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With a quick glance both ways down the pathway, Leymedantis makes a dash back across to the other side, manoeuvring over the debris and rubble much like before. He heads straight towards a derelict stone building, one that looks a little more ruined than the rest. There is a doorway, but any door that did exist there is no longer present. Reaching the building, Leymedantis places his back to the wall and presses up against it, and slowly edges his way towards the doorway, pausing to tilt his head to the left and glance into the building. He slowly and silently moves his hand towards the hilt of his blade, and as his fingers brush it..



"You're not going to need that," a voice says from inside the building. It sounds like the voice of a wizened old man - slow, yet very clear and meaningful.



"I assure you, you are quite safe."



Leymedantis pushes himself from the wall to give himself a little distance, and steps into the doorway, still fingering the hilt of his blade. He takes one step into the building, hesitates, and then takes one more step. The building he is barely has four intact walls, huge chunks of brick missing from the walls, the ceiling at the front already collapsed. The rear of the building still has it's stone ceiling - only just - and it blocks out much of the light, casting the rear of the building in shadow.



"You folk always were too cautious for your own good," the voice says, coming from a corner of shadow-shrouded room.



That is true, Leymedantis thinks. Back when he served for Torfae's platoon, he had absorbed the lifestyle like a sponge, taking every ounce of training seriously. He had trained at Torfae Academy for four years as a frontline soldier before his guile and keen sense of perception were noticed by the superior ranking officers that oversaw the secretive sect of mercenaries, dubbed 'hunters'. Deployed individually and tasked with eliminating high profile targets, Hunters were expected to resort to violence only as a last resort. Leymedantis saw the opportunity to leave Torfae platoon as a soldier of war, and utilise his talents to earn a much richer living as a mercenary, and subsequently fled the platoon dormitory in the dead of night, never looking back. As a result of his life as a Hunter, Leymedantis was a skilled conversationalist, well trained in the art of subterfuge and manipulation, a master of stealth, surveillance and counter-surveillance.



"If it is a choice between life or death, one can never be too cautious." Leymedantis retorted.



A figure staggers out of the shadows at the rear of the building. An old man, balding and dressed in tatters, clutching what appears to be a scroll tied with thin rope. Leymedantis watches as the old man staggers forwards still, and thrusts the scroll outwards, waiting for him to grab it.



"This is what you requested. Now, payment."



Leymedantis takes the scroll, unties the rope and unrolls it, reading it with some interest. He looks up at the old man, smirking, and says, "A wide brimmed black hat? A black cape? Black boots, and the rest of his attire the same colour? This fellow shouldn't be too hard to find."

Leymedantis pulls a small brown cloth pouch from the hip of his trousers, and throws it towards the old man, who catches it, surprisingly enough, rather deftly. The jingle confirms that it is indeed, full of coins.



The old man says, "You have travelled long and far to get here. Your target is strong, make no bones about it - reputed as the strongest within his platoon, the rumours say. I recommand you rest here a little."



I could use the rest. No sense in exhausting myself on the first day...



Leymedantis yawns, and responds with a nod. The old man, without saying another word, walks straight out of the building, no longer staggering. Leymedantis steps into the safety of the shadows he has trusted with his life for so long, hoping they will protect his life life once more by way of keeping him hidden. He slouches down against the wall, and slowly, he begins to drift into a deep, deep sleep....

((OOC: I hope ye' dunnae mind me joinin' in, eh?))

Name: Aremias Shadowfalcon

Age: 23

Gender: Male

Appearance: Aremias can usually be found wearing a blood-red shirt along with pure black pants, he is approximately 5'11 and weighs just over 65kg's, usually has a lute strung over one shoulder and a flute hanging from his belt. Across his back is a longbow along with a quiverfull of arrows. He is a thin man, his face, even his deep green eyes never show any emotion at all, except a strange sardonic grin that gives the impression that he expects things before they happen, he never seems to be surprised. His hair is a short, blonde, unkempt mess, no matter how much he tries to tame it.

Class (ie blade, peasant, ex-blade, etc.): ex-blade/bard

History: Aremias is one of the more famous blades, he was in Sothan's platoon during the war. Known for his amazing use of his bow and arrows, he fought in the last battle and was one of the most reported upon blades afterwards, being one of the more social blades to walk the earth, his love of music isn't hidden at all, nowadays he makes his way as a wandering bard of sorts, getting inspiration for any music he writes as he wanders the road, recently, however, he has disappeared, he had been becoming restless, he needed the thrill of battle again, so now he seeks that thrill, giving up his life as a bard, he seeks time to think, he needs to decide on whether or not to go back to the his old life, the life of a blade.

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Elyse spin quickly in a defensive manner when the guy in the alleyway ziped next to her, but she merely breathed deeply and slide her sword into a sheath hidden in her trench coat.

"Your right, pardon me," she said to him, looking at him with her brown eyes making contact with his eyes, now not as hidden in the hat, which were blue. She gave him a smile as she then turned and continued down the street, finnally finding a small, borderlining ranshackled house.

She knocked on the door. Nothing. She knocked again. Still nothing. She knocked on the door harder. Still not even the sound of people moving for the door. Elyse finally got angry and bashed the living hell out of the door with her fists. The only thing that happened was the door buckled a bit. Seeing this she screamed "Ginga, you son of a bitch, open this door before I break it in!"

Still nothing. She took a few steps back, readying her feet for a leaping kick, and she changed for the door, drop kicking it, which caused it to swing ajar with a loud sound. She stepped in, and no mental preperation or trainning as a blade could prepare her for the sight she would behold.

Laying, half naked on the floor with cuts all over, gaged with a rag and twine tied so tight the veins near it buldged and the skin was cut, was Ginga, a man that had information for her. She looked around, seeing no signs that someone other than herself broke in and commited the deed. She knelt down by him, untied the twine and pulled the rag out of his presious mouth. The mouth that had little value now as he was barely breathing. She placed her ear to him, and he whispered "Stonk... find stonk..." Then no sound came from him, not even the wind that passed through one's lips when they breath.

He was dead. She sat his body on the bed, for she knew who had done this. The corrupt lords that wanted to be rid of the blades so they could enter a new era of bloodshed: why would be a mystery, and leaving the body the way she found it would be indignit and pointless: the guard that would find him later would know who did it and not care. She waved her hand over his eyes to close the lids and pulled the tattered blanket he used over his head. Looking at the indignity and disgrace that those lords did to him made Elyse's blood boil over, spilling into her eyes and lips as she walked outside and back down the way she came. Down the streets, mad at the world for letting those lords kill another innocent.

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"I feel for the loss... another reason I'm trying to find people from my platoon and start a revolution... the officials of the government are corrupt... they hurt people for their own gain..." Sothan said, "My name is Sothan Brightblade."

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Give me suffering, pain, anguish, sorrow, and death! For I shall make it my driving force, and from beyond the grave I shall paint the sky red...

<OOC> I post, assuming that you were talking to me. </OOC>

Elyse turned to look at the dark clothed man from the alleyway, who had introduced himself as Sothan. Her brown eyes gazed into his blue eyes as she started to speak.

"What do you know about Ginga?" she asked severely, wondering what he knew, but then added in politeness "I'm Elyse, by the way."

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"Mortife, ugh, what a damnably dreadful place, good for a tragic song or two, maybe, but apart from that, just a terrible place," Aremias said to himself as he wandered down the streets, smiling to himself, "Not that it matters, I'll be out of here soon enough, maybe with a decision on what I want to do with the rest of my life, maybe not," he shrugged, it was so quiet, he looked about, nobody in sight, he sighed, he was a sociable man, and yet, there was never anyone to talk to, taking a deep breath, he began whistling to himself, a tune any blade from his old platoon would know, a song he had written himself, about promised victory and the end of the war that had ravaged the land, it had worked wonders raising morale among the old group, not that any of them could possibly be still alive, unlike him, a lot of blades were rather resistant to retiring. He continued whistling the rather upbeat tune to himself as he wandered through the town, trying to take everything in, this dreary place would make a terribly good song about tragedy, poverty and other such terrible conditions.

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Sothan looked upward, the sunlight falling on his still youthful face, "He was a good man... I don't know who he was talking about though, but he hid me when I needed to be hid most... although I wanted to be the one to kill him... he crammed me under a floor board in a weird position out of some Kamasutra book..." he muttered, the shadows falling across him again...

__________________
Give me suffering, pain, anguish, sorrow, and death! For I shall make it my driving force, and from beyond the grave I shall paint the sky red...

Aremias continued whistling his rather upbeat tune as he walked, his mind slowly wandered to his old group, the blades he had worked with so long ago, whatever had happened to Sothan and the rest? Hopefully they were still alive, if they were, it would make his choice so much easier, he would simply become a blade again, hated and hunted, but he would be happy just to be with the old group, he smiled widely as he broke out into song, the urge to do so had been tugging at his mind since he had begun whistling, and he could no longer resist, "Oh, triumphant we will stand, above our enemies we will rise, and into their throats our blades shall go!" he sung, his amazing voice ringing out through the more or less deserted streets, he unstrapped the lute from his side with expert speed, immediately picking up and upbeat tune to go with the song, "And we'll win this battle, for blades we are and blades we'll stay, Ooohhh, and we shall never be defeated, they can try, but we'll never fade, we'll never become memories, united we will stand against our enemy so bold, and triumphant we shall emerge, from the battle that rages for a hundred years!" he took a breath, his smile from earlier becoming a grin, "We will never fall, for we are the blades, and the blades we shall staaayyy!" He laughed at himself, taking a bow to the dead streets as he restrapped the lute to his side, were the streets not so deserted, there may have been cheers and laughs and such, probably even a few bottles or such thrown at him for declaring himself an ex-blade, not that he really cared what these people thought, he continued walking, humming a new tune to himself, a lot of slow, drawn out notes in this one, a song of sadness, death and poverty.

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Defender and scarer of new people
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"Yes, he was," Elyse replied. He had to be good natured to hide a blade from harm: someone who risked their life for the kingdom only to be hunted by the very people they were to save. Tis the work of the dishonourable.

Of course, she remembered complying with the order of laying down arms and her katana became nothing more than a decoration on her mantle. Some officials never liked the idea that she had done that, but no one hunted her because she traveled unarmed. That was until various tribal-tarians, retired blades and harmless peace doves were turning up dead, their murders either going unsolved or being listed as 'accidents'.

Elyse wasn't stupid: she could see the writting on the walls once it finally clicked that the treaty negociation were being roadblocked by some of the corrupt lords, including some that were avocating the war that birthed the need for blades to begin with. Some were keeping the war machine going, becoming filthy rich off of the dead and maming of others, while others were more interested in conquering the enemy as opposed being friendly neighbours, wanting power and lusted for the oppression and slavery of others.

So, here she was, seeing more evil of the corrupt then she really wanted in a day, and the way that man died was even more disgraceful. She mangled the crime scene, knowing that it would never be solved: she just had to put him in a position that was less shameful.

"How did you know he died?" she asked Sothan, not sure about how he would have had such knowledge.

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Sothan smirked and pulled the brim of his hat down over his face, "I am the heart and soul of this town, the purity and peace of its operations." he said, then he launched up a wall and onto a roof, vanishing without a trace of ever existing, "Now... where's the hunter who just got my bounty warrant..."

__________________
Give me suffering, pain, anguish, sorrow, and death! For I shall make it my driving force, and from beyond the grave I shall paint the sky red...