Nightfall had come, and the festivities were in full swing. The Duke watched above from his bedroom window as the people enjoyed themselves, he then looked out beyond the walls, and into the darkness where the enemy rested. The Duke's mind was elsewhere however, lost in memories of happier times, back when his wife, the Duchess Livana still lived.

He sighed as he took a step back and closed his window. Shortly there was a knock on his door, and the Duke answered. The visitor was a short and uninteresting looking man, dressed in the same manner as the rest of the servants and serfs that worked within the castle, "Ah Morgan, what news do you bring?" he asked the man.

"I apologise for the lateness your grace, but I have recieved word of curious individuals, garbed in robes. I do not know of their intentions, but one of my eyes & ears caught wind of a few words spoken by them, it is assumed they may be allies with the orks." Morgan spoke as he handed the report to the Duke.

"I see." said the Duke as he took in this information, "This is most disturbing indeed. For now however, keep a close eye on these individuals, and inform me as soon as they move. Oh and please do deliver this information to Lord Balthazar, if he himself has not already gathered this information." he finished.

Morgan bowed in understanding "Of course your grace, I will do as you wish." and the man hastily left with purpose.

The Duke then closed the door and sat on his bed. He let out a tired sigh, "My dear Livana, how I wish for your guidence once more. You always knew how to handle these unsavoury situations." he said before readying himself to retire for the night.

-------

Some time before the end of the event, Rudolph accepted that he'd had enough to drink and it was time to call it a night.
With a bid goodnight to his comrades, he made his way back to the barracks.
Fullar joined him on the walk, both slightly intoxicated, but stable.

Away from the crowded area, the evening had a slight chill to it. The streets weren't busy, as most of the attention was at the event, so the way ahead was technically clear besides the odd patrol making their rounds.

"D-Did you hear about Brauer?" asked Rudolph with hand on head as a headache began to develop. "Yea, poor bastard. His mother will be on her own now, and she struggles as is." Fullar replied saddened at the thought, "I'll go visit her at the end of this on his behalf." he continued.

Next to the entrance to the barracks, the two men noticed the drunken and sleeping form of Captain Haart, several empty bottles lay around him, and he was sat upon a chair that seemed to barely support his large frame. "Evening Captain." said Fullar without even looking at the man before heading in, the Captain barely stirred, the man was too busy snoring away. Rudolph simply shook his head and chuckled as he walked past.

The barracks seemed quiet, which was pleasent for Rudolph's ever worsening headache. "Right, i'm off to bed then. See you in the morn'." Fullar waved to his friend before heading up the stairs. Rudolph sat for a moment and drew a pitcher of water, and took his time with the drink. "I'm getting too old for this." he said to himself under his breath. He sat alone for about a half hour before he could barely keep his eyes open, then surrendered himself to his bed.

Zatana had just finished the lovely loaf of sweetbread, her head tucked against her chest with her hood shadowing her face as she sought the doze of someone who was in a hostile city. The chair was tilted back a bit onto the rear legs, and her knee was carefully set just so. To anyone else, the posture would be uncomfortable, but then again most probably never had to sleep in a sitting position for an extended period. Having done a stint as a hall boy, the sort who waits at a door all night so that important guests need not wait, and a messenger at the behest of gathering information, Zatana was more than used to the pose. It beat sleeping on a horse. There was uncomfortable! She was interrupted by the movement of people entering the war room. Something sat wrong with them being able to enter this interior shell of the keep, or so Zatana thought. Opening her dark eyes, she had one of her long knives in her hand before she spoke, though that hand was on the far side of the strangers.

Who it was surprised the dark elf. She had not been expecting the strange cleric and two knights who looked to be nothing like those who served the city or Duke. Two knights lacking the stains of battle on top of that when this woman they held in their arms was so covered in goblin gore and sewer muck? On top of that, the civilized elf grimaced privately at the thought of the woman going to sleep in a bed so soiled. Cleanliness was an underappreciated factor in her profession. Smells where there ought to be no such smell was something that could foul up an operation just as much as eating the wrong food or bringing the wrong tools. Standing from the circle of lizard man that was Merik she bowed as stately as any courtier. The knife hidden against her wrist. "Good evening, Sirs. Lady... Forgive me, I did not catch your name when last we met. Never fear, you merely disturbed my rest while I remain able to move to where His Highness Prince Leonidas of the Empire of Man requires me to be." Zatana felt her smile become somewhat sharper. She was revealing too much of her courtly graces, but these knights. They should have had some grime if they had not just thrown their cleric to the wolves- literally. Soldiers were loud as they exchanged the news.

"Though I can see the Cleric is weary and since I have no need of it as of current, I offer you my own quarters should they suffice. Though..." She gave a pause to emphasize what she was saying was no request at all. "I do suspect that the Sacred Order's Cleric of the Dead would enjoy a bath before the bed, Ser Knights." A small luxury the woman looked like she dearly needed. Plus the ulterior motive of trying to figure the woman and her two knights out, then again with her being a dark elf it was a given.

Co-GM IC:

The Keep

---

The four assassins hopped from rooftop to rooftop under cover of darkness, and under the festive noise of the celebration, none would notice their approach unless they had an idea that they were coming in the first place. The plan was simple enough. All they would need to do is to eliminate key figures in their sleep. On their way there, they would kill only if spotted, and if they had encountered too much resistance, they were either to flee or to deny the enemy the opportunity to interrogate them.

But if all went well... then perhaps they'd still have a chance of making their master's plan a reality.

The assassins then split into pairs, one duo entering through the kitchen's service entrance, and the other having scaled the keep, entering through one of the windows in the guest rooms. Their targets? Duke Manuel Karstilli, and Lord Balthazar Trevarthen. Each group would search for the former in the master bedrooms, and the latter in the guest bedrooms. Should they fail to find their target, they would begin searching more public rooms, before moving to search each room individually.

Downstairs, particularly attentive characters might be able to detect the presence of two individuals moving silently through the Keep. Upstairs, the assassins would be less likely to be noticed-- though prepared characters may still be able to find a way to surprise their assailants. Characters simply wandering the halls may be able to chance upon the intruders, if they're lucky.

The Trade Square

---

With the celebration in full swing, people would be unlikely to spot the pair of assassins moving silently through the crowd, their hooded figures blending in with the crowd seamlessly. There was also one hopping from rooftop to rooftop, overseeing the whole thing. Their mission, similar to their compatriots, was to eliminate one of the key figures holding the siege together: the Crown Prince Leonidas Lionheart. If they succeeded, there would of course be repercussions that extend past the siege, but whether or not they would succeed is another question entirely.

In plain sight, these assassins would try to poison the Crown Prince's meal or wine. Failing that, they would resort to more overt actions-- either stabbing the man with an envenomed blade or firing at him from atop the rooftops. If caught, they would use the pandemonium of the crowd to make a quick escape, not wanting to risk their lives more than they have to.

Someone particularly perceptive who was watching the crowds may be able to note how suspicious these assassins are. Meanwhile, anyone paying general attention to their surroundings may notice the strange individual moving silently atop the rooftops. Characters partaking in the festivities are less likely to spot these individuals until it is too late, but may get a chance to react, if nimble enough.

The City Streets

---

Meanwhile, the remaining two assassins have different objectives from their comrades. Their goals were twofold: they would move to poison the town's water wells. Although the townspeople have an alternative water source in the nearby river, they do this in the hope of inflicting damage to the town's infrastructure and some of the defenders before the battle begins. Their next objective, however, was more insidious: they had planned to plant detonation charges on the city's East Gate, where damage to the gatehouse was most serious.

If they succeed in their plan, then it was likely that the gate would fall the next day-- something that would make defending the city exponentially more difficult. Of course, first, the assassins would have to make it to these facilities. A pair of hooded individuals walking the city streets was noticeable enough, considering that they're so far away from the main festivities. Anyone simply walking around the streets may be able to find them randomly, and anyone actively searching for them would not have to look particularly far to spot them in the first place.

...but would the Royal Guard and the City Watch be able to mobilize quickly enough to neutralize all these threats? Only time would tell.

Acrius held a deluge of different meals from across the realm. He couldn't take his pick so he just took a small portion of whatever interested him. Onlookers would look and wonder why the boy was sat there, staring at his array of foods. The problem he faced now was the crippling indecision on what to start with. All of it just seemed tantalizing, from the smell to the presentation. There was no real way he could pick one to start with. A sigh escaped his lips as he held one of the skewered meat- which he was informed was a kebab, up the night sky.

Godsdamn it, fine, Kebab shall be the first to fall, Acrius finally thought. His eyes landed on a rooftop as he took a bite, the boy could swear that he saw movement. A trick of the light? The effects of shite booze? It couldn't have been, he hasn't drank. Acrius slammed the kebab onto the plate as his eyes scanned the rooftops. Nothing, not a single tile out of place nor any odd shadows. He unconsciously tightened the loose weapon on his belt. Perhaps he was overreacting, but it's best he kept a wary eye, just in case. He motioned for a young boy, likely an orphan due to his garb, to come towards him and offered him his plate of food with a smile before he set off to ease his suspicions.

Acrius patrolled the trade square with a quick pace. Most of the citizens were drunk- he figured it through their ale-addled breaths or general demeanor. Anyone suspicious likely wouldn't participate in such revelry- atleast that was his thought process. His eyes swam through the crowds, looking for individuals who stood out. He spotted a man suspiciously squatting around a corner. "Hey, you, what are-" Acrius pulled at his shoulder as the man turned around and puked on the floor. He dodged out of the way at the last second, unluckily some of the vomit got onto his leather boots. "Ugh- never mind. Avoid stuffing your throat with so much ale you that vomit on the next person trying to converse with your pathetic self." He hissed before leaving the man to continue emptying out his innards.

It would take him tens of minutes as he questioned and even wrestled with some drunk denizens of the city. Some soldiers only cooperated when he flashed them his sigil. Other citizens tried to look manly to women they wanted to impress only to be left embarrassed by Acrius as he easily layed them flat and the women they were courting now took a liking towards the boy. Women were the most uncooperative as most tried to get him to stay with them and drink for a 'fun night'. Acrius made it a point to escape their clutches as soon as it was possible. As his search continued, thoughts of him overreacting began surfacing. However, his fears would proven to be true.

A large platter of food and wine was ready to be served to the Prince. Acrius caught a drunk man passing by the tray and cup, the drunk man dripped some clear liquid onto the chicken and wine before 'stumbling' away. It was too practiced, too 'real' to be an actual drunk. A servant came to serve the food before Acrius threw the platter of food onto the ground and emptied out the wine onto the floor. A few, tipsy- near drunk, onlookers and the servant looked at him like he was some abstract painting.

"Listen," Acrius grabbed the servant's arm and flashed his sigil to the servant as he kept his eyes on the 'drunk man', "The food's tainted. Inform Prince Leonidas that 'Acrius think there's danger and to NOT eat the food'. Got it?"

"Uh- Ehrm, Yes milord!" The servant sputtered before bowing profusely and making his way to the prince deliver Acrius' very crude message. Hopefully Prince Leonidas would understand.

Acrius began following the 'drunk man', trying his best to tail him while remaining inconspicuous. This wasn't his forte, he was no Zatana after all; clearly shown when he almost gave himself away a few times. With a mix of lack and lax concentration, he remained undetected. The man slipped into a dark street corner. There was no real way for him to follow whilst remaining hidden. As such he took the most Acrius' way to handle it and approached the man from behind, sword drawn. With one motion, the sword was next to the man's neck, above his right shoulder. The man held his hands up.

"Who do you think you are pointing a sword at me!?"

Acrius simply held his sigl in his left hand as the man looked back at him.

"Sobered up quickly, eh?" Acrius said in his usual manner, "Just some routine questions from one of the Royal Guards. What did you put into the food, speak quickly."

"I- It was nothing! I'm one of the serv- chefs! That way simply soy sauce, sir!"

"Soy sauce... then you wouldn't mind tasting it for me. As a man who loves food, you wouldn't mind, right?"

"Ah, no, I couldn't-"

Acrius swiped at his pouch and eyed the vial with clear liquids. The man unsheathed his hidden daggers while turning counter-clockwise to swipe at him. Acrius leaned back and dodged the dagger, also coated with a clear liquid. Acrius jumped backwards a fair distance and steadied his stance as he properly gripped his short sword.

"Who in the hells are you?" Acrius said, "You know what, forget it. I'll get it out of you one way or the other."

Two hooded men slowly made their way across the corridors of the keep, making sure to listen for any servants or guards who may be wandering around.

The men tried a few rooms in hopes on finding the target as soon as possible, and did well to prevent their own discovery.
And after searching for what seemed like an hour, they finally found their target.

The men briefly checked their surroundings before creeping in. One remained at the door as the lookout, and the other approached the sleeping Duke. The room was partially illuminated via the moon, for the curtains had only protected the bed. The man slowly and silently took a few steps across the room toward the slumbering Duke and withdrew a glistening knife.

"So you have come." the voice froze the assassin in surprise, "I presume you will not entertain the idea of offering a little information regarding the reason to your current circumstance?" asked the clearly awake Duke. He sat himself up within his bed, and observed the man before him, and then quickly glanced toward the man at the door. The two looked equally surprised.
"Though I suppose it is fruitless, as I am to die by your hand, am I not?" he rhetorically asked the man with the blade.

The assassin regained his composure, and stepped forward without replying. The Duke watched as the man approached, merely sitting there as though with little concern. "Hurry you fool! I think I hear company." came the voice of the lookout, the assassin took his eyes off the Duke for a brief moment as his comrade spoke to him. He turned back only to find that the Duke was no longer bed in his bed, but stood at the end of it with a shortsword in hand.

"My aide is already aware of your presence, and the guard are making their way here as we speak." the Duke readied his blade as he spoke, "It may be rare to find magic within Bergkoff, but before becoming a Duke, I had gained the knowledge on how to use a telepathy spell."

The assassin frustrated and desperate let out an aggrevated growl and leapt toward the Duke with his knife. The Duke easily parried the strike.
The two would dish out strikes at one another, the assailant apparently somewhat proficient with a blade. Neither managed to land a hit however.

Heavy footsteps could now be heard coming from further down the hall. "We're out of time! We need to go, now!" said the man at the door before turning to flee.
The Duke made for a few more strikes, only so he could prevent the assassin from escaping and buy the guard some more time.

The assassin took a few steps back as he parried the Dukes attacks and took a moment to grab a cushion from a nearby chair. The assassin retaliated with the cushion to block an in coming strike, to which the Duke clumsily cut down. The assassin then dashed past with ease as the Duke was caught off guard.

The Duke then turned to make another attempt as his assailant tried to get away, but with no success.
The man gave a quick glance back toward the Duke before swiftly leaving.
Shouts could be heard as guards began flooding the corridors as they searched for the tresspassers.

The Duke sat heavily onto his bed, suddenly feeling feverish. Morgan came into the room followed by a pair of guards. "Your grace! Are you alright?" he asked as he approached to check up on his lord. The man immediately noticed a small patch of blood on the Dukes side.
"The hooded people you mentioned...they may of been the ones who attacked me." he said before clutching his head. The Duke let out a pained sigh,"I do not feel well." he continued before falling back onto his bed fainting. "My lord!" Morgan spoke concerned, he then turned to the guards, "Bring his Doctor, quickly!" he ordered, and one of them hurried away as commanded.

Gordon listened to Zatana’s comments and spoke upon her offer. “Unless you wish to assume the responsibility of bathing lady Drana, she will rest until she can clean herself properly with the use of her spell craft.” Gordon did not speak properly to Zatana, as a knight often held little regard to one who did not hold equal standing. The true reason was completely different. Gordon had yet to hear her name, and by his oaths to Lady Drana that meant that Zatana was to be treated as an unknown. “We will take her to your quarters where we shall make sure she is capable of resting undisturbed.” Gordon’s voice left little room for negotiation as he accepted Zatana’s offer.
“I am Sir Gordon, and my companion is Sir Stephan. We are both holy servants to the lady of death. You should do well to introduce yourself now that you have the proper chance.” Gordon’s voice was a mix of proper edicate and the directness and candor that came from a country man.

Stephan did not speak the entire interaction. His body, hidden by armor, seemed like that of a statue where Gordon’s moved with his voice. Stephan did not wish to wake lady drama before she could recover, nor did he see any need to hide from these people the truth should they be capable of discovering it.

“We will take instruction unless you feel urged to lead us.” Gordon said quickly, wanting to make sure that Drana was allowed to recover as quickly and as safely as possible. The fact that Zatana knew Drana’s title but had not hinted at his true nature told Gordon that the woman before him did not know the depth behind the holy words; The Sacred Order’s Cleric of the Dead.

Lady of Death was such an interesting title and the implications that went with it. It aroused Zatana's interest, though she held her court mask to not let such a show. "Of course, I am Zatana Aleana of His Royal Highness Prince Leonidas Lionheart's Royal Guard. " And more besides, but that had no hand in this situation. Gesturing that they were to follow her she decided to see what information she could wriggle out of this Sir Gordon. "I shall lead you to my quarters, while they are not much I do admit. They will suffice and I have no need of them." No, she had a Prince to keep alive and some of her own rest to get where a drunk and foolhardy man would not take it in their head that stabbing a drow in her sleep was a good idea. Royal Guard or no! "Your lady's aide was most appreciated. Though I wonder where such loyal knights were in such a tumultuous battle."

Gordon did not receive her introduction with the formality that would be expected of him. “It is our duty to follow the instruction of our holy cleric, Drana.” Gordon spoke flatly. Drana often used her name to open doors that would otherwise remain closed when far away from the black desert. Here, the title the Sacred order had to offer would be seen as an affront to the peace, rather than a bulwark against threats that endangered it. Gordon knew that Zatana was not a courtly woman simply by her race, a judgement he was not proud to make. It would be wise to let her know that they were not enemies. “It is wise to judge a knight by his weapon, not his armor.” Gordon said as he followed Zatana with Stephan. The two knights did carry weapons that were not piece tied. Gordon did not make it clear if he was referring to the cleanliness of his armor, but his own sword as well as stephan’s were sheathed. Drana stirred lightly in her slumber, but she did not wake up. She mumbled something about needing to stop a cave in before returning to silence. “If you wish to know where, you will have to ask our lady when she awakens.”

[color=SlateBlue]“Then I shall.” Though she doubted she would be the one to ask the questions, Zatana was intrigued by this odd trio. “For mine is not to judge but to gather the pieces and protect the whole.” A cryptic reply to Gordon’s questions, and a truth that the dark elf would not deny. Her’s was a job of information gathering and protection. Not to judge this knight and his companions. Though her suspicions were another matter entirely. “The room.” She gestured to the door with a politely neutral tone.

“I thank you, Zatanna. May we remain allies in future battles be they by sword or wit.” Gordon opened the door as Stephan waited for him to make room. AS soon as the door was open, Stephan moved into the room with Drana.

The dark elf inclined her head and nodded slightly. “And may you always be successful in your endeavours, Ser Gordon.” The man was amusing to Zatana, yet another person of wit. But it would not do to linger. Turning on her heel she stalked through the halls, mapping out the fastest way to Belthazar’s room in her mind.

Gordon made sure that Stephan was well to take care of Drana before stepping out of the room and setting off to make sure he understood the layout of this particular wing. The breathless nature of Gordon was a boon, however the sound of heavy plate was not easy to mistake. After briefly scouting the hall he had not traveled down with Zatana, he made his way to the door outside of Zatanna’s room where he unsheathed his sword. Stepping to the right of the door, he placed the tip of his sword on the floor and both of his hands on the pommel and fell silent. Unless a commotion was caused nearby, he remained as motionless as an empty suit of steel.

Stephan placed Drana in the bed without removing her clothing. He could not bathe her in such a state, such matters would require him to remove his gauntlets which she had strictly forbidden him to do. He did as much work as he could with a wet rag and left her be. Standing at the head of the bed, he did not unsheath his weapon as he stood silently in the dark.

Balthazar continued his casual consumption of tobacco for several moments, before emptying his pipe outside the window, letting the cold breeze scatter the remaining ashes to the four winds. As he watched the town from a distance, something alighted upon the windowsill:

A white bird, with skin of paper, and feathers of ink.

The irony of a Record-Hunter --a familiar that makes no sound-- taking the form of a songbird was not lost upon the man. Balthazar neatly tucked away his pipe, before raising a hand to allow his familiar to come closer. The origami figure hopped onto the palm of his hand, before unfolding into several sheets of parchment.

"Now, what have you found?"

The spymaster quickly scanned the document, reading it twice over, before committing it to memory. Balthazar then set the parchment down, picked up his tome and cane, and then snapped his fingers; casting a spell to extinguish the candles in the room, leaving only the one on his desk. His bedroom was soon engulfed in darkness, save for a single flame, flickering in the wind.

His preparations were only half-complete, though. Were he in his prime, he would have been able to set a proper magical trap, but his old age has limited his repertoire. Instead, he must improvise. Balthazar walked over to the darkest corner of the room opposite the desk, uttering an incantation underneath his breath. Soon, he was shrouded in shadows, wisps of blackness emanating from his body like fog. In this light (or lack thereof), he was nigh-invisible to those without the ability to see in darkness.

The old man then simply stood there, an ominous figure in the blackness... and waited.

Several moments later, they had arrived, just as his familiar had reported. As the door creaked open, the spymaster made no sound-- he would have one chance to turn the tide. A man dressed in a black hood soon entered the room, dagger in hand. The assassin looked about the room and failed to spot anyone, instead opting to read the papers strewn about the desk-- likely to see if this was the room they were searching for.

"This is his room." The assassin confirmed his lookout's thoughts, beckoning the other to enter the room. "Let's grab his files and start looking for him."

Even so, Balthazar was silent as they rifled through his things. He had been careful enough to leave nothing particularly valuable upon the desk, yet incriminating enough to catch their eye. The true trap, however, would reveal itself momentarily. As the lead assassin stopped to inspect a stack of parchments, he became entranced with the various esoteric symbols written upon its surface. Although he could not comprehend the language, his head began to hurt.

"Ngh... what in the Nine Hells?" He said underneath his breath as he averted his eyes.

He did not notice the symbols grow brighter until it was too late.

In an instant, the pain had intensified-- a mental attack! This elicited a grunt of agony and caused the man to drop the stack of papers. The parchments then reformed into a miniature origami figurine resembling a winged serpent, and leaped at the intruder who had read its master's work. Meanwhile, Balthazar stepped forth from the shadows and took aim, quickly releasing the spell he had prepared beforehand, firing off a blast of inky darkness at the other assassin, clipping the man's lower leg and causing him to stumble.

"Surrender quietly." The old man said ominously. "For your own sakes."

Although initially caught by surprise, the assassins quickly reoriented themselves--it seemed they had little interest in going quietly. The first assassin tried to turn towards Balthazar, but with the Record-Hunter running constant interference, it was difficult for him to lend any meaningful assistance to his comrade. The second assassin rose to his feet, blood seeping from his injured leg, and raised a dagger towards the warlock, before charging forward. The old man leaned away from the first swing, before ducking out of the way of the second strike.

The familiar then wrapped its long, serpentine body around the man's feet to try and trip him up, finding moderate success in binding those appendages together. The warlock, not to be left undone, then fired off another blast of dark energy at his assailant, the ray of shadows only managing to graze the assassin's shoulder.

All this ruckus, however, could be heard from outside the room, in the halls. If Balthazar wished to force a retreat or dispose of these assassins, it would be as simple as using some of his more powerful spells... but he needed them alive, and for that, he needed help. He did not say it, but he was counting on some reinforcements.

Whether or not they would arrive on time, however, was up to Fate... and until Fate would provide him that opportunity, Balthazar would hold out as long as he could.

The hallways were a maze of stone blocks and ornaments. Wooden tables, tapestries, coats of arms and retired weapons littered the place along with the even gleam of lighting so people would not stumble about making more racket than was necessary. The lights, Zatana thought, she could do without. Though her race was used to the shadows according to the children's tales spread throughout the city, the dark elf's own profession was more used to the shadows. The Cleric Drana had raised many questions in the mind of the watcher and meeting her guards had only raised more. Suspicious of the cleric's guards, she had to admit Gordon was a talented speaker and one she wished to speak to again. Yet, she would see what the Prince's oldest advisor thought and perhaps in seeking his thoughts on the matter and cementing that the Prince's safety was her priority, she would be able to worm her way a bit closer to the old warlock. As knowledgeable as he must be if Zatana could get into his notes and records... It would be a very big and fat goose to send back to the Dread Coast and her grandfather. Though if the warlock proved anything like the fearsome dark elf, it would be a feat that would put her on the radar as a potential danger to her grandfather and he had not lived so long by tolerating dangers near him. Her lips thinned in dislike of that thought, she had no interest in the politics of the drow courts, nor would she- a bastard, though a female one- be accepted among them. The only way to gain acceptance would be to make herself the last of one parent's blood relatives. Even then the direct need to increase offspring might not drive the targetted parent to accept her back into the fold. Shaking her head, Zatana paused as she heard a ruckus up the corridor in the direction of Balthazar's room.

Losing her daggers she drew one of the long knives, dousing the candle set in its smokey holder. If anyone entered the hall from that direction, she would be partly concealed. Moving swiftly towards the door, the dark elf praised the insight of her mentor that he had cultivated the natural quiet steps that had always put those around her on edge for now it would give her a chance to observe before she rushed in blindly. Rushing would do little and if you did rush it was best to be rushing to deliver death or to evade that final companion. There were several thumps and footfalls from people struggling in the old man's room. Considering her options, Zatana hesitated. To let Balthazar die would be an option if the assailants were attacking him and could pull it off, leaving the way open for her to secure the position for herself. Though, that would leave the network of spies without a master who was familiar with them and hamper her task of keeping the Royal Prince safe. Grimacing, she gently pushed the door ope with a booted toe and studied the scene quickly.

A Record Keeper was in the form of an adorable serpent and tangled about the feet of one man dress in black who seemed to be struggling with the paper creature. The other was suffering from an injured leg and was doing his best to attack the wizard who was trading blows of knife with magic. Two options ever were there always options. Never was there a simple choice. At last though, here was something she could excel in. A hunt, capture, and then questioning. Sliding into the room, she shut the door behind her. It would slow them if they tried to run and the door was closed. If they thought it locked? All the better. Aiming a kick at the head of the assassin tangling with the paper snake, she sought to knock him unconscious as she twisted and threw a small dagger drawn from her wrist with her free hand at the injured leg of the assailant tangled with Balthazar. The skill of the assassins was a mystery to her and she wanted to mock them. Challenge their abilities and draw them out to face her and test herself against their blades, but this was not the time. They were too close to the Prince even here and she, despite her desires, had her orders to follow. Zatana hated the youthful need for a challenge at times, it made doing her job so extremely hard.

Leonidas had continued to play his part with the festivities. Although he was careful and made sure not to drink much at all and kept his wits about him. That was until a serving girl brought him a plate of food. "My Lord, Sir Acrius asked me to bring this over to you. He says its the best thing he has had all night." she said to Leonidas with a smile setting the plate down before him and curtseying before taking her leave and disappearing back into the crowd moving to serve other guests. Leonidas gave a quick look around to see if he could see Acrius but couldn't make him out among the crowd. But that was fine the lad was probably doing his own sample tour and would meet back up with the prince later on. And with things going as they were Leonidas was awfully hungry and decided to chow down into the food that Acrius had so generously picked out for him.

Co-GM IC:

The Keep - First Floor

---

The assassins, having partially succeeded in their objective, moved to exfiltrate. Though the Duke had surprised them, the poison they had delivered would be enough to put him out of commission for a while, or perhaps even kill him, if his health was already failing. It was likely that with swift action, he would survive, but... these assassins were not sent here on a suicide mission.

And thus, they ran through the corridors, their steps now not nearly as silent as they once were. They could no longer use the Servant's Entrance near the kitchen-- guards would be there soon enough, after all. Instead, they moved towards the keep's garden, where they could easily scale the walls and escape into the city.

Their path, however, took them past the Throne Room, the War Room, and several other important rooms. It would not be unlikely for members of the Royal Guard, or for soldiers to chance upon them as they ran past. Unless they acted quickly, these assailants would likely make their escape, unopposed.

The Keep - Second Floor

---

Zatana's silent entry and dynamic entrance had not been without its effects. She skillfully landed a heavy kick to the first assassin's head, which caused the man to crumple. He was not unconscious, but he was dazed and reeling. Sensing this, the Record-Hunter tightened its grip on the man, wrapping its long, serpentine body around the assassin's arms and legs. Although the familiar was made of paper, it was supernaturally strong, and resistant to normal attempts at cutting-- the man was subdued, for now.

Her next attack was equally effective, and the dagger slipping into the man's already injured calf. The second assassin fell to his knee-- with three injuries, things were not looking good. As Balthazar closed the distance to try and knock the man out with a solid thwack of his cane, something fell at his feet:

A round, black ball, with a lit fuse.

The old man's eyes widened in surprise, and he quickly moved to knock the grenade away from him. It was too late, however, and soon, the room exploded in a cloud of stinging grey smoke. Balthazar coughed and coughed, tears flowing from his eyes. Distracted like this, he could not cast any spells. Unfortunately, while the alchemical concoction seemed to be largely non-lethal in nature, everyone in the room who was not prepared for it: whether it was Balthazar, Zatana, or even the other Assassin, was now caught in the middle of it all.

Thankfully, while the door was closed, the window was still wide open, and soon, the smoke had dissipated enough to see. The second assassin, still injured from the two-pronged assault of the Warlock and the Drow Shadow, had left a blood trail lead all the way to the window. He had made his escape. Balthazar, still reeling from the effects of the stinging gas, stumbled towards the window, where he saw the assassin gently floating to the bottom of the keep.

"A Feather Fall spell..." He coughed out slightly, before looking to his Drow companion. "Go after him-- even with his head start, he can't move quickly because of his injuries. You may still be able to catch him." Balthazar said, turning his gaze to the man on the floor.

"I'll handle this one."

The Trade Square

---

As the Prince ate the food handed to him, he felt nothing wrong... at least initially. The poison, known by many names, but most commonly as Assassin's Blood, was a tasteless, colorless, and odorless liquid that could be mixed into food or drink. Although not a fast-acting, deadly poison, it was quite debilitating, especially to those of weak constitution-- or to those who consume it in large amounts.

Soon, the man would feel strange, and then ill... if the toxin was allowed to run its course, the Prince would be bedridden for a few days. Still, the Prince was a healthy man-- in the worst-case scenario, he would simply be bedbound until the poison was neutralized. Of course, it would mean that he would be unable to fight; receiving wounds while poisoned was a quick way to complicate and compound medical injuries until permanent injury, or even death, had occurred.

Meanwhile, the assassin Acrius was facing wielded a blade slathered in the concentrated venom of a snake. While nothing particularly special, this poison can seep into wounds inflicted by weapons or other trauma, causing excruciating pain. The venom can then circulate within the body, destroying the balance of the internal organs, essentially incapacitating those of a weaker constitution. The Royal Guardsman didn't know what the poison was exactly... but he knew that it would be prudent to avoid being struck, for his own well-being.

The assailant begins to circle around the man, as if waiting for an opening. When he spots one, he doesn't rush in, instead opting to throw a set of three throwing daggers in a tight fan from his off-hand. These daggers were similarly poisoned, but the movement was predictable enough to dodge or deflect. In truth, however, if Acrius decides to dodge, in a direction, he would be hard-pressed to dodge the crossbow bolt from the rooftops-- the daggers were merely a distraction for the true threat!

Once Acrius was poisoned from one way or another, both assassins would close into melee range for the kill, confident in their ability to face him, now that he was debilitated. If he was able to avoid attempts at poisoning, however, the assassin would likely decide that discretion was the better part of valor, and move to escape, instead. The fight would then devolve into a chase across moonlit rooftops until the criminals were apprehended, or until they managed to evade their capture.

Of course, Acrius facing off against a pair of assassins in a dark alleyway in the middle of a festival was sure to draw the attention of those who were nearby, even if the sounds of the townsfolk's revelry made it difficult to hear, at times. If the man needed to, he could also try to draw the fight into the streets, but the assassins were mindful enough not to carry out such an attempt in plain view

In Acrius' eyes, poison, simply put, is dull. It forces the assailed combatant to fight defensively. This style of combat wasn't compatible with his 'be fine with getting injured as long as you've doled out harsher injuries' mindset. Still, Acrius thought he was going to enjoy meals from around the country but here he is fighting in some abandoned alleyway against a potentially deranged man with a poisoned weapon. He enjoyed a good fight, but he hardly considered dueling poison users a 'fight'. It was a prolonged game of cat-and-mouse. Except, if patient enough, the mouse could kill the cat.

The assassin and Acrius circled each other, both eyeing each other for any opening. The orange-eyed boy would lunge at any sign of weakness but the assassin was extremely cautious, almost as if avoiding an engagement. It seemed entirely possible that the assassins had been briefed of his, and likely the other retinue's, profiles. Though, if his suspicions proved correct, it was odd that the man would opt to trade blows with him rather than retreat.

It wasn't only pride that let Acrius know, poison notwithstanding, that he would win in a clash against the assassin. Acrius eyes, molded through countless years of experience and training, had a knack for discerning foes. From the beginning he had carefully observed the assassin's mannerisms- His movement, stance, grip, and experience. None denoted a particularly experienced or rigorously trained swordsman. Atleast, one able to best him. In his head he concluded that this man must not be alone. This caused Acrius to be wary, well more wary than usual. An ally or two roaming the shadows nearby was more than likely. That and their poisoned weapons spelled bad news.

The assassin threw knives in a fan-like fashion. This movement was telegraphed and would've been a simple enough process to dodge or even deflect. In response Acrius' waved his free hand to create a small, thin sheet of fire infront of him. This fire was harmless and only served as a distraction. It blocked the line-of-sight of the assassin in-front of him. The assassin, bewildered by his action, strained to see ahead of him.

The other assassin took this as an opening and aimed his crossbow at Acrius' head. The bolt flew through the air and cut through the fire. A grunt of pain soon followed. The crossbow assassin clambered down the rooftops, in hopes of finishing off the swordsman with his compatriot.



As the fire dissipated, the two found Acrius kneeling and clutching his bleeding face. With satisfied smiles they moved to end his life. A dagger flew from the boy to the assailants.

"Last death throes, eh boy?" One of them spat with a toothy grin, "Any last words?"

As they approached the seemingly poisoned swordsman they expected an easy kill. Suddenly, Acrius jumped up and slashed the first assassin diagonally in the chest. The cut was deep and caused him to reel backwards in agony and begin bleeding. The second gripped his own daggers and charged the boy. Surely he was running low on stamina, his vitality can only take him so far, right?

"Keh, give up, the poison should be seeping into your heart," The second spat as he clashed with Acrius, "I'll give you a clean death."

"Maybe so," Acrius replied simply as he deflected each stroke, "I'm not the type to die with my weapons down. But you know that, right?"

The basic rule of combat against multiple assailants was to keep them all within your line of sight and do not let them surround you. The first assassin clutched his chest and tried his best to push through the pain. His movements became slow and lethargic, he cringed in pain with every movement. The first assassin would go down easily enough, but Acrius still moved backwards as he deflected and blocked their attacks. He never let them out of his sight and always kept them in-front of him. Each exchange allowed Acrius to create and maintain distance between them.

With each passing moment a searing doubt would enter the assassins heads; how in gods name was this man still standing. He was 'poisoned' yet was able to fend both of them off with ease.

Acrius spotted an opening with the dagger-wielding assassin's hesitance. The man swung wildly and his momentum left him open- Acrius kicked his foot that supported his weight. This sent the man careening towards the floor, dropping like a sack of potatoes. Another swing from the wounded assassin came right after his kick, but it was slow and telegraphed. Acrius deflected the sword away and slashed the man's wrist. The assassin groaned in pain and dropped his weapon. Acrius readied himself for another clash with the second assassin but found that he had vanished. The dagger-wielding assassin had retreated back into the darkness. The man had come to the conclusion that the attempt on Acrius' life failed and opted to run away.

It was due to Acrius' carelessness that the second one got away. He clicked his tongue in annoyance. Atleast he still had one that the guard can question. The man desperately tried crawling away. Acrius pinned his hands and dug through his clothes- he threw away any weapons or poisons that can be used against him before pinning the man down by sitting on him.

The man yelled out expletives at Acrius but soon passed out due to blood loss. Acrius would sear the bleeding cuts close and slung the man over his shoulders before he made his way to the plaza, hopefully to the prince and back to the keep to question this man. He didn't care or, more likely, even notice how terrifying it was to carry a bloodied, unconscious man to a crowded place.

Acrius' cheek still bled, he sighed and thought that he may have cut too deeply.

The barracks were better than Manald had actually expected. There was a reasonable amount of windows to allow for enough ventilation to continuously blow away the stench of sweat, farts and other things, and the lycanthrope would make sure that the one next to his bed would stay open at all times. Every bed had two levels, one for each person, and he had been lucky to get the upper level first. Ignoring the small barrage of complaints coming from the man below him that the whole construction might break down if he moved to much, he was looking forward to a good portion of sleep.

If only it had not been for that set of fleshy and in his case overly large and sensitive extensions to one's head that were called 'ears'. This were the barracks, not the war room or any of the private quarters for much higher ranking people next to it. Even if the assassins had chosen to come here them roaming around would not have caused a comparable degree of confusion as there already were plenty of tired or simply less disciplined men caused a plethora of disturbances echoing though the hallways. An explosion however, even though only a small one and a few buildings away from his bed, nearly instantly transitioned Manald back to the state of readiness.

A very grumpy one one might argue though. Manald did not even bother to exchange his simple sleeping garments for something more appropriate for an outside environment, but headed outside with just barely more than his humble self. Where had this bang come from ? He had been asleep at the point of time, but a rough idea about directions was still there. Also, as he took in as much air as he could in order to unfold his lungs again, the lycanthrope could pick up a faint trail of something else... It smelled repulsively enough to trigger further attention.

If it had not been for Manald's general lack of any idea about what was truly going on currently, the two hooded figures might have passed by the hulking, hairy figure unharmed and walked into oblivion. The way things were however pretty much everyone who did not look like either a close friend or someone completely drunk from the ongoing festivities was a person of interest to him. Also they moved away from the castle just a tad too fast to remain unnoticed on the streets. Without a plan, but looking forward to some, any kind of reason to deliver a rant at somebody, Manald extended his arm in a swift move to get a hold onto the other man's shoulder. The other assassin realized that it had beed a mistake to stay on course just to render themselves less suspicious and sped up his steps, but there was no escape from the vice grip for his companion.

"What are you two little buggers doing out here ? Did everybody think you two are childs and refused to offer you some ale, huh ?" Manald's stare was disrupted by some rapid movement of his eyelids. This sleep was far from complete!

As the man fell to the floor and the other was furthered lamed, Zatana felt a distinct sense of pride. Her job, her task, was one she had trained in since she could hold a knife and there were few who could match her. Perhaps such hubris made the appearance of the small black ball such a sour note in her night, or perhaps it was the stinging smoke that made her eyes water. Small favors to the cloth over her mouth and nose, disguises against her dark elf origins, though she still wheezed and gasped more than she thought reasonable. Twisting, she gripped the edge of the desk. Listening for the assassin or the wizard in the haze. As it cleared though, she snarled several curses in her native tongue seeing the blood trail leading to the window. The door was a small favor, and though he went out the window he was blamed.

Inclining her head to the wizard, her body sketched an ever so slight bow even as she broke into movement. "Aye, Lord." Her tone was slightly off, her eyes filled with dark fury as she slipped the sharp blade she held between her teeth. Her balance though was not as she swung out over the window sill and began to descend with drops and grabs onto handholds that made her shoulders ache and her toe throb as she felt them ram into the stone. Finally, she felt the solid flagstones and sprung after the trail of blood. He would not escape her!

Releasing her blade, she caught it and spat out blood from where the sharp edge had slightly sliced her tongue. It would hurt for a time, but the wound would heal. The trail was obvious, two wounds to a single leg would leave the fight weak and a weak assassin would try to hide Zatana reasoned. 'Or I would.' The assassin who lived could try again, the assassin who was captured? No, death only would await for them. But with a trail so obvious where could he-?

Her reckless run had brought her around the corner of the stable, escape by horseback would not be possible if the gates were down, but he could gain distance and lose her in the city. Perhaps that had been his plan, but as she swung about the corner Zatana flung herself back as a pitchfork launched like a javelin towards her torso. As it was her armor took a deep tear across the chest and the dark elf gritted her teeth against the foolish mistake. "Trying for a horse? The entire city will be crawling with the Duke and Prince's men!" Privately she hoped the assassin would try to hop aboard the wicked mare that Zatana called her own. The man would surely prefer the dungeon after that. "Or would you rather deal with a dark elf's version of recompense? This particular city distinctly dislikes it, a shame." She crooned as she darted around the corner, rolling into the gloom within the dark stables. Listening for any movement that was not a horse. A second long knife in her hand as she put the wall at her back.

Co-GM IC:

The Keep - Second Floor

---

As Zatana made her exit through the window, Balthazar couldn't help but let out an irritated sigh. The fact that these assassins appeared had... complicated things. After all, it was unlikely that this attack was merely a coincidence, considering the siege at hand. Most likely, whoever sent these agents had a desire to see the defense fail-- to break the stalemate they've been having before reinforcements arrive. The old man ruminated upon this as he turned to the assassin currently sprawled upon the floor, still reeling from the drow's sharp dropkick.

"You should've surrendered while the option was still open." The spymaster said, having anticipated an outcome like this.

In a single movement, the old man had used his cane to bat aside the dagger on the floor, before closing the distance. The assassin, who was currently face-down upon the stone tiles, and bound by supernaturally bound rope, could do little but squirm as his defeat was secured. In an act of finality, Balthazar raised his cane and swung the weighted end at the back of the man's head, exercising more than a little bit of restraint so as not to cause any permanent injuries. The man fell unconscious near-instantaneously.

A simple solution, if a little crude. Perhaps if he were younger, Balthazar would have put the man within a magical slumber, or trapped the man within the depths of his own mind, but he found little use in dwelling upon hypotheticals that wouldn't come to pass. The Record-Hunter, sensing that its job was complete, quickly disentangled itself from the man's legs and flew onto its master's desk, before changing back into a stack of parchments.

Right on cue, the telltale sound of armored boots clanking upon the castle floor was becoming increasingly louder. If there was one thing that was astonishingly common during assassination attempts... it was that reinforcements always seemed to come just a little too late. Current situation notwithstanding, of course.

"Milord!" A guardsman in chainmail called out. "You're not--" He paused at the sight before him, which was now thoroughly handled. "...safe."

Balthazar let out a sigh. He couldn't truly blame the soldiers for arriving just now-- any assassin worth their salt would strike at the moment when help is least likely to appear, after all. The man turned to the guardsman before him. "I found this one and another trying to sneak into my chambers." The lord explained. "The situation here is in hand. How fares the Duke?"

"N-not well, milord!" The guardsman stammered out in an attempt to look professional. "He managed to fend them off, but he was struck by a poisoned blade."

The old man clicked his tongue in irritation. Problematic. "Then I must see him at once. Send this one to the dungeons."

"Right away, milord!"

"Ah, yes... one more thing." He stopped for a moment.

"...get someone to clean this mess up."

---

As Balthazar made his way to the Duke's bedroom, his mind's thoughts drifted to the well-being of the Prince. He pulled out the pendant that was hidden within the folds of his robes. The artifact's magic allowed him to send short messages back and forth from anywhere in the world, so long as they remained within the same Plane of Existence. The magic took some time to recharge, but there was enough energy in it for one more use.

"Your Majesty, there has been an attack. Assassins have targeted us. Watch yourself-- they are after you, and will use poison."

The magic of the Sending Stones had limited his messages to twenty-five words, but that was more than enough. Balthazar could only hope that the Prince and the other members of the Royal Guard would be safe.

The Keep - Courtyard

---

The assassins had nearly made a quick escape. Nearly. Of course, they had not anticipated the presence of a drunk, irate lycanthrope. The situation before them was not at all favorable-- they both knew that even with surprise on their hands, taking down someone like Manald would be a difficult prospect. Instead, the one grabbed would force a smile.

"Aha-- we were just about to head to the festival, my good man..." He lied through his teeth, a forced smile on his face, borne of both fear and desperation.

"We really must be going..." The other assassin says, a hand crossbow in one hand, hidden from view behind his back. "If you'd please let my friend go, we'll be on our way-- we don't want to miss anything, after all!"

It was not difficult to see past their ruse. Manald might've been able to smell the faintest scent of polish on their blades, detect the sweat and adrenaline borne of battle exhaustion, or see the weapons and tonics hidden under the coats... or he might simply feel like they were lying. Either way, if pressed any further, the assassins would do their best to strike first. The one in Manald's grip would attempt to shove an envenomed blade between the lycanthrope's ribs, and the assassin in the distance would try to fire poisoned bolts.

If either one goes down, the other will take flight, leaving his companion behind.

The Keep - Stables

---

Zatana stalked through the darkness of the stables, following the trail of blood. The assassin did his best to conceal his presence, but he could only do so much. Having dodged the thrown pitchfork, she knew for a fact that the man was within the next room. As she honed her senses, she could not hear much of the man at all. It seemed he at least had the sense not to respond to her taunts, so as not to give away his position.

Had he left? No, that was impossible. He had just hidden his presence. Perhaps he was more skilled than she gave him credit for. Something gave him away, though.

The ever-so-familiar whinnying of her wicked mare, who was not calming down like the other horses.

If she were to round the corner, she would spot the assassin grappling with the horse, the man attempting to free his cloak from the mare's teeth, making furtive shushing noises all the while. If the man spotted Zatana, he would pull out a dagger and slash at his cloak to free himself in an attempt to fight the Drow in a classic knife-fight, his chance of escape now virtually non-existent... but considering his injuries, the fact that he's lost the element of surprise, and of course, the difference in skill, it was unlikely he could do much in a straight fight.

His blades were coated in the same poison used on Acrius and the Duke-- the concentrated poison of a snake. Painful, and, if allowed to run its course, potentially fatal.

The Trade Square

---

The sight of a handsome young man trudging through the streets, carrying a bloodied and injured man over his shoulders did not go unnoticed by the townsfolk present. Men shot Acrius concerned looks, while women seemed to swoon at the sight of it (perhaps they like the machismo of it all). The other assassins had retreated into the darkness, their job complete.

Some of the musicians would stop playing, but Naysein would encourage them to continue the festivities-- she knew that if the townsfolk would panic, there would be no morale for tomorrow. Instead, the half-elf shot Acrius a look of trust, the bard putting her faith in the capacity of the Royal Guard.

Unless she was called for assistance, that is.

Meanwhile, the Prince would begin to feel strange, nauseous even, as the Assassin's Blood began to run its course. At around this time, he would receive Balthazar's message, and feel a sinking pit in his stomach-- and not just from the poison.

City Streets

---

The other two assassins, having faced no resistance, managed to evade the few guard patrols that occasionally wandered by. They had already poisoned one well, and would soon move onto the next. Of course, with the knowledge of assassins now present to both the Duke, the City Watch, and the Royal Guard, it was only a matter of time until they would search the streets.

And once that happened, the job of these assassins would become exponentially more difficult. Until then, however, they were as easy to spot as ever, so long as someone was looking for them.

Horses had a sense abiut them of when to be quiet. When foals were born,for one example, or when catastrophe was close at hand. Though if it was the latter, surely it was for this man. Zatana almost wanted to have some mercy on the man as the wicked mare fought the assassin for his cloak. Trained to fight along with her own disposition, the mare was a fiend and for this very reason had yet to be stolen. The last thug who had tried on the road to the Empire of Man had found himself nursing a broken arm and some bruises. The bit in the mare's mouth stalling off her bite, but her hooves were just as efficient.

Stepping forward she sent her blade at the man's bad leg again. He could not fight with one leg, and she truly did not expect the long blade to hit. Drawing another from the back of her neck, Zatana adjusted her grip and lunged forward. Smiling as the man cut through his own cloak to engage her and escape the mare. While the cloak was a burden he was now free of, it was also a disguise. He was shedding one defense after the other and Zatana found herself wanting to lay his soul bear and garner his secrets.

Fainting toward his wounded side, she pulled the move at the last second. Her knife both moving toward new and different targets. One towards his good leg, the other to intercept his likely block via his hand. If successful, she would be grinning in cruel delight as her daggers struck his inner thigh and sliced deeply into the hand holding one of his daggers.

Jumping back to avoid locking blades, Zatana cursed silently as her feet slipped in the straw. The mare screaming a insult as she half reared and bucmed within her stall. The wood rattling as the mare longed for battle. Righting herself, the drow darted toward toward uninjured side again, this time seeking seeking lock blades. Injured from her first attack or no, her foot would snake about and jerk the injured knee to throw her opponent off balance. One hand dropping her own knife to punch the man in his groin and then work up his soft stomach before she retreated again her eyes quickly darting about to read the situation.

As Acrius walked into the event with a body over his shoulder, Captain Helt, whom was in charge of the guard for the evening approached him, "What in all of Hitor is the meaning of this?!" he exclaimed. "Hm." Acrius mumbled, unaware at how him carrying a body through the streets was very out of the norm. He fumbled in his pockets with his free hand before producing the crest of the Royal Guard of Prince Leonidas from it.
The Captain swallowed and changed his tone after realising who he was talking to, "What happend here?"

"This man is an assassin," Acrius continued, nonplussed, not seeming affected by the man on his shoulder, "I believe he is after Prince Leonidas' life." "Assassins? Truely?" replied Helt in surprise.
"Speaking of, have you seen His Highness?" Acrius asked after. Helt simply pointed toward down the path, "His majesty is seated amongst his guard."
He then turned and ordered a trio of guards over from their posts, one was ordered to go and rouse the troops in the barracks, the other two to help take in the man that Acrius brought in.

"We shall take this man off your hands and send him to the keep for questioning. Thank you for your assistance." Helt gave an appreciative nod before turning to leave and began issuing orders for a redoubling of the guard.

(10 minutes later)

With a heavy thump, Rudolph falls off the side of his bed, unfortunatley knocking over the small side table that sat next to his it, a half empty cup and a couple of books fell on his head. With a loud grunt Rudolph clutched it in pain. He could just makeout a mans laughter from opposite him. "Not so good with the drink as you used to be eh?" said the man chuckling again.
Rudolph opened his eyes to the one who found his situation amusing, "...Oh, Fullar..." he said as he took a deep breath before hauling himself back onto the bed. "Can't sleep or something?" Rudolph retorted as he rubbed his heavily stubbled chin.
"Pretty much." Fullar nodded. Soon after, the door to the barracks were hastily opened as a soldier walked up to the two conscious men in the somewhat empty room, "Everything alright soldier?" Fullar asked semi-casually, "Captain Helt has ordered everyone whos currently able to report to him immediately. We've just been hit by assassins." the man informed before giving a brief salute and departing.
Fullar and Rudolph just looked at eachother for a moment before pushing themselves up from their beds and began readying themselves.
"Can I please get a bleedin' break!" Rudolph said with gritted teeth as he gathered his gear.

A few mintues later and the two men emerged from the barracks. They hastily made their way through a back-alley and down a street. The area certainly seemed more active, as guards and some soldiers whom were formerly enjoying themselves at the event were more actively patrolling and keeping watch of certain areas.
As the two turned to walk down another alley, Rudolph accidentally walked straight into one of two hooded figures who seemed to be in as much of a rush as they were. "Gah. Sorry." Rudolph grunted as he shifted to the side to let the man pass.
"In a rush yourselves eh?" Fullar asked the figures before them. "Yes, we have places to be." said the shorter of the two as they turned to walk off. The two then resumed their own journey, occasionally watching soldiers and guards as they did.
Rudolph was about to turn and leave himself, "Hold on." said Fullar as he held up a hand. He then began walking down the same route as the two men had done, "Where are you go..." Rudolph slumped and shook his head as decided to go after him anyway.

--------
Morgan stood at the end of the Duke's bed as the doctor did her work. The Duke himself would briefly regain consciousness for moment, but otherwise he remained silent.

Morgan turned and left the bedroom for a moment to give his lord some peace. Shortly after, he would be greeted by one of the serfs whom brought more news about the recent attacks from the other assassins, and that one had recently been captured. Morgan gave the servant a dismissive nod before making his way down the corridors to find Balthazar.

Even Acrius could tell more eyes were on him as he walked to the plaza, the assassins unconscious, freshly seared body in tow. Each step seemed to stupefy a portion of the festivities, as more turned to gape at him. The men, naturally bewildered, the women... with looks that he was unfamiliar yet familiar with. The swordsman couldn't tell why, however. Perhaps it was the semi-dead body on his shoulder. As he ruminated in his thoughts a decorated guardsman approached him, similar in garb to Rudolph. Likely a captain. After a brief conversation, he had turned him over to Helt and ascertained where Leonidas was.

"Shit, shit, shit," Acrius' pace quickened. This likely meant that the prince was still gobbling away at the food brought to him. If that 'servant' didn't listen, if they even were a servant, then there would be hell to pay. His eyes scanned the plaza and it spotted the prince still eating merrily under his tent.

Acrius did feel it was his fault that he chased the assassin instead of making sure the Prince was safe, a dumb and hasty decision on his end. He approached the prince at a near running speed as a few heads turned his way.

"Leonidas- Prince Leonidas," Acrius grabbed Leonidas' hand and threw the leg of chicken to the floor, "The food's been poisoned. I believe that assassins have paraded as some of the servants. How much have you eaten?"

"Either way, it is unsafe in the open like this," Acrius practically hoisted the Prince out of his chair, "We need to head back to the barracks for your safety and call for a healer."

Acrius recognized one of the observers in the crowd gawking at them. "PETYR!" The orange-eyed boy shouted through the stirs of the crowd, "Help me escort his highness back to the Barracks, quickly."

Merik Roak

---

Hidden in the war room deep in a snoring slumber rested the lizard man. It seemed like nothing would rouse the oaf, not the priestess, nor the dark elf when she spoke to them just the rise and fall of his chest and his snoring like something from a great beast. However the commotion a little later did make him stir from his slumber long enough for the lizard to roll over and fall back asleep now that he was more comfortable. It would seem his tail, a seemingly mundane part of the beast, would be the one to betray him.

As Merik slumbered in the war room dreaming of rolling in fields of bright flowers, his long muscular tail moved back and forth betraying the fun he was dreaming of. Chasing rabbits and small children through the bright warm field and being able to play without worry brought him joy. So much so that his tail finally caught a leg of a nearby book shelf causing the shelf and its contents to cascade down and make a mess of the war room.

With the sudden assault of books he was almost immediately up on his feet in the middle of the room ready to fight. For a moment he was confused, normally it’s just the elder magic man that attacked him with books. Merik could only look at the mess he made with annoyance once he realized he wasn’t being attacked and just broke something in his sleep again. The echo of the elder telling him why he can’t sleep inside small rooms rolled through his mind for a moment.

As he thought of something to do he soon began to hear a commotion within the keep. It did take him a moment to pick up on what was going on in the rooms above and below him. His animal like hearing slowly adjusting after waking up. The giant slowly opened the door and crept out into the hall. There were many sounds and smells in the hall. The sounds were much clearer now, an attack of some kind was all he could piece together. Something about “intruders” and “find them.”

One thing this lizard knew about was that mammal’s had a lot to do with smell, from sweat, to blood, to perfume, and excrement. This hall way was filled with many things but most were faint. Nostrils flared the lizard began to take in the smell of his surroundings. A faint smell of flowers, he noticed the guards liked using it when they haven’t bathed for some time and it smelled like some of the flowers he smelled on the way to this city. The faint smell of the sewers and battle lingered but was not strong.

Yet there was one scent that lingered that he only somewhat recognized. Fresh sweat with a heavy but subtle scent of something he couldn’t make out combined with subtle smells of the forest. Strange the only ones that should have been in the forest where…. “Orcs.” The word slipped from his maw with a low growl. Returning to all fours he quickly followed the scent towards the outside of the keep. He didn’t take his weapons or armor just his loincloth and the prince’s sigil that he used as a sort of belt buckle.

The trail although unique was difficult to follow that combined with the chaos of the celebration and call to arms made his progress a bit slow. On top of that he broke his concentration when he got to the keeps wall when a loud boom came from the inside of the keep. Merik turned toward the source for a moment but then continued. He brushed off the occurrence as the elder messing up one of his spells and continued his trek. It wasn’t until he was close to one of the barracks did the scent really start to pick up but only for a moment. Whoever it was, had slowed down and now the scent was getting mixed in with the rest of the guards and soldiers.

Then he lost it, he couldn’t pick up on the subtle smell with everyone else around. He stood puzzled for a moment before he heard a familiar voice. His wrestling friend was nearby, the gruff voice of the large lycan was hard to mistake and he sounded upset. Within a few quick steps Merik found himself standing behind two cloaked humanoids and one unhinged looking lycan. The one closest to him was still just outside of his reach but Manald was already holding one.

Tilting his head to the side for a moment he soon found the scent once more. The strange scent still eluded him but these were definitely who he had been following. His instincts told him to kill but he knew he would get in trouble for it. Instead Merik bore his sharp teeth towards them and lunged at the one closest to him. The man was more than a few steps away from his friend but he was sure that he could reach him with this lunge and not worry about knocking his friend down. His aim was to subdue and injure but not to kill.

The festival ? Oh really ? Manald still felt the groggyness sit deeply inside him, but even in that state the kind of mismatch between the man's statement and the man's overall behavior and clothing was anything but difficult to detect. Since the lycanthrope's eyes narrowed in onto the individual in his grab, he paid little attention to the other one whom he simply assumed to be exactly the same case. He missed the crossbow, but not something else...

"A little low on stamina, are we ? I wouldn't recommend going to a festival if you've already broken in sweat!" he hissed more than he said, his canine and not so human looking teeth clearly visible to the other man whose eyes widened in horror. It was obvious to the assassin that he would not get out of here entirely the way he wanted to say the least, so why not take a shortcut to the inevitable ? This hairy individual might have a vice grip from hell, but so much mass would be no match to the speed of a dagger!

In one rapid move, the assassin moved his blade out of his cloak and struck for the spot he had already looked out for well in advance. As his fingers started touching Manald's long hair while pushing the blade into the lycanthrope's flesh all the way to the handle, he could feel the vice grip go beyond what his wrist could safely handle. At the first moment the surge of pain only helped to boost Manald's rage and he broke the bone. He gave the assassin's legs a violent kick in order to send the man to the ground below his feet.

This really was not the kind of revitalizing night Manald had hoped for! And yet his current headache had potential to become the least of his problems as he was not even aware of the blade being poisoned yet. Now that said tool had been in so close proximity he could pick the strange scent of some weird ingredient, too, but that could just be a very thin layer of oil on top of the steel as well. He did manage to suppress his desire for a quick kill though: that man on the ground could be useful for some questioning. Their encounter here on the open streets had not been a planned one after all and hardly anyone without some kind of malicious intention would risk an open attack this way.

Manald's next kick however did annihilate the potential for any torturer to play with the assassin's center of fertility though. It was rammed deep into the groin and recovery was anything but granted -- something Manald honestly did not think about at that point. Slowly, the injury sustained turned from an envigorating factor into a hampering one. Manald needed to make sure the man on the ground was thoroughly disabled and ready to be taken care of by someone else before he'd stop being able to do so. He directed his attention towards the assassin's other arm and stomped onto the man's hand so he'd finally let go of his weapon, even if that would mean breaking a bunch of fingers in the process.

At that point he could hear a noise approaching a little too fast for comfort and it made him turn his head. It was Merik and it seemed he was going reptile on the assassin's colleague. Good thing, simply because for a very brief moment Manald could spot a crossbow now that the assassin's clothing was in turmoil due to its owner being under attack. Even a lycanthrope could not handle two people who were yards away from each other with bare hands simultaneously...

The real question still remained though: How would the poison affect him ? Would it do anything at all do his differnt metabolism, would it make no difference or would it cause an even worse reaction ? Or would the amount transferred simply be insufficient to really hurt someone of his much more massive size ?

After a few minutes of the two soldiers following the two hooded figures, Fullar had gathered two pairs of guards in their pursuit. Eventually the guards were directed to follow in turn but from different routes, to have hopefully surrounded the suspects by the end.

Gordon made his way out of the keep like a ghost in the night. Albeit a well spoken, friendly ghost, but a ghost in plate armor all the same.  The festivities were early in his mind, hastily celebrated victories were an ill omen from where he was from. Still, the visions his lady had gifted him in her slumber were clear. Death stalked the city and innocent lives would soon be victims. By his hand it would not be allowed, but he was at a strong disadvantage without his Lady or Sir Stephan. 

He made his way through the city to the northern districts where he stopped to observe a quaint well in a square off the main road. He walked up to it, looking over the edge as the quiet square reminded him of the village he had once called home. The sound of foot fall quickly drew him out of his memories. Stepping behind a pulpit normally used by some crier, he waited briefly. Stepping out to block the path to the well, Gordon spoke. “Good evening, Sir’s. I am lost, would you mind telling me where it is that I am?” Gordon was loud, and his armor made him stick out. The city's regalia was absent, however his weapon was visible over his back. 
The two hooded figures looked at each other before responding to the daunting presence of the armoured knight in front of them.
"This is the Nuthum Plaza." gestured the taller of the two. The shorter one looked behind them, as though they were looking for something.

Rudolph split up with Fullar as they each lead a couple of guards to block the routes from the area. Fullar stopped at the corner to which the suspects had turned, leaning against the wall, the man peeked around and saw them interacting with an unknown armoured figure, An ally perhaps? he thought. Rudolph positioned his guards as he came around the corner behind Gordon and approached them, "Please identify yourselves. I've heard that we have assassins in our midst, so anyone is a suspect. said Rudolph resting a hand on the pommel of his sword.

Gordon turned his head slightly so that he did not lose sight of the two men to his front. “I am Sir Gordon, escort to Lady Drana Turash.” Gordon saw the ill intent these men had. The dead have eyes for things the living could not see. He knew that professing that sight would easily give away his cover. “I am lost, and these two have just informed me that this is the-” Gordon half hoped they had lied to him. “-Nuthum Plaza.” Gordon’s sword was peace tied, though the armored man looked like he could easily kill with his gauntlets. 

Rudolph's eyes narrowed slightly as he observed the individuals before him. He caught a glimpse of Fullar peeking from behind his corner on the other side of the plaza. Nodding Rudolph took a step forward and asked "And you two?".

The taller of the two figures was about to speak until the shorter one stepped forward "I am Clarisse, and this is Donovan. We're both laborers, and late meeting our companions. Please let us pass." she replied with some formality in her tone.

"Alright, I don't really have much reason to hold you any longer, be on your way." he said nodding and stepped aside. Fullar emerged from his side with guards following suit as they approached the group. The hooded figures began to hastily walk away soon after seeing Fullar approach.

Gordon spoke suddenly, though he did let the two start to clink off before making note. “Odd, what job in the city requires one to wield more than one dagger?” He brought attention to the fact they were armed, hoping that he could assist without bringing himself into direct involvement by his own definition. 

Rudolph raised a brow, "A dagger?" he could not see beyond the cloaks that the two wore. "It is true, they are armed. I saw one on the shorter." said Fullar. And with that, the assassins began to run until the two guards that Rudolph positioned knocked them back from where they were.
The assassins realising their situation drew their blades ready for combat, as fruitless as it would be considering they were outnumbered. Rudolph and Fullar drew their own blades in preparation. "I guess you won't be coming quietly." jested Fullar.

Gordon did not reach for his weapon, instead he took a defencive stance and held his ground. This was a job for the guards, but if they needed aid he would happily offer assistance. When they pulled their weapons his attitude quickly changed. He fell in with Rudolph to assist in making sure that the two could not elude capture.

'Clarisse' dove at one of the closest guards who bore a spear, she easily bypassed it and stuck a knife into the man's throat. The other guard beside their now fallen companion used their own spear to thrust at 'Donovan', the man more focussed on the opposing guards coming from the direction of the well to realise the strike. 'Donovan' stumbled and yelled in pain as the speartip pierced his side, 'Clarisse' was about to throw the knife she used to kill the previous guard, but her arm was struck by an iron bolt causing her to recoil in pain and drop the weapon.
"Enough!" Fullar demanded as he lowered his crossbow.

Gordon watched the scene unfold much how he imagined it would. If Drana had been here, perhaps he would have been able to save the young man who had a hole in his neck. Still, he did know that he could be useful. Stepping forward as the bolt whistled to its target, Gordon made his advance to spare any more bloodshed. Fullar’s voice rang out as he opened his gauntleted hand and hit ‘Clarisse’ with an open, metal palm. It was easy enough given her ability to block had been removed thanks to Fullar’s bolt. Gordon then grappled the woman, familiar with the tactic that most agents implore to avoid capture.

As 'Donovan' stumbled, he was then knocked to the ground by Rudolph as he charged in. "Stay down." Rudolph demanded as he held his sword within distance of the man's chest.
"Thank you knight." he said as he saw Gordon had apprehended 'Clarisse'.

The two assassins looked at each other, 'Clarisse' nodded, and 'Donovan' let out a pained sigh of defeat before reaching from underneath his cloak. "Oi, don't do anything stupid." Rudolph pinned the tip of his blade against the man's chest.
'Donovan' briefly hesitated but proceeded to withdraw and hastily throw a small throwing knife at the legs of 'Clarisse'.
With this Rudolph was about to push his sword through the man's chest out of anger until, "Rudolph wait!" Fullar stopped him.

Gordon half dragged half shoved ‘Clarisse’ to the side, careful not to tangle their legs as falling over would betray his true nature. There was the sound of a metallic clank as the blade bounced off the side of his grieves. Seeing that his hunch was correct, Gordon used his gauntlet to knock ‘Clarisse’ out with a swift strike to the side of the head. He then started to distance them from one another. “Break his right arm!” Gordon said quickly.

Rudolph eased his pressure on the sword as Fullar hurried over. "There's no need. He's done." Fullar replied as he waved off the Knight's request. Seeing 'Clarisse' had been knocked out, 'Donovan' chuckled in disbelief as his final action to help his partner failed.

"You two, get him up." Rudolph ordered two of the guards, "We'll get you patched up before your interrogation." Fullar said to their new prisoner.

Before the guards had a chance to get in arms reach however, 'Donovan' spoke up half laughing half coughing, "Its too late…" was all he said before he became motionless as he laid there. "What?" said Rudolph as he lightly kicked the man in the leg, "What do you mean too late?"

"No…" said Fullar as he approached with hesitation and knelt next to the man to investigate, making sure to keep the man's hand away from him. He checked the man's pulse via his neck, "He's dead?." he said confused.

"How? his wound wasn't that deep." Rudolph asked. Fullar gestured to the other side of the body, and Rudolph knelt in turn to look. 'Donovan's' right hand was hidden underneath his cloak, Rudolph pulled it out and with a light metallic pang, a small throwing knife identical to the one he threw at his partner fell to the ground.
The knife had a bit of blood on it, but not enough to indicate much beyond a small cut. Carefully Rudolph picked up the blade via the handle, and examined it. The moonlit night wasn't sufficient to investigate properly, "We'll have to figure it out later." he accepted before placing the knife in a small pouch. Fullar stood up and nodded toward Gordon "Thank you for the assist. We can take it from here." he thanked the knight as he helped take the unconscious form of 'Clarisse' from him. The two assassins would be carried to the keep, while Fullar would send a runner to inform Captain Helt of the news.