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Red Carpet, and Rebellion
Topic Started: Apr 24 2010, 08:49 PM (3,686 Views)
JOLS
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Mars managed to not fall over like a tree stump at Leslie's blow, but slowly knelt onto the ground. It was the final step to help bring into the here and now. He blinked back a few tears, before he could eek out a few words.

"Hooooooo doggie!" Mars coughed out and clutched jewels more precious to him than anything he might find in the mansion.Mars hadn't meant to blemish the young lady's virtue, but it was probably his mad rush to get out of the cage, that caused his slip to accidentally grasp a handful of Leslie. He was generally good about pulling things off people without them noticing, but, he supposed he was out of practice. He chided himself mentally for the horrible breach of etiquette, in between the flashes of pain.

He looked up at the girl who had wrecked such destruction. He remembered her from the earlier examination of the painting, among the sea of veterans, of the war, known as life. If it wasn't for the fact that she had just tried to maim him in a most heinous way, her youthful beauty may have made more of an impact. It was not diminished by proximity in the least, like some of the caked up nobles at the ball. His strict macho upbringing taught him not to fight back, though, however much her striking appearance dulled or didn't dull his instinct to strike back.

"Yes, please accept my most humble apologies." Mars took the time on the floor to issue a formal apology. He had yet to switch back to his colloquial speech, the magic of his disguise had not yet worn off. What had worn off was his previous anger. Anxiety filled the emptiness caused by anger's escape. The last time he had been locked in a cell, he had nearly lost it. This cell was rather larger, and the other occupants helped reassure him, but it was still very nerve wracking.

Mars was a free bird. He had never had trouble with small areas, but the idea that he was confined had always gotten to him, even as a small child. He had once nearly beaten a child to unconsciousness when playing Pirates and Marines, as a child. They shouldn't of tried to stuff him in that crate, especially cuffed. Mars' anxiety would likely give rise to righteous fury when he got back out of this current cage, as well. Dennis and his friend would soon find themselves rather high up on his s**t list.

While Mars attempted to both play down the pain, and collect himself, Leslie handed him three hairpins. He waddled back up to his feet, and went to work on the locks again. This time, he was successful almost right away. He had figured the correct positions of the pins the first time, just had been too rough in handling them.

"Well, I don't know what those two told you, but I can assure you, their aim is nothing above devious." Mars looked sternly into the Leslie's eyes, with as serious a face as he could muster. He took a deep breath and looked from side to side warily, as if he was unsure if anyone might be listening to the conversation, and he was debating going on.

"I don't know what they want from you, but, as a secret agent of Cipher Pol, I have infiltrated this party to take down a drug smuggling operation, being conducted by Dennis' company. The Pol, er, Cipher Pol would greatly appreciate any assistance you can provide us, as we appreciated the hairpins." Mars finally responded to Leslie's earlier query, with a half truth, half bald faced lie. He had changed his tone of voice into the low one he assumed Cipher Pol agents used. He held up the hair pins in demonstration of Leslie's sacrifice to the cause, and handed them back. The girl seemed a little gullible, so he assumed this would be the fastest way to get her on board. Mars looked back at Vince, shrugged and shook his head.

"I had to tell her, the stakes are too high." Mars continued with his lie, as if Vince might be upset that he blew their cover. He had come up with it after he was informed he was being tracked by Cipher Pol himself, a few weeks ago.

Vince commented on their situation when he swung the door open, and the fact that they were still trapped. Mars looked down at the floor and thought in silence for a second. He came up with something.

"Alright, we should all wait along the outside of the cage, right behind the door. When they come in, after they don't see us, we can ambush them." Mars gave a quick plan he thought might work. He just hoped they didn't bring any back up. He wasn't sure they knew their full strength, just yet. He got his rapier, and a brush full of black paint, at the ready. He also made sure he shut the cage door again, to confuse the jailers when they first looked through the viewing slot.
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Leslie sat back and watched the Baron at work as he picked the lock. She was still angry, but that faded within three seconds of standing. Leslie was notorious as never being able to hold a grudge. It was about that point that she started to feel guilty. She probably shouldn't have kicked him so hard. He was just going for the brooch, and it wasn't even that stylish a brooch anyway. She bit the back of her pointer finger as the guilt slowly overwhelmed her. She had a bad habit of biting herself when she was distressed, though she would occasionally bite other things if they were available. She was just about to apologize when the Baron turned to her with an extremely serious look on his face. This startled Leslie, causing her to take a small step back.

"Well, I don't know what those two told you, but I can assure you, their aim is nothing above devious."

“D-devious?” asked Leslie, uncertain. She searched his face for any sign that he was joking, but there was none. “B-but, Dennis...” Leslie was silenced as the man took a deep breath, and looked to both sides. Leslie also looked to both sides just to make sure she wasn't missing anything.

"I don't know what they want from you, but, as a secret agent of Cipher Pol, I have infiltrated this party to take down a drug smuggling operation, being conducted by Dennis' company. The Pol, er, Cipher Pol would greatly appreciate any assistance you can provide us, as we appreciated the hairpins." said the Baron before he handed her back her pins.

Leslie's hand immediately flew to her mouth, accidentally dropping the pins he had just returned. Cipher Pol? Leslie had absolutely no idea what Cipher Pol was, but she did know what a secret agent was. She had heard stories about people who went on wild adventures, doing secret missions for the World Government, and rescuing people from the crutches of evil masterminds. Leslie briefly wondered why evil masterminds needed crutches. Were they, like, really danger prone? Did they fall down the stairs a lot? Maybe that's why they kept trying to take over the world, cause they needed money to pay their medical bills.

Leslie's head shot up suddenly. This person was a Cipher Pol agent. That meant...

“Oh my gosh!!! I just kneed a Cipher Pol agent!!!!!!!!!!”

Leslie's face froze in a mask of horror. Her body stiffened. Her skin turned snow white, and her eyes went absolutely blank with the shock of this realization. If anyone had looked at her in that moment they would have thought she had turned to stone. She stood frozen in that position for a long moment, screaming and panicking in her head, thinking of all the possible consequences for her actions.

It was at that point that the other part of his statement sunk in. Dennis was a drug smuggler? No, he was so nice. He had thrown the party. He had invited her. He couldn't...Leslie dropped to her knees in distress, her hands on the ground. Somewhere in the back of her mind she thought about the fact that she was probably wrinkling her dress, but that was the least of her worries. She wanted to believe in him, but, you know, the cage, the hole in secret trap door, the Cipher Pol agent in front of her. She may not have been the brightest bulb in the closet, but even she could see that the evidence was against him.

A tear started to slide down her face as the feelings of betrayal sunk in. How could he do this? She had trusted him. And to think, she had felt bad for accidentally destroying his art gallery, granted she still did feel a little bad.

She perked up upon hearing the Baron's hearing the fake Baron's attendant comment on the situation. She looked at the iron door, and briefly thought about trying to kick it down, but realized that that was probably beyond her abilities at the moment.

"Alright, we should all wait along the outside of the cage, right behind the door. When they come in, after they don't see us, we can ambush them." said the Baron...agent...you know, she should probably ask him his name at some point. This whole name game thing was getting way too confusing.

Leslie wiped her eyes, and put the fallen pins back in her hair before standing up. “I'll do anything I can to help Baron von Agent Cipherfig Pol.” She then walked out of the cage, and took a position to the side of the door. The feelings of Dennis's betrayal were still hot in her chest, and she was eager to relieve some of the tension. A thought briefly occurred to her. She turned towards the Baron Agent.

“Oh, and sorry for kneeing you.”
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"I don't know what they want from you, but, as a secret agent of Cipher Pol, I have infiltrated this party to take down a drug smuggling operation, being conducted by Dennis' company. The Pol, er, Cipher Pol would greatly appreciate any assistance you can provide us, as we appreciated the hairpins." Mars responded to Leslie's questions, shrugged and shook his head at Vince. "I had to tell her, the stakes are too high." Mars continued, this time addressing Vince.

"Damn it sir!" Vincent cried out in mock anger, "We did not have to reveal that information to a civilian. We could have just, hrck." Vincent said as he made a slashing motion across his throat and winked to Mars.

"Alright, we should all wait along the outside of the cage, right behind the door. When they come in, after they don't see us, we can ambush them." Mars said after looking at the floor for several moments and moved near the iron door, making sure to close the door to the cage. Vincent followed Mars' example and took out his knifes and got ready for whatever came through that door.

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In the cold, hard space the trio inhabited, Mars saw Leslie go through a range of emotions. He was very aware of the effect he had on the girl when he dropped his bombshell. His lie had worked too well. He had the desire to comfort the girl when she became distraught, but, he was now a stalwart Cipher Pol agent. He didn't think one of the agents might act in such a sensitive fashion, at least once people knew who they were. Not that he really knew much about them. Vince had played along, which he remembered he also had, those many weeks ago on a rainy night. Mars was fairly sure he could trust him to keep secrets, or lie when he had to. A very important quality indeed, for the things they might end up doing.

"Well, you know I believe in utilizing the resources available. Besides, I have the feeling before the day is up, they'll be plenty more people to collect ears from." Mars explained the reasoning behind his supposed admission, and he gave his partner in crime a wide smile. Mars guessed Cipher Pol might do something like collect ears. For all his dislike of the World Government, Mars knew precious little about it. Or, at the very least, he didn't have much first hand knowledge. But, he had always had a knack for talking like he knew more than he really did.

As far as the organization Mars masqueraded that he masqueraded as, he had just heard stories of Cipher Pol. They were sort of cautionary boogie man tales for revolutionaries, gleaned from his days in the Barcelona Boys. He had yet to confirm the actual existence of the group, but all the evidence he had seen, up until this point in time, pointed to the fact that the World Government had such a group. It was a rather frightening thought, that there was a secret group, with cells all over the world, capable of squashing any form of dissent that flared up. The groups he had been involved in tended to be democratic, and thus slow and decentralized at the best of times, anarchic and fragile at the worst. Thinking about the enormity of just fighting the Condotierre on Anolecrab overwhelmed him, how could he fight a group that could strike with well disciplined men from all over East Blue? Or even all over the world?

Leslie's sudden recovery and apology distracted him from any thoughts he was having about his predicaments, as he waited for someone to approach the door that barred him from freedom. It was actually a welcome distraction.

"Yes, well, it's perfectly understandable. I can assure you, worse has happened in the line of duty, which is what we should focus on now. In fact, your quick action in striking me, as well as the force of the blow, has impressed me. Your actions in the destruction of Dennis' undoubtedly ill-gotten arts collection, were also commendable." Mars put on his serious face and half whispered to Leslie, but without taking his eyes off the door. He muttered some colorful epithets for Dennis and his bad taste in art, including philistine, and likening him to various farm animals. He shook his head, and got his thoughts back on track. "I am deputizing you as a temporary member of Cipher Pol. Congratulations, and welcome to the force." Mars finished. He didn't have a badge of any sort to give her, nor did he have any hands free, to shake her own. He substituted these with a quick and solemn nod in her direction.

It was only a few more tense moments of waiting to spring an ambush, again, that Mars heard some noises outside the door. He had calculated the way the door swung in, and stood right outside it's arc. He had basically set his body as close to the wall as he could get it, without actually becoming one with it. In his position he saw the viewing hatch slam open, and he heard a curse. It sounded like one of the guards from upstairs. There was some whispering among them, and they scrambled to check what he assumed where adjacent cells.

It sounded like their initial panic subsided, and the door swung open. The guard that came in was no longer dressed in the fancy attire, that Mars had seen upstairs. He wore a blue cloak, with a pointed blue hood, holes for his face and mouth dotted it. Mars assumed they had a strict dress code. The guard also seemed to have left his halberd upstairs, and was using a blackjack like club. He took the initiative, and charged the guard while his back was still turned. Mars wasn't going to allow any of them to be taken, alive or dead.

"Have at thee, infamous knave!" Mars found he had switched back to his noble speech. He guessed it would be too cowardly to simply strike from behind, at least silently. He thrust his rapier at at the man, and tried to aim a little lower than he had last time, remembering the breast plate he had hit. He was successful, and managed to spear his rear end. This produced a yowl of pain, and a jump that had him collide right into the cage's bars.

A second hooded guard quickly followed in, this one seemed to have something holding his hood up. If Mars hadn't know better, he would of sworn it looked like a bump on his head was poking it from underneath. Maybe he was the guard who got the cabinet for headgear.

Mars stepped back and to the side, so that he was now directly in front of the door. This put the man that had jumped behind him. In a fight that was usually a bad idea, but in this case, it would separate the guard from the rest of the group, and allow Mars to create a bottle neck at the door. If they took them one by one like that, Mars thought their odds at making out of the dungeon were much better. Mars prepared to defend himself from any strikes from the second, head bumped guard.

Mars' namesake was well earned, not just for the most frequent subject of his art. In the process of researching for his paintings of battle scenes, he had picked up a few tricks in tactics. In this case, they could be applied to a smaller encounter, as well. The childhood friend turned militia woman, Ambrosia Gorgonzola, had also given him a few tips like these, growing up.

-

Outside, Dennis had given up on restarting the party, and became more concerned with making sure the fire brigade didn't stumble upon any entrances to the under ground dungeon. There was one in the rear garden, as well as the ones in the art gallery. He was worried the marines might come.

Velli gathered the members of his cult among the nobles attending, and ushered them downstairs. Down into the evil dark underground.

The underground ceremonial room itself, looked much like some twisted mockery of a church. Or, perhaps a smaller twisted chapel. It had twelve rows of pews, and led up to an altar, for their dark god. Up next to the altar, Dashiva was lying against was a happy brown and white spotted cow, also part of the sacrifice. The woman cultist brought the cow cookies and pastries, on a fresh silver platter. The young cow happily licked away at the crumbs of her last platter, oblivious to the fact the brooch she wore on her collar sentenced her to a fate, similar to the one Leslie was intended for. One side of the cow had a spot that looked a lot like a skull and crossbones jolly roger, but it was just a coincidence.

The brother and sister cultist had washed Dashiva to prepare him for the ceremony, and put him in the ceremonial white robes. He was bound with rope at the hands and feet. Dashiva's weapon and clothes were in an adjacent storage room. They were supposed to represent virginity, but that was a hard thing to come by among the usual miscreants they had captured.

A few nobles came into the chapel, and Velli informed the two other cultists, that Dashiva was no longer needed. A pail of water was dumped on Dashiva's face, and the brother and sister thought about what to do with the rejected sacrifice.

-

The nobles that had been sent tripping earlier by Mars, still cooled their heels in private cells. They had originally been put together, until they had started attacking each other. Either way, their very presence in the Police station was a secret. It wouldn't be long before they would be sober, and would be able to get some stooge to corroborate any story they came up with.
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Leslie watched the Cipher Pol agent walk towards her after her apology.

"Yes, well, it's perfectly understandable. I can assure you, worse has happened in the line of duty, which is what we should focus on now.” Leslie nodded in agreement. It was time for action.

“In fact,” said the agent. “your quick action in striking me, as well as the force of the blow, has impressed me. Your actions in the destruction of Dennis' undoubtedly ill-gotten arts collection, were also commendable."
Leslie smiled at the compliment. Although she would never really brag, she was proud of being strong. She liked being able to take care of herself if need be. She still held the record amongst her carpenter friends for the most consecutive pins in a one vs. all wrestling tournament. She noticed the Baron leaning in close, and turned an ear to listen to what he had to say. She expected to hear some kind of secret Cipher Pol information, but was shocked when instead she heard a long line of defamatory insults about Dennis and his art collection, many of which were not something a girl like her should be listening to. She blushed as the agent lent away, and seemed to compose himself.

“Um, indeed.” she replied not really sure what to say. She shook out of her embarrassed stupor as the agent continued.

"I am deputizing you as a temporary member of Cipher Pol. Congratulations, and welcome to the force." The agent gave her a brief congratulatory nod.

Leslie's jaw immediately dropped, though she was sure to shut it once she noticed. Her? A secret agent? She went into a brief mental montage of herself swinging dramatically into buildings in the dead of night, destroying evil doomsday devices, thwarting villains, and wearing really stylish spy outfits while she did so. Leslie's hand quickly covered her mouth as she tried to control the impulse to start squealing and jumping up and down.

“Oh my gosh! I'm a spy! I'm like sooo totally spy!! Wait till my parents find out. No, they can't find out. It has to be a secret. Spies are always, like, all secretive and stuff. Will I have to start wearing sunglasses now? No, everyone knows spies wear sunglasses. I wonder why they wear them if everyone knows that they wear them. Oh, that reminds me of those really cute pink sunglasses with the rhinestones I saw in that one store...No, we must focus. Spies are all, like, focused and stuff. Must concentrate.”

Leslie slowly removed her hands from her mouth. “I am honored to receive such a position. I shall do my best to bring pride to the title.” Leslie waited till the agent had turned his back to go to a position further away from the door before turning around, putting her hands over her mouth, and proceeding to let loose a muffled scream of delight.

The group had all taken different positions as they waited for the guards to come. Leslie had decided to stand right right beside the door, hoping to catch them from behind. She tensed when she started hearing noise outside. She heard the slidey thing on the door move, before she hear what sounded like other doors being opened outside. She prepared to spring when suddenly the door flew open. Unfortunately for her she had forgotten to think about the fact that the door would swing open, and was consequently hit by the door as it did so, pushing her into the wall.

“Ow.” she uttered with the door still pressed against her. She opened her eyes, and looked out through the doors mini-window thing to see the Cipher Pol agent charging at guard, who was wearing a really weird outfit with some kind of pointy hood.

"Have at thee, infamous knave!" Leslie watched as the agent poked the guard person in the butt with his sword, causing him to fall forward into the bars of the cage.

She pushed the door somewhat away from her as she was about to go charging to help the agent only to have it pushed back back onto her by a second person entering the room.

“Ow.” she uttered once again. This time she pushed the door slightly forward, and slipped from behind it instead of risking it coming back to hit her again. She noticed that the guard had his back turned to her as he stood facing the agent.

“Now's my chance.” thought Leslie.

“Have a pea, unglamorous navel!” she shouted, trying to mimic the cool outcry of the agent before kicking the bump headed guard between the legs from behind. The guard immediately doubled over and fell to the ground, grasping his private parts in excruciating pain. Leslie took advantage of the situation by jumping onto the guards back, wrapping her legs around his torso, gripping his neck in a tight sleeper hold, and pulling backwards.

The guard quickly started trying to get out of Leslie's grip. He tried to loosen her grip by pulling at her arms, but she clearly had an advantage due to her position. Plus, it didn't hurt that she was a strong girl to begin with. The man slowly managed to get to his feet with her on him, and then start swinging his body back and forth trying to throw her off.
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As the iron door opened, Vincent tensed up, getting ready to jump at the guard and take him out before he could get further in. He heard Leslie cry out as the door hit her when the guard came in. Vincent chuckled as Mars yelled out, "Have at thee, infamous knave!", and stabbed the first guard in his rear quarters, sending him, crying out in pain, into the cell bars and onto the floor.

Leslie cried out again as the second guard came in and hit her again with the door. As the guard came in, Mars jumped in front of the guard, effectively blocking the door for the other guards. After getting out from behind the door, Leslie, crying out, “Have a pea, unglamorous navel!”, kicked the guard between his legs, sending him onto the floor and then jumped onto his back, wrapping her legs around his body and putting him in a sleeper hold and pulled back.

Before Leslie could break his neck, the guard began trashing around in an attempt to break Leslie's hold and throw her off. "Damn it, I wish I had my tonfas." Vincent thought to himself as he walked towards the first guard to make sure he was knocked out. "Well, if we asked Mars more details about this whole thing, we would have been more prepared." the voice replied.

When he neared the guard, Vincent noticed that the guard was already stirring, so before he could completely regain consciousness, Vincent cut the guard's throat with his knife to make sure he would never regain consciousness ever again. After cleaning the knife on the guard's tunic, Vincent turned his attention to the second guard who was swinging Leslie all over the place.

With Leslie swinging all over the place, it would be very hard to hit the guard without hitting Leslie as well. "Here goes nothing," Vincent said as he threw both of his knifes at the second guard and hoping he would not hit Leslie. The first knife whistled past Leslie's head, barely nicking the guard on his cheek and embedding itself in the wall. The second knife had more luck, hitting the guard in his leg and dropping him down on one knee, giving Leslie a better chance to break his neck.

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When Leslie kicked the other guard into a submission, Mars tried to turn to the the other guard, in mid career switch, to a jailer. But, while he had turned his back, the jailer had raised his club already and struck at Mars. The jailer managed to just get hit his head, it was a rather forceful blow, but he evidently hadn't been trained at rendering people unconscious with his weapon. It did however manage to knock Mars to the floor, and he rolled onto his back.

From the cold stone floor, and rather disoriented from the blow, Mars thrust upward, in the cultist's general direction. The light had much improved in the dank cell when the door had been opened, and Mars could see through his strike induced haze that his weapon plunged into the man's lower torso. The jailer crumpled to the floor in pain, and a very sudden blood loss. Mars tried to stumble back to his feet, but unsteady as he was, he fell back down again. His head evidently had a gash, as the blood on his fallen cap demonstrated. Mars' thoughts drifted for a brief moment to the strategic worth of letting his enemies behind him.

The guard being held by Leslie was pulled back by one of his allies on the outside of the cell. With his leg knifed and him flailing like a bucking stallion, he would have trouble taking on all three of the "Cipher Pol" Agents. There had been six guards in total, with one injured, and one probably dying, there were still four out in the hall to be dealt with. They were however, under strict orders not to harm Leslie, as she had be presented in as pristine a condition as possible, before the sacrifice.

In the jailer's haste to pull out his friend, and his wild movements, he also managed to cause the leg-stabbed jailer to fall, right on top of him. The closet jailer to the door tried to go inside, and get his other fallen comrade. Mars was between them, and already half way up, he got a knee to the stomach for his effort. The jailer also raised his club, to make sure Mars wouldn't be getting back up this time. The two remaining jailers still on their feet and not engaged in battle, went to pry Leslie off the other jailer, if she was still attached.

Mars couldn't really see or perceive much in the haze of battle, but he had a feeling things weren't going quite as planned. But, the panic just gave him more strength to try and fight the coming dark, and he held onto the jailer's knee, and tried to push him into the wall. It partially succeeded, and the jailer had to readjust his aim, before he struck, or he would of fallen.
Edited by JOLS, May 15 2010, 03:11 PM.
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After about thirty seconds of the guards rampant flailing, Leslie found that she was actually starting to enjoy herself.

“Wooooooooooohooooooooooooooo!!!”

Leslie was just about to put her free hand in the air as the kept riding the flailing guard when she saw it. She watched, her smile of joy turning quickly to a mask of extreme horror as she saw the agent in the white suit slice the throat of the second guard. The world seemed to slow down around her as her eyes widened.

“D-did he just...kill him?...”
thought Leslie.

Her eyes glazed over. Did he seriously just kill a person? Leslie had never seen a person die before. She had never even thought of ever killing anyone. She wrestled, sure. She fought, sure, but killing? This wasn't the kind of thing she was prepared for. None of the secret agents she'd heard about ever killed anyone. They always beat up the bad guy, and then the bad guy went off to jail. What kind of group had she become part of?!

She was so distracted by the possible murder that she may have just witnessed that she didn't really notice the knife flying past her head, though she did get her head slightly back into battle as her make-shift steed fell to the ground. She quickly tightened her grip to keep him in the sleeper, but she was so upset by what she might just have seen that she didn't even notice the jailer sneaking up behind her. She felt the world jerk as her ride was dragged backwards, and then cried out as she was smashed between two burly bodies.

“Can't...breath. Get...off me!” Leslie's legs failed as she tried to get the guard off her, though with no limbs underneath the burly guard, and a soft body below her, she was having a hard time finding leverage. Leslie was a strong girl, but a two hundred something pound dude with a metal breastplate was a little more than she was used to bench-pressing. As she was forced to give up her hope of a successful sleeper hold on the guard in favor of trying to push him off, two sets of hands grabbed her wrists, and jerked her from between the bodies. Before Leslie could figure out what was going on, the two guards that had been behind her grabbed her pinning her arms to her sides and her legs together before picking her up. Leslie immediately started struggling in their grasp.

“Hey! What do you think you're doing?!” She increased her struggling as the guards started running down the hall with Leslie in their grasp. “Let me go! Let me go! Let...me...gooooooooooooooo~!”
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"Shit, shit, shit!" Vincent cursed out loud as two more guards came into the room but now Vincent was unarmed. He watched as one of the guards hit Mars on the head, dropping him onto the ground. Mars then rolled over onto his back and thrust up, hitting the guard below his breastplate, dropping him to the ground as well. The second guard went to help his fallen friend by the cage.

"This keeps getting better and better." Vincent thought as another guard came an kneed Mars in the stomach with Mars grabbing the guard's leg and attempting to push him into the wall. To make matters worse, two more guards grabbed Leslie and began running down the hallway away from the cells, while another helped the knifed and stabbed guards.

Seeing as he would need Mars's help to escape, Vincent dashed towards him and the guard. Vincent jumped as he neared the guard and kicked towards the guard's head. The hit wasn't strong but it managed to daze long enough for Mars to push the guard into the wall. After landing onto the floor, Vincent ran and grabbed one of his knifes from the wall and face the guard that was still in the cell. "En guard." Vincent said to the guard as he brought his knife up to fight the guard. "This is not going to end well." He said as he ran towards the guard, dashing to the left at the last minute, in an attempt to slice the guard. But instead, his knife bounced harmlessly of the guard's breastplate. "Shit." he said and turned around to face the guard.

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Meanwhile, back in the sacrificial lair of the cultists...

Dashiva awoke soaking wet, his memory hazy, head acheing, there was a funny smell. The cow next to him licked his face. Well that's where the smell was coming from... He attempted to move however a large pain shot up his neck as he did so, causing him to collapse to the ground a writhe a bit. This had to be the fourth worst pain he had ever been in in his life, second worst prediciment.

From his prone position on the floor his eyes scanned the room. The two thugs who had captured him were there, along with some of the white collars from the party. He knew that fancy people were trouble, with their tea and sacrificial alters...

Dashiva strugled a bit as the two thugs from earlier approached him, probably planning on what horrible way to finish him off. "Bastards..." he whispered under his breath as the cow next to him let out a depressing mooooo.
Ren Iganu ~ N/A ~ Navigator/Weapons Specialist ~ [url]N/A[/url] ~ Commendations: 0 ~ SD Earned: 16 ~ Beli: 500,000 ~ Location: N/A

Dashiva Ryuusei ~ N/A ~ Navigator/Weapons Master ~ [url=insert pirate crew link here]N/A[/url] ~ Bounty: 0 ~ SD Earned: 0 ~ Beli: 500,000 ~ Location: N/A
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The two jailers that bumbled outside the cell got themselves untangled. The one with a knife stuck in his leg, took his injury as an excuse to take a break from the combat. He leaned against the wall, and lifted his cloak to take a look at the embedded knife. The other guard who had fallen went to help his ally, caught in between Mars and Vince. Vince being on his feet, the jailer attempted to strike him from behind with his club.

Mars had stubbornly refused to let go of his rapier. He was relatively unused to this hectic style of melee. He had sparred before with his weapon, it was neat and orderly, for the most part, with much less at stake. But, he was experienced enough with real combat to know that he was under no circumstances to let go of his weapon. Or his paintbrush, for that matter.

Mars heard the sharp clang of Vince's knife hitting the jailer's breastplate. With the guard pinned against the wall momentarily, he took the opportunity to get his head above his shoulders. Mars used his brush on the jailer's face, the thick black paint shut out the jailer's view of the combat. The jailer instinctively clutched at his eyes in pain and irritation at the sudden blackness, and so released Mars. Mars took the opportunity to present his rapier against the jailer's neck. He pressed his point sharply, in threat.

"All right! Back the f**k off! Unless of course, you want to be washing a purple robe, instead of a f**king blue one." Mars shouted an allusion to the mixture of blood with the cloth's dye, towards the guard who had come back in. Mars' eyes had gone crazy. He tossed his brush back into his open chest, and then clutched the suddenly calm jailer, the one at his mercy. Mars pulled him off the wall, and moved himself behind his hostage.

The free jailer at first seemed reluctant to give up the struggle, and simply stared at Mars, as a lion denied his quarry. Mars took an even fiercer aspect himself, like he wasn't in control of his own actions, which was close to the truth.

"I said, back the f**k off!" Mars repeated, true madness crept into his manner. The fierce jailer decided at that point, it would be more productive to look after the jailer who had been felled by Mars. The jailer knelt beside the bleeding man at the floor of the cell, and examined his wounds. Mars deliberately moved to the door of the cell. He kicked his chest along with him, he wasn't about to leave anything in the cell. Mars miscalculated the space in the door frame, so the led and blinded jailer fumbled his face into the frame. A second try had Mars get the two of them through.

"Come on, you're going in too." Mars motioned to the jailer with the new leg decoration, to get in the cell. With a strained and reluctant grunt, the injured jailer got up, and moved himself as instructed. He was loyal to his master, but he wasn't about to see his friend killed, right before his eyes.

"Vince, can you get the keys?" Mars inquired towards Vince, unsure he could both lock the men up, and keep his position steady. The keys jingled from the waist of Mars' hostage.

-

The other two jailers did their best to drag Leslie down the hall to their den of evil stuff, and sacrifice. Leslie was pretty strong, but, the guards did their best to hold on. Velli, noticed the commotion, and went down to look at the scene himself. He came upon the three struggling in the hall outside the ritual chamber. The muscular cultist followed Velli into the hall.

"Let her go! Leslie, what has happened? Did those other men hurt you?" Velli instructed the two, then addressed Leslie in a warm, worried tone. The jailers hesitated at first, but did as instructed.

"My lord, the crashers have hurt Bartholomew." One of the jailers updated Velli. Velli merely gave the cultist woman at his side an irritated nod, and she headed down the hall towards Mars and Vince, club in hand.

-

In the Ritual room, the skinnier cultist, Jones, had come up with a novel idea for the sacrificial reject. He tried to drag him by the ropes, to sit him among the pews.

"Now, if you behave, you can watch the glorious birth of our god." Jones paused a moment, clearly excited by the things he described. "Well, how does that sound? It's the opportunity of a lifetime." His words rang with a happy and enticing lilt at the normally horrifying prospect of human sacrifice. "That, and the guards are tired of cleaning up brain matter off the walls, and who wouldn't be?" He laughed at his own jest, and rolled his eyes, as if it were an inside joke between two old chums. The special occasion had convinced him they might be able to skip the usual initiation rites, and convince Dashiva to join their group. The nobles seemed a little miffed by the newbie, but down in the sick belly of the mansion, Jone's position was higher than their usual over world arrangement.

Dennis himself also made down into the ritual room, the guards upstairs were handling affairs with the fire brigade, to his satisfaction. That, and he couldn't really miss the event he was hosting, especially such an important one.
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Leslie continued struggling in the grasp of the two guards. She occasionally kicked out to try and loosen their grip, but unfortunately she kept missing her target. A target that had been very useful for kicking at all night long.

“Let go of me right now you...you...not nice people! Just wait until I get loose! I'll...”

"Let her go!” Leslie stopped struggling upon hearing the voice. She turned to see the wrinkled old man from before. Her brow furrowed. She knew there was something that she should be remembering about this person. Something important, but right now, with so many other things having pushed themselves into her mind, she couldn't recall exactly what she should be remembering.

Leslie's thoughts were interrupted as the two guards who were holding her dropped her to the ground. She sat for a moment rubbing her behind before looking back up at the man.

“Leslie, what has happened? Did those other men hurt you?" said the wrinkled man.

Leslie's troubled mind eased significantly upon hearing the man's voice. It was so soothing, and warm. It made her feel comfortable, kind of like cookies and milk before bed time, only not as tasty.

“Huh?” she said blankly staring up at him. She brushed her hair back from her ear absently as she tried to remember what the question was, her hand knocking against one of her cross earrings. Suddenly, her eyes popped open as she remembered something about the man.

“You're Dennis's minister! Now I remember!”She said as pointed at him and stood up. “Mr. Minister, we have to get out of here. Dennis is running a secret drug smuggling ring! We have to hurry before he finds us, or he may try to hurt us, or use one of his secret doomsday weapons on us, or trap us in a really slow death trap, and leave us to die while not actually making sure we do die so we can escape and...Where was I going with this again?” Leslie pondered for a second trying to remember before actually getting it.

“Oh, yeah. We have to get out of here before Dennis comes looking for us!”
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"All right! Back the f**k off! Unless of course, you want to be washing a purple robe, instead of a f**king blue one." Vincent turned around and saw Mars pointing his rapier at a guard's throat. The guard Vincent has been fighting went to help his fallen comrade on the ground. Vincent noticed the black paint on the hostage guard's face and wondered if any hallucinogens went into the making of that paint.

"I said, back the f**k off!" Mars repeated as he made his way, pushing the guard in front of him, out of the cell, of course not before running into the cell wall. The guard Vincent was fighting dragged his fallen comrade into the cell as Mars continued to threaten the other guard. "Come on, you're going in too." Mars motioned for the knifed guard to get into the cell as well.

"Vince, can you get the keys?" Mars asked Vincent and motioned to take the keys from the guard he was threatening. Vincent nodded and walked over to Mars. After getting the keys, he went over to the cell. "I'll be taking that back." Vincent said sarcastically as he pulled his knife out of the guard's leg, making sure to slice downwards as he pulled it out, making an even bigger wound on the guard's leg.

After walking out of the cell, Vincent locked the door behind him. "So what now?" Vincent asked Mars as he made his way into the hallway behind the iron door. "Company!" Vincent shouted as he saw the cultist woman heading their way and took out both his knifes, ready for a fight.

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Dashiva was dragged from the center of the room by the skinny man who had attacked him earlier. He was set down in one of the benches? No, it was a pew. He was in some sort of church? It was then when his thoughts were proved by some of the things the people said. Just great cultists. Just what he needed. Nut jobs who believed that by sacrificing a few virgins and cattle they would bring about the begining of a new era or the end of days or something which involved them getting whatever sick twisted thing they wanted.

Good thing for him it was his lucky day otherwise he'd be a dead man. The cultists apparently were short on membership and invited him into the cult. While he hated the idea of joining such sick twisted minds in their dark church, he was tied down and it was either join or die and he rather liked living. "Alright then you nuts. I'll sit here and be quiet. Sorry if I'm a bit pissed, I usually am after almost being sacrificed. But, if you guys have good health insurance and benefits I might actually get into this full heartidly." Dashiva told the cultists in a rather miffed voice. He was lieing of course the moment he got free he would kill as many of these assholes as possible as revenge for his torture. For all he cared if they wanted to see their "god" so much he would happily oblige with sending them to him?...her? ...it?
Ren Iganu ~ N/A ~ Navigator/Weapons Specialist ~ [url]N/A[/url] ~ Commendations: 0 ~ SD Earned: 16 ~ Beli: 500,000 ~ Location: N/A

Dashiva Ryuusei ~ N/A ~ Navigator/Weapons Master ~ [url=insert pirate crew link here]N/A[/url] ~ Bounty: 0 ~ SD Earned: 0 ~ Beli: 500,000 ~ Location: N/A
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Mars' anger had him react quickly to Vince's action. He pressed his heel to his hostage's ass, and sent him toppling into the cell. Vince took out his knife from the fallen man, and then promptly locked up the guards, turned jailers, turned prisoners. The key in the lock gave Mars an idea. He took his chest, and sifted through it.


Flashback time, imagine everything is greenish or something.

During Mars' acquisition of materials, for his mission, his eye had been caught by a weapon shop. He had stumbled upon it in one of his more random explorations of the town, unaided by his homeless intelligence network. It was located on Dusty Justice Lane, a meandering street, almost narrow enough to be an alley. Mars was rather surprised to find the quality looking shop on such a quiet street, at the farther outskirts of town. A board announced it's humble presence, The Dragon's Breath.

Between the panes of the shop's only window, and a reinforced display case, the weapons presented to pedestrians were all unique. There was an attention to detail, the form, the engravings, even the colors chosen all appeared to have been pondered over by an artist before being hammered away in a smithy. Which, the smell and smoke curling from above the shop, told Mars was actually in the back. It was the perfect quaint little weapon's shop. Mars almost felt a touch of sympathy for having planned to steal from it. Either way, he couldn't simply let the opportunity slip past, and not check it out. The picturesque environment almost gave him the sensation that he would find it magically lost, if he tried to look for it in the future.

A small bell announced Mars' presence when he walked in. The feeling he had gotten from outside had completely deceived him. The owner obviously took pride in his or her weapons, but the interior of the shop was an entirely different matter. Mars found himself inside a crudely fashioned cage that separated him from the rest of the shop. Several marines browsed in the narrow shop, and turned to glance at the new comer. Weapons were practically stacked on top of each other, every possible inch of floor and shelf space was used. Everything was still very orderly, just hilt to tip with all sorts of arms. A skinny silver haired woman manned a desk at the back of the shop. The counter was almost completely covered in reinforcing metal, and panes of thick glass.

"Whaddya want?" The old bag croaked. A cigarette hung limply from lips, who had lost all volume decades ago. Smoke hung all over the shop, either the smithy had ventilation problems, or this woman had been smoking non-stop for several shifts.

"I'm looking for a pistol." Mars answered with pure bull, but with a more confident tone than he felt. Not only was it obvious this was a marine shop, but the surly question and the stares, told him it was a local's joint. Mars took off his cloak's hood from his head, a desire to hide himself would only raise more suspicion. Generally, he was all for busting marine heads if needed, but the heavy security precautions had him feeling more like a trapped mouse. If he did his best to act natural, then they had no reason to suspect him though, right?

A loud buzz almost had Mars jump, and the the cage door unlocked. He had to just act like he was exactly where he was supposed to be, at this point. Maybe he just being paranoid, though. He did his best to adopt a marine's posture, despite the fact that his hair length and unkempt beard labeled him more closely as a pirate. He strode as best he could through a narrow aisle, directly to the counter. He had to rub up uncomfortably close to a marine to get to it, the marine simply stared at Mars with no expression, as Mars tried to make his way past. Mars looked up at the taller marine's face. A weak 'excuse me' emanated from Mars' lips, as the marine didn't move an inch to accommodate him.

Whatever ideas Mars had about robbing the place, or even slipping a small trinket into a pocket, had disappeared entirely. After he managed to squeeze past the buff marine, he decided his best bet was to simply buy something, and get the hell out.

"A friend told me told me about this shop. I had to check it out." Mars tried an idle compliment, without a smile attached. No reason to appear too eager. He also hoped it might convince the other patrons that he was one of the good guys, if he was friends with a marine.

"What kinda pistol? We got lots." The evil hag completely ignored Mars' attempt at small talk. Mars checked his cloak pocket, his notes were a little thin.

"My brother just graduated from the academy, wanted to give him a gift. So, something nice looking, but I only got..." Mars did his best not to have his voice crack at the lies, and took a fistful of the beli he had brought with him. He was not one to use a wallet, not being a fan of money, he didn't really take care of it. He set his money out on the counter, and counted the crumbled notes. Mars didn't let his hands tremble during the counting of the notes. The woman had a look of boredom and irritation at his unorganized counting. "Eighty." Mars finished.

"I got something in back." The woman blurted out, almost before Mars finished announcing the amount. She slipped into a door, deeper into the store. While Mars counted the seconds passing by, the large marine from earlier formed a queue behind Mars. This didn't really help his nerves. Mars' experiences with marines were mostly limited to extrapolating his encounters with the Condotierre on Anolecrab. But, if they were half as corrupt and sadistic as many Condotierre had been, Mars felt he had to really watch himself.

After way too long, the woman came back with a small pistol. It was small and gray, but Mars couldn't really make it out. She put it in a little slot for exchanging things between patrons and staff.

"It's 75,000, with ammunition." The attendant instructed, but did not elaborate. Mars assumed he was to inspect it. He took it in his hands, and pretended that he knew what he was doing.


New flashback, nested in a flashback.

Basilisk laid out on the lush fields of Anolecrab, a short distance from his home. It was a fine summer day, the island's characteristic breeze kept the day from becoming too hot. It was the perfect Anolecrab day, like most were.

Basilisk looked up into the island's sky, enjoying his moment of relaxation. He had managed to get out of painting practice early, today. He didn't have many friends, beyond Ambrosia Gorgonzola, so he had decided to spend it with her. Being of a patrician family, Basilisk's father had been hired to teach Ambrosia art from a young age. So Basilisk had known her since they were both little, and they had quickly become more like family, than friends. Both led rather sheltered lives, but for different reasons.

Basilisk could hear plinks as he lay in the grass, they interrupted the gentle sound of breeze, that cut through the tall grass. The plinks were bullets, they hit some used cans that came from Ambrosia's shots. She held her new pistol, a beautiful revolver, with a polished ivory handle. As a member of the Gorgonzola family, she was expected to know how to fight, as well as all the usual trappings of a typical noble family, of other islands. And despite the fact Basilisk and Ambrosia were both eight, they had both honed their skills to a point that was usually associated with people decade their senior. Each in their respective fields, art and war. Matching one with the other didn't yield the same result, however.

"Basie, ever fire a gun?" Ambrosia took a second for her practice and turned to find Basilisk, hidden among the bushes. Basilisk got up on his elbows and looked at the weapon in her hand. She didn't make it look that difficult.

"No." Basilisk replied. Ambrosia smiled and motioned to come on over.

"You better learn, you're a boy." Ambrosia responded with knowledge of the other gender. And it made sense to Basilisk, despite his father lectures on this silliness of war, and most types of physical competition. Basilisk got up and ran over to her, eager to learn the ways of men.

"Lemme reload it." Ambrosia's fingers moved with dexterity, that didn't fit their stubby appearance. Much like Basilisk's, when he painted. The gun reloaded, Ambrosia handed it to Basilisk, and moved into position behind him. The same way she had been taught the correct stance, she grabbed on to it the revolver from behind. It was a simple thing for her arms to reach over his, she was still taller than Basilisk, he not having hit his growth spurt, yet. Basilisk wiggled a little at the restricting pose she had taken, he would of preferred having his space to fire. He resented the help a little, and would of rather learned on his own.

"Alright, just relax, line up the gun with the can, and pull the trigger, hard, after letting out a breath." Ambrosia instructed Basilisk, in the almost maternal tone that girls use, with boys younger or smaller than them, and in need of instruction. At the end of 'hard', though, Basilisk impatiently pulled down on the trigger, with all the strength he could muster. He had planned to be man by the end of the day, via his undoubtedly accurate shooting skills. The can that he had focused on, and was sure he would hit, was not; nor was the tree the can was set upon. This was despite the fact that they were just ten meters from it, and Basilisk's hands were steadied by Ambrose's.

The bullet actually did enter a target, a stray sheep that grazed at some 50 meters distance. Basilisk looked up at Ambrosia, with a look of not realizing how something like this could of happened, under the guise of such an august marksgirl. Upon seeing Ambrosia's own confused face, staring at the fallen animal, Basilisk broke free of her grasp and ran through the vegetation, towards the wounded animal. Tears had already begun to fall, he assumed he had killed it already. Until he could hear the cries of the wounded lamb over all else, once he got close. A wound bled profusely from the sheep's side, the wool was already heavily soaked with it. Basilisk knelt next to it, and despite being greatly startled by more blood than he had ever seen in his life, he hugged it's neck.

"I'm sorry. I'll make sure you get better, I promise." Basilisk tried to make out in between his sobs. Ambrosia walked to the two, she had been taught the mechanism of death, and feeling the responsibility of seniority, was much calmer. She knew very well the animal would not live out to see the day.

"Basie, go get help." Ambrosia saw hesitation in Basilisk tear reddened eyes, when he looked up at her. He had no intention of abandoning his friend. "Go, Now!" Ambrosia shouted at him, she brought the full power of her small lungs to bear. It turned Basilisk's guilt, rather quickly changed to haste, and he ran as fast as he could back home, to his mother. He would sooner eat the animal raw, then let his father discover it.

When Ambrosia was sure Basilisk was gone, she fired a round into the sheep's head. Thus ended Basilisk's short gun training, and led to his current knowledge with the rapier, and lack thereof pistols.


End of second flashback.

Mars fiddled with the gun he had been handed in the shop, in the manner he assumed one knowledgeable about pistols, would. He looked into the barrel, hefted it's weight, took a look through it's sights. He didn't actually notice anything about it, his mind was more concerned with his predicament.

"I'll give you, eh, fifty." Mars spoke like he knew what he was talking about. He put the gun down, evidently uninterested in it's presence, as a good bargainer must be. The marine behind Mars noisily cleared his throat.

"No." The old woman simply responded, and gave the bored, annoyed face again. It wasn't enough to dissuade Mars.

"Hmm, how's sixty strike you? I shopped around and found a gun like this, at sixty, but I didn't really like the color." Mars upped his offer slightly, and tried an older technique.

"No." The old woman held her ground. The marine looked around the store, as if searching for an outlet for his rising impatience. Mars couldn't see him.

"Sixty five, and throw in a leather holster." Mars pointed at a holster hanging from the wall, behind the woman. She was silent for a moment, the calculations going on in her head were almost audible.

"Alright." She relented. Mars put the money in the slot, and she put in ammo, a sheet of paper, a pen, and a little box. "Fill that, out and put your thumb print down." Mars looked at it, it looked like a gun registry. He moved his things to the side, and let the marine conduct his own business while he filled the form out. His name was 'Ima D. Piret' and he put down some bull for everything else on the registry. The little box opened up to ink. He smeared his palm at the same time he did his thumb, and with a quick slight of hand, used that as his thumb print. It looked sorta like a thumb, he thought. Mars tried his best to use the slot, past the large marine.

"Alright, bye." Mars announced the end of his business with a smile, which was completely ignored. He wiped his hand on his cloak, and still being careful not to touch anything with his inked hand. With his knew pistol and holster in tow, he got the hell out of there, after the beep from the lady opened the cage again.

Out in the sun again, Mars looked more closely at his new gun, it was actually rather beautiful. It was entirely engraved with what looked like olive leaves. The shape was compact too, he would be able to take it out of it's holster quickly. And the olive leaves reminded him of a saying in old Anolian, 'Si Vis Pacem, Para Bellum'. He could change bellum, to rebellum. That would be a good name for his gun, or maybe Pararebello, for short.


End of first flashback.

Mars remembered the pistol he had bought. It would come in handy with the cell door. Though he was not quite comfortable to use it in combat, just yet. Mars took out his gun and loaded it, and pressed it against the exposed part of the keys in the lock. He closed his eyes in anticipation of the shot, and squeezed the trigger. The shot rang out through the halls, and blew the back half of the inserted key, and the ring it was on, right off. And with that, his enemies would need a locksmith, or an elephant, to open the locked door.

Part of Mars knew that in locking his enemies inside, away from any chance of getting medical attention, would probably sentence at least one of them, to death. But in the fury of combat, he couldn't bring himself to think too hard on that. Either way, Vince's warning of an approaching enemy distracted him. He adjusted his mustache, monocle, and readied his rapier, at the approaching brute of a woman.

"Madness descends!" Mars tried out a battle cry he had been considering, and charged the hooded cultist. He ran along the far side of the hall, to make sure he gave Vince plenty of space to throw another knife. He had no desire to get stuck.

The belligerents charged directly at each other. Mars held his sword level, and in a set position, ready for a thrust. The blow to his head, still had his reactions a bit sluggish. The woman managed to catch Mars in the side with her club, with a side swipe from her right arm, across her body. Not before Mars embedded his sword in the woman's left shoulder, however. If it weren't for the wall beside him, the woman's blow would have sent Mars to the ground. The woman shrugged off the pain from the rapier, and clutched Mars against the wall, with his neck wrapped in one of her large hands. Mars gurgled his anger at the situation, and went for a c**t punt.

-

Jones back in the ritual chamber was rather surprised at Dashiva's rapid acceptance of the group. But, he would just give him a test, to prove his loyalty. If he tried to escape, Jones didn't think it would be that hard to catch him again.

"Well, hey if you want, you can kill the cow. Velli had left that to me, but I think it would be a great introduction to the cult, for you." Jones cut the ropes that bound Dashiva with his own sacrificial dagger, and went to hand it to him. Something stopped him.

-

Velli tried to follow Leslie's worried, hurried speech. Velli had only caught half, he wasn't really the type to worry about other people's details, even when he did appear to. He just nodded through most of it, in imitation of understanding. But, he had understood enough to know, the intruders had somehow made the connection between Dennis, and some of the cult's fund raising activities.

"That is troubling, I see Dennis has fallen farther, than I thought he had. Come with me, I know where we'll be safe." Velli put on his worried face again. He motioned to the guards to also follow, in case Leslie had some second thoughts.

Velli walked back into the sacrificial chamber, with all the nobles wearing their blue hoods. The aisle led up to the altar, where a wicked dagger rested. Behind the altar stood a dirty monument, to a sick god. It was hard to make out the twisted figure beneath, a dark red cake had built up on the statue.

All the noble's heads arranged along the pews in the room turned to Leslie, and the brooch she wore. Except for Velli, he noticed Jones use the holy dagger for the cow killing, to cut rope.

"You idiot!" Velli was over by his side in an instant, having cleared the distance between them much faster than a man his age should be able to. He clobbered him in the head with his cane.

"Ohhhh! I'm sorry!" Jones cried and clutched at his head. Velli went to snatch the dagger Jones had tried to hand off.

"Looks like I'll have to do both!" Velli announced, and turned to the gathered.

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