A night of crimson snow (open)

[Azrael]

The six figures moved silently through the snow covered forest, barely disturbing the serenity of the scene as they moved, their pure white cloaks making them nigh invisible. As the figures stalked up the face of a ridge their commander held up a hand to signal them to stop, moving up alone. Surveying the scene before him with cool blue eyes the captain sneered, the sheer audacity of the fools to not even bother smothering their fire. It almost wasn't worth being called a hunt. Slowly drawing down the mask covering the lower half of his face he threw his head back and howled, the sort of sound that was often heard from the wolves prowling the area. Hearing the return howl from the opposite side of the valley he nodded and replaced the mask, his bow finding it's way into his left hand. Drawing the string to his cheek he lined up on the first sentry, drawing the string back even further to his shoulder when he was sure of the target and released the arrow, the object soaring through the air to it's target. As usual the shot was perfect, he wouldn't have expected anything less. Equally expected was the equally exact though far more difficult shot that flew from the other side of the valley, killing a second sentry. Damned elves, always shooting so well... It was just a good job that Tyron was on his side really, that one could easily pin cushion him. But that wasn't a problem. Signalling to the group behind him he sheathed his bow and drew both swords from his waist and moved up, knowing full well that five bows had his back. A precaution that although necessary was rarely needed, as was the case here as he drove his right hand blade into the back of the first target's head, the silverite piercing the bone like it was paper. Glancing around for a moment he caught a glimpse of another white clad figure, only noticing her because he knew she was near, cut the throat of another bandit with one of the slender daggers in her hands. Nodding silently as he looked into her eyes he moved on, ready to take the next target.

[Alex]

Shackles, a ring of carts, a pair of guards and the ruined, rotten leavings of a bandit's meal stood stalwart, Alex's only companions in the impenetrable darkness of the Fereldan night. Only a few stars, bright and spirited, shoved light down at the camp. Sleeping bandits lay littering the area; soldiers, carpenters, people with no luck or money for the most part. But effective bandits nonetheless. Alex lay flat on his belly, staring and listening, thinking about his sword. It was a magic blade, though he hadn't quite figured how the runes worked yet. As he lay there listening, something stirred in the night. Alex drew himself into a crouch, and soon after a body crashed on the cart in front of him, toppled over, and slid down - revealing that an arrow had pierced his jugular.

Alex's first thought was to plan an escape. He could make his exit into the forest unnoticed, before the people in the camp noticed their dead, and hopefully get far enough to evade any chase they could give - if there were any of them left at that point, that is. But then he realized that whomever had killed the bandit, most likely wouldn't let Alex leave just so easily. He gathered himself, glancing into the horizon: the sun was beginning to rise, and light was becoming more abundant. He gently pushed the cart away, slid into the shortening shadows. That's when he saw a shape approaching from the forest. It moved like a hunter, fluid and gentle, dangerous for sure. That was it. He'd be busted soon enough. But not without his gear.

Alex turned, saw the charred ruins of a campfire. Bandits lay snoring all around it except one. That man had stood guarding a chest containing his equipment. Moving over to the chest, he opened it laboriously, using both hands to wrench the iron lid open. Inside the chest were all of his precious items; his sword, notebook, dice, variety of daggers, and a bow and arrows to complete the set. The string had to be changed before he could really use the bow, though. He just hadn't gotten around to doing it until the night when he was captured.

All he managed to do (before hearing movement behind him, that is) was buckling his sword. And then he whirled, sword in hand, exclaiming:

"I'm not a bandit!"

A bad idea altogether.

[Azrael]

Silently striding deeper into the camp Azrael quickly found his next target, a man rummaging through a chest that presumably contained the gang's loot. No honour amongst thieves apparently. Within seconds he was behind the man, ready to send him to the Maker when suddenly his target turned to reveal a familiar face.
"I'm not a bandit!" the cry had it's desired effect and Azrael's blade returned to a ready position however it had been loud enough to completely change the game as the bandits began stirring and scrabbling for their weapons. A few were struck down by arrows before Azrael could signal for the archers to hold their fire. He had been impressed upon meeting the walking armoury known as Alex of Pearlmouth and knew that this lot capturing him would have been somewhat embarrassing for him, he himself would certainly be pissed if he didn't get a chance at revenge under those circumstances. Drawing down his face mask and flicking back his hood he smirked at the mercenary. "Alex. Fancy meeting you here, there were twenty-five, ten are dead, I say we take six each." The question of the remainder was quickly answered as Lucille emerged once more, her own hood now down as she buried one dagger into the heart of one outlaw and threw the other to strike a second in the skull. Taking advantage of the distraction Azrael launched himself forwards once more, impaling a large man carrying a two handed axe. "What're you waiting for mercenary?" He called, his grin almost audible.

[Alex]

Alex nodded, whirled, and leaped to strike a just-awoken bandit in the jugular before he had a chance to retaliate. The next bandit, this one fully awoken, received a throwing-knife freshly taken from the chest into his belly, a kick into the groin and another slash of the magical sword to finish him off. And suddenly the chaos of battle erupted around them.

Several bandits from the outskirts of the camp were now moving towards them. Some had bows out. Alex stopped, thinking of his approach; he hadn't been in a proper battle since the forest ambush near Denerim. Where they'd pierced his arm with those arrows.

The runes in his blade flashed in accordance with his eyes as he moved to intercept an incoming blow of some low-quality piece of scrap metal, barely even looking like a proper sword. When their blades met another time, Alex's sword cut the other cleanly in half, after which it was time for the runes to taste some more blood. The 42 inches of magical steel entered into the man's breast, piercing through everything on its way, and exited just as easily. He almost felt sorry for the bandits - they just had no chance.

After three more bandits had died to his sword, the rest began to quake. Moving away, beginning to think of escaping. But Alex thought they wouldn't make it... unless he did something. He turned to Azrael and said:

"Azrael, how many do you have in the forest?" Without waiting for reply he continued:

"Tell them to spare a few of these poor fucks."

[Azrael]

Slipping his blade from the dead bandit Azrael locked eyes with another outlaw who quickly turned to run, not missing a heartbeat Azrael spun his right hand blade in his hand into a reverse grip and thrust it behind him and into the chest of another who was attempting to attack him from behind. "Hold this" he grunted before throwing his dragon tooth knife and taking the runner in the middle of the back. "Cheers mate." He smirked as he retrieved his short sword. Then came Alex's request. A surprise to say the least but he could go with it. At a signal the archers emerged, causing the remaining bandits to stop in their tracks. "I am Captain Azrael Talin, son of Arl Edmund Talin, throw down your weapons now and I will spare you. If not then you may join your comrades." He called, blades held loosely at his sides as one by one the bandits dropped their weapons. Not all were willing to surrender however as an outlaw who had been playing dead rose up behind Azrael, bringing a dagger down towards the noble's neck...

[Alex]

Bandits began to lower their weapons all around them, and the threatening situation seemed to finally lose its weight and potency, twisting into a rather queer, sharp silence. Would they kill the now weaponless bandits anyway? Would they be taken prisoner? Would they--

A living man rose up from the ground, which Alex thought had only been occupied by the dead. A dagger flashed out from somewhere, speeding towards Azrael's neck. Alex did the first thing he could think of. He threw his sword at the bandit and leaped right after. He tried not to look at Azrael, for he knew well that he could be dead by now. If the bandit had had the time...

Alex's long-repressed anger and wounded pride exploded in a finely-carved out sentence, well representing his learned ways and vast knowledge, as he pounded his fists against the bandit's skull.

"You fucking coward!"

The man had managed to parry the sword, though only by bringing down his dagger to intercept its flight, and then it had already been too late to stop Alex. The walking armoury crashed down on top of the unlucky bandit, the various throwing daggers and other weapons - or parts of weapons - clinging merrily inside his coat. Alex pounded at the bandit for a while yet before remembering his daggers. Then all it took was a soft motion, and the bandit was dead.

Alex looked at the bloody ruin in front of him. He looked back at the bandits. Then at the ruin again, smiling. And then he finally remembered Azrael.

"You alright?", he asked, turning. It was an ominous question, asked well in the knowledge of that the man who was supposed to answer it could be dead.

[Azrael]

A look of shock crossed the noble's face as he suddenly realised how close his death was, spinning away and throwing himself to the ground, one sword coming away from his left hand as he did so, the weapon barely missing the charging Alex who then proceeded to release all of his frustration and anger in one almost shockingly brutal barrage. For a moment Azrael lay in the bloodied snow, simply watching events unfold, almost in a stupor over it all, until that is Alex finished his would be assassin off and turned his attention to his own prone form, his only response to the question of his well being escaping his lips in a single eloquent phrase. "Fuck me that was bloody close!" Slowly he clambered back to his feet, his eyes flicking between the two blood covered forms before him as he retrieved his blade. "Well, I suppose I owe you my life now then eh Alex of Pearlmouth? My thanks" He bowed slightly to the mercenary before turning to face his new prisoners. "Is there anybody else who feels like dying tonight?" He called, scanning the terrified faces for a moment. "Good." At a gesture his warriors began escorting the bandits away until the only two remaining were Lucille and Tyron. Turning back to the mercenary he slipped one hand inside of his cloak and retrieved his hip flask, taking a sip of the Antivan Brandy within before sighing. "How embarrassingly sloppy to be caught like that. I haven't made a mistake like that in eleven years..." He held the flask out calmly, a smile on his face. "How would you like to come back to the castle with us? I'm sure it would be much nicer than what you've been in recently, or we could just find a nice inn to rest at, your choice. Either way, I'm gonna have to find some way to pay you back."

[Alex]

"Well, I certainly deserve payback, m'lord," Alex replied merrily.

"The thing is, I'm out of rations, money and horses. Just let me enter your service and you've already paid me back half of what you're due. I plan to move to the Free Marches, you see. I need your help, and I might as well do work for you in the meantime." He paused, then smilingly added: "As long as it's quite ordinary work."

Snow ruffled under his feet as he began towards the wagon-circle to retrieve what he could of his belongings. He could still take with him the half-preserved rations without risking infection. The smell was vile. It was beginning to spread its filthy tentacles all over the atmosphere, slowly contaminating the area with corpse-smell. If there were any carrion birds in this weather, it was sure to draw in all of them within a few miles. When Alex finished gathering together all the various remnants of his past stuffs, he was sweating cold tears.

He knew he was getting older, each day piling up on top of each other, and his tower of days was getting huge.

[Azrael]

Smiling as Alex stated his intentions to join his team Azrael took another swig of the brandy in his hand and returned the flask to the correct pocket. "Well, I won't lie and claim not to be very interested by that proposition however I will accept on one condition: you never call me that again, if you insist on using a title just use Captain, as for normal work... This is it. Usually there's smaller groups of them and us but you get the idea." Hopping up he perched on the side of the cart that Alex was searching, shaking his head as he surveyed the scene before him. "Too normal." He sighed, so much bloodshed, how many had he killed now? Was this the road he was to walk now, carving a bloody swathe across the world before his own time came? Where was the line between soldier and butcher? Shifting uncomfortably he found one hand absently playing with the pendants around his neck, lingering on the silver locket in the middle. Maybe he really should move on at last. Sighing again he allowed his hand to drop. "You got any family Alex? A wife and child somewhere maybe?"