Thar Shaddin

She was a terrible liar. Were all dusklings this bad at lying? Yes, yes they were. Hand still on Uluki's shoulder, Mercedes stopped, not caring if the cart passed them.

"Uluki. Everything is not fine. We know that. It's just...death is something I tend to try to ignore."

She sighed, closing her eyes momentarily before opening them and looking directly at her friend to make sure that the full import of her words were understood.

"If anything does happen to you, of course we'll take care of Rollick."

"Not that way, though!"

"What Aimee means is ... he's like a...a brother. 'cause you're our sister."

"Which is why we'd take care of him - he's family."

Aimee's smile burst through briefly and they both embraced the truest friend either of them had ever known. Merc winked and said "You're allowed to worry..."

"Just so long as it doesn't wipe that beautiful smile off your face for too long" finished Aimee.

Releasing Uluki and starting to walk again, Merc strummed her guitar thoughtfully before beginning one of the duskling's favourite songs.

"This is for you." whispered the invisible twin ever so lightly between Mercedes' breaths.

There were times when she was nothing beyond the corpse she inhabited. While sleeping or submerged in water, she flattened her chest until there was nothing inside and she was only a semi-living embodiment of a pool of blood, held together by flesh. While awake, the monster and the hunger could inhabit her mentality and consume her so utterly that she would be lost within the rage and bloodlust. Whatever made Jenica herself was not present in those moments; it was overcome by whatever drove her baser instincts and cruel desires for pain.

It was easy to forget and lose control. It only took one bare moment's weakness, one thought that twisted itself just enough to entice the monster within, and she would begin riding the wave of malice which swelled beneath her thoughts at all times. Truth be told, every member of this party had died so often in her fantasies that should she wake up to their obliterated corpses, the only emotion she would not feel was surprise.

Her male finished the story - the story he'd told for her benefit. He repeated the final line twice, and she wrapped her arms around her knees to draw them tight against her chest. She lowered her face into the hollow created and shook.

It was a dream. It had to be. But not her own, no. It was the male's. He imagined what she could be; he looked and her and saw what she'd been before - a human woman with hopes and dreams, a heartbeat and perhaps even desires. She had thought he saw her for what she was and merely looked past it. But what he saw was the division. He picked and chose what he would or would not acknowledge...and when she was riding the malice, he would be in the most danger. He wouldn't realize what was happening, wouldn't see that she wasn't filled with the same desire he was.

It was a type of desire, yes. But not what he would be expecting.

He wouldn't protect himself how he needed to. She'd been the one to suggest the chains; she'd been the one to restrain herself each time they made love, careful not to go too far, to lose herself beyond what he could survive. She'd been the one to stop herself minutes ago, before the limitation of the chains had ceased to matter.

She was the danger, ever-present and powerful enough to kill him before she'd exhaled a full breath. And when it really mattered - when she was only metal links away from mutilating him - he couldn't see it.

She'd thought she would have his help. He claimed he loved her and wanted her to be happy, but he was as in love with the cruelty as he was with the person whose memories fluttered about like mayflies. He wanted her as she was; his body responded eagerly when the monster came out to play. The piece of her that hoped whispered through the shadows. If the plan worked...what would he do when the monster and hunger were gone? She would have nothing but herself to offer him. And already, she was not enough.

She'd felt this sensation before. A steady trickling which began in her abdomen and expanded until every part of her felt weighted down. A sudden desire to give in, to give up and cease movement until the body wasted away to dust. The piece of her that hoped cracked and began to wobble under her thoughts. She was still alone. Here, inside of this body where the blood sat immobile until needed and the eyes rarely blinked, she sat alone. She couldn't hold on to herself without his help - and he couldn't help her when it really mattered.

We told you it was a waste. We told you to stay and play with us. We told you how this would end. Listen, listen. You should listen to us. Who knows you as well as us? Not even your male knows you so well; he only wants the body, not what's inside. Come play, come play with us...

She tightened her arms and tensed her muscles until she was rigid, too taut to even tremble. She repeated her mantra over and over until it drowned out the shadows and the hunger and monster, until it became the only thing she could think or feel throughout her entire body.

I will not kill him. I will not kill him. I will not kill him. I will not...

* * *

"Wot?"

Thock's grainy eyes washed over his cousin in question as they examined the women standing outside the wagon. There was an armed man nearby, though he looked old enough that he wouldn't be a more than a bother. They'd long divided the visible wares among themselves; the human woman looked well enough to service the lot of them, and Phares had claimed the useless smaller one for himself, claiming she would make a lovely satchel. His older satchel was so worn that the bones used for support were beginning to peak through the leathery skin.

"I say 'at's noofin', n'werf oor toym."

Thock shrugged, the movement drawing his vest roughly against the ground under his chest. They were down low on the ground, each behind a squat shrub that covered their own lumpy shadows from immediate notice. The women were talking anyway, engrossed in whatever women prattled about.

The rest of the troupe were in waiting in a rough semi-circle around the group. Not a single one of them expected this to take long; the group was tired and the troupe had the advantage of night on their side. One of them had played a guitar, loud enough to be heard by any rogues nearby. The troupe had decided it was an invitation.

"Ah, stoppi'. Easy weres fer trade, un' noofin' wers'n a scritch."

Of course, there was no telling what might be inside that wagon. It could be filled with a family, more warriors like the old man, or supplies to be pinched and used or sold later. They wouldn't attack in force until they knew.

Thock kept his eyes fixed on the horse's legs as it moved, but Phares was still staring at the smaller woman. He apparently seemed concerned.

"Yoon shink 'assun's in ken?"

Thock didn't care. Ignoring the question, he grinned and pointed to where the horse's right hoof plodded down against the ground.

"Oy, wootch 'i'sn."

Phares was too slow to catch it. The horse's hoof landed against the trip of one of their dulled bear traps lying in the center of the road. The sudden snap-CRACK echoed a moment, followed by the shrill pained scream of the animal as it reared back. And following that scream came the sound of feet shuffling against the dry turf, dusty clouds greeting each footfall.

* * *

The vampire's arms shot out reflexively with the sudden jolting of the wagon as the horse reared and pranced out its pain. The horse's scream drew her eyes to the front, where it would be - she wanted to see what had happened. She didn't like the thought of the horse being hurt.

But the cries of men were closing in, and she was chained besides. Her eyes moved to her male. Still shuttered, but no longer dull. Again, the red began to build. After meeting his eyes for long enough, her own dropped to the chains which bound hands and feet. Then again she looked at him. And waited.

Uluki gave Mercedes and Aimee another smile, this one genuine and relieved. "Thank you," she said softly, grateful to have the burden taken from her shoulders. She hummed along as the song began, eventually singing along, her voice clear and pleasant, though unpolished.

"...I love my love, and well she knows. I love the ground whereon she goes. I hope the day will swiftly come, when she and I will be as one. Black is the colour of my true love's hair. Her lips are like some roses fair. The sweetest smile, and the gentlest hands. I love the ground whereon she..."

A sharp crack interrupted the song, and Uluki looked around, confused, unsure of the source of the noise. Then the horse began to panic, and Uluki realized what was going on. Not just an accident befalling the horse, but an attack.

Uluki exchanged a brief glance with Mercedes, then ran toward the frightened animal, taking an indirect route to keep the wagon and then the horse's body between herself and whoever was out there. Uluki was useless at fighting, and she wasn't going to try. The dagger at her belt was a last resort, not a reason to dive into the fray. She would be no help in combat.

Where she could be of use was trying to help the horse. It was partly that she felt sorry for the poor creature and liked animals, but that wasn't the whole of it. She was also quite aware of the danger they'd be in even if they defeated their attackers, if they were stranded in the middle of nowhere without the horse for transportation. Leaving cover was a risk, but one she considered worth it.

Rollick glanced at her, ensuring she was alright, before jumping down from the wagon seat with sword drawn, ready to meet the attack. As her warrior did his job, the healer would do hers.

First, she had to calm the horse down. That would be difficult given the injuries and in the middle of a battle, but it wouldn't help if she got kicked. Murmuring softly, she ran her hand down the horse's neck, dodging the front hooves. Down the withers, down the leg-- working quickly, far too quickly but it couldn't be helped. The horse's eyes were rolling, feet stamping, trying ineffectually to remove the trap. Still avoiding the other hoof, Uluki struggled with the blunted metal trap herself. If she could get it off, she could heal the horse, assuming no one attacked her in the meantime.

Julen bit his lip as Jenica folded in on herself. Every bent contour, every trembling muscle, spoke of his failure. And all he could do was stare at her in helpless silence. All he could do was watch while all the progress he’d made was wiped out with a single mistake.

He felt empty. Like a magician trying to delight her, he kept reaching down inside himself and pulling things out -- flowers, and stories, and games -- until the stage was littered with them. But even a magician can’t keep conjuring something out of nothing forever. Eventually, when he ran out of trinkets, he would start tearing out his own guts, and blood, and bones. And even that wouldn’t be enough.

Without anything to refill it, every bag of tricks eventually becomes a void. This is also true for human hearts.

Julen knew it wasn’t Jenica’s fault. She hadn’t asked for a life which robbed her of everything most people took for granted. She’d never promised him anything more than this, and she was doing the best she could. He didn’t blame her. But gods, sometimes it was so fucking hard. Especially now, when one of the few things he’d clung to had just been ripped abruptly from his hands.

He’d always thought the sex meant something. Not love, of course. But the sharing of an important bond. And if her lust couldn’t be the lust for physical pleasure, he’d always thought she at least enjoyed the emotional fire of their couplings. He should have known better. Lying on the floor of the wagon, staring up into her red-tinted eyes, he’d seen the truth. She hated the body she let him touch. And her desire was only the desire to slice him open and see what spilled out. Sex was what she gave to men before she killed them. Why did he expect it to be any different for him, just because she hadn’t yet taken that final step?

As if to taunt Julen, Uluki’s voice wafted through the stillness, singing a tender love song. Black is the color of my true love's hair... Tentatively, Julen raised his hand. He wanted to stroke Jenica’s dark locks, to try to find some way to comfort her, but he no longer trusted his judgment. The hand fell back to his side. He would just make it worse. Better to let one of the others sit with her for awhile. Perhaps Mercedes -- Jenica had seemed to enjoy the young lady’s guitar playing.

However, before Julen could rise to leave, the horse screeched in pain, and the front part of the wagon briefly lifted off the road. Then it came back down with a crash. But the jolting was far from over. Doing his best to avoid the bottles of wine rolling across the floor, Julen scrambled over to Jenica, her safety his only concern. To his relief, she didn’t appear to have been hurt by the cart’s shaking.

At first, Julen thought something had spooked the horse. But soon the sounds of combat reached his ears. They were under attack. Instantly, his hand went for the key he wore suspended from his neck. He couldn’t leave Jenica trapped here, helpless, while they were all in danger.

And then, as Julen’s fingers brushed against the iron key, something stopped him. Maybe it was the red glow in her eyes. Maybe it was the fact that she’d just barely kept herself from killing him. But whatever the reason, Julen hesitated, considering the consequences of his impulse. Certainly, she would add much to their resistance. But in the blur of bloodlust, would she be able to separate friend from foe? Once their enemies were down, would she be able to stop, or would she slaughter every living thing in the area?

“Hide,” Julen instructed, nodding at the pile of cushions. He’d made sure they were within easy reach of her, even when she was chained. “I’ll be right back.”

He would keep their enemies from entering the cart. And even if he failed, even if he fell trying to protect her, she was far from helpless. Her strength and control over shadows would still function while she was chained. To tell the truth, Julen almost pitied the first man who thought he’d found an easy prize when he discovered her bound body.

Drawing his sword, Julen pushed through the tent flaps, and joined the fight.

*****

Toomis was the youngest member of the raiding party -- just barely thirteen years old. But his heart burned with a desire to prove himself. If Phares wanted the blue woman for a new purse, he would be the one to provide her. While the other men concentrated their attack on the two male warriors, Toomis slipped through the darkness, following the blue woman as she circled back around the far side of the wagon. His bare feet made almost no sound on the dirt road, and his dagger was only an occasional flicker in the moonlight.

At first, he’d assumed she was simply trying to hide. But then she began calming the frightened horse. Momentarily forgetting his intent, Toomis watched with some small curiosity as she eased its panic, and began struggling with the trap clamped to its leg. Why was she bothering with that? Couldn’t she see that the thing was too injured to run, even if she got it loose? Maybe she was just stupid. Phares said that women were pretty stupid. And yet, Toomis sensed that something more might be going on. Lowering his dagger slightly, he decided to wait a few moments. If the woman didn’t do anything interesting, he could still kill her easily enough.

Phares ran ahead with the others, his feet skidding in the dirt with his first few steps as he shoved himself to his feet and followed. Thock remained still behind his own shrub, eyes fixed ahead, watching the entire battle instead of just one or two members.

It was hard to make out what was happening in the dark, but he wasn't straining to see. He listened hard to the hoots and hollers of the troupe, finding and naming every voice and cry. His purpose was not to fight along with them, but to call them off if needed. If too many of their own voices died off, the voice of a mournful wolf would rise above the scuffle and call the rest away.

Phares, like a few of the others, carried a sort of hobbled sword - a blade that once might have been brilliant with shine, but through neglect and unlearned care had instead become a weapon of a very different kind. While the edge was blunted and rusted enough that not every blow would cause serious damage, the blade itself was so covered in the muck from previous battles that being cut by it alone would cause enough versions of death to enter a person's bloodstream. It might've been insult to injury, that such a weapon guaranteed an unfair advantage, but these were not men concerned with the idea of a fair fight.

The rest carried pilfered daggers and home-made clubs, many with their own etchings or personalized touches. One had a knitted scarf of a clan woman he particularly favored wrapped around the handle; another a club dotted in sharp animal teeth, each tooth carefully knocked into the wood over the course of 2 days for no reason other than the man thought the idea of little knick-marks covering a foe's skin would be funny.

There were two apparent warriors to take care of, and these two men drew the bulk of the troupe's attention. Three broke off and moved to the side to kidnap the human girl; if she put up too much fight they would bludgeon her to get her where they wanted to go.

Two more were already pulling back the flap of the wagon, behind the 2nd warrior's appearance. He'd been the only one to come out, which meant either the others were lying in wait or there was nothing but supplies left.

Squee pulled back the tarp and waved Char inside. The other went willingly, used to being the braver.

Inside was dark, and a wine bottle gently rolled against his foot as he waited for his eyes to adjust. But the darkness remained absolute. Squee whined behind him, impatient to get moving.

"Woochin' see?"

"Noofin', eh can'ee noofin'. Mebba noofin' 'ere - "

A thin coil of shadow draped over his throat and pulled taut, jerking him forward into the vampire's range. He was off-balance and confused, letting out a short cry. She didn't pause. Her coil dragged him until he was close enough for her clenched fist to slam forward. But it wasn't the knuckles which exploded his face into a sudden blitz of eyes, blood, skin and brain matter. It was the jagged edges of the bottle she'd broken after her male left her.

She pressed the heel of her unbloodied palm against his shoulder and shoved him back. The strips of glass pulled out of his skin and bone with a light sucking noise, and the vampire turned red eyes to the other male who'd entered as the body collapsed to a twitching heap on the floor.

The blood scent made her spine straighten with purpose, and her head tilted at a sharp angle as the other male stared. He couldn't see her entire body, but her eyes were bright enough to reflect in his own. The presence of darkness within the wagon had become a physical object, and it swirled around the creature within.

Squee dropped the tarp and ran.

The vampire looked down at the dying human as he convulsed weakly against the wagon floor. His blood was running to waste against the wooden planks; she ducked her hand and took his wrist, burying her fangs to the gums and sucking hungrily at the wound. He'd already bled dry enough that it was an effort, and instead of quenching her cravings it made them stronger.

Disgusted, she let the hand fall and wiped her forearm against her mouth, eying the tarp opening. She raised her hands half-way, enough for her peripheral vision, and lowered her eyes to stare at the shackles. Already one wool glove was covered in gore.

Her male had his pretty castle in the sky, where she rode horses in the sunlight and danced with him in the moonlight. But here she stood, grounded in her reality - barefoot, covered in blood, alone. He'd left her here. Told her to hide, and left.

She'd tried to show him before, and he'd insisted that he could see what she was. But he couldn't. He never could. She knelt and laid both hands against one anklet, her eyes deepening to a full and heavy black as she focused.

Click.

He'd never seen what she truly was. It was all stories and fictions to him, monuments of fantasy that he upheld to his last breath. And when they came crashing down...

Click.

He'd seen how she could change, but not what this truly meant. The actions that her own mind spurred on, the carnage she wanted to create. And now he was outside fighting this meat, and expecting her to cower into the pillows like the prissy princess he wanted her to become.

Click click.

She straightened, the chains lying limp against the ground. It was no princess that stepped forward with a half-broken bottle clenched in one fist, drew back the tarp and sniffed at the air, then dropped to the ground, feeling the grit of the road against the pads of her feet.

The predator moved its red eyes in a wide arch, listening to the sounds of battle as she took in the status of the fight, who was in the most danger, if her male was alright.

And then she went hunting.

Merc grinned as she slowly stopped singing to let Uluki take the stage, so to speak. The notes floated up into the air and flickered in the starlight - at least, according to Aimee - and even though Merc closed her eyes, the younger sister could still see those notes.

Then notes of a different sort pierced the air. The horse's screams made Merc drop her guitar and grab her head with a not-so-delicate wince. The sharp *shhing* of a sword being drawn - no, two. Wild whoops of an inhuman sort. Stamping hooves. Groaning wheels. A definitely inhuman growl coming from the cart. The soft thump of her guitar and bag hitting the dirt.

Somehow they hadn't expected the trouble to be coming from outside of the wagon. Despite this fact, they had been in this game far too long to be frozen by fear or lose their heads when bandits attack. How many times? Didn't matter. Merc shrugged her jacket up higher on her shoulders as she slipped her brass knuckles onto her hands. Then she opened her eyes.

If the men running toward her were some of the scariest looking freaks she had seen in a long time, she didn't show it. Their blades were in reserve - they wanted her alive, apparently. The first man twirled his club above his head, fully intending to smash in her skull - the second wasn't far behind and was already pulling at his pants - the third was holding two rather filthy looking objects in a manner that was threatening and sexually obtuse at the same time. Charming.

The club came down and she crumpled under it. She allowed him a brief shining moment of victory - whites of insane eyes gleamed in the moonlight over his prize. They helped her aim her kick into his teeth. Fast. She had to move fast. The second one caught wind of something funny happening when his buddy started topping backwards, but wasn't quite quick enough. Continuing her spin from the kick, she whirled low and grabbed the idiot's occupied hand, using the momentum to toss him at the dagger-weilding thug. He was the one she was worried about. The thick leather of her coat would protect from slighting blows, but something told her this lot wasn't about to hold back.

She was now facing the wagon, her back to the woods. Not the best position to be in, but it was what was currently available. The third man had dodged his companion and was now advancing on her - the first man was up and spitting blood in more ways than one. The second man had also rolled to his feet. Still three on one and no corner to back into. Lovely. Evidently she was out of practice. Rollick and Julen were busy enough with their own problems - she was on her own.

Well, there was one thing she could do that would be sure to impress - and would hopefully be enough to gain her some time. Crouching into a fighting stance, Merc tightened her hands into fists and closed her eyes for the briefest of moments. When they opened again, it would be uncertain of whether her eyes were glowing, or merely reflecting the light from the massive golden spikes of light erupting from her hands. The illumination shadowed her face, making her snarl look otherworldly.

Witty repartee wasn't really her thing.

Uluki was worried about the others. Really, gut-twistingly, hands-shakingly worried. She wished she could go and... but that was the problem, really. Go and do what? She knew her desire to check on them was irrational, because it wouldn't help other than to reassure her they were still alive. If they were trying to protect her as well as fight, they'd be more likely to get hurt. Better that she stay out of their way, and focus on making sure they weren't stranded out here when it was over.

The horse was as calm as he was going to be, which wasn't saying much, though at least he wasn't actively trying to kick her anymore. The trap didn't open easily, but she eventually managed to pry the jaws apart with her dagger, at least enough to slip it past the horse's hoof. Once she had it off it snapped shut again, and she was just barely able to get her fingers away in time.

It was clear the horse had broken bones as well as damage to the skin and muscle. Even with the trap off, the leg wasn't able to bear weight, and the horse stumbled when he tried, sending him into another brief panic. Rather than trying to calm him, she simply began to heal him, assuming that once he realized she was helping him, he would be cooperative. Uluki was overestimating equine intelligence and reasoning skills, however, and several times he still tried to run away, though between the wagon traces and his injured leg, he wasn't able to get very far.

Still, Uluki persisted. Every time the horse pulled back, she took a step closer and returned her hand to his trembling flesh, first murmuring calming words and then singing him a soft lullaby she usually used to comfort the baby. Gradually the bones knit back together, and the horse's pain eased as Uluki used her healing magic.

(OOC Note -- I can't write dialect. Squint at Toomis's dialogue and assume that he talks the same way as everybody else. )

As he exited from the wagon, Julen smacked directly into one of the attackers. Both men faltered for an instant, startled by the unexpected impact, but Julen was a trained warrior. He was also in a particularly bad mood. Although he would never wish an ambush on his friends, nor desire any event which might bring them harm, the arrival of something that he could actually hit felt like a godsend. Before Julen’s opponent could do more than raise the large club he carried, Julen thrust his sword through the man’s stomach. Another sharp motion yanked it free. And if the gesture signified something, if it served as a grisly metaphor for Julen’s sexual frustration, Julen didn’t stick around to ponder it. He remembered Aorle’s advice about fighting when outnumbered. Keep moving. Keep the attacks short and fierce.

However, before Julen could focus on his enemies, he needed to find out how his friends were faring. And his first concern was for Uluki. Partially because he cared about her, but also because keeping your healer safe made good tactical sense. To his relief, as Julen scanned the shadowy chaos which had erupted around the cart, he didn’t see any sign of her. Uluki was smart. She knew her limitations. When the attack started, she’d probably hidden.

Assured of Uluki’s relative safety, Julen turned his attention to Mercedes. He hadn’t noticed her carrying a weapon, nor had she made any mention of combat magic, so it seemed quite likely that she was the next most vulnerable. And apparently she hadn’t been as quick to get out of harm’s way as Uluki -- a brief visual search revealed her surrounded by three men. Concerned, Julen moved to aid her.

Unfortunately, before Julen could reach Mercedes, two men intercepted him. One was short, with a crude patch covering his left eye and a dagger clutched in his hand. The second man stood considerably taller than his companion. He carried an axe. Not any sort of war weapon, but a tool designed for chopping wood and slaughtering livestock. Nevertheless, it looked deadly, and Julen awarded it the respect it deserved. Without giving the pair a chance to coordinate their attack, Julen charged at the smaller one. He appeared to be the easier target, and eliminating him quickly would keep Julen from needing to fight his battle on two fronts.

The man’s dagger shot out, but Julen knocked it aside with the blade of his sword, and then grabbed his opponent’s wrist while he was off-balance. The man responded by howling in Julen’s face and delivering a sharp kick to his shin –- the explosion of fetid breath nearly proved more crippling than the pain from the kick. However, despite stinging eyes and a strong urge to vomit, Julen kept his focus, delivering a powerful sword strike to the man’s side. Then, still clutching the man’s wrist, he swung him around and hurled him into the path of his larger companion.

All this bought Julen a moment of freedom, which he used to glance over his shoulder at Mercedes. And that was his mistake. Without warning, massive golden spikes erupted from her hands. And Julen’s eyes, accustomed to the dim moonlight, suddenly found themselves flooded with painful brightness. As Julen blinked, trying to clear away the swirling afterimages, the larger man pressed his advantage. The axe swung downward. Cleaving through the cloth and straw of Julen’s gambeson, the blade cut deep into his thigh. An involuntary bellow of pain burst from Julen’s lips, only to be lost amidst the hoots and hollers echoing all around him. No longer blind, Julen now fought to remain standing, his sword pulled back into a defensive position.

*****

Toomis watched with growing fascination as the blue woman aided her injured horse. The animal’s skittishness hindered her, but she persisted, and even in the dim light, Toomis could observe her progress. Gradually, the wound healed, until the horse was able to stand once more.

Magic. Toomis had heard of such things, although this was his first time witnessing it. And it didn’t take him long to realize the implications. Taken alive, this woman could serve a far more useful purpose than becoming Phares’s new pack. She might even advance Toomis’s position in the clan. If he claimed her before the others discovered her powers, he could say who she healed and who she didn’t. That would be his right. And maybe their children would carry her gift, assuring them strong clan positions for generations to come.

Moving with practiced silence, Toomis crept up behind her. Then, in a flash of movement, he grabbed her hair and brought his dagger to the underside of her throat. “Don’t make a sound,” he hissed in her ear. “You’re coming with me.”

She fought silently without style or motive. Her fingers were clawed each time she scraped them against a male's face; the shadows ran from their hair into their eyes, blinding them long enough for her to jab the broken bottle into their Adam's apples. She killed three with more gore than grace, and drew the last to her body to feed, her stomach clenching with cravings until it felt the blood begin to fill and satiate her.

She heard his bellow.

The vampire's teeth clenched into the throat she'd claimed, draining the quivering male dry until he didn't have enough blood to twitch anymore. She ripped herself free and scanned the area, dropping the body as she spat the tuft of skin to the side and sniffed the air.

If she'd been another type of female, she might have mused on the irony of having to race to save him after he'd tried to abandon her to fate within the wagon. She might have even taken a slower time of reaching him, making sure he saw her approach and understood that she held his life in her slow and steady pace. And upon arriving, she might have held the attacker at bay for a few moments, letting her male see her superior strength and ability to hold the larger human male with little extra effort on her own.

The woman was not so cautious; the vampire not so patient; and the monster wanted the kill.

The man was larger and pressing forward to finish off her male. The vampire jolted forward, fast enough to blur. Her right arm clenched around his middle, and the stink of his clothes puffed out when she tightened this grip enough to hear a rib pop. She wedged her makeshift weapon into his left side, the glass puncturing his skin around his ribs and cracking against his bones. There was no moment of time for the man to react or even experience the pain; the vampire's other hand reached around to grip him underneath the jaw, plunging her fingers into the soft flesh beneath the bone and hooking in.

She wrenched, and half of his jaw came with the movement. Blood arched away from the hole created, running in rivulets out and down his front. She released him and he fell, still dying.

She looked at her male, the man's lower jaw clutched tightly in her fist. Her head tilted at that sharp angle again, lips parted as though she needed to breathe through her mouth.

Now do you see?

There was no part of her that did not want him to see her as she stood. Blood clung to her lower jaw from feeding; blood spilled down her shirt and dotted her trews; blood dripped from the broken bottle in one hand and the man's jaw in the other. She glistened in the moonlight from the viscous liquid, and the darkness which surrounded her stood tight and near-solid, shivering with the game as it shielded her from easy sight.

She could smell his injury and knew they needed the healer. The other female and the duskling's male would need to care for themselves; she had only one goal. But despite wanting him to see the truth - despite knowing it was for the best he accepted her help - she would not touch him or help him walk.

"I'll find the healer."

Her voice was strong and hardly cracked. Her eyes had dulled to a bare glint of red, favoring the dark near-black of their natural color. She looked tired and her tone had a hint of challenge.

"Move."

She waited for him to move first, tense. If he were going to try to kill the creature standing before him, she wanted to have the ability to escape.

* * *

Still unable to see, Thock counted on his fingers as the voices winked out. One, two, three, four, five -

When he reached five, he gave the cry. Mournful and warbling, his voice rose like a siren above the din of battle, calling anyone who remained standing away. It wasn't just that they'd lost five men; he could not count above this number, and any further losses would be just that - pure losses. Combined with the sudden flares bursting from the woman's hands, this had turned more costly than anticipated. Three marks to fight - easy odds. Three competent marks to fight - not worth the continued struggle.

And so he howled to call them away. But lost in the heat of battle frenzy, whether they came or not was up to each man. Thock had done his job; it was their time to do theirs.

The three men were blinded - she hadn't thought of that - the physical ramifications of her blades. What she was counting on were the more spiritual implications. They may fear and hate magic in Marn, but this wasn't the city. Which way things would go out here in the wood, with inbred masochists such as these, was unclear.

The blades moved with sharp fluidity. Every flick of her wrist caused a shot of blue to fly up an imaginary flat edge up to the tips of the blades. Oh she loved the tingle of cold heat playing over her knuckles, though she'd never admit it aloud. It was the one thing that enticed her to pursue power. The flickering flame whispered to her of glory and greatness. They both knew it. Both knew that the promises were lies.

Yet it was still nice to be promised something. Anything. It meant importance - to what sort of people or end, didn't matter - she was being called. And it gave her no end of satisfaction to say no, each and every time.

Her eyes looked almost sleepy, her head rolled playfully to the side before she advanced on her opponents. The brass knuckles protected her hands from the wood of the club as she batted it to the side. The man was still cowering from the sudden light display and took her left blade along the back of his neck. With a shriek, he dropped to the ground, limbs suddenly dead weight and all seemingly on fire. He'd be fine. Eventually. The other two backed away, definitely rethinking their prior notions of dragging her off into the bushes. A not-too-distant call offered some kind of relief and their shoulders drooped slightly before they turned and melted into the dark.

Still, one couldn't be too careful. There might be archers. One arm crossing her chest, she held the other up as a torch and turned to survey the rest of the carnage. Uluki. One of the dirty buggers had Uluki - knife to her throat - arm holding her hostage.

"Hey!"

Not the most eloquent of attention getting calls, but suitable for the present company. Merc was kneeling over the prostrate man who was still lacking use of his appendages. One blade was held just skimming his skin.

"Let her go, or I'll show you what will be happening to you."

The blade thrust in for a mere instant, causing the man's arms and legs to flail with no control or direction. When it was removed, he got enough air in his lungs to let out a pitiful screech. Her gaze never left Toomis.

(OOC Note -- Lyl and I thought it would make more sense if I posted before her. Now it's her turn.)

Stay standing. Julen’s whole world had been condensed into a single goal. Stay standing. The command was whispered beneath every ragged breath he sucked into his lungs, carried along by every diminishing ounce of blood that pushed through his veins. Stay standing. He knew what happened when you fell during a fight, he’d been there before, and this time he wouldn’t be made an example of. He’d be killed. Stay standing, stay standing, just stay standing...

So he didn’t notice Jenica approaching until she actually intervened. Perhaps, if she’d seen it, she would have approved of the fear which flashed across her man’s face as he watched her effortlessly butcher his foe. But this wasn’t fear of her. This was fear for her -- fear that she’d been hurt, fear that some of the glistening blood had spilled from a fresh gash. And, when he realized she wasn’t wounded, it vanished, replaced by a steady gaze.

They didn’t really look so different as they stood facing each other in the moonlight. Julen’s hands were wet with the blood of his opponents, and more dark stains had been splattered across his gambeson. Gore dripped from the blade of his sword. And his eyes, usually a rather gentle brown, now seemed almost entirely consumed by blackness due to the expansion of his pupils. They had both killed this night -- killed men who intended to harm them and those they cared about. If Julen had not murdered his foes with quite the same sadistic zeal as Jenica, he had still done it with something which could no longer be described as reluctance.

Julen had seen men ripped apart in battle. And after every battle, he’d remained friends with the people who did the ripping. If Jenica wanted to prove that she was a capable ally, who shouldn’t have been left behind in the wagon, she’d succeeded. But if she wanted to prove that she was a monster, it would take more than violence during a fight. Unless she wanted to claim that he, too, was something less than human.

A wan smile appeared on Julen’s lips. He felt a strange mixture of gratitude, embarrassment, and resignation. “Thanks...princess.”

As if given some sort of signal, their attackers began to fade back into the darkness which had spawned them. And, with the threat against his friends diminished, Julen acquiesced to Jenica’s suggestion that they find Uluki. However, her next command confused him. Move? Move where? He still couldn’t see any sign of Uluki. Tentatively, Julen reached out to Jenica, expecting her support and guidance. But her lack of reaction made it clear that wasn’t happening. Perhaps she was mad at him. Or perhaps she thought touching him might trigger some fresh bloodlust. Julen didn’t know, and the fog creeping over his thoughts made it increasingly hard to care. Instead of dwelling on it, he began to hobble in a random direction, his jaw clenched against the stabbing pain brought by each step.

*****

Toomis’s eyes widened as he watched the strange power wielded the pierced woman. She was far too dangerous to try and claim. However, the smaller one seemed passive enough -- at least, as long as he had his blade to her throat. Perhaps there was still a chance. With the pierced woman’s threat ringing in his ears, Toomis weighed his desire for clan influence against his desire to retain the use of his limbs.

In the end, he decided that nothing was won without risk. He knew the terrain better than the pierced woman did. If he could lose himself in the night, she would have little chance of successfully pursuing him. “I got a blade to your friend’s throat,” he informed. “You make me start shakin’ like that, and she’s gonna get cut pretty bad. I don’t think you want that.”

Then, keeping both his hand and knife in place, Toomis began to back away, Uluki’s body positioned in front of his own like a shield.

Having run out of enemies to engage, Rollick took a look around and immediately noticed Julen staggering along. Rollick couldn't tell where his friend was going, but he obviously wasn't going to get there on his own. Approaching Julen with haste, Rollick offered his arm and shoulder for Julen to lean on.

"Are you trying to find Uluki? I don't know where she is, but I want to find her too. We can walk together."

Rollick was not significantly injured. He'd have a couple of bruises and there was a small cut above his right eye, but his armour had protected him from the worst of the blows. But nor was he simply patronizing Julen. Rollick had his own reasons for wanting to find Uluki-- to make sure she was alright. He'd lost sight of her during the fray, and he was more than a little worried about her. Rollick would feel better seeing her safe, and if he could help Julen along the way, so much the better.

Julen's wound concerned Rollick quite a lot, but he thought it best not to dwell on that. Uluki could heal it. Better to find her as quickly as possible than waste time fretting. To the vampire, he simply gave a nod, acknowledging the job well done. Rollick was glad she'd fought at his side-- but all that could wait. For now, Rollick was focused on finding Uluki and getting Julen help.


***


Once the initial shock of having a knife at her throat wore off, Uluki began to consider her options. Though she was not a combatant and couldn't take much of anyone on in a straight fight, she did have one significant advantage in a situation like this. Even if she got hurt, if the wound wasn't immediately mortal and she wasn't rendered unconscious, she could heal herself. So even if she ended up getting stabbed, it wouldn't necessarily be dire. She was still scared-- she couldn't imagine anyone wouldn't be with a knife to their throat-- but she was far from panic. The chances she would survive this were actually relatively good, as bad as things looked.

Mercedes further heartened her. Her friend was strong, and a good fighter, and wouldn't abandon her. That made things a lot better. Even though Mercedes's display didn't make Uluki's attacker back down, Uluki was grateful for the help.

Uluki's first thought was that she should simply try to get away, and once the immediate threat was past, deal with whatever injuries she sustained in the process. If she elbowed her attacker in the ribs, he would probably loosen his hold. He would almost certainly cut her, but she might be able to twist her body so the knife struck her shoulder rather than her throat. She thought it would work... but one thing held her back.

The voice of her captor sounded very, very young. Uluki didn't feel sorry for him, exactly-- it was hard to feel pity for someone who was making unprovoked threats on your life-- and she didn't think he was forced into this lifestyle, as he seemed perfectly willing. But she also doubted he'd had the chance to know any other life. It was more likely he'd been raised to do this than that he'd made a choice knowing other options were available. Even though he was doing something awful, this boy was barely more than a child. That didn't make him any less likely to hurt her, but it did make her feel more responsible for trying to end this without violence.

It wasn't that she thought her comrades would deliberately kill a young person. It was just that in the haze of battle, they probably wouldn't be able to tell until it was too late. Uluki herself hadn't been sure until she'd heard him speak several times. In combat with the others, Uluki didn't think the boy would survive, so she wanted to give him the chance to avoid that combat.

"It doesn't have to be like this. You don't have to live in fear. You don't have to live by killing, and you don't have to die. There are other ways. There are places that are safe, and we can take you there. We can help you. But if you want help, you're going to have to let me go. If you hurt me, my friends are going to be very angry with you. This is your only chance."

Uluki thought it was unlikely he'd take her up on it. He had no reason to believe her, and even if he did, he might not want to be helped. He might see nothing wrong with ambushing innocent travelers, or see any reason to change. But Uluki had to try. For the boy. For his mother, whoever she was. In spite of the knife, Uluki didn't want to see him die.

If he accepted her offer, she would do as she promised and try to help him. If not, at least exchanging words would buy her friends a little more time.

The vampire blinked in surprise at the smile and comment. Her gaze fell to take in the bloody mess that was her clothing, the bloody trophies clutched in her hands. He had to be able to see it now. It was not possible to see her as she stood and not see what she was...though the scent of blood and assorted gore was pungent. She looked over his person, seeing the warrior he'd become rather than the man he normally was.

Her own languid grin spread across her lips, drawing her lips back enough to bare her fangs. She loosened her left hand and the jawbone plunked to the ground; she followed behind her male as he staggered forward. Where most would have focused on him, her own eyes drifted to the sides, where those who'd survived the attack scattered into the surroundings.

She sniffed and narrowed her eyes, memorizing the scents of every one of them. She wanted to hunt them down and kill them, down to the last one...but her male's injury was drawing concern from within her, and she couldn't keep her focus long enough to look away for more than a few moments.

She sighed and followed the men, sniffing at the night air for any lingering trace. The blood covered these males, along with their own smells. It was hard to differentiate when the scent of blood threatened to overwhelm her.

The light from the human female's weapons made the vampire pause and raise one hand, flinching away. She could hear the duskling's words, calming and soothing. Her eyes could not adjust to the light as easily as a mortal's.

But they did adjust, just as the duskling finished speaking. She only needed to keep one hand raised to shield her pupils from the bright light, though it still burned around her fingers.

She saw the duskling in danger. Fresh blood throbbed in her belly, speeding through her limbs as she called forth her ability through animal instinct. There was no point where she thought or considered the consequences of her actions, or mulled over waiting for the young male to respond to the duskling's entreaty.

She was several yards away, seeing the duskling with a flashing blade against her throat, light from the human woman's weapons reflecting from the surface. And then she was behind him, clenching her hand into the back of his neck and squeezing until her fingers met, then squeezing harder and harder until her nails were digging into her palms and his spine was severed by her grip.

She released him to let him fall, his slowing heartbeat ringing in her ears. Her other hand remained as a shield against the light from the human female's weapons.

So like Uluki. The man threatens to slit her throat, and she tries to save his life. Merc wasn't about to let the little prick run off with her sister, though - no matter how much Uluki wanted him to be safe. She let the blades meet, knowing the man on the ground wasn't going anywhere soon, and sharp explosions of light and colour crackled in the air. One step forward, two. Then there was the vampire, behind the boy - she could see he was a boy now, by the light of her hands - and then it was just the vampire and Uluki.

Merc looked on in shock as the kid hit the dirt, blood spurting from his neck. Just like that. She had only just got there - stood there - barely moved. And he was dead. Her eyes shifted to Uluki. She knew her friend would not take this well after she had just offered him safety and a way out. Uluki's sense of mercy and well-being would not respond well to this.

The vampire - Jenica - her mien was indescribable. Mostly because she had her hand up over her eyes, blocking half of her face from...oh. Right. Vampires don't like light. After a momentary pause, where Mercedes checked over her shoulders for any remaining attackers, she retracted the blades. Toeing the dirt, she licked her lips almost nervously. Awkward.

"Well. That was...unexpected."

Even more awkward.

Gratefully, Julen accepted Rollick’s offer of support. Leaning against his friend, he shifted his weight off his injured leg, and a soft grunt of relief pushed past his lips as the pain lessened. “Thanks.”

Faintly, Julen thought he heard a woman’s voice singing. Little brown eyes, curious as wren... séothin séa, séothin séa. The words sounded so soothing, so familiar. Where had he heard them before? Then, Julen remembered -- they were the lyrics to his mother’s favorite lullaby, which Metarie had translated for him one night at the Red Chalice Inn. But how could that be possible? His mother had died long ago. And that evening with Metarie lay many miles and many days behind him.

Julen glanced down at his leg, soaked in crimson. Blood loss, he told himself, forcing the singing to stop. Stay present. Stay focused. Find Uluki.

The glow from Mercedes’ blades continued to light up a small patch of the night. Concerned for her, and still lacking any real idea about Uluki’s location, Julen began to hobble toward the brightness. As he drew closer, he heard Uluki before he saw her. She seemed to be trying to reason with one of their attackers. The threat to her, while not directly stated, was clearly implied in her words. Julen felt Rollick’s body stiffen. Then, the elder warrior quickened his pace, and Julen did his best to keep up.

As they rounded the wagon, Julen saw Mercedes bring her blades together, causing a fresh burst of light and color. He saw Uluki, illuminated by their glow. He saw the boy holding her hostage. And that was all he had time to see, before Jenica was suddenly behind the boy, digging her fingernails into his throat. Even in warrior mode, Julen couldn’t repress the shudder which passed through him as the boy dropped. But he forced himself to shake it off. However young the boy might have been, it wasn’t too young to hold a blade to Uluki’s throat. If he’d hurt her badly enough, she might not have been able to heal herself, and that was a risk they simply couldn’t take.

“Uluki? Are you alright?”

Without warning, the lullaby returned. But it was no longer a gentle whisper. Instead, it filled Julen’s head like a discordant screech. Driven away by the sound, Julen’s remaining balance abandoned him, and he slumped against Rollick, leaving the elder warrior supporting his full weight.