.
With the party in full swing, few really heard Marius’ words as he began to sing.

  Anashia
  Oh my love set me free
  Anashia
  Oh my love, belong to me.

Marius was surprised when he turned to find a white haired old woman standing in the crowd. She wore a long disheka, and carried years of wisdom on her face.
“I knew a man once who sang that song,” she said smiling slightly, “though he has long since departed now.”
Marius bowed in respect of the woman, “Matriarch,” he added as a sign of respect.
“Does my manner give me away as a woman of the plains so easily?” she chuckled.
“I can always recognize a fellow journeyman.”
“Ah no,” she exclaimed, “My journey has long since ended in this city.” He noted a unique expression on her face. It was not disappointment at this fact, but rather contentment. She did not mourn a life not lived, rather she celebrated a life full of memory. Marius always hoped that someday he too would be the carrier of a such a look of contentment.
“As has mine,” Marius stated sadly.
“You! Why you couldn’t be any more than 20.”
“23, thank you Ma’m.”
“Ah!” she chuckled, “You have your whole life ahead of you.”
“That’s just the problem.” The old woman laughed slightly. She looked at him with kind and wise eyes, stating very seriously,
“The plains may be gone, but the journey does not end. Life always finds a way. Be patient, your time is still coming.” And with that she moved away, and left Marius to continue his song.
He didn’t make it far however until he found himself face to face with Martha Gandit. Equally as rotund and inebriated as he husband, she touched Marius’ chest and ran her hand up it.
“You’ve got a great talent with your hands,” she slurred, “And so young and cute.”
“Thank you ma’m,” Marius replied politely.
“My husband hired you correct? What exactly did he hire you for?”
“I’m afraid I’m only paid to play music. If that doesn’t satisfy you enough, I apology.”
Martha looked at Marius for a moment, as if taking a moment to register. Suddenly she started laughing.
“Look at you,” she squealed. “You’re able to tell me to fuck off and still play the polite errand boy.”
“I try not to mince words, ma’m.” She laughed again.
“But why so young and handsome here? Shouldn’t you be out enjoying the celebrations?” Marius smiled.
“Honestly,” he stated plainly, “I’m here to kill someone,” adding a sly smile.
She took another moment to register this statement, before laughing even harder again.
“Oh watch out,” she roared as she stumbled away, “I’ll be back for you.” Marius tried to put the thought out of his head and she stumbled away. He chuckled to himself slightly before returning to his music.
The next few hours passed without incident. Marius made his way slowly around the room about three to four times, watching the festivities surround him. Finally Bard stumbled to the raised platform at the end of the room and bellowed out.
“Alright, shut up everyone!” The entire room quickly grew quiet and turned to face him.
“Ladies and Gentlemen. In the name of the house of Gandit, and the city of Cabnic, I want to say may the Harvest bless you all through this great season of ours. That is unless you plan on competing with me and my interests, in which case I curse every drop of blood that runs in your veins!” The crowd roared at this, with some of the greater men raising their mugs in toast.
“That being said, it’s been a very hard year for Cabnic. We’ve all felt the struggle and stretch that the collapse of the cities trade agreement with Rafe has caused. It’s brought great problems to our doorstep, and as citizens of power it is our duty to repair what we can. I believe that our city may have just found our new crusader, in the form of our newest young councilman! To Counsellor Kantinda Borsky. We are so wonderfully excited to see what new programs you’ll be bringing us this season. I firmly believe the city is in safe hands with you at the helm. Come on up Counsellor!”
A round of applause ushered the unwilling Borsky to the stage. At just 21, Borsky was the youngest man ever elected to office in the city of Cabnic. A brash young man, straight out of university, Borsky had proposed a number of plans designed to eliminate the cities poverty, and rebuild trade agreements. Though inexperienced, his idealism proved charismatic, and he won the election in a landslide victory. Blonde haired, blue eyed, he was the vision of savior that the city needed. As he stood before the crowd, he looked humbled.
“Thank you everyone. If only I could’ve gotten this kind of party at my fundraisers,” he laughed. “I just want to say thank you for choosing me to lead this city into a new day, and more importantly, putting your faith and trust in me. You know, I was born in this city. I remembered the great hall that once housed opera and culture of such talent and beauty. I remember a city filled with coin and stone. I remember a city with pride and ethics. Sadly we have found that scarce as of late. But the one thing we do not abandon, is hope. And I promise, that I will do my best to lead us into a better and brighter future. You believed in me. Now I believe in you”
The crowd erupted in applause and Borsky descended from the steps, and rejoined the party. Gandit stumbled back to the platform.
“Alright!” he roared “Enjoy the debauchery tonight! Tomorrow we have to go back to work!”
The crowd roared in laughter and returned to their activities. They continued to mill about as a line formed to greet Borsky. Dignitaries, merchants, and more lined up to meet the new savior of Cabnic and shake his hand. As they moved slowly through one by one, no one noticed Marius move slowly around the room.
He took his time, making small slow steps. He didn’t move any quicker than he had been moving before, he just kept his focus on Borsky. He slid in between the crowd, passing them all one by one, until finally, he remained only a few steps behind Borsky. He overheard a few campaign slogans and glad handing. Bard stood a few yards off, as Martha attempted to seduce a young servant. He focused his nerves and steadied his concentration. The Lotus smoke had begun to really disorient him, but he resolved his footing and found himself shaking his head slightly. He tried to sober himself up. He had to be clear-minded. He took a few deep breaths as he made his final steps. He always made sure to land on the left foot, this way he could lead the next step with his right. He paused for a moment, directly behind Borsky, and sighed. He took one more breath, before holding it in, and finally pressed the  small bright red peg at the top of the hilt.
The two foot long curved blade modified to hide inside the djerik shot out and impaled Borsky right through the back, spraying his blood onto the floor and guests in front of him. The crowd screamed.  

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

Barton pressed his ear against the heavy wooden door, and strained to make any order out of the chaotic commotion that seemed to be happening out in the main room. His long brown hair brushed against his face. He was a young man, only recently seventeen years old, and his deep hazel eyes attempted, unsuccessfully, to hide his naivete and inexperience. It wasn’t his fault. Despite his bravery in the face of current danger, he had never really been far outside of Jonthill. A smaller village, located on the outskirts of Tynska lands, most people simply lived out their entire lives without ever so much as setting foot outside the factory grounds. Here he was though, charged with a sacred duty, in the middle of a violent city, with what sounded like a massacre happening on the other side of the door.
He looked at his charge, Julien, and tried to steal himself with confidence and strength in his eyes. However his attempt at bravado seemed to do very little to calm her nerves. Barton couldn’t lie to her. That didn’t stop him from trying, but she had known him too long. She remembered when they were kids, and he used to sneak over the walls of the Convent and visit with her. He’d taken more beatings as punishment than anyone else she could remember. But somehow that never stopped him from coming back.
Barton couldn’t help but be impressed as he looked her up and down. She had certainly grown into a very beautiful woman. Her blonde hair hung perfectly down to her shoulders, and her blue eyes were difficult to ignore. At only sixteen, she looked very mature for her age, both physically and mentally, but Barton always loved her face. That’s what drew him in. Her features were well-defined and beautiful. He’d never told anyone, but that’s why he kept climbing over those walls, just to get one more look at that face.
Now here she stood in front of him. She wore a beautifully adorned white dress, but at the moment a large, forest green cloak covered it. Despite the danger that could be on them at any moment, she stood in the small dank room with a steely resolve. She had been taught at a very young age what a powerful tool fear could be. Her great-mother had told her, take that power away from your enemies, and no dignity can ever be lost in battle. An assembled horde could fly through that door at any moment, and she would show them nothing but bravery. Barton loved that about her. But now was not that time. Now was the time for hiding.
“Pull your hood down” he said quietly, “Don’t let them see your face.”
“Let them see it,” she responded.
“They’ll be a time for battles later. Now, you’re under my watch. You need to hide. I’ll do the fighting.”
“You don’t even know how to fight,” she laughed.
“I sparred with the older boys plenty when I was younger.” She cocked her head and gave him a glare, as if to say, don’t be an idiot.
“This isn’t the schoolyard Barton. These people will kill you.” Barton looked back toward the door, and heard a final cry of pain, and a body fall limp. It sounded as if only one person remained. He could hear a single set of footsteps start moving around the building. He heard a few doors kick open here and there, and he knew it was only a matter of time before they would reach them. He sighed heavily and tried to control the quickening pace of his breathing and heartbeat.
“Well then,” he stammered bravely, “I’ll just have to kill them first.”
He drew his small blade and Julien covered her head with the hood of the cloak.
“Whatever happens,” he said, “stay behind me, and don’t say a word.”
The footsteps moved closer and closer. He heard one door open with a start, followed by a struggle. It sounded as if two blades met one another, though one of the opponents was easily bested. More clearly than ever he heard the blade enter into flesh and withdraw. It was a disgusting crunch and squish of a sound, but the thump as the body fell to the floor was far worse. The heavy footsteps began again, and Barton steeled himself.
Suddenly the door flung open with incredibly force. Barton could’ve sworn he heard some of the wood crack and break under the power of the kick that sent it flying in. He raised his sword in defense, ready for the attack, but was instead greeted by a rather strange site. Standing there in front of him was a large warrior of a man, with ratty clothes, a greasy mop of hair, and mangled beard. He wore a wide brimmed hat, hanging around his neck, and far more curiously, held a djerik in his hand, with a small blade protruding, that was covered in blood.
Barton remained tense for a moment. He held the man’s gaze. But the man looked nearly blank. There was something great going on his mind. Confusion? Anger? Bloodlust? He wasn’t sure. All the man’s face gave back was a kind of pretentious smirk. As if a lion was looking at a fly. Barton stared back, his sword raised.
“Who are you?” the man asked. Barton hesitated for a second, trying to work up his courage.
“Who are you?” he replied, “Did you kill those people out there.”
The man smiled slightly, as if just shirking off the question. Barton wasn’t sure why, but this enraged him more than anything he could have imagined. He felt his knuckles clench around the hilt of the sword, and his emotions boiled over. He raised the sword and swung forward, as fast and as hard as he could. Somehow it still wasn’t quick enough. The man dodged the swing effortlessly, and Barton barely had time to recognize what was coming, before the butt of the strong djerik cracked him across the side of the head. He immediately fell to the ground and struggled to regain his awareness. He barely had time to think before the djerik’s blade was mere inches from his face.
“I asked you a question,” the man said. He lifted the djerik high and prepared to bring it down square into Barton’s chest. Barton threw up his arm in a futile effort to defend himself, and prepared for the blow.
But it never came.
Barton removed his arm and looked up at his would be executioner to find him frozen there, with a blade to his neck. At the other end of the blade was Julien, having grabbed Barton’s fallen sword. Her hood had fallen and Barton recognized an expression on her face he had never seen before. She was passionate. She was unforgiving. She was willing to die, but that had always been the case. More than that. She was willing to kill.
“He asked you a question too,” she said coldly, as she flicked the blade to get a better strike on him if necessary, “who are you?”
“Didn’t your mother ever teach you not to play with knives sweetheart?” the man replied smugly.
“No. But she taught me how to gut dirty fuckers like you.” The man chuckled.
“Feisty. Got to love a woman with a little fire.” She remained unamused.
“Answer the question, or the balls come off before your head does.” The man stood hesitantly for a moment, matching her gaze. He flashed her a sign of defiance, but she yielded nothing. Barton couldn’t understand, but the man almost seemed embarrassed.
“I’m no one,” he finally answered, “just tonight’s entertainment.”
“Give us a name.”
He paused for a long moment.
“Marius.”
“And how do we know we can trust that?” she answered quickly.
“I don’t lie sweetheart,” he replied, “I kill. I cheat. I steal. But lying ain’t ever really been my strong suit.” He matched her gaze, and shifted his weight slightly, feeling out the situation. Julien almost felt as if he was daring her to follow through. Had she showed her hand? What did it matter, she thought, let him make a move. Then he’ll find out first hand if I’m bluffing.
“Does my honesty at least win me the courtesy of a couple names?”
Julien waited for a moment, looking down at Barton who was still clutching his head in pain.
“I’m Julien. The boy on the ground is Barton.” Marius laughed at this.
“Yeah, he looks good and comfortable down there.”
“Why you shut your fucking mouth-” Barton hollered immediately jumping to his feet. He made a move toward Marius, but quickly felt the djerik blade between them stop him short.
“Woah, hold on there a moment,” said Marius, unfazed by the blade that jumped back to his throat, “of the three of us in this room, you just happen to be the only one without a means of defense. Meaning that if things go sour, I can make a fairly sure bet that you’d be the first one to hit the floor. So if I were you, I’d just make sure to stay good and invested in the state of our shaking little truce at the moment. You dig?”
“You didn’t answer his second question.” Marius couldn’t help but be impressed by Julien. She was young, but he couldn’t deny that he thought she beautiful, and it wasn’t just her looks. Julien was not the little girl she appeared to be. She wasn’t the damsel in distress. When the monsters came to take her, she would fight until her last breath. That was a characteristic rare in any human being, male of female, and to Marius it was beautiful. He grinned at her.
“Sweetheart. I get hired to do a job. Let’s keep it at that. If it’s all the same to you and that blade there, I’d rather keep my legal and ethical quandaries personal.”
“You got a big mouth,” she snapped back, with a grin starting to match her face as well.
“And you ask questions you already know the answer to.”
Julien smiled at him, and chuckled to herself, holding her ground.
“So now I get one,” Marius said, “What are two kids doing hiding in the back room of Bard Gandit?”
Julien stared back at him, and replied with the same smug expression he had used on her.
“Let’s just say we don’t want to be found. We can keep the issues to ourselves.” Marius laughed loudly.
“With those big ole’ angel eyes you got there, I can only imagine how many men must be looking for you.” Julien held firm for a moment. Somewhat unsure of her next move. Marius simply smiled and laughed back at her. Relenting, she finally returned his manner. She lowered the sword and started to move behind him toward the door, listening to for the world outside.
Barton remained on the ground for a moment, unable to believe the sight before him. The woman he had escorted, known for years, defended only a moment ago with his life, was just letting her executioner go. This was the woman he had been friends with as a child, simply trusting a man with a blade pointed as his chest, not to step forward and end his life.
“Julien!” he yelled.
“Oh relax,” she replied. “He’s not gonna do anything.”
Barton looked back at Marius for a second holding the blade in his direction. The two matched stares for a moment, before Marius finally lowered his blade and stepped off the offensive. Barton relaxed and touch his hand to his head, which was still pounding from the blow. He found a small wooden crate next to him, and eased himself down onto it. Marius peered over at him slightly, trying not to focus.
“Sorry about the head,” said Marius.
“Fuck yourself,” came Barton’s reply.
Marius took a moment to register the shock.
“Such language, for such a young man. Tell me, is your mommy okay with you being out this late?”
“It’s a big stick you got there.”
“It’s a djerik you little prick.”
“You overcompensating for something?” Barton laughed.
“Fuck yourself,” came Marius’ reply.
“Hey!” Julien interrupted the two of them, her ear pressed against the door. “If the two of you would shut up for a second you’d hear the counsel guards breaching through the front doors of the house. Now if you two want to stay here and argue about whose balls hang lower, be my guest. But I’m planning on leaving before they get here.”
“No wait just a goddamn second,” Marius protested, “I don’t have a thing to do with whatever you two are wrapped up in.”
“No,” Julien replied smugly, “But there’s a room full of dead people out there with their blood smeared all over your blade. I didn’t think you was looking to get found either.”
“So.” Marius spat back indignantly at her.
“So we have a common goal,” she replied. “What do you say?”
Marius took a moment mulling over her words. She was right, and he knew it. This was a tough position. He’d been in pickles before. Plenty of them. But those times he always had a friend to help him out. Sometimes he was even alone, but somehow that seemed easier than these two kids he now found himself attached to. He’d kicked in the wrong door, and he could pay for it now. Still, he had to try.
“All right,” he said, sighing heavily, “There’s a back door. I can get us out of it. Does peewee here now how to fight?” Barton turned to him enraged.
“I’ve sparred plenty. Don’t worry about me,” he spat back.
“Great,” said Marius, “Now let’s see if you can kill. I’ll breach the door, and Little Sheeswae there can take the lead. I’ll cover our rear, and call out directions. It’s like a maze in here, so make sure you listen carefully. You do know the difference between right and left, don’t you?”
“What should I do?” asked Julien before Barton had a chance to protest.
“You,” Marius chuckled, “You stay between us.”
“I can fight them too,” she answered incredulously.
“I don’t doubt you can,” replied Marius, “but I only got two weapons.”
Julien took a moment and looked around her. She grabbed one of the wooden crates on the floor, and hefted it to the ground. As it shattered into pieces, she picked up one of the jagged boards, with a nail protruding from it. Marius couldn’t help but smile.
“Gotta love a fighter,” he said, “All right that sound is going to have them here any second. You take the middle, get ready.”
The three quickly filed into rank, forming a straight line in front of the door. Marius took the front, and stepped backed briefly. He shifted his limbs, quickly stretching himself out. He looked over his shoulder at the nervous Barton behind him.
“Ready?”
Barton swallowed hard.
“Ready.”
Marius took a moment, and nodded.
“Left.” And with that he kicked the door with such force that it flew of its hinges and slammed into one of the guards standing right in front of it.
Marius emerged from the chaos with such incredible fury, that the guards barely had time to react before he was on them. The wood splintered and cracked in the door frame around him as he flew from the room, and in one swift motion, tossed his djerik into the air, extending the blade, and with one hand brought it down through the door, and straight into the guard that now lay underneath. He withdrew the blade quickly, and in a swift motion spun it around his head twice, bringing it down each time to slice at the guards directly nearby.
Barton and Julien emerged from the room and ran to the left. This gave Marius a brief moment to survey the room around him. He caught what looked to be about twelve guards, and two officers. There seemed to be more outside, but Marius couldn’t be sure. There was also two men dressed in strange tunics. They didn’t seem to match the counsel colors, as they were completely black, with a strange kind of insignia upon them. Marius barely recognized one of the officers drawing his fourshooter before he could dodge out of the way of the bullet firing at him.
He rolled to the side drawing his own fourshooter and took all four shots in quick rapid succession, before sprinting down the hall after Barton and Julien. He couldn’t see for sure, but it looked like he had taken down two more with the shots. The wood splintered and cracked behind his head as the guards shots narrowly missed him. As he ran down he could hear the rest of the guards now sprinting down after him. In front of him he saw Barton plunge his sword into a guard right in front of him, clumsily and narrowing dodging the guard’s blade as he fell. They had reached a crossroads in the hallways.
“Which way?” Barton yelled back.
“Right!” Marius yelled as he caught up with them. The three turned the corner quickly and started running. Marius waited for a moment, catching the first guard by surprise. He swung his djerik in one spin, catching the guard first across the head with the butt of the weapon, and secondly slashing him across the chest with the blade. He kept running, as an officer turned the corner and shot at him with a fourshooter. The bullet narrowly missed Marius’ head.
“Left!” Marius yelled to Barton and Julien at the next crossroad.
They made the turn quickly, and Barton once again ran straight into a guard. He tried to slow his momentum, which only made him slip slightly. This slip helped him to avoid the swing of the guards blade, and Julien jumped right over him, bringing the nail right down on the guards head. It plunged straight in, and the guard screamed. Barton moved quickly to impale the man, and kicked him off quickly.
As Marius was forced to stop, the officer quickly caught up to him, taking another quick shot. Marius dodged the poor aim easily, and smashed the butt of the djerik into the officer’s face. As the guard started to fall back, Marius grabbed him by his holster, spinning him around and impaling the man from behind with the blade. He withdrew the fourshooter from the man’s belt and then let him fall to the ground.
Barton saw a staircase and quickly ascended, with Julien right behind him. Marius used the corner at the crossroads for cover, and shot at the pursuing troops as they rounded the corner toward him. He caught one guard center mass, and the man fell limp. The rest of the guards took cover, as an officer returned fire, and Marius jumped back behind his own cover.
“Which way!?” called Barton from the top of the stairs.
“Left!” Marius called out. Barton turned to see a short hallway with a window at the end of it. He couldn’t be serious.
“That’s not a door! That’s a window” Barton yelled back.
“Same difference,” called Marius, as he took cover to avoid another shot.
“You’re crazy!”
“Just hurry the hell up!” Barton hesitated for a moment, and then with a small push from Julien, ran full speed at the window. He jumped at the last second and shattered the pane of glass. He fell about ten feet down onto the roof of the one story building below with a thud. Rolling over onto his back in pain.
Julien came quickly behind him, landing just as hard, but with slightly more elegance.
As the guards started to round the corner, Marius took his last shot, hitting one more guard. He then threw the gun to the ground and turned toward the stairs. He ran full speed, as a shot caught the ceiling right above him. He turned left at full speed and leapt out the window. As his body fell limply, he briefly recognized Barton, and Julien, both starting to recover. It was short lived though, as the force of his body’s impact cause the section of roof to collapse, causing all three of them to fall straight down to the ground of the small home below.
The impact of the fall hit Barton hard. He felt the air escape his lungs, and he rolled to his side in pain, trying to stop the spinning in his head. He felt Julien’s hand on his shoulder, as she two tried to stretch out her now sore and bruised limbs. The fall had hurt, there was no doubt about it. But they could hear the guards yelling from the window above, and they knew they didn’t have much time. Marius quickly rolled over and jumped to his feet. He grabbed the two kids with him as quick as he could.
“Move.” was all he said.
He threw open the door, and three all limped out into the massive festival that still filled the square. The rain was pouring now, and the lightning and thunder were pounding the sky above. Still the festivities continued to grow, with large music and hollering. The three found they could barely push their way through the crowd, and as Barton looked back, he could see an entire garrison of guards also trying to push their way through. Thirty, maybe forty strong, they were having trouble, but kept pushing.
Marius led them through what felt like a sea of people, with Julien and Barton both struggling behind to not get lost. For a moment, Barton lost sight of Julien in front of him, and began to panic. He spun around quickly, clutching his throbbing shoulder. He was so deep in now that he didn’t know which way was out. He called out her name.
“Julien!” It was lost in the roar of the crowd. He could barely hear himself, nevermind any response that might come. He started to panic even more. She left me he thought. There was no doubting it now. The guards would catch him and he was going to die. He had to move, but where would he go. How would he get out of the city. His head was spinning, full of fear. He didn’t know what to do.
Finally he felt a hand reach out from the crowd and grab him. He didn’t even have the time to recognize Julien before he felt her dragging him through the crowd. He moved quickly, following her path, which led them to small clearing in the crowd on the outside of the square. Marius was waiting for the thunder, as it cracked he gave the door a kick. Barton looked back, to see the troops still moving through the crowd. They seemed to have lost them for now. Julien remained concentrated on breaking down the door, and when the next thunder crack came, she also kicked along with Marius. It still didn’t break in however.
“Hey guys,” Barton said, trying to remain somewhat hushed, “Not to alarm you, but some are moving this way.” Marius turned to see the two men in black tunics, moving swiftly through the crowd, straight toward them. They couldn’t be more than forty yards off.
“Then help us!” Marius yelled back at him. Barton positioned himself in between the two, and waited patiently. He looked over his shoulder to see the men moving closer.
“Come on, come on.” Marius muttered to himself. “I need you now girl.” Still no thunder came to block out the sound of their kick. The men moved closer.
“Just boot it in,” Julien pleaded.
“We can’t,” exclaimed Barton, “if the crowd heres then every guard in the city will be right after us.” He breathed heavy, noting that the men were only twenty yards away now. “Marius, what do we do?” To his amazement, when he turned to Marius, he found him standing there, eyes closed, concentrating, and whispering quietly to himself. Barton didn’t recognize the language.
“Makman tu hinder rut, Anashia, Anashia, Anashia.” It came as an almost chant. “Tu rindun di kallik me, Anashia, Anashia, Anashia.” The men couldn’t be more than ten yards now. Barton knew they were finished. Finally the sky lit up with a flash of lightning, and Marius’ eyes sprang open.
“NOW!” he screamed. With all their force, they kicked the door, as the thunder smashed and cracked overheard. The lock broke and the door flew open.
Marius moved in first, moving quickly and swiftly. Julien and Barton followed behind quickly, and as the door swung close, Barton could see that their pursuers were rapidly approaching the house as well. Marius straight through the home, and quickly found a back door. He threw it open and the three ran out onto the empty path outside. The moons were high in the sky, and despite their glowing light, the road they stood on was dark. Marius looked left and right, seeing nothing but houses, and no quick way to hide. Looking straight ahead he saw a ledge, maybe ten yards off. He quickly ran over, and noticed that about ten feet down, an Airtram was moving swiftly along the tracks. The entire caravan looked to be about mile long. Marius figured it must have been carrying the first fruits of the harvest into town. Now empty, it was mostly likely heading north, back to Olivia. Either way it was their only way.
He stepped a few feet back, and with a short sprint, lept from the ledge and landed with a thud on top of one of the carts below. Julien and Barton looked on with amazement. They couldn’t believe it.
“Is he crazy!?” yelled Barton. Behind him they heard a clatter in the house, as the men were quickly moving through it.
“Maybe,” replied Julien, “but it’s best way out.” Barton looked back one more time, before turning to her and nodding. He grabbed her hand, and the two ran straight at the ledge, kicking themselves off, and landing with a thud below.
Marius, now about ten cars in front of them, looked as the shadowy figures fell from the ledge and glinted in the bright moonlight. Who were they, he thought. More importantly, who were those men coming after them. They weren’t council guards. They weren’t even part of the Parliamentary Defense. Whoever these kids were, they were involved in something very serious, and now it looked like Marius might be caught up as well.
No, he thought, I’ll get to Olivia, collect my bounty, and find the next job. He eased himself down inside the cart, finding it full of empty crates and storage units. He sat himself down, and for the first time all night, took stock of his injuries. His leg was throbbing in pain, and the headache that had subsided with the adrenaline, was now greater than ever. He tried to relax, and catch his breath. There was nothing he could now, but wait. He sat back against a crate, and closed his eyes. Calm your thoughts, ease your mind. The words of his father rang through his head. He reached in and pulled out the hand carved, wooden lion head that hung around his neck. He held it tightly in his hands, and muttered to himself.
“Thank you Anashia. Your servant is grateful for this night.”

I. Party in the House of Gandit