Greed, it was an universal concept, that did not differ in other worlds in the least bit and in this city it seemed to be a governing power at night. Even now as the two elves strolled into a dark alley, they witnessed a merchant being harassed by a group of thugs. The many, weak humans ganging up on the helpless little lambs, it was not any different than what went on in the realms. Xarw could not, but help smirk at the situation and gazed at his `fellow elf` with a cunning thought in mind.

"I say, a dark alley like this... people might get hurt and lost, don`t you say?"

He began leading Damien on a trail of thoughts as to what he wished to do next, after all greed was in Xarw`s very nature. It was not alone natural to his race and character, but it was also the watchword of his religion and god. It would be a sacrilege to let such an opportunity to pass by despite another, more logical reason for it. They needed money of this world, passing off coins from their own world would come across as suspicious and the sluggish explanation, that they were from a country far away was not likely to work.

"I think we should loosen their purses a bit and might as well free from their earthly, heathenish torment. All in good fun of course."

He said as he drew his sword and gazed at Damien as the thugs finally realized, that they were not alone and eyed the duo cautiously as the merchant remained cornered behind the thugs.

_________________

Let him curse my name
On these blood stained pages of misery
Let him call me a tyrant so cruel
Let him curse my name, but remember the truth!

The two elves waked on, apparently not hearing Kith's call. They eyed a band of thieves harrasing a merchant. Serves the merchant right for staying out after dark. He thought to himself. He looked back to the elves, and caught up to them just in time to see the dark skinned elf draw his sword. The thieves were watching them warily. Although they out numbered Kith and the two elves, the thieves had no such blades as Xarw. Kith grinned. On occasion thieves would have quite a few pretty pennies. "What a burden those purses must be. I think we should relieve them of it."

Don't make any loud noises. What did Raign take them all for, idiots? Not bothering to mask her scowl - the darkness could do it well enough - Ryairon waved Raign down to the gorge. Raign slipped into the river with the tiniest of splashes, drowned out by the breakers smashing onto shore.

Ryairon hung back and peered into the mist shrouding the gently sloshing waters. The river's path, cutting a lazy swath from the city, was unobstructed save for a few craggy projections dotting its banks. No cover there, if anyone should spot them. Their attempt might prove futile even if they reached the city walls - what intelligent bastion left its sewers unguarded?

Well, in the case of failure... She grabbed a coil of rope from the bottom of a canoe and looped it over her shoulder. Now all it needed was... ah-hah. The unfortunate fellow Barney lay sprawled on the ground beside his sputtering campfire - dead or unconscious, she couldn't tell and didn't care. His fist was still curled around an imaginary bottle of rum, while his other hand flopped just short of a fishing pole. She finally found its hook lying a few feet away, speared to the head of a half-roasted tuna that had once upon a time been Barney's supper.

The hook snagged onto her belt, and Ryairon scrambled to catch up with the others.

This close to its source, the river ambled along at a leisurely pace and didn't protest against the cluster of swimmers driving into its current. Ryairon had never considered herself a strong swimmer - that's what naval captains are paid to be good at, thanks very much - and soon fell toward the rear end of the group. The disembodied torches above the battlements bobbed closer every time she nudged her nose up to take a breath. A single look. A single look from a vigilant sentry was all it would take to spot the movement creeping below the river's murky surface.

Nobody looked. One by one, they waded into the shallows pooling around the city walls, beneath the shadows of the protruding machicolations. Waves lapped against a grille that poked its iron bars a foot above the water level, though they extended several feet more below the water's surface. The stench reeked. Ryairon, holding her breath, edged close enough to give the bars an experimental rattle. Their hinges were rusted, but not enough to come loose by hand. Intelligent bastion, indeed.

It was only when she flopped down on the rocky shore to drain her scabbard - which would probably rust too, the way events were proceeding - that something sharp jabbed into her side. Barney's hook. So much for that. Up close, the looming fortifications looked impregnable, especially for a makeshift grappling hook. Still, scouting the city's perimeter had to reveal a weakness somewhere -

Her gaze found the iron grille. Sheer simplicity. Stupidly simple, even.

"Hey," she said, and held up the hook in one hand and rope in the other. "Can anyone here tie a knot?"

People stared. The stares were not flattering.

"Grappling hook." Her shrug could have been apologetic. "Attach it to the grille, pull it out? Or do some of you brawnier brutes find that unnecessary?"

_________________

At Ryairon's question, Gramsil had to sigh inwardly. He had suggested such a tactic himself, after all. But everyone seemed testy, and with good cause. No doubt breaking--or sneaking-- into castles was not anyone's everyday task.

He shrugged, instead, and waded quietly forward to examine the grille himself. Fairly rusted indeed. Iron would give way to much harder, sharper diamond claws.
And they did, with no complaint. Just a few light, careful slices parted the iron bars, until there were a few pitiful pieces of metal protruding from the stone arch that outlined the grille. Enough room for two large men to comfortably pass through side-by-side.
Then Gramsil quietly discarded the removed network of rusted iron and peered into the tunnel. It appeared to take a turn up ahead, and he had no clue what lay beyond. From the way the others were behaving, he guessed that it smelled less than pleasant.

Ruth Ann was not the most emmense fan of swimming. She had done it before, twice. One time was when she was shoved in during a fight. There were a few dwarves there, as she recalled, and they all believed she was a goner, but, as any good person (or halfling) would do in a time of danger, Ruth Ann figured out how to swim, very quickly. The second was when a boat capsized, and she dove in to save the pedestrians.

Nonetheless, Ruth Ann was most displeased when she heard the fact of having to wade, and possibly swim, to a city where she would certainly have no sure time of drying off and regaining herself before she would either fight or be swooped away into some nasty dungeon.

She went anyway, even with all of the bad karma posed against it. After a certain edge of thought with staying on the rocks alone, Ruth Ann finally deemed that taking a dip in the water with the others was, unfortunately, far better than sitting outside waiting for another freak-show villian to come diving out of the skys again.

Wading into the water was much better than Ruth Ann anticipated, resulting from her expectations being quite low. It was not until the smell started to come that Ruth Ann found herself a little too deep into the water. "Ahhh!" she screamed, before falling into a little dent in the sand and streaming into the murky water.

---------------------------------------------------

[From it being 3 in the morning, I will post Kira later. I need more thoughts to run through my head before a good post comes to mind.]

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<center>

Alanna followed the robed stranger into the tunnel philosophically; she'd have to do it at some point, so she'd rather do it now. "Following" consisted a good deal less of walking, and a good deal more of wading through dank, murky, waist-deep water, cast into pitch-black shadow by the rough stones arching overhead. Stepping carefully, she tried not to think about what might be hidden in the water, along with the more obvious bones and rats. Something soft and probably slimy brushed against her leg, momentarily, and she froze in sheer terror. What was it - she needed to see ...

The engineer snapped herself out of it. Just move, move, move ... It had been more than three or five meters, more than the thickness of the city walls, surely. Which meant that this was more than a stream that needed to get through the walls; it was a primitive sanitation line. A sewer.

The redhead ahead - she really needed to start learning names - was carrying a deep, swept blade that glowed faintly, throwing small patches of the tunnel overhead into sharp relief. She kept her eye on them - "Stop," she hissed, and he heard her and paused. She pointed up, over his head.

It was a round hole, covered with iron bars - a way for the refuse from the streets above to empty down into the sewer. It was also just out of his reach.

"Give me a leg up," Alanna requested, aware that her voice might carry to the street, and balanced herself on the proffered knee. She could just reach the bars, testing them with her grip - sturdy. Fortunately, there was, quite literally, still a trick up her sleeve. Her pen-shaped utility tool in hand, its tiny laser made short work of the steel, and she dropped all but a few into the water below.

Hoisting herself up, she poked her head out of the hole. It was quiet; there was no movement. Alanna ducked back down. "It's clear." The street was asleep. She scrambled up and out.

_________________


<center>Nothing but the Rain</center>

_________________


Just became a college freshman; be on sparingly

"Toss the ladder," Ryairon said, cupping a hand halfway over her mouth. Her voice echoed anyway, the words hitting the stone walls and bouncing, amplified, back at her. Well, Alanna certainly heard that. Likely the rest of the street did too. She winced.

A rope ladder, frayed at the edges, dropped down through the hole overhead. The bottom rung drifted just below the water level, tugged by a current so torpid that she hadn't until now noticed its existence. She hauled herself up. The second rung hung in tatters, its end chewed away by... she didn't care to guess. She reached for the third one, just beyond her fingertips. A little further... Her palms slid. Her boots fumbled.

Splash. Only a hasty grab for the ladder kept her from submerging entirely. The stench shot up her nostrils. Her stomach churned. Nausea clawed its way up her throat. She counted four... five... six stars twirling in front of her eyes. She swayed back onto her heels and waited for the world to stop spinning.

"It's slippery," she flared, a retort to the criticism that no one threw. Then, "Oh. Sorry." Devarion's hair, formerly red, was now a vivid shade of... brown? Or green. Yes, a vivid shade of brownish green. Had she done that? Yes, she supposed she had. "You need a bath," she told him, irritably, and pulled herself back onto the ladder.

This time she succeeded in keeping her dignity, and climbed, dripping, out of the hole. She could smell herself. She could also smell Alanna, who stood three feet away. Dignity. Right.

No one else was watching, at least. Empty-eyed dwellings hunched on either side of the street, which twisted into hazy darkness for as far as she could see. Shadows pooled in puddles of refuse under the eaves. She ducked under one of those eaves to wring out first her tunic, then her braid. A fly skittering along a crust of bread at her feet abandoned its meal to spin lazy circles around her head.

Something clanked. She froze.

The noise had floated over the low rooftops, from what sounded like a few blocks away. Steel striking steel. Unmistakable. Without waiting to see if the others would follow, she launched into a stride down the street.

They stumbled upon the melee a couple of dark alleys later. A street brawl, it appeared to be, between a band of thugs and two cloaked figures that flowed between them, around them, and over them like rapids over rocks. One of the figures' hoods had fallen back, and the gleam of ebony skin didn't surprise her in the least. Opposite the dark elf, steel arced alongside a flash of white-blond hair, and Ryairon leaped to the side an instant before Damien could inadvertently decapitate her.

Her fist itched to punch him. After all the trouble they'd undergone - skirting around the harbor, wading through the sewers - did these fools want to bring the city guards down on their heads? "What are you doing?" she hissed, the next time Damien whirled within earshot. "You - "

"That's a fair question, actually."

A sharp object nicked her ear to embed, quivering, in a pile of crates behind her. A dart. She slowly turned around.

Ten figures, hooded and dark against the night, stood upon the rooftops flanking the alleyway. One of them held a crossbow. That same someone spoke, his voice a silken hiss. "I would come quietly, if I were you. All of you."

_________________

Gramsil was not happy. Squeezing through holes made with humans in mind was not on the top of his list of fun tasks. If he had been any shorter he wouldn't have even been able to reach the opening to the streets above. Thus, he was the last to reach the streets above, unless one were to count the peculiar small one who had to be fished from the foul water. Therefore Gramsil was also the last to reach the scene of the brawl, and the last to spot the mysterious figures. And he was definitely not in the mood to come along peacefully with a group of strangers, armed or not.

His answer came in the form of a rock hurled silently and at great speed.
One of the dark shapes moved to avoid it, and it flew on, to land somewhere on the far side of the city with a distant crash.

By then the giant had already moved to stand before Ryairon, gesturing unmistakably to her. He and Devarion could handle this. Few of the others were in any shape for another battle, save the two elves, whom Gramsil did not want to deal with again. Far too impulsive, in his opinion. Besides, he was tired of wandering through narrow tunnels and narrow streets. He could catch up later.

A few thugs laid at Xarw`s feet as he stopped to assess the newly arisen situation, the others of their small troupe had arrived and some guards as well. Things never went how you planned them, did they? Xarw sighed making a low spin and chopping off a thugs leg, spraying the street with a fresh coat of red color. Xarw eyed at the crossbows aimed towards them and then at his own troupe, of whom some seemed eager to fight these guards, allowing him to run away.

First things first, Xarw was in dire need of money and he quickly snatched whatever purses he could, including that of the merchant. He suddenly had to make an evasive maneuver as a few of the crossbows clanked and sent their bolts flying towards him. Xarw, now holding his prey in hand, was satisfied at how things seemed to be going, almost.

"Hmh, I believe it`s time for me to make my escape, too bad we couldn`t create anymore mayhem together distant cousin. The rest of you have been a real blast as well..."

Xarw said with an innocent smile when he gazed at Damien, his hands had already moved and his words turned into a silent whisper. The shadows of the alley suddenly, started to grow, as if they had awakened and now they charged towards Xarw. As the shadows engulfed him Xarw smirked at the rest of them, within moments he had disappeared from the scene with the help of his god, who was not known as the shadow god for nothing.

_________________

Let him curse my name
On these blood stained pages of misery
Let him call me a tyrant so cruel
Let him curse my name, but remember the truth!

Damien would not normally have waylaid citizens in the street, except for several reasons. Reason number one: they were assaulting someone who looked like an innocent merchant. Reason number two: He needed a disguise. Their clothing and the merchants clothing differed extremely from his own. He would stand out as an outlander and alien, so he needed something to wear. None of the thugs were even close to his height, but their cloaks might at least provide some fallback options.

Then, as he slit the throat of the last thug, movement flashed out of the corner of his eye, and he stabbed at it, a cut that would penetrate the carotid artery, but his target stepped back out of reach in time to dodge his swing, somehow having anticipated it. He turned to face it, and realised that it was Ryairon. He had almost killed her--if she hadn't realised that a fight wasn't the time to come into close contact with him, she would be beyond most help by now.

Instead of making a comment about her near death, though, the human survived him by blasting at him. Or at least, starting to. The tunnel vision that combat brought on had faded now that he wasn't fighting any more, so Damien knew what would greet his eyes when he glanced at the rooftops. The unfamiliar scents had wafted to his nose seconds before, and he had heard the rustle of leather against cloth, and their unsteady footsteps on the shingles of the roof, the clicks and creaks as they aimed their crossbows. He sighed, knowing that he wasn't fast enough to catch a crossbow bolt at this range. An arrow he could catch, but a quarrel would be going significantly faster. Still, he could dodge.

He slowly raised his hands, the dagger dripping blood down his arms as the angle it was pointing at was suddenly inverted. He had dodged every strike by the thugs, so he still had managed to keep the sound level down, but the thugs had managed to make enough noise for a score of elves in full armour. Next time, he'd take more care so that his target was a sensible criminal. Stupid humans.

Gramsil threw a rock, and everyone moved at once. Xarw ducked into the shadows and vanished entirely, the party that had just arrived--reeking, no less--scattered, and the cloaked guard tha the rock was aimed at dodged, but the other nine men also watched the rock's arc, which meant that they weren't watching Damien or the others. He threw his dagger at one of the guards and put himself into a rolling dive to the side in almost the same motion, then sprang up off of a pile of barrels that were tied together, landing on the edge of the roof of the building he had started off next to. If the guards weren't paying attention behind them, they were about to all get acquainted at the ground at high speeds.

_________________

Jeniya reluctantly allowed herself to go through the foul sewage water in their attempt to break into the city. She waded through the thick torrents of rubbish, praying that her crossbow remained dry. Carefully she made her way through, occasionally pausing still when someone made too much noise moving. Finally the leader, Ryairon, the princess, stopped.

A rope ladder fell from above. Obviously their way out. Ryarion went first, followed by the red haired man, Devarion. Only he never got a chance to climb up when Ryarion slipped with an uncharacteristic lack of grace. Jeniya raised an eyebrow but didn't say a word and silently allowed her to climb up again. Finally it was her turn to climb up, and she began her ascent slowly, much to the annoyance of the people under her. She appeared from the hole just as another fight began. She, in truth, had no idea what was going on, but on the rooftops, she saw the ten militia firing crossbows at them. Simple little primitive machines compared to what she used.

She quickly got out of the hole, ignoring the fact that she smelled horribly, and loaded her crossbow faster than any of the guards and fired swiftly. The bolt went into the throat of a guard, causing him to gasp violently, before falling to his death on the floor. Meanwhile alarm bells began to rang now as doors opened with a bang and ragged, sleep-burdened men ran out, wielding various implements.

_________________

I was cured all right.

Kjan swore profusely under his breath as alarm bells began to sound. Idiots. What had ever happened to an unobtrusive entrance? Most of the members of their impromptu party seemed mentally sound enough, but there were a few individuals whose insatiable blood lust made him genuinely wonder. Was negotiation a completely foreign concept in their worlds? He was all for fighting, when there was a need - even as he cursed the stupidity of his companions, he had to admit that it felt good to fall back into the familiar rhythms of battle - but this was absolutely absurd. They were in an unknown place, in an unknown time, for an unknown reason, encountering unknown people, and their first reaction was to start hacking off limbs?

The sound of approaching footsteps announced the arrival of additional opponents, no doubt with even more close behind them. Kjan swore again, this time a bit more loudly, and gripped his knives a bit more tightly. Absolute idiots. Glancing around, he attempted to locate someone who appeared to be both somewhat in charge of the situation and not likely to remove any necessary appendages as soon as he got within ten feet of them. His gaze fell on Ryairon. Good enough.

Dodging an oncoming attack, he made his way over to her. "We're going to be surrounded any moment," he said said over the din of battle. "I suppose it's a bit late for that whole 'come quietly' option, but we might do well to convince our friends on the roof to refrain from further ruining our chances of finding out what in the seven levels of the underworld is going on here."

"Really, I hadn't noticed." Ryairon flicked a scowl at the man - Kjan? that sounded right - and snapped out her dirk. She backpedaled, shooting glances over her shoulder. "The sewers! Get back - "

Silver flashed in the corner of her eye. She spun just as the nearest armored soldier barreled into her. Steel struck steel with a ring that bounced down this street and probably a dozen streets after. The man, far stronger, shoved her into the wall of the alley. He disengaged. Torchlight gleamed on the arc of his sword as he swung it high. She fumbled at the haft of her weapon and braced herself for the blow.

It didn't come. Next thing she knew, he had toppled over. Right onto her, in fact.

Ryairon slammed back into the wall. White-red fireworks shot across her vision. The back of her skull hammered where she'd pounded it against the bricks. Blood, spurting a scarlet fountain from the soldier's jugular, spilled onto her arms. The soldier's head had thumped against her shoulder, and his dilated pupils stared back at her. They were blank, mindless. She pushed the body aside, armor and all, and dazedly watched it clatter to the ground. A dart protruded from its neck. A crossbow dart.

Devarion shouted something, and a figure tumbled from the roof to land, in a heap of dark cloak, beside her. Slender, bloodstained hands still clutched a crossbow, its dart splintered and its butt smashed. The hood fell back, revealing...

Slanted eyes. Pointed ears.

"Fire!" It was the cloaked figure who had spoken first, the one who had told them to come quietly. A chorus of clacks echoed into the night, ensued by the clangs of darts entering chain mail hauberks. The foremost ranks of human soldiers dropped cold. "Now!" he cried, and as one, the remaining elves leaped down from the rooftops. Five fanned out, crossbows leveled, while the rest darted to collect their casualties.

A hand seized Ryairon's shoulder. She pivoted, dirk raised. Her gaze locked squarely with eyes greener than a sunlit forest. "Come with us. We'll cover your retreat." And before she could answer, the elf had whipped around in a swirl of dark cloak. The nearest human solder pitched, dead before he hit the ground.

_________________

With coldblooded precision, Raign whipped around and jammed her elbow into an oncoming soldier's gut, using her free hand to turn halfway and bring the pommel of her dagger to its target at the back of his head. He crumpled, out cold, and anger surged when, feet away, another uniformed man collapsed with blood staining the cobblestones beneath him. A crossbow bolt was embedded in his throat. Needless death! she wanted to shout across the confused mayhem, and when the next man came barreling around a corner she indulged herself with a few violently colorful expletives, and parried his attacks.

Dagger in one hand and scimitar in the other, she lunged and twisted sharply, intending to trip him. The maneuver succeeded beautifully, better than she'd thought, and Raign was briefly pleased with herself.

Then she saw a second crossbow bolt in his back.

"Stop killing them!" she raged, pivoting to yell the words. A piece of the night became disjointed and swept down to collect its arrow, while she watched in consternation. Raign started forward, expression set and scimitar raised, as the figure straightened with a lithe grace that she was too inexperienced to properly note. "I had that under control," she hissed, waiting to see a face under the cloak's cowl.

Faster than her eye could follow, fingers closed around her right wrist and stilled the hand that held her scimitar in a dark flicker of movement. Raign's immediate instinct was to ball her other fist in preparation for a punch, but the sight of the face for which she'd waited jarred her motionless.

The eerily inhuman grace of these elves did more than unnerve her. This one straightened coolly, nearly animal-like eyes flicking dismissively past Raign. Angry protest started in her throat. Then he casually whipped a tiny blade from his sleeve, and she froze when the sound of a body slumping to the ground was immediately behind her.

"Hold your gratitude and retreat," he said, silken voice as alien as the rest of him, and left her to fume.

_________________

Booyah! [does triumphant jig] I was so right that you had something special in mind for these, Violent One.

--------------

Damien lunged at the cloaked figure that was nearest to him, a silent, fair-topped shadow of death slipping towards another silent shadow. The second shadow flowed around, raising the stock of the crossbow to deflect Damien's dagger strike, and the subsequent spear thrust. Damien's eyebrows hoisted themselves slightly up his forehead--if this was a human that he was fighting, it was faster than any human he had fought before. He concentrated on the smell again, and realised what his nose had been trying to tell him for the last few minutes--these were elves, albeit of a strange variation.

He ducked the blow from the dagger that the elf had produced, then slammed his spear down on the elf's wrist faster than the other could dodge, a blow that knocked the dagger from the suddenly-numb fingers of his opponent. Damien sheathed his dagger as he moved forward, making use only of his spear's shaft as he blocked the elf's attacks and returned his own. After a few thrusts and parries, the other elf fell for a feint, and moments later had his feet kicked out from under him and a fist to the nose--a very demoralising hit, in Damien's experience.

Once the elf was on the ground, Damien wasted no time in kicking him a few more times and then dragging him out of the angle of fire of the rest of the elves. If the elves were intent on helping them, then perhaps they could find a way back to their own worlds after all. Even as he crouched over the slightly dazed elf and held him pinned, he caught sight of another cloaked elf crossing over the roof and turned, touching his spearpoint to the throat of his prisoner.

The shadowed elf recognised the unspoken threat, and stopped moving. "There is no need for that," he said, making a slight gesture at the spear. He had an odd tone. Damien had spent too little time around other elves and men in recent years to be able to read too much into the elf's tone, but he sounded slightly surprised, as though he had expected them to come without a struggle.

"Come with us--we will clean up from your mess," the elf said. "We are only to get you to safety, now." The elf held out a hand, and in it was Damien's dagger. So it didn't hit any of them. I'm not sure if that's a good thing or a bad thing, Damien thought to himself.

He considered the elf's statement, then nodded his head, helping the first elf up and accepting his dagger back from the second. "I will follow, for now," he said, sheathing his weapon.

_________________