Post by Joliette Thorne on Jul 6, 2008 22:44:45 GMT -5
She should never have come back. But somehow, Cenril drew her like a magnet, like that one forbidden fruit that tempts the soul, drives it to grasp for danger, a prize, the thrill of hunting down a desire or of being hunted. This night, she flitted through guarded streets in quest of loot or blood-- it hardly mattered which, her hunger was truly for neither but something... something yearned for, indefinable, that nagged at her the way liquor does a drunk. The guards were on alert, small squads stationed at streetcorners, gathered in the public places, eyes sharp for any who seemed less than savoury. Her disguise was that of a genteel lady out for her evening stroll, fur-trimmed cape and the slight sea chill giving her reason to hide her features under its hood, her pace leisurely past the men who'd no doubt know her face by now; she'd seen it herself on the posters blazoned across walls of shops and alleys. Demont's gormless squire might have squealed, or the guard put two and two together, perhaps her last kill had been witnessed by a loudmouthed urchin-- whichever the case, they were wary for trouble and, by the look, eager to make an arrest. The alley she turned down now, at random, would lead her to the merchant district. She wanted something big, something daring, that'd send adrenaline's lightning sparking through her veins again. A chill of excitement blossomed in the pit of her stomach, and shoes lower-heeled - and more silent - than those she regularly wore trod the cobbles against a dark wall. She was close, so close, to feeling alive.
She should have never left. At least, these were the similar thoughts shared by the Captain trailing her. Had Tenebrae completely lost it? Mismatched eyes lowered to the ground and he barely avoided making a sound by stepping onto one of those rumpled posters bearing the Necromancer's lovely face... this one in particular long since torn down and traveling a stray breeze. Decked in black, trimmed with a few rusty weapons, and concealed with a mask tied 'round his face, the rogue stalked after this perfectly innocent woman like a predator, as though he had plans of robbing her. Of course, that elegant disguise didn't fool him for one moment, there was no mistaking Tenebrae's scent, and every time he paused in the shadows of a stone pillar or flattened back against the wall to avoid a guard's glance, he'd draw down his mask for a subtle flare of his nose, catching it again. Damn her... he was going to have to put a leash on that woman to keep her in range. Every time he looked around the tavern and missed her presence, Leo could only assume she was getting herself into trouble again. And judging by the direction her path was leading, that's exactly where this little adventure seemed to be going. A gloved hand pushed to the wall, and with dark fabric drawn back over his sensitive, sun freckled nose, the lycan ducked low and trailed her right into that alley. No longer hidden, he stepped into the street behind her silently, human looking eyes settling on the back of the hooded figure. A few slow steps after, and if she didn't notice someone following her by then, he'd just keep moving at a distance with Tenebrae. Keeping watch over her, but more importantly finding out what she was up to.
Two hundred paces and several stout walls away from where the vampiress crept along sand-grimed stone, the manager of the Cenril Bank was turning a large brass key in its lock, and nodding to the six men who flanked his stout frame. The Guards drew closer as he turned toward the east, tightening the formation on which depended the protection of not only the man but the case of precious stones tucked inside a locked, black leather bag chained to his wrist. These were dwarven gems, traded and traded again, until finally the set -- bracelets and a necklace crafted of rare fire opals, emeralds and diamonds, among other trinkets, and an ancient diadem of platinum set with magically-imbued glowstones -- were to be delivered to the armoured ship that'd take them to the high elven settlement in Rynvale. Trade was hard, and these would curry the favour of political wives, who'd in turn give favour to the bearer of such gifts. The precious offering thus secured, the manager set off at a pace as brisk as his portly frame could manage, no fear at all in his piggy eyes-- for who would possibly dream of robbing a man so thoroughly protected?
Back in the alley, Tenebrae stalked in a shadow cast by a bakery wall, her steps still casual, though hurrying now; it'd be hard to explain why a well-to-do lady was wandering dingy by-ways alone in the night. All her senses were wired, she could -smell- a 'job' on the horizon, here, somewhere, out there in the burgeoning dark. It didn't take but a second for her neck to prickle when the rogue closed in, and she slowed her pace, tried to look lost in case it was a guard, flexed the wrist around which was wrapped her garrotte and twitched for the knife secured in a sheath in her opposite sleeve in case it was some drunken sailor looking for a date, or something worse. Nonchalance reigned; she casually glanced around as though looking for a street sign, and glimpsed the shadowed figure prowling behind. The knife was already in her hand by the time she recognised the shape of him, halted and looked to a sky in which hung a fingernail moon, her eyes rolling back to rest on him. "I can look after myself, you know." Her tone was low but she was sure he'd catch the words, no matter how far away he was.
With his senses so heightened, particularly in the quiet evenings, Leoxander picked up little things. The rattle of guard's armor, the scent of metal and gold clinging to the banker's coattails, or whatever a well established and well fed citizen like himself should be wearing. But even those subtle hints didn't fill in the blanks, or answer his unspoken questions. She played the part like a professional, and he took just a moment to admire her acting skill as she suddenly appeared dumbfounded at the possibility of being in such a dark alley. As though he hadn't noticed her purposeful steps down a merchant's lane. He didn't take his eyes off her, not when she finally turned, not even when she spared a glance at a telltale moon. The sky never delegated his form, it was as uncontrolled as his emotions would ever be. For the most part, he remained a very solemn man, these last few days. A deep voice rumbled in the same quiet tone to respond from behind his mask, a bass pitch carried easily through the space between them. "So I saw..." Obviously referring to that night in the spider caverns, sarcasm never failed him in moments like those. A wolf like tilt of his head, and Leoxander would pace a step or two closer to her, peering into that shadowy hood. "Planning some fun without me, Mistress?" There was always a mild bite to that title, as though it should be spoken through a cheshire grin.
Tenebrae sniffed faintly at the nip in his words, the slightly arch tone she took with him tempered by the soft smile he'd see perching on the corners of her lips, on a face framed in grey woollen cloth and silver fox. "Thought I'd leave you to your drinking." Yeah, she'd slipped away from the Corpse, left him at whatever table or barstool he'd been slouched on, unsure of how to ask him for his company anymore, and in need of something to fill her mind in place of questions and worry. That he'd followed her, again, gave her comfort. Better, it gave her hope they'd pull through, as they always had. "Thought you might need a little time.." She didn't wait for a reply, inching toward him to tilt her body up-- arched on toes, sans those inch-bestowing heels, to press a small kiss to skin that, even covered in cloth, prickled her lips a bit. Lowering, she turned her face away, glancing east to the sound of heavy, booted feet marching nearer. The look she turned back to him glimmered green in that crescent-mooned dimness. "That'll be something either very bad, or very, very good." Or, she could just back him up against a wall right here and... No, there were too many of those damned soldiers about, for that sort of risk. She grinned right back. "You up for it, then?"
If her words stung at all, Leoxander didn't show any sign of it. His feral gaze went unchanged, pupils expanded to capture what little light existed that evening, be it from guards' nearing torches or just a stubborn moon. There was a point he remained very still, even if his rounded ears caught the fall of iron clad footsteps, mere blocks away and getting louder. Only his eyes moved to the corners, following her face when it neared, to the edge of his jaw at the last moment. He could only hope the vampire didn't hear that quickening pace of his heartbeat. A hasty change of subject might make it seem as though the thrill of a heist was the cause. "You got a plan or we wingin' this?" Either way, he only had a few concerns. He'd managed to stay under Cenril radar for a long time, now, but that didn't mean they were going to forget the laundry list of crimes stacked up against him. An arm wound around her waist to guide her like he was about to lead them in an alleyway dance, but instead he encouraged her back behind some crates and barrels where the strong scent of garbage and moldy bread was sure to ruin any romantic moments. It would give them a little cover in case her target walked around the opposite corner, though. A slight adjustment to strap a fingerless leather glove back into place, and with a flex of his hand and a glance over her head toward the noise, he'd drop his voice to a whisper to ask. "Who or what're you after?" Leo never questioned why.
Her shoulders shrugged faintly, nose wrinkling at the odor of decaying vegetables. One might think a necromancer wouldn't be so fussy. "A rumour. Drunk they fired from the legions here last week, in the pub over in Rynvale. Bitter, mumbling about how he was still fit to guard..." She was already speaking in a near-whisper, craning to turn the way his own eyes were staring, but her words dropped even lower in volume, barely voiced at all when that contingent of guards passed the alley's narrow mouth with all due pomp, the Bank manager wedged between three on each side. They weren't too far from the scene for her to glimpse that case, cuffed to his wrist. You don't chain yourself to a bag unless what's in it is worth more than you are. "Jewels." She gathered herself, poising, waiting for him to take the lead as he'd always done in their former ventures. Felt good to be a sidekick, when the chief protagonist was a professional like Leo. "Only six, and the fat man. We can take 'em." Her breath plumed slightly, in the unseasonably cool night. "Best we get to it." It was meant to sound casual, something asked by-the-way, probably failing in that regard though her gaze did not shift from the space where the men had passed. "Still love me?"
"Only six..." He repeated with a sigh of his own, but his warm breath was masked, literally, by the fabric that moved with his mouth. A matter-of-fact look cast in the direction of the group passing by, and he'd stay silent until they were out of range to hear his low whisper. "Suppose you'll be taking the fat one, then..." A shoulder rolled back until the bone should fit back into a place that was proper for a human's structure. Because of his frequent transformations, always a cruel displacement of an organized skeleton, he often had to crack joints back into place. Jewels, she stated. He'd seen a small pouch tied to the squat man's wrist. His trained eyes had aimed right toward it on a glance even before he knew what she was after, because it looked like something a thief might want. He took a step from behind the refuse pile and patted his ribs in search of a blade. Disappointed with the rusty knife he had to substitute for dragon forged daggers, it was twisted to aim the hilt toward his fingers, with the flat of the weapon concealed against his wrist. Ready to take action, Leoxander was paused by her abrupt question, and when he turned his head, his eyes caught just enough light to shine in a familiar, animalistic way. A glint of gold and green as though his irises were foil, and his pupils polished sea stones. Hesitant for only a moment, the answer would come just before the thief headed toward his mark, as casual in his deep tone as she'd meant to be. "I told you... always."
"Right, then." Tene nodded, all businesslike, securing her own weapons: diamond-dust wire, knife, her favoured black sword too bulky for this operation. But he might catch the half-grin as she tugged the hood around her face before he'd turned from her and slipped out of their hidey-spot to move like some predatory wraith. She'd follow, the shadow of a shadow, keeping close to walls as he would, pausing at the corner that turned to the street, while the march of feet grew quicker, and more distant by the second. Tenebrae was amazed by the way his body surged, these days, even with the frequent oddly-angled joints, the uncomfortable creak and snap of gristle displaced or realigned. She'd never gotten used to losing the humanity of her lover, flawed as it had been, not really, and she'd had more than enough cause to mourn its 'death' ever since. But here, now, she was almost glad for that heinous act she'd done, watching him move this way, sharp as a direwolf after blooded prey. Appealed to her vampire more than to his Joliette, but still.. Stupid woman, she chided herself, almost stepping on his heel, snapping her attention back to the task at hand. This was no time for sentiment. They had a killing to make. And guards in numbers, even such small ones, were always overly confident; they didn't even see the nefarious pair, steadily and stealthily gaining on them.
An abrupt stop nearly ruined their stealthy approach, and with a sharp look over his shoulder, he gave the necromancer a silent warning to pay attention. It wasn't exactly the moment for daydreaming, and he witnessed that far away look in her arctic eyes. Staying low to the ground, stalking his prey with a grace and intensity that surpassed his previous mortal boundaries, his lycan vision aimed down the empty, lamplit street toward the collection of guards, casting moving shadows across the cobblestone. Absently, he moved a hand back to grip into her cloak or clothing, using the excuse of keeping her still to make some physical contact between them. Knuckles whitened on that grasp, while his opposite hand went for a knife sheath strapped to his ribs, but the rusty blade removed was pathetic. One brief look and when he remembered the state of his weapons, it was chucked violently toward the pile of garbage left behind, the business end impaling flawlessly into the side of an old wicker basket full of rotted refuse. From there, they moved from the alley, staying close to the walls since they couldn't easily scale the rooftops with her tall heels. He had to take a moment to be impressed by her furtive and deliberate movements, quiet despite the shoes she'd selected for the evening. The only time to plan a course of action was in the time they would take to close the distance, metal encased steps staying steady, becoming louder, until the tips of those shadows danced just a few feet beyond their location. The muscles in his body tightened as he stooped to pick up a sliver of stone from the side of the road, debating how to approach this. He looked far too sneaky to play the role of a wandering drunk, and felt too eager to lose that opportunity for unexplained, unreasonable violence. The rock was chucked into an alley ahead of the crowd, just enough to distract their attention another way to advance unnoticed behind. Their attack would be preemptive, and he'd waste no time in taking out a first by finding a sudden, firm grip on either side of an armored skull, a violent snap indicating this guard would not be returning to any family he might have, the next morning. Leo had no sympathy, no morals for the casualties of greed. The only thought crossing his mind was: one down, five to go. Only now, he'd have all of their attention.
She'd wince, when he looked back at her with that disapproving glance, brow furrowing and shoulders rising as though she wished she could shrink into herself. Yeah, some great hunter, drifting off in the middle of... hey! No need to get antsy, there, she was thinking, when his fist closed on her shirt and the knife came loose of its sheath. And she almost grinned, but there was an intensity about him, a stillness and a scent that told her there was no more time for play, or levity. Half a second later and she was following again, tuned to his every motion, each breath and twitch of muscle pre-empting the moment and direction in which he was to strike. The stone told her to take the opposite rear guard, and a snap of wrist had that gemstone-razored wire she so loved unfurling to sway like a glittering gewgaw in her fingers. But it was no necklace to be admired, the man she embraced scant seconds after Leo sprung would attest to that-- were the thing not wrapped so very tightly around his throat, twisted so viciously, biting deep through windpipe and vocal chord. No, he'd not complain, when it near took his head off. But the arterial spray that spurted to wet the back of the man ahead -- let's call him Number Three --was warning enough. He'd stopped, turned to check the silence behind, the strange crack and thud that he observed with a gape of mouth to be his fellow's sudden demise, and now one cheek was runnelled wet and red-- and the shout went up. Tenebrae gave one sideways glance to her mate, and a head's up sharpish sound, and tossed him her knife. With a bit of luck, he'd be paying attention, she had no time to check whether he'd caught it before Number Four was on her, military-issue sword flashing dully in the ghostly yellow light below the lamps. And her with none-- but not for long before she hooked a toe to Two's weapon, kicking it up toward her hand, and then ensued a delirious flight of blades, clashing and ringing, Tene pushing him back toward the group that huddled about the portly man with the case, who was shouting and gesticulating wildly, as if his being an important man would help the situation. Four was good with a sword, he managed a slice of upper arm, a nick of rib that took out a divot of flesh with black silk and grey wool, neither of which hurt a bit and would not, until the adrenaline cooled. If they made it out. But he wasn't a vampire, and therefore was soon a bloody, screaming heap less one arm, and there was Five and Six to go, depending on what Leo had been... and then Seven and Eight, Nine, Ten.. She lost count as another squad barrelled through the very alley they'd left. She checked the balance of the sword in her hand, and pondered taking Four's, for a double-handed attempt at massacre. Yes, she was that much of a show-off and besides, it'd been a long time since she and the rogue had had this much fun together.
An effortless leap carried his lean frame back several feet, barely avoiding the wide cleave of a halberd swung in his direction - they didn't all carry swords. So close, in fact, that a rip across his black armor revealed a splice of unbroken skin beneath, but he'd expected this hasty retaliation. Heightened reflexes allowed him to grab the polearm before it's weight even followed through in that arch. With a rough jerk the weapon was disarmed from the guard's grip and used defensively to block the sudden swing of another while the unarmed man was dealt with from behind. The strike of wood and metal clashed loudly in the empty street, heard beyond the confused shouts of their target... but merchants and citizens had long since retreated to their homes for the night. Twisting the bladed end of the clumsy weapon, he managed to lock the sharpened edges, forcing both to the street by throwing his weight down forcefully as though he were chopping wood. This conveniently pulled his frame into a ducked position that dodged the careless swing from what we'll call 'number six', but the second man Leoxander had disarmed wasn't quite so quick or lucky. His head, helmet and all, went rolling into the street while the guard remained momentarily stunned that he'd just decapitated his own ally. This gave Leo just enough time to rise, catching the thrown knife first from the corner of his eyes, before he snatched it from the air and sheathed it right into the center of the last bodyguard's chest, hard enough to impale right through the chainmail worn. All of it a blur of motion that happened in the matter of seconds. Two bodies slumped to the ground simultaneously, gravity pulling them toward their unprepared grave. Just as one squadron was dealt with, his sharp ears caused him to dart his attention toward a fresh collection of defense. He only had time to meet Tenebrae's eyes for a heartbeat before he turned to rush them, buying her some time to retrieve what they'd come for. It wasn't any lack of faith in their ability... they could take on more soldiers armed to the teeth. But haste was important to a thief, and Cenril's stock of men was practically limitless. More would answer the call, and they could only keep this up for so long. Preferring to use his own bare hands to rip them apart, he parried the first attack, using his momentum and enhanced strength to swing a man 'round by his weapon holding arm. Upon release, he'd barrel right into his fellow soldiers, taking several of them to the ground like bowling pins. Only one was quick enough to escape, but unfortunately this is the one who would finally wound the rogue. Leo broke his silent concentration, and yelled out in pain when the edge of a sword hacked right into his bicep and forearm, the appendage raised last moment to try to block the swing without a shield. It wasn't forceful enough to splice through bone, but when the lycan's blood soaked through his armor and started to paint the ground, it immediately triggered a change. His free hand latched onto the man's throat, veins starting to define in the corded muscle of his forearm. Human eyes widened through the slit of a helmet as he felt the life choked from him, and the last thing he would witness would be the enraged expression of a masked man changing into a beast, with fur sprouting from the pores of his skin. If looks could kill, Leo would have destroyed them all with a glance. Perhaps now they were doomed, after all.
Tene slapped a hand across her lips, a somewhat inappropriate laugh stifled when "six" took the weight off his fellow guard's shoulders like that, though she didn't allow the black humour of it to distract her for long. She needed not a lot more motivation than a second wave of soldiers arriving to take up that second sword; whose it was, she had no clue nor care, she had well lost count of the bodies by now. One look from Leo-- was that a little censure in his eyes? Maybe he'd seen her mirth, but she took it as a clear command to get business concluded, and in a hurry, trusting him to deal with the small squad for now, whether by force or distraction. She glanced about for the porky Bank Manager, who was at that very moment doing his level best to make a run for it. But the years of his equally well-fed wife's good cooking was taking its toll, and the best he could do was a waddling gait that took him little further up the street before vampiress was upon the fleeing man, one sword swept low to catch at a hamstring, the other, less than two seconds later -- the time it took for his roly frame to hit the pavers, screaming-- aimed hard at the juncture of the shoulder of the arm to which her prize was chained. It took several hacks, with a foot planted squarely on his back, to get the arm loose, and five more to sever the wrist so the chain fell free. She turned back toward the Cap'n, the black case held aloft triumphantly, nerves alight with the urge to fight or flee, the latter being the likely option from last look, except.. there were no men charging her, there was no clash of steel to run toward, no rogue to "save" from the soldiers. There was only the shape of a hulking beast in thief's clothing, and what few of the guard had not bolted at the sight remained frozen in that frame of time it took her to realise what was happening. It almost froze, her too. But this was -her- man... beast... and even while she winced softly at his obvious agony while the change came upon him, the blood-drenched case was stowed in her robe, the manager left to his death, the swords rebalanced in her hands. And now she came stalking toward the mob, circling to find a place to strike in hard and open a space for them to get the hell out.. if there were any left alive to bother with, by the time she got there.
A rough arch of his spine and Leoxander threw his head back, crying out in pain. It wasn't the splice of swords or the ache of bruises, but the way his skeleton stretched to it's limit, his muscles doubled in bulk, and skin stretched over his shape to the point spines of dusty blonde fur were forced out into a thick coat. The crowd had spread itself in half, some of them saving their own hides immediately at the sight of the wolf creature, the others valiant and noble and probably living the last minutes of their life. There was no prize in his mind, now... no necromancer to protect and defend. Only annoyances to be dealt with. One would hit the street in a few seconds, bleeding from it's armor from an internal wound because the way he was grabbed and thrown into that brick wall. A spray of red dust from the impact would cloud the swordmistress from joining the fray without being caught blind like the rest of them, but Leo didn't need to see to hear the rapid heartbeat, or smell that fear and sweat that pinpointed each human. Large clawed hands swiped viciously at the air with heavy grunts pushed into the effort of each hook, and though he missed once, it only upset the rogue into making certain he didn't miss a second time. Though six feet tall, another guard was grabbed by his helmeted head and shaken like a lightweight ragdoll until his spine snapped near the top. Albeit this left the lycan open to the hack of another blade in his side, he hardly seemed to care. He only growled louder, increased his strength with newfound rage, and everything took on red tones in his vision, so that he didn't know who or what he was after anymore. The only thing he could focus on was the need to kill anything in his path until nothing moved. A vicious shake of his head and a black mask came free, littered to the ground near Tenebrae's feet. Ragged clothing was torn and stretched to it's limit with the size of a completed transformation, and by the time the last soldier fell, whether by his paw or the vampire's stolen weapons, the beast was snapping his feral eyes on her, a horrible snarl pulling back his snout to bare his canine fangs. He fell to four legs with another angry shake of his bristling coat, then pushed back up to his hind feet to appear more intimidating to the last of his problems. A female, no less. He dropped his skull back suddenly, howling deeply to the sky, just to remind every escaping guard running down those streets calling for help who exactly was in charge, here. Singing his name in triumph before his last enemy fell, yellowed eyes locked down on Tenebrae, and a clawed hand flexed at his side as he closed the distance between them.
Thick clots of grue adhered to her hair, her features, her clothes-- it was a wonder the lycan could smell her at all through it, only a small portion of the sanguine her own from the wound to her ribs and arm, a fresh slice of thigh exposed as meat -- thankfully a downward slash that removed mostly skin, not any essential muscle or tendon. Bloodied, arms aching from the effort of taking two more men down on her way toward Leo, she saw their path was free as the lycan beast raged his last upon the hapless soldiers. Such was her own bloodlust that perhaps she gave no thought to what would happen when she was the last one standing; or maybe it was his obvious wounds that negated better caution, but it did not occur to the woman she that might be the next thing he took down until that ragged, lonely howl ripped the fabric of the night, and the jessamine glow of feral, animal eyes was turned upon her. Reflex brought the swords to cross before her body, a ready defense dictated by instinct alone. Her soft hackles were pricked, eyes bled of colour and ringed in darkness. He was huge, and not... himself, and even in her own wild state she knew her match was well met. Instincts failing her, reason clawed to the surface of her mind like a cat from a well. Fight was not an option, she'd add no wounds to the ones he wore already, and didn't trust herself, when it came down to it, not to fight to the death with her vampiric nature armed and dangerous. Flight wasn't looking much better. Tenebrae was fast but the rogue had always been as quick, even when human. So, here it was. The moment she had not borne in her upper mind, but knew would one day arrive. Great timing, with the sound of more men bearing down the streets from the guardhouse three blocks hence and by the rumble of their feet, more than mere squads. There was nothing else for it-- she threw down the swords. Lowered her eyes, hopefully breaking the heated tension in the exchange. Trembling, knelt to blood-slick stone to make herself small. No threat here, just a little vampiress who has realised this is a deciding moment, of a more or less lethal kind, as well as a line drawn long ago between her and her lover, an inevitability that may as well be given a course to run now as any other time-- if there was to be any other time. Here, now, he would kill her, or leave her to die. Or.. not. And around two hundred soldiers would, any second now, be breaking in upon this tender scene, whether it ended with some kind of resolution or-- just a plain mess.
The lycan lowered his head slowly, blood and saliva running thick like ooze down his bearded chin, and those elongated fangs remained bared. Her weapons only showed her misfortune in his glassy eyes, silver crossed swords glinting in their reflection as a vampire's bad omen, while a red splattered lantern post cast an eerie glow to that horrific scene of death. Most of the bodies littering the ground didn't move, but one straggler tried to claw his way to safety without the use of legs that had been broken during the fight. Leo paid this one no attention; by the particular smell of that man's blood, most of it had been used to paint the cobblestone his stomach dragged upon. The growl rumbled up from his chest, whisper soft at first like the distant hiss of an oncoming wave, but clearly a warning of what was to come. With one heavy step taken toward her, the wolf became louder... and as Tene' took those precious moments to make her decision, he dipped into a sudden crouch, ready to take her down. Fur tipped ears swiveled forward abruptly at the discard of blades... but it was her collapsed position and downcast gaze that caused him to hesitate, confusion melding into his feral eyes, stretching out his jagged pupils to take in the sight. By the time he quieted to puzzle over her behavior, the angry, vengeance-hungry yelling of oncoming soldiers flooded in from the streets behind him. The sound in his throat was like a deep, agitated whine. Leo flinched forward, snapping his jaws once in her direction just to test her level of fear, shaking his bristling coat with his head low, shoulders high and tense. Instinct warned him to stay away from the Necromancer, but the flicker of foggy memories in his mind were too difficult to ignore. He knew that long black hair, the way she'd held those weapons and the gleam of sea green eyes witnessed before they fell. A quick circle was paced around behind the woman, the movement of his mutated frame agile and precise as only a creature of the wild could be. Tenebrae would suddenly feel a clawed hand dig into the fabric of that trimmed cloak, a rough tug meant to yank her backward, or choke her if she should resist. Either way, his injured arm locked tightly around her ribs, dangerously close to mingling the blood of their wounds. Without warning or reason, not entirely certain why, she was picked up off her knees, and clutched tightly against his damp fur covered torso. With a speed she wouldn't have managed in those heels, the lycan took off through Cenril, the blur of crowded buildings thinning out until he'd reached the outskirts and beyond. He headed toward the familiar scent of the ocean nearby, relating this scent as his sanctuary.... his escape.
Her breath felt cold as it huffed in short little pants over paled lips. Shoulders shook, an involuntary shiver she could not help at all; it was too easy to assume one's immortality when one was, for all intents and purposes, immortal. Though Tene ever flirted with death, perhaps her way of atoning for her centuries accruing stolen life, rarely did she come to the point where she met it head-on, without a shred of real courage to take the sting away. Here, now, all bravado had fled from a heart that had too many cracks in it to hold anything but what she felt. Fear. Love. They had been almost the same emotion for a very long time, and both vied within her for ascendancy in this moment, as the burr of his growl and the tick and soft pad of wolfish feet brought him closer. If it all must end, be it by his hand. This, more a prayer to those beings whom she only regarded at all when the knife-edge of life cut into her feet and unbalanced her, was the only clear thought in Tenebrae's mind as she felt his presence circling, gained a deep and chilling sense herself as prey, not predator. She could only and shiver, and wait ... breath of any kind was abruptly not an option, the cloak's clasp jammed up tight below her chin, then tugged back to dig cruelly into the soft white of her throat. Around her was wrenched a furred limb, sharp claws-- she caught a glimpse of a tall and stark-white woman from the corner of her eye, a flash of a lovely, terrible face, laughing, before she blinked and it vanished. She'd have spoken something of a goodbye, then, but that powerful grip strangled all hope of speech from her as surely as the cloak had, and before she could coherently perceive anything else Leo was a crush of fur and muscle -- and blood-- a burning taint that stung at the edge of her wounds. A thick and animal scent, a pounding of limbs that had her clutch at pale hair as best she could while shaken so that her fangs rattled as he bolted for an erstwhile lair or... maybe somewhere safer to take his meal. But there was always that spark of faith she'd kept bright and alive like some primitive's precious ember nourished and protected in the cupped palm of a shell, which told her that he would not give Death any more to laugh about this day. Not at her expense, anyhow. So she clung, and whimpered more from pain than residual fright until they came to some shore that she scented on a thick saline breeze, even with her eyes screwed shut and face buried hard in a furred chest or shoulder--whatever bit of him she was clutched to hardest. He'd brought her to the sea. It always drew him back, like a mother, or a saviour. Or home. She made sure to keep very still when his footsteps silenced on a shush of sand. Kept herself from tensing, doing -anything- that might trigger his more animalistic instincts. Faith in Leoxander or no, Fate always liked to have the last laugh, where Tenebrae was concerned.
The ocean side breeze hit his face, rustling the sandy fur that hid his expression, and a thick black nose as rough as leather flared to divide mingled scents. Against Tenebrae's spine, his chest pumped with every panted breath, his strength starting to slip away after that initial battle lust would fade. With every step, he sank several inches into the sand from his weight, unable to find the same traction with thick hind paws as he might have on a damp forest floor... but despite this he trudged on toward the familiar wash of waves, lapping the Cenril shoreline. Both marked arms wrapped possessively around the vampire, perhaps crushing to the point of bruising her slender frame, but she wouldn't have any reason to complain about that chilly, biting wind that hinted the possibility of an oncoming storm, lost somewhere out in that sea. Northbound, along a familiar path, until the nearby city could only be determined by the halo of torchlight, rising up over cove boundaries. All was quiet save the churn of water, pooling into a lagoon of hollowed rock, only to rinse back with the lazy tide to wash over cavern walls shaped by the caress of the sea. Leoxander's steps became more sluggish, less determined, and finally in that secluded territory, Tenebrae would be abruptly dropped onto the packed sand, a rough shake spraying the mixed blood away from his open wounds. Calmed by the atmosphere, by his abducted company, the lycan dropped heavily onto his empty hands, took just a few steps toward the edge of the water, and abruptly collapsed in with a huff of grunted breath, relaxing the savage glare in his eyes until they should start to drift closed. There would be no mob of armored soldiers rushing after them immediately, no unexpected traps set off to ruin them in the end. It would seem in that familiar retreat, Fate could not follow to continue that cruel game, using the two of them as play pieces. Here, with a water worn dock half submerged in the distance, branded by a Cabal mark, they would find refuge. For the time being, the necromancer was safe... mostly because the fallen beast on the shore was too exhausted to move. That was likely the only opportunity she'd have to escape.
Tenebrae grunted softly when the lycan discarded her body like jettisoned cargo to the tide-compressed sand, lay still despite the pain and urge to lift her head, see what he would do next. A vampiress, playing dead-- how irony loved this necromancer. She would spare a frantic glance to the surroundings, head kept low, the scene peered at through a tangle of blood-soaked ebon. She knew the place, knew something of why he'd come here. She had, too, very often while he was gone, to perch upon a rock like some dark-winged and widowed seabird waiting for its mate to migrate home. How many sunsets had seared her vision with ghostly sails a-billow in clouds of blood and soot on the horizon? She heard the weight of his body thud and splash at water's edge, and dragged herself upright. Fate had lost its chance for jest, it appeared, and all she knew then was that her Leo was down, and hurt, be damned with fur and muzzle, fang and claw-- under it all he was still the outwardly -- and mostly inwardly -- surly youth she'd fallen for in thirty seconds, and denied for a hundred thousand more until he'd worn her down like sea wears a rock, in the end. Hands and knees left grooved scars on the flat-packed ground when she crawled to him, biting back a surge of self-preserving fear, to stop mere feet away. He was a strange parody of a memory she ever held dear, kept fresh-painted as a portrait in her mind-- the ocean-foam that spattered his torn and torturous frame was delicate as any fallen blossom, evoked a hidden garden, a more peaceful and innocent -- well, less corrupted-- man at rest. But the past was gone and she must stop living in it, find ways to adjust to the now and here, and truth of him. A hand still slick with his life's fluids and stuck with clots of fur reached out, across what seemed an immeasurable distance, to tentatively brush over his wetly-spiked coat. No, she would not run, would not willingly lose the thread that leashed her to him, if it cost her existence itself. He was so still.. she crept a little closer, eyes sharp upon the seeping wounds that pinked the sea-spume a gaudy hue, and stained the sand deep red. Bolder now, she stroked a flattened brow, an ear, pelt where it was not torn. "Cap'n.." Probably lost over the whisper and hiss of the waves, as the soft press of her palm might remain unfelt in his terrible weariness. Still, words were spoken, and carried a world of meaning and implication, whether it was heard or left to drift upon the burgeoning wind. "I'm here."
The toll of evening tide kept time, counting the minutes that would pass without disturbance. Only his spine moved, bristling the trail of blonde fur for each shallow inhale, settling his hackles flat to his shoulders every time he let go of that steady breath. Somewhere, beneath this bestial exterior, was the man she loved... and as though drawn out by her thoughts, by that pained whisper of a familiar name, the human left inside Leoxander started to reveal. Soothed by the gentle stroke of her hand, spines of sallow fur either slipped away into his pores, or were shed to the sand effortlessly. Inked flesh and the definition of muscle melted into view as the prone figure, stomach down on the shoreline, altered back to the roguish appearance he was recognized for, the change occurring without any real effort from the pirate. Dark patterns in his fur reverted to the symbolic collage of tattoos, spanning entirely across his back, weaving down arms held above his head in that collapsed position, impressed upon a tanned complexion revealed since his shirt had since been ripped apart. A tousled mane concealed eyes that remained closed, and although the smooth sand and the ocean froth lapping salt into his wounds were discolored by the lycan's blood shed, the deep gashes were nearly mended by the time he appeared a rugged human, once more. The rage that fueled his feral desire was - for the time being - overthrown by his lost lover's patient stroke, and that soft spoken reassurance. He had always spent that time recovering alone, defenseless. It was only a matter of time before he became aware of her presence, and eyes surrounded by rings of gold like twin eclipsed moons cracked open just enough to see in the dark, intent upon the silhouette so near, at once. In a confused silence, with time taken to determine what had happened and where he'd ended up this time, he tried to judge the scene. Leo felt his heart leap into his throat upon realization that Tenebrae was drenched in blood and looking fairly worked over. Too exhausted to lift his head, his unshaven cheek pressed into the wet sand that cradled his changed body in form fitting ways, and finally he would move. Just a hand, mere inches, to grasp for anything conveniently near and within reach. Taciturn and unwillingly sedated, he'd keep that contact and listen for the sound of her reassuring voice above the backbeat rhythm of rolling waves.
She should have never left. At least, these were the similar thoughts shared by the Captain trailing her. Had Tenebrae completely lost it? Mismatched eyes lowered to the ground and he barely avoided making a sound by stepping onto one of those rumpled posters bearing the Necromancer's lovely face... this one in particular long since torn down and traveling a stray breeze. Decked in black, trimmed with a few rusty weapons, and concealed with a mask tied 'round his face, the rogue stalked after this perfectly innocent woman like a predator, as though he had plans of robbing her. Of course, that elegant disguise didn't fool him for one moment, there was no mistaking Tenebrae's scent, and every time he paused in the shadows of a stone pillar or flattened back against the wall to avoid a guard's glance, he'd draw down his mask for a subtle flare of his nose, catching it again. Damn her... he was going to have to put a leash on that woman to keep her in range. Every time he looked around the tavern and missed her presence, Leo could only assume she was getting herself into trouble again. And judging by the direction her path was leading, that's exactly where this little adventure seemed to be going. A gloved hand pushed to the wall, and with dark fabric drawn back over his sensitive, sun freckled nose, the lycan ducked low and trailed her right into that alley. No longer hidden, he stepped into the street behind her silently, human looking eyes settling on the back of the hooded figure. A few slow steps after, and if she didn't notice someone following her by then, he'd just keep moving at a distance with Tenebrae. Keeping watch over her, but more importantly finding out what she was up to.
Two hundred paces and several stout walls away from where the vampiress crept along sand-grimed stone, the manager of the Cenril Bank was turning a large brass key in its lock, and nodding to the six men who flanked his stout frame. The Guards drew closer as he turned toward the east, tightening the formation on which depended the protection of not only the man but the case of precious stones tucked inside a locked, black leather bag chained to his wrist. These were dwarven gems, traded and traded again, until finally the set -- bracelets and a necklace crafted of rare fire opals, emeralds and diamonds, among other trinkets, and an ancient diadem of platinum set with magically-imbued glowstones -- were to be delivered to the armoured ship that'd take them to the high elven settlement in Rynvale. Trade was hard, and these would curry the favour of political wives, who'd in turn give favour to the bearer of such gifts. The precious offering thus secured, the manager set off at a pace as brisk as his portly frame could manage, no fear at all in his piggy eyes-- for who would possibly dream of robbing a man so thoroughly protected?
Back in the alley, Tenebrae stalked in a shadow cast by a bakery wall, her steps still casual, though hurrying now; it'd be hard to explain why a well-to-do lady was wandering dingy by-ways alone in the night. All her senses were wired, she could -smell- a 'job' on the horizon, here, somewhere, out there in the burgeoning dark. It didn't take but a second for her neck to prickle when the rogue closed in, and she slowed her pace, tried to look lost in case it was a guard, flexed the wrist around which was wrapped her garrotte and twitched for the knife secured in a sheath in her opposite sleeve in case it was some drunken sailor looking for a date, or something worse. Nonchalance reigned; she casually glanced around as though looking for a street sign, and glimpsed the shadowed figure prowling behind. The knife was already in her hand by the time she recognised the shape of him, halted and looked to a sky in which hung a fingernail moon, her eyes rolling back to rest on him. "I can look after myself, you know." Her tone was low but she was sure he'd catch the words, no matter how far away he was.
With his senses so heightened, particularly in the quiet evenings, Leoxander picked up little things. The rattle of guard's armor, the scent of metal and gold clinging to the banker's coattails, or whatever a well established and well fed citizen like himself should be wearing. But even those subtle hints didn't fill in the blanks, or answer his unspoken questions. She played the part like a professional, and he took just a moment to admire her acting skill as she suddenly appeared dumbfounded at the possibility of being in such a dark alley. As though he hadn't noticed her purposeful steps down a merchant's lane. He didn't take his eyes off her, not when she finally turned, not even when she spared a glance at a telltale moon. The sky never delegated his form, it was as uncontrolled as his emotions would ever be. For the most part, he remained a very solemn man, these last few days. A deep voice rumbled in the same quiet tone to respond from behind his mask, a bass pitch carried easily through the space between them. "So I saw..." Obviously referring to that night in the spider caverns, sarcasm never failed him in moments like those. A wolf like tilt of his head, and Leoxander would pace a step or two closer to her, peering into that shadowy hood. "Planning some fun without me, Mistress?" There was always a mild bite to that title, as though it should be spoken through a cheshire grin.
Tenebrae sniffed faintly at the nip in his words, the slightly arch tone she took with him tempered by the soft smile he'd see perching on the corners of her lips, on a face framed in grey woollen cloth and silver fox. "Thought I'd leave you to your drinking." Yeah, she'd slipped away from the Corpse, left him at whatever table or barstool he'd been slouched on, unsure of how to ask him for his company anymore, and in need of something to fill her mind in place of questions and worry. That he'd followed her, again, gave her comfort. Better, it gave her hope they'd pull through, as they always had. "Thought you might need a little time.." She didn't wait for a reply, inching toward him to tilt her body up-- arched on toes, sans those inch-bestowing heels, to press a small kiss to skin that, even covered in cloth, prickled her lips a bit. Lowering, she turned her face away, glancing east to the sound of heavy, booted feet marching nearer. The look she turned back to him glimmered green in that crescent-mooned dimness. "That'll be something either very bad, or very, very good." Or, she could just back him up against a wall right here and... No, there were too many of those damned soldiers about, for that sort of risk. She grinned right back. "You up for it, then?"
If her words stung at all, Leoxander didn't show any sign of it. His feral gaze went unchanged, pupils expanded to capture what little light existed that evening, be it from guards' nearing torches or just a stubborn moon. There was a point he remained very still, even if his rounded ears caught the fall of iron clad footsteps, mere blocks away and getting louder. Only his eyes moved to the corners, following her face when it neared, to the edge of his jaw at the last moment. He could only hope the vampire didn't hear that quickening pace of his heartbeat. A hasty change of subject might make it seem as though the thrill of a heist was the cause. "You got a plan or we wingin' this?" Either way, he only had a few concerns. He'd managed to stay under Cenril radar for a long time, now, but that didn't mean they were going to forget the laundry list of crimes stacked up against him. An arm wound around her waist to guide her like he was about to lead them in an alleyway dance, but instead he encouraged her back behind some crates and barrels where the strong scent of garbage and moldy bread was sure to ruin any romantic moments. It would give them a little cover in case her target walked around the opposite corner, though. A slight adjustment to strap a fingerless leather glove back into place, and with a flex of his hand and a glance over her head toward the noise, he'd drop his voice to a whisper to ask. "Who or what're you after?" Leo never questioned why.
Her shoulders shrugged faintly, nose wrinkling at the odor of decaying vegetables. One might think a necromancer wouldn't be so fussy. "A rumour. Drunk they fired from the legions here last week, in the pub over in Rynvale. Bitter, mumbling about how he was still fit to guard..." She was already speaking in a near-whisper, craning to turn the way his own eyes were staring, but her words dropped even lower in volume, barely voiced at all when that contingent of guards passed the alley's narrow mouth with all due pomp, the Bank manager wedged between three on each side. They weren't too far from the scene for her to glimpse that case, cuffed to his wrist. You don't chain yourself to a bag unless what's in it is worth more than you are. "Jewels." She gathered herself, poising, waiting for him to take the lead as he'd always done in their former ventures. Felt good to be a sidekick, when the chief protagonist was a professional like Leo. "Only six, and the fat man. We can take 'em." Her breath plumed slightly, in the unseasonably cool night. "Best we get to it." It was meant to sound casual, something asked by-the-way, probably failing in that regard though her gaze did not shift from the space where the men had passed. "Still love me?"
"Only six..." He repeated with a sigh of his own, but his warm breath was masked, literally, by the fabric that moved with his mouth. A matter-of-fact look cast in the direction of the group passing by, and he'd stay silent until they were out of range to hear his low whisper. "Suppose you'll be taking the fat one, then..." A shoulder rolled back until the bone should fit back into a place that was proper for a human's structure. Because of his frequent transformations, always a cruel displacement of an organized skeleton, he often had to crack joints back into place. Jewels, she stated. He'd seen a small pouch tied to the squat man's wrist. His trained eyes had aimed right toward it on a glance even before he knew what she was after, because it looked like something a thief might want. He took a step from behind the refuse pile and patted his ribs in search of a blade. Disappointed with the rusty knife he had to substitute for dragon forged daggers, it was twisted to aim the hilt toward his fingers, with the flat of the weapon concealed against his wrist. Ready to take action, Leoxander was paused by her abrupt question, and when he turned his head, his eyes caught just enough light to shine in a familiar, animalistic way. A glint of gold and green as though his irises were foil, and his pupils polished sea stones. Hesitant for only a moment, the answer would come just before the thief headed toward his mark, as casual in his deep tone as she'd meant to be. "I told you... always."
"Right, then." Tene nodded, all businesslike, securing her own weapons: diamond-dust wire, knife, her favoured black sword too bulky for this operation. But he might catch the half-grin as she tugged the hood around her face before he'd turned from her and slipped out of their hidey-spot to move like some predatory wraith. She'd follow, the shadow of a shadow, keeping close to walls as he would, pausing at the corner that turned to the street, while the march of feet grew quicker, and more distant by the second. Tenebrae was amazed by the way his body surged, these days, even with the frequent oddly-angled joints, the uncomfortable creak and snap of gristle displaced or realigned. She'd never gotten used to losing the humanity of her lover, flawed as it had been, not really, and she'd had more than enough cause to mourn its 'death' ever since. But here, now, she was almost glad for that heinous act she'd done, watching him move this way, sharp as a direwolf after blooded prey. Appealed to her vampire more than to his Joliette, but still.. Stupid woman, she chided herself, almost stepping on his heel, snapping her attention back to the task at hand. This was no time for sentiment. They had a killing to make. And guards in numbers, even such small ones, were always overly confident; they didn't even see the nefarious pair, steadily and stealthily gaining on them.
An abrupt stop nearly ruined their stealthy approach, and with a sharp look over his shoulder, he gave the necromancer a silent warning to pay attention. It wasn't exactly the moment for daydreaming, and he witnessed that far away look in her arctic eyes. Staying low to the ground, stalking his prey with a grace and intensity that surpassed his previous mortal boundaries, his lycan vision aimed down the empty, lamplit street toward the collection of guards, casting moving shadows across the cobblestone. Absently, he moved a hand back to grip into her cloak or clothing, using the excuse of keeping her still to make some physical contact between them. Knuckles whitened on that grasp, while his opposite hand went for a knife sheath strapped to his ribs, but the rusty blade removed was pathetic. One brief look and when he remembered the state of his weapons, it was chucked violently toward the pile of garbage left behind, the business end impaling flawlessly into the side of an old wicker basket full of rotted refuse. From there, they moved from the alley, staying close to the walls since they couldn't easily scale the rooftops with her tall heels. He had to take a moment to be impressed by her furtive and deliberate movements, quiet despite the shoes she'd selected for the evening. The only time to plan a course of action was in the time they would take to close the distance, metal encased steps staying steady, becoming louder, until the tips of those shadows danced just a few feet beyond their location. The muscles in his body tightened as he stooped to pick up a sliver of stone from the side of the road, debating how to approach this. He looked far too sneaky to play the role of a wandering drunk, and felt too eager to lose that opportunity for unexplained, unreasonable violence. The rock was chucked into an alley ahead of the crowd, just enough to distract their attention another way to advance unnoticed behind. Their attack would be preemptive, and he'd waste no time in taking out a first by finding a sudden, firm grip on either side of an armored skull, a violent snap indicating this guard would not be returning to any family he might have, the next morning. Leo had no sympathy, no morals for the casualties of greed. The only thought crossing his mind was: one down, five to go. Only now, he'd have all of their attention.
She'd wince, when he looked back at her with that disapproving glance, brow furrowing and shoulders rising as though she wished she could shrink into herself. Yeah, some great hunter, drifting off in the middle of... hey! No need to get antsy, there, she was thinking, when his fist closed on her shirt and the knife came loose of its sheath. And she almost grinned, but there was an intensity about him, a stillness and a scent that told her there was no more time for play, or levity. Half a second later and she was following again, tuned to his every motion, each breath and twitch of muscle pre-empting the moment and direction in which he was to strike. The stone told her to take the opposite rear guard, and a snap of wrist had that gemstone-razored wire she so loved unfurling to sway like a glittering gewgaw in her fingers. But it was no necklace to be admired, the man she embraced scant seconds after Leo sprung would attest to that-- were the thing not wrapped so very tightly around his throat, twisted so viciously, biting deep through windpipe and vocal chord. No, he'd not complain, when it near took his head off. But the arterial spray that spurted to wet the back of the man ahead -- let's call him Number Three --was warning enough. He'd stopped, turned to check the silence behind, the strange crack and thud that he observed with a gape of mouth to be his fellow's sudden demise, and now one cheek was runnelled wet and red-- and the shout went up. Tenebrae gave one sideways glance to her mate, and a head's up sharpish sound, and tossed him her knife. With a bit of luck, he'd be paying attention, she had no time to check whether he'd caught it before Number Four was on her, military-issue sword flashing dully in the ghostly yellow light below the lamps. And her with none-- but not for long before she hooked a toe to Two's weapon, kicking it up toward her hand, and then ensued a delirious flight of blades, clashing and ringing, Tene pushing him back toward the group that huddled about the portly man with the case, who was shouting and gesticulating wildly, as if his being an important man would help the situation. Four was good with a sword, he managed a slice of upper arm, a nick of rib that took out a divot of flesh with black silk and grey wool, neither of which hurt a bit and would not, until the adrenaline cooled. If they made it out. But he wasn't a vampire, and therefore was soon a bloody, screaming heap less one arm, and there was Five and Six to go, depending on what Leo had been... and then Seven and Eight, Nine, Ten.. She lost count as another squad barrelled through the very alley they'd left. She checked the balance of the sword in her hand, and pondered taking Four's, for a double-handed attempt at massacre. Yes, she was that much of a show-off and besides, it'd been a long time since she and the rogue had had this much fun together.
An effortless leap carried his lean frame back several feet, barely avoiding the wide cleave of a halberd swung in his direction - they didn't all carry swords. So close, in fact, that a rip across his black armor revealed a splice of unbroken skin beneath, but he'd expected this hasty retaliation. Heightened reflexes allowed him to grab the polearm before it's weight even followed through in that arch. With a rough jerk the weapon was disarmed from the guard's grip and used defensively to block the sudden swing of another while the unarmed man was dealt with from behind. The strike of wood and metal clashed loudly in the empty street, heard beyond the confused shouts of their target... but merchants and citizens had long since retreated to their homes for the night. Twisting the bladed end of the clumsy weapon, he managed to lock the sharpened edges, forcing both to the street by throwing his weight down forcefully as though he were chopping wood. This conveniently pulled his frame into a ducked position that dodged the careless swing from what we'll call 'number six', but the second man Leoxander had disarmed wasn't quite so quick or lucky. His head, helmet and all, went rolling into the street while the guard remained momentarily stunned that he'd just decapitated his own ally. This gave Leo just enough time to rise, catching the thrown knife first from the corner of his eyes, before he snatched it from the air and sheathed it right into the center of the last bodyguard's chest, hard enough to impale right through the chainmail worn. All of it a blur of motion that happened in the matter of seconds. Two bodies slumped to the ground simultaneously, gravity pulling them toward their unprepared grave. Just as one squadron was dealt with, his sharp ears caused him to dart his attention toward a fresh collection of defense. He only had time to meet Tenebrae's eyes for a heartbeat before he turned to rush them, buying her some time to retrieve what they'd come for. It wasn't any lack of faith in their ability... they could take on more soldiers armed to the teeth. But haste was important to a thief, and Cenril's stock of men was practically limitless. More would answer the call, and they could only keep this up for so long. Preferring to use his own bare hands to rip them apart, he parried the first attack, using his momentum and enhanced strength to swing a man 'round by his weapon holding arm. Upon release, he'd barrel right into his fellow soldiers, taking several of them to the ground like bowling pins. Only one was quick enough to escape, but unfortunately this is the one who would finally wound the rogue. Leo broke his silent concentration, and yelled out in pain when the edge of a sword hacked right into his bicep and forearm, the appendage raised last moment to try to block the swing without a shield. It wasn't forceful enough to splice through bone, but when the lycan's blood soaked through his armor and started to paint the ground, it immediately triggered a change. His free hand latched onto the man's throat, veins starting to define in the corded muscle of his forearm. Human eyes widened through the slit of a helmet as he felt the life choked from him, and the last thing he would witness would be the enraged expression of a masked man changing into a beast, with fur sprouting from the pores of his skin. If looks could kill, Leo would have destroyed them all with a glance. Perhaps now they were doomed, after all.
Tene slapped a hand across her lips, a somewhat inappropriate laugh stifled when "six" took the weight off his fellow guard's shoulders like that, though she didn't allow the black humour of it to distract her for long. She needed not a lot more motivation than a second wave of soldiers arriving to take up that second sword; whose it was, she had no clue nor care, she had well lost count of the bodies by now. One look from Leo-- was that a little censure in his eyes? Maybe he'd seen her mirth, but she took it as a clear command to get business concluded, and in a hurry, trusting him to deal with the small squad for now, whether by force or distraction. She glanced about for the porky Bank Manager, who was at that very moment doing his level best to make a run for it. But the years of his equally well-fed wife's good cooking was taking its toll, and the best he could do was a waddling gait that took him little further up the street before vampiress was upon the fleeing man, one sword swept low to catch at a hamstring, the other, less than two seconds later -- the time it took for his roly frame to hit the pavers, screaming-- aimed hard at the juncture of the shoulder of the arm to which her prize was chained. It took several hacks, with a foot planted squarely on his back, to get the arm loose, and five more to sever the wrist so the chain fell free. She turned back toward the Cap'n, the black case held aloft triumphantly, nerves alight with the urge to fight or flee, the latter being the likely option from last look, except.. there were no men charging her, there was no clash of steel to run toward, no rogue to "save" from the soldiers. There was only the shape of a hulking beast in thief's clothing, and what few of the guard had not bolted at the sight remained frozen in that frame of time it took her to realise what was happening. It almost froze, her too. But this was -her- man... beast... and even while she winced softly at his obvious agony while the change came upon him, the blood-drenched case was stowed in her robe, the manager left to his death, the swords rebalanced in her hands. And now she came stalking toward the mob, circling to find a place to strike in hard and open a space for them to get the hell out.. if there were any left alive to bother with, by the time she got there.
A rough arch of his spine and Leoxander threw his head back, crying out in pain. It wasn't the splice of swords or the ache of bruises, but the way his skeleton stretched to it's limit, his muscles doubled in bulk, and skin stretched over his shape to the point spines of dusty blonde fur were forced out into a thick coat. The crowd had spread itself in half, some of them saving their own hides immediately at the sight of the wolf creature, the others valiant and noble and probably living the last minutes of their life. There was no prize in his mind, now... no necromancer to protect and defend. Only annoyances to be dealt with. One would hit the street in a few seconds, bleeding from it's armor from an internal wound because the way he was grabbed and thrown into that brick wall. A spray of red dust from the impact would cloud the swordmistress from joining the fray without being caught blind like the rest of them, but Leo didn't need to see to hear the rapid heartbeat, or smell that fear and sweat that pinpointed each human. Large clawed hands swiped viciously at the air with heavy grunts pushed into the effort of each hook, and though he missed once, it only upset the rogue into making certain he didn't miss a second time. Though six feet tall, another guard was grabbed by his helmeted head and shaken like a lightweight ragdoll until his spine snapped near the top. Albeit this left the lycan open to the hack of another blade in his side, he hardly seemed to care. He only growled louder, increased his strength with newfound rage, and everything took on red tones in his vision, so that he didn't know who or what he was after anymore. The only thing he could focus on was the need to kill anything in his path until nothing moved. A vicious shake of his head and a black mask came free, littered to the ground near Tenebrae's feet. Ragged clothing was torn and stretched to it's limit with the size of a completed transformation, and by the time the last soldier fell, whether by his paw or the vampire's stolen weapons, the beast was snapping his feral eyes on her, a horrible snarl pulling back his snout to bare his canine fangs. He fell to four legs with another angry shake of his bristling coat, then pushed back up to his hind feet to appear more intimidating to the last of his problems. A female, no less. He dropped his skull back suddenly, howling deeply to the sky, just to remind every escaping guard running down those streets calling for help who exactly was in charge, here. Singing his name in triumph before his last enemy fell, yellowed eyes locked down on Tenebrae, and a clawed hand flexed at his side as he closed the distance between them.
Thick clots of grue adhered to her hair, her features, her clothes-- it was a wonder the lycan could smell her at all through it, only a small portion of the sanguine her own from the wound to her ribs and arm, a fresh slice of thigh exposed as meat -- thankfully a downward slash that removed mostly skin, not any essential muscle or tendon. Bloodied, arms aching from the effort of taking two more men down on her way toward Leo, she saw their path was free as the lycan beast raged his last upon the hapless soldiers. Such was her own bloodlust that perhaps she gave no thought to what would happen when she was the last one standing; or maybe it was his obvious wounds that negated better caution, but it did not occur to the woman she that might be the next thing he took down until that ragged, lonely howl ripped the fabric of the night, and the jessamine glow of feral, animal eyes was turned upon her. Reflex brought the swords to cross before her body, a ready defense dictated by instinct alone. Her soft hackles were pricked, eyes bled of colour and ringed in darkness. He was huge, and not... himself, and even in her own wild state she knew her match was well met. Instincts failing her, reason clawed to the surface of her mind like a cat from a well. Fight was not an option, she'd add no wounds to the ones he wore already, and didn't trust herself, when it came down to it, not to fight to the death with her vampiric nature armed and dangerous. Flight wasn't looking much better. Tenebrae was fast but the rogue had always been as quick, even when human. So, here it was. The moment she had not borne in her upper mind, but knew would one day arrive. Great timing, with the sound of more men bearing down the streets from the guardhouse three blocks hence and by the rumble of their feet, more than mere squads. There was nothing else for it-- she threw down the swords. Lowered her eyes, hopefully breaking the heated tension in the exchange. Trembling, knelt to blood-slick stone to make herself small. No threat here, just a little vampiress who has realised this is a deciding moment, of a more or less lethal kind, as well as a line drawn long ago between her and her lover, an inevitability that may as well be given a course to run now as any other time-- if there was to be any other time. Here, now, he would kill her, or leave her to die. Or.. not. And around two hundred soldiers would, any second now, be breaking in upon this tender scene, whether it ended with some kind of resolution or-- just a plain mess.
The lycan lowered his head slowly, blood and saliva running thick like ooze down his bearded chin, and those elongated fangs remained bared. Her weapons only showed her misfortune in his glassy eyes, silver crossed swords glinting in their reflection as a vampire's bad omen, while a red splattered lantern post cast an eerie glow to that horrific scene of death. Most of the bodies littering the ground didn't move, but one straggler tried to claw his way to safety without the use of legs that had been broken during the fight. Leo paid this one no attention; by the particular smell of that man's blood, most of it had been used to paint the cobblestone his stomach dragged upon. The growl rumbled up from his chest, whisper soft at first like the distant hiss of an oncoming wave, but clearly a warning of what was to come. With one heavy step taken toward her, the wolf became louder... and as Tene' took those precious moments to make her decision, he dipped into a sudden crouch, ready to take her down. Fur tipped ears swiveled forward abruptly at the discard of blades... but it was her collapsed position and downcast gaze that caused him to hesitate, confusion melding into his feral eyes, stretching out his jagged pupils to take in the sight. By the time he quieted to puzzle over her behavior, the angry, vengeance-hungry yelling of oncoming soldiers flooded in from the streets behind him. The sound in his throat was like a deep, agitated whine. Leo flinched forward, snapping his jaws once in her direction just to test her level of fear, shaking his bristling coat with his head low, shoulders high and tense. Instinct warned him to stay away from the Necromancer, but the flicker of foggy memories in his mind were too difficult to ignore. He knew that long black hair, the way she'd held those weapons and the gleam of sea green eyes witnessed before they fell. A quick circle was paced around behind the woman, the movement of his mutated frame agile and precise as only a creature of the wild could be. Tenebrae would suddenly feel a clawed hand dig into the fabric of that trimmed cloak, a rough tug meant to yank her backward, or choke her if she should resist. Either way, his injured arm locked tightly around her ribs, dangerously close to mingling the blood of their wounds. Without warning or reason, not entirely certain why, she was picked up off her knees, and clutched tightly against his damp fur covered torso. With a speed she wouldn't have managed in those heels, the lycan took off through Cenril, the blur of crowded buildings thinning out until he'd reached the outskirts and beyond. He headed toward the familiar scent of the ocean nearby, relating this scent as his sanctuary.... his escape.
Her breath felt cold as it huffed in short little pants over paled lips. Shoulders shook, an involuntary shiver she could not help at all; it was too easy to assume one's immortality when one was, for all intents and purposes, immortal. Though Tene ever flirted with death, perhaps her way of atoning for her centuries accruing stolen life, rarely did she come to the point where she met it head-on, without a shred of real courage to take the sting away. Here, now, all bravado had fled from a heart that had too many cracks in it to hold anything but what she felt. Fear. Love. They had been almost the same emotion for a very long time, and both vied within her for ascendancy in this moment, as the burr of his growl and the tick and soft pad of wolfish feet brought him closer. If it all must end, be it by his hand. This, more a prayer to those beings whom she only regarded at all when the knife-edge of life cut into her feet and unbalanced her, was the only clear thought in Tenebrae's mind as she felt his presence circling, gained a deep and chilling sense herself as prey, not predator. She could only and shiver, and wait ... breath of any kind was abruptly not an option, the cloak's clasp jammed up tight below her chin, then tugged back to dig cruelly into the soft white of her throat. Around her was wrenched a furred limb, sharp claws-- she caught a glimpse of a tall and stark-white woman from the corner of her eye, a flash of a lovely, terrible face, laughing, before she blinked and it vanished. She'd have spoken something of a goodbye, then, but that powerful grip strangled all hope of speech from her as surely as the cloak had, and before she could coherently perceive anything else Leo was a crush of fur and muscle -- and blood-- a burning taint that stung at the edge of her wounds. A thick and animal scent, a pounding of limbs that had her clutch at pale hair as best she could while shaken so that her fangs rattled as he bolted for an erstwhile lair or... maybe somewhere safer to take his meal. But there was always that spark of faith she'd kept bright and alive like some primitive's precious ember nourished and protected in the cupped palm of a shell, which told her that he would not give Death any more to laugh about this day. Not at her expense, anyhow. So she clung, and whimpered more from pain than residual fright until they came to some shore that she scented on a thick saline breeze, even with her eyes screwed shut and face buried hard in a furred chest or shoulder--whatever bit of him she was clutched to hardest. He'd brought her to the sea. It always drew him back, like a mother, or a saviour. Or home. She made sure to keep very still when his footsteps silenced on a shush of sand. Kept herself from tensing, doing -anything- that might trigger his more animalistic instincts. Faith in Leoxander or no, Fate always liked to have the last laugh, where Tenebrae was concerned.
The ocean side breeze hit his face, rustling the sandy fur that hid his expression, and a thick black nose as rough as leather flared to divide mingled scents. Against Tenebrae's spine, his chest pumped with every panted breath, his strength starting to slip away after that initial battle lust would fade. With every step, he sank several inches into the sand from his weight, unable to find the same traction with thick hind paws as he might have on a damp forest floor... but despite this he trudged on toward the familiar wash of waves, lapping the Cenril shoreline. Both marked arms wrapped possessively around the vampire, perhaps crushing to the point of bruising her slender frame, but she wouldn't have any reason to complain about that chilly, biting wind that hinted the possibility of an oncoming storm, lost somewhere out in that sea. Northbound, along a familiar path, until the nearby city could only be determined by the halo of torchlight, rising up over cove boundaries. All was quiet save the churn of water, pooling into a lagoon of hollowed rock, only to rinse back with the lazy tide to wash over cavern walls shaped by the caress of the sea. Leoxander's steps became more sluggish, less determined, and finally in that secluded territory, Tenebrae would be abruptly dropped onto the packed sand, a rough shake spraying the mixed blood away from his open wounds. Calmed by the atmosphere, by his abducted company, the lycan dropped heavily onto his empty hands, took just a few steps toward the edge of the water, and abruptly collapsed in with a huff of grunted breath, relaxing the savage glare in his eyes until they should start to drift closed. There would be no mob of armored soldiers rushing after them immediately, no unexpected traps set off to ruin them in the end. It would seem in that familiar retreat, Fate could not follow to continue that cruel game, using the two of them as play pieces. Here, with a water worn dock half submerged in the distance, branded by a Cabal mark, they would find refuge. For the time being, the necromancer was safe... mostly because the fallen beast on the shore was too exhausted to move. That was likely the only opportunity she'd have to escape.
Tenebrae grunted softly when the lycan discarded her body like jettisoned cargo to the tide-compressed sand, lay still despite the pain and urge to lift her head, see what he would do next. A vampiress, playing dead-- how irony loved this necromancer. She would spare a frantic glance to the surroundings, head kept low, the scene peered at through a tangle of blood-soaked ebon. She knew the place, knew something of why he'd come here. She had, too, very often while he was gone, to perch upon a rock like some dark-winged and widowed seabird waiting for its mate to migrate home. How many sunsets had seared her vision with ghostly sails a-billow in clouds of blood and soot on the horizon? She heard the weight of his body thud and splash at water's edge, and dragged herself upright. Fate had lost its chance for jest, it appeared, and all she knew then was that her Leo was down, and hurt, be damned with fur and muzzle, fang and claw-- under it all he was still the outwardly -- and mostly inwardly -- surly youth she'd fallen for in thirty seconds, and denied for a hundred thousand more until he'd worn her down like sea wears a rock, in the end. Hands and knees left grooved scars on the flat-packed ground when she crawled to him, biting back a surge of self-preserving fear, to stop mere feet away. He was a strange parody of a memory she ever held dear, kept fresh-painted as a portrait in her mind-- the ocean-foam that spattered his torn and torturous frame was delicate as any fallen blossom, evoked a hidden garden, a more peaceful and innocent -- well, less corrupted-- man at rest. But the past was gone and she must stop living in it, find ways to adjust to the now and here, and truth of him. A hand still slick with his life's fluids and stuck with clots of fur reached out, across what seemed an immeasurable distance, to tentatively brush over his wetly-spiked coat. No, she would not run, would not willingly lose the thread that leashed her to him, if it cost her existence itself. He was so still.. she crept a little closer, eyes sharp upon the seeping wounds that pinked the sea-spume a gaudy hue, and stained the sand deep red. Bolder now, she stroked a flattened brow, an ear, pelt where it was not torn. "Cap'n.." Probably lost over the whisper and hiss of the waves, as the soft press of her palm might remain unfelt in his terrible weariness. Still, words were spoken, and carried a world of meaning and implication, whether it was heard or left to drift upon the burgeoning wind. "I'm here."
The toll of evening tide kept time, counting the minutes that would pass without disturbance. Only his spine moved, bristling the trail of blonde fur for each shallow inhale, settling his hackles flat to his shoulders every time he let go of that steady breath. Somewhere, beneath this bestial exterior, was the man she loved... and as though drawn out by her thoughts, by that pained whisper of a familiar name, the human left inside Leoxander started to reveal. Soothed by the gentle stroke of her hand, spines of sallow fur either slipped away into his pores, or were shed to the sand effortlessly. Inked flesh and the definition of muscle melted into view as the prone figure, stomach down on the shoreline, altered back to the roguish appearance he was recognized for, the change occurring without any real effort from the pirate. Dark patterns in his fur reverted to the symbolic collage of tattoos, spanning entirely across his back, weaving down arms held above his head in that collapsed position, impressed upon a tanned complexion revealed since his shirt had since been ripped apart. A tousled mane concealed eyes that remained closed, and although the smooth sand and the ocean froth lapping salt into his wounds were discolored by the lycan's blood shed, the deep gashes were nearly mended by the time he appeared a rugged human, once more. The rage that fueled his feral desire was - for the time being - overthrown by his lost lover's patient stroke, and that soft spoken reassurance. He had always spent that time recovering alone, defenseless. It was only a matter of time before he became aware of her presence, and eyes surrounded by rings of gold like twin eclipsed moons cracked open just enough to see in the dark, intent upon the silhouette so near, at once. In a confused silence, with time taken to determine what had happened and where he'd ended up this time, he tried to judge the scene. Leo felt his heart leap into his throat upon realization that Tenebrae was drenched in blood and looking fairly worked over. Too exhausted to lift his head, his unshaven cheek pressed into the wet sand that cradled his changed body in form fitting ways, and finally he would move. Just a hand, mere inches, to grasp for anything conveniently near and within reach. Taciturn and unwillingly sedated, he'd keep that contact and listen for the sound of her reassuring voice above the backbeat rhythm of rolling waves.