“They’re waiting in there.” Chircter points to a small house; much more a shelter, if anything. Unlike the live, bustling streets during the daytime, the city is as quiet and lifeless as the docks. The vending stalls are empty, their merchants having packed their wares and left.
As Ryuden follows Chircter and Yanna towards the rendezvous, he looks down at his attire. Aside from the smell of time -- a mixture of countless aromas and odors -- heavy on the clothing, the garb is comfortable. Underneath the coat of black and crimson, a grey shirt clings to his form, yet proves limitless in flexibility. On the shoulder of his coat resides a patch; a feather of pure black reflecting the moonlight off its sleek surface.
“Wait here,” orders Chircter. He looks over his shoulder at Ryuden and Yanna. “Don’t want any accidents. They’re probably getting uneasy, having to wait for so long.” Pushing open the door slowly, Chircter slips inside the house.
As a few moments of silence pass, Ryuden grows wary. The silence is palpable, as if the entire world is holding its breath in anticipation of the pending. “Is it always this quiet?” he asks Yanna.
“It’s nothing to worry about.” Yanna clasps his shoulder reassuringly. “It’s understandable to be nervous on your first night with us. Never done something like this before?”
“Something like this,” yes.”
“What did you do?” She raises a brow. “Jump a traveler?”
“Something like that.” Shrugging off Yanna’s hand, Ryuden chooses not to push the discussion further in that direction.
“Let’s not waste time,” Chircter prompts, returning onto the streets. Following after him are three others of various forms; the first tall, the second bulky, the last frail.
“Who is he?” the tall one asks, disgust resounding in her voice. “When did we stoop so low, as to accept common riff-raff with knives into our fold?”
“Easy, sister,” the thin one says. “We do not know much of him,” he explains, gesturing to Ryuden. “Don’t tread down a path barefoot, just because the dirt looks soft.”
“I recognize the face,” the bulky one states. “Sorry for roughin’ you up before, lad, but business is business. Nothin’ personal. Anyways, I doubt he’ll be any hindrance to our plan, sister. Leave ‘im be.”
The tall woman folds her arms over her chest, shaking her head. “We’ll deal with this… issue later. We mustn’t delay the mission any further.”
“Then let us go over the plan once more, so we all know our roles.” Chircter points towards the silhouette of the spire against the moonlight. “There, the Onerian marshal is waiting to meet with the governor of Onat. Our client has informed me that the marshal intends to insert a new law enforcement policy into effect. It would permit officials to search private warehouses and transportation vessels without need of warrants or intervention on a higher level. This would essential sever the head of our underground network, since there is rarely a coin we’ve made that didn’t originate from smuggling. Needless to say, this policy must never reach the light of day.”
“How do we intend to stop it?” Ryuden asks. Undeniably, part of him is nervous. But, the excitement to apply his prowess for such a great impact easily overpowers his lesser demons.
“With cunning.” Chircter nods to the trio. “You three will deal with intercepting the governor and his escort. Yanna, you’ll be dealing with the Marshal. Take Ryuden with you, in my place.”
The trio of still-strangers depart down the street, the way Chircter had lead Ryuden and Yanna.
“Follow me.” Yanna leads Ryuden into the labyrinth of alleyways and substreets. After several moments of weaving through the countless twists and turns, she stops and turns around, showing Ryuden a frown.
“What is it?” Ryuden asks. Her unease makes his own doubled over.
“Not, it’s probably nothing. We’re near the tower, we just have to ascend, take care of business, and leave.” Yanna continues on, Ryuden in tow. She seems unphased by the stone colossus spiraling into the dark heavens when they finally leave the narrow passageways. Stepping into the open square, Ryuden stares up at it in awe, until Yanna tugs on his shoulder to garner his focus again. She reaches a pair of tall, oak doors leading inside. Pulling one of the doors open slowly, she peers in through the crack. “Stay quiet,” she whispers, “we want to get the drop--”
“On me?” a new voice says.
As Yanna whirls around to face the speaker, Ryuden draws his blade. He turns around to find guards pouring out of the surrounding buildings, blocking any obvious escape route.
Amidst the horde, a man pushes his way through, his offhand resting one the hilt of a concealed weapon. His sage cloak billows behind him, the golden embroiderment glistening in the moonlight. “Did you really think you would just slip by and cut my throat?” he asks, tapping his foot on the ground. In his hand is a piece of parchment. He grins, lifting it up for Ryuden and Yanna to see. “Looking for this?” When no answer surfaces, he chuckles. “It has been a while since I’ve been involved with your line of work.”
“Sepon,” Yanna murmurs. Her quiet, fragile voice betrays sudden shift from confidence to a lackthereof.
Ryuden’s heart sinks.
“Yanna,” the man -- Sepon -- responds. Leaving the protection of his swarm of guards, he approaches Yanna, not paying any mind to Ryuden. He takes Yanna’s chin in his palm, forcing her to look up at him. “It warms my heart to know you have not forgotten my name.”
“Your name is that of a dead man.” Yanna shakes off his hand, looking away. “He fought to the last breath.”
“So you try to replace that man?” Sepon glances at Ryuden. “How cute. You even let him soil my clothes.”
“That’s enough out of you!” Yanna shouts, as she plunges her blade for Sepon’s torso. But, with a quick grapple of her wrist, Sepon forces her arm up and kicks his boot into her exposed side. As Yanna crumples to the ground, she gives a faint whimper.
Taking the opportunity, Ryuden leaps into action. His sword arcs downward, seeking to sink into flesh. It meets steel first, however; Sepon’s cutlass catching his attempt. Not wasting a second, Ryuden brings his body forward, his shoulder bashing into Sepon’s torso. The sudden force of one of the guards tackling him off his feet and to the ground knocks the wind out of his lungs. The struggle to breathe mingles with the sudden flurry of bludgeon blows barraging his limp body. The onslaught seems to go on forever, until it is finally stopped by voices shouting, and steel clashing.
“Get up!” Yanna pulls Ryuden onto his feet. She glances at his face, and grimaces. Supporting his body weight, she leads him into the tower. “You fool,” she mutters sorely, ignoring her own pain as she sets him upright against a wall.
“I’m the fool?” Ryuden croaks, not daring to move a muscle. Regardless, his body is wracked with pain. He watches Yanna close the doors, sliding a wooden latch to lock them in place. “I’m the fool for doing what you would have done? For doing our mission?” When Yanna does not reply, Ryuden continues. “What does he mean to you?”
“More than you can fathom, you blighted idiot!” Yanna snaps. “He is how we became who we are. He is why the Night Ravens are united, and why we do things the way we do. He is… he is the reason we all are leaders.” She kneels beside Ryuden. “I could not bring myself to destroy the husk of a great man.” Pulling a cloth from her pocket, she brings it to Ryuden’s face.
Frowning, Ryuden realizes how he can barely notice the sensation of blood pouring down his face. He probably would not have noticed if his crimson did not soil the virgin cloth. “I’m not faring well.”
“And I’m no liar. It’ll take a bit to fix you up.” Glancing over to the door, Yanna gets up. “A lot more than what I can offer alone. I’m going to join the others in the fray, and we’ll get you home when we shake them off.” Drawing his blades once more, she moves the latch and opens the doors. The sounds of the battlefield rush into the room as she rushes out, mitigated by the doors no longer.
His ears now audience to the sound of men shouting, steel clashing, flesh tearing and bone breaking, Ryuden is left in his agony. His attempts to stand up are countered by his body’s inability to do so. He would just have to sit and pray for Yanna’s triumph. Time passes by, and his eyelids grow heavy. The sounds of battle slowly die down, as he slips past the brink of consciousness.
***
“It isn’t mine!” snarls Ryuden. His back flush against the scarred trunk of a tree, he looks for some break in the ring of ‘brothers’ surrounding him. Tightening the grip on his blade, he readies himself for the impending death sentence.
“If it isn’t yours, then why did it rest if you?” Kelyn glares at Ryuden with scorn unhindered by blood. Taking a step closer than the rest, he only stops when the tip of Ryuden’s blade is just short of him. “Who is Valuda, Ryuden?”
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