"It's fine," he said with a dismissive wave. Having some rep was nice and all but he didn't much care for the formality. Admittedly it had its uses but that was typically on the battlefield. Sellswords generally weren't the type to listen to titles after all. "Oh, bring another of whatever he's drinking."

"You think any of us is like to have a funeral?" He quipped as he settled into the seat across from the Fourth. "Anyways, I was making sure Rashmi got her pay. I'd rather not wake up one day on a cold table with half my innards missing." Their wasn't a hit of jest in the Sixth's words. Menders could be a properly scary lot if you crossed them.

"Now brother, I'm not sure you're equipped to be judging another's soul. In any case, only time I get nightmares is when I go to sleep with empty pockets." Anyone who'd been in this business long enough had dropped their soul deep in the muck. No point pretending otherwise.

Their newly refreshed drinks arrived a few minutes later. "Now you may have been first, but I'm apparently not last. Have you any word from the others?"
 
The Fourth smiled at the mention of Rashmi. 'That's on the assumption she allows you to wake up at all,' he replied, fixing his gaze on the stairs as the Sixth went on. 'Mmm. I met with the Fifth and the Seventh briefly. Seems the war council has been postponed.'

As soon as the words left his lips, Fourth found himself regretting them.

It was a dark day indeed when the Greatest Fool skipped out on an opportunity to flap her gums. Worse, he had been told by Five and Seven that the others were "otherwise indisposed", which translated roughly into "knee-deep-in-shit-but-alive". That was the main thing.

Their pints arrived in short order. Cold, this time.

Picking his up, the Fourth gave his mixture a whiff before placing it back down, untouched. 'Apparently,' he said, tone lowering conspiratorially, 'the Selvari was just the beginning. There has been a shakeup in the Rabble overnight, lot of new vacancies, if you catch my drift.' He paused, bright eyes unblinking. 'A number of them were known and proven supporters of ours. Coincidence?' He shook his head.

'Now, it's only a theory, but I'm of a mind someone from outside Crorefell is looking to get their grubby fingers stuck in, and to do that they need allies on the inside, players with more heft than dear old Amaryk. So, any ideas?'

@The Sixth
 
"What a fucking mess." There really was no other way to put it. They'd stepped out of the fire and right into a bloody inferno. He was starting to get an idea of the bigger plan at work and wanted nothing to do with it. However he was beginning to understand he had little say in the matter. Just another sellsword to be fed to the city's grinder.

Couldn't be helped since the rest were handling their own business. The Sixth figured they were still alive based on how the Fourth spoke. He could be a cold fish but the man wasn't entirely heartless. They'd have heard something by now in any case. It was something of a cadre tradition to go down noisily. More than a few 'Fell's legends tell of a First and Last's final stand.

"I'd say this makes things complicated for us but it really doesn't," he finally began to explain. "Faiven's dead and that's a debt needs answering. We just keep doing what we're doing. Track down whoever was involved, send em to sleep with the worms and same with the next, until we get someone we can't kill." Bit of a simple plan admittedly but better than overthinking things. They were just a pair of swordhackers, not generals or King's advisors. "Let's leave our First Sister to handle bigger matters. My guess is she's planned for something like this." The last bit wasn't blind hope either and they both knew it.

The Sixth considered the other mercenary's question for a few moments. "Yes, but unfortunately not just one. Too many sketchy bastards in this city. I still think they're like to be connected to the Steel Reserve. More than a few of the big players have their skin in the Reserve. Any of them could be holding Amaryk's debt and yanking the chain." He gave the other man a small grin. "I think it's time we had a chat with that greasy sod."
 
'Aye. High time.' Gazing forlornly at his pint, the Fourth shrugged, made to stand. With the cadre going to general quarters, there was very little time for boozing. He had never been much of a drinker anyhow. 'Here,' he said, passing the tankard off to a mercenary the next table along. 'Raise a toast to your Captain's health for me. Or better yet... my own.'

The man nodded, somewhat perplexed by the Fourth's generosity.

Probably thinks it's poisoned. Everyone who was anyone in Crorefell had enemies. To accept a drink from a stranger was like tempting fate; damn foolhardy, but sometimes worth it, if only for the story you got to tell after.

'Let's go before that shithead decides to go to ground,' said Fourth, waiting by the stairs. 'You know how much I hate sitting on my hands.'
 
"That I do," said the Sixth as he descended the stairs and headed out the tavern. Sellswords weren't the most patient folk and idle hands usually made for blood. Not much different than their usual work except it didn't pay. Too much drink and too little distraction made for a bad combination. That's when they started looking to make their own fun. There wasn't any appreciation for the arts here, not among this lot. Only steel and poor decisions.

The Sixth led the way through the streets until they eventually arrived at the Gold Quarter. He'd been here just the night before yet the mood was entirely different during the day. All manner of mercenary, merchant, and miscreant made their way through various establishments.

He motioned for his brother to follow him down the main throughway and into third alley they came across.

"Fuck," came the mercenary's response almost immediately. The door to Amaryk's office was mere splinters compared to its state not a day before. He looked to either side of the alley and saw nothing. The Sixth didn't sense there was still anyone within. 'Course that was more a feeling than anything else but he figured his brother would've said something to the contrary.

Unsurprisingly, the place was a bloody mess. "Seems someone forced him to ground."
 
'Seems that way.' Drawing one of his long knives, the Fourth crept closer. The buildings to either side kept the Sun's heat off their backs, but even so the mercenary could feel himself starting to sweat. Ambushes were no fun when you were on the receiving end, and Amaryk's friends sure didn't seem to mind leaving a mess, so long as they got what they wanted. Pausing before the splintered doorway, The Undying whispered a quick incantation, fingers dancing, forming a series of patterns.

Signs to bind and guide the Shroud, they enabled his senses to stretch beyond their natural limits. A nifty ability to have, when used in moderation.

'There are heartbeats, within. Four. All steady.' The fifth and sixth belonged to them. The mercenary was pleased to know Dancer's was just as steady, the initial surprise his words had wrought easing off in a matter of seconds. The Fourth delved deeper. 'Big men,' he said, 'with weapons drawn. There's something else, too.' He paused, smiling as he detected earthier scents amidst the tangle. 'They've been drinking. Not heavily, but enough to give us an edge.'

Before or after they'd raided Amaryk's, it was of no consequence. The alcohol would still be in their systems, and a minute advantage could make all the difference in a murder-fight. 'Two are downstairs, the rest up above.' He tilted his head back to get a better look at the shuttered windows. No light bled between the slats, just the stench of blood itself.

'Someone's dead up there. Better pray it's not Amaryk or this'll be a short visit indeed.'
 
Turns out it was a good thing the Sixth didn't just rely on his instincts. He was a decent hand at tracking if needed but his talents were limited. None of his dances were very useful in that regard. Many sought the Goddess, She'd no need to go searching. All to say that the Sixth just had to do things like everyone else, except the Fourth apparently.

"Best news I've heard all night. Means they haven't cleared out Amaryk's stash completely." The bastard was known to hoard a collection of fine vintages. Mostly collateral he'd taken from fucking folks over. Dancer hated to give the slimy grubber any credit but it was a good play. The Sixth relished the idea of taking all those ill-gotten gains off old Amaryk's hands. It made the mercenary almost seem righteous...almost.

The Sixth quietly drew his dagger with the thought of the liquid spoils ahead. With a nod to the Fourth, he slowly stepped through the broken doorway. Muted voices eventually turned into coherent albeit, idiotic conversation. Shadows in lantern light confirmed that there were only two on the ground floor. Dancer signaled for his brother to take the man on the left.

He took a deep breath before quickly springing into action. The Sixth jabbed directly towards the back of the throat but the man lost his balance for a moment. Instead the blade settled deep into his foe's shoulder. It was the type of wound which still would've put most out of commission. Therefore the mercenary was quite surprised as a fist caught the side of his face and sent him sprawling.

Heavy footsteps matched Dancer's labored breaths as he struggled to his feet, vision still swimming. As his gaze steadied, he realized that 'big men' had been a gross understatement.
 
A lot could be said about the Sixth and his choice of vices, how they seemed to dictate the course of his life. 'Y'know, once all this is done and dusted, I've half a mind to lock in you in a room for a month,' the Fourth frowned, serious as always. 'Maybe lose the key while I'm at it.' Until he figured out how to pull his head out his arse, at least. No doubt the First would approve, if only to watch the bastard Dancer squirm.

'Let's deal with these friendly fellows first, then you can loot til your heart's content.'

Not that it ever will be, thought the Fourth, flowing into the room behind the Sixth, knives out and ready. Lantern light played across weathered wood. Shadows danced behind partition screens. Two, to be exact. A quick gesture and acknowledgement passed between the mercs.

The Fourth's blades punched through the screen almost at the exact moment Dancer made his move. The Fourth followed just behind, the frame falling to pieces around him as his knives found purchase in his target's belly. Twin fangs, they pierced deep, doubling the thug over in pain. Then came the mercy-stroke. A quick blow to the back of the neck. Over and done in the blink of an eye.

The thug's body had not yet hit the floor when the Fourth heard footsteps on the stairs, descending fast. Turning, the Fourth extinguished the nearest lamp with a breath. The light in the room dwindled. A door banged open.

'What the fuck?!' Four fresh eyes alighted on the Sixth. There was no sign of the Fourth. 'You're dead!'
 
Dancer managed to just barely dodge the large fist powering into his side. Another was surprisingly quick to follow as the mercenary smacked the forearm away. The Sixth's only grace was the man was too drunk or preoccupied with trying to put him in the dirt. There was noise but he hadn't yelled for his comrades.

Each clenched knuckle promised certain death. Yet the opposite also remained true.

The mercenary ducked another dangerous swing as hand darted forward. He found the embedded blade, yanking it with one swift motion. The thug stumbled forward along with the opening of his wound. Dancer deftly dragged his blade 'cross the bastard's throat as shifting balance became death.

It was impossible to hide the large thud of the inanimate meat hitting the ground.

Lights doused and hurried footsteps.

'You're dead!'

From thugs to prophets.
 
From prophets to dead men.

The door to the stairs thumped shut as the two bruisers squared up to Dancer. Vitriol spit forth from chapped lips. Knuckles cracked as the thugs made a show of it. The Fourth watched a moment, quietly amused. The blades in his hands thirsted for blood, and he was quick to sate them, stepping forth from the shadows to drive both through the nearest thug's back.

Unnatural darkness clung to him like a shroud as he twisted the knives free. Crimson dashed the floorboards as the thug sank to his knees, wide-eyed surprise writ upon his face. The lights went out shortly after and he collapsed, dead.

The last turned, recognition dawning. 'You!' He burst out.

'Hello, Knucks.' Grinning, the Fourth flourished his knives, silvered steel dancing in the wan light. 'How's things?' The bruiser, Knucks, stood startled. His hands flexed, muscles bunching as he backed up, keeping a wary eye on Dancer even as the other stayed locked on him.

'How's things?' He laughed, though it sounded more like a cough. 'You just killed three of my men!'

'Aye, sorry about that,' replied the Fourth. 'If I'd known they were with you, I'd probably have drawn it out longer.' Knucks hissed, hands furling into fists. 'Always did you hate you Lasters,' he spat. 'So bloody full o' yourselves. And yet so very few!' Grinding his teeth, the thug let slip his anger, striking as the Fourth's blades rose to meet him.

To give him his due, he was fast. Real fast.

Leading with a low kick, Knucks followed through with a straight jab from his left. Slipping the first, the mercenary weaved aside as Knucks' fist whispered past his face, close enough for him to count the old scars. He retaliated with a slash, slicing open the bruiser's arm, even as his right caught Fourth a glancing blow across the temple. Staggering, he fell back, just in time to avoid another hammer-fist.

Plasterwork exploded as Knucks's fist found the wall. Lunging forward, Fourth sunk a knife into his side. Knucks bellowed in pain, grabbing him by the collar.

A sense of weightlessness descended upon the Fourth as he was thrown bodily across the room to collide with a painting of Amaryk in his greedy, money-grubbing pride.
 
Dancer couldn't say he was surprised. The cadre made habit of making more enemies than friends. Cost of doing business and all that. The mercenary didn't think this one was likely to have a change of heart anytime soon. The thought punctuated by the Fourth's undoubtedly painful collision with a wall.

Knucks set his sights on the remaining Laster. "Be even less of you by night's end." Words spoken with unreserved relish and an expression to match. Dancer leveled his gaze at the brute yet made no move. The mercenary's body still hadn't fully recovered from the brunt of the earlier blow and he knew the other man was fast. Not many could keep up with his brother's near inhuman reflexes.

The Sixth's saving grace, as it often was, a difference in experience. Knucks was blessed with power and speed but not an overabundance of smarts. Likely hadn't seen a fight where his kick to left-right didn't work. Dancer pulled from the lowkick just as the Fourth had. Then came the jab which he didn't fully avoid but caught his collarbone instead. The Sixth would've lost his balance had he not been prepared. Knucks, smelling blood in the water, didn't hesitate to throw the right...Yet it came a fraction slower, and that was all Dancer needed. Knucks wailed as he split his fist damn near in twain on the Sixth's half-drawn blade. The mercenary snapped down, trapping hand between sheath and guard. Before the brute could cry out again, Dancer drove his knee under the man's chin. A sickening snap rang a morbid end to the fight.

He took a moment to wipe his blade clean before making his way over to the Fourth and offering a hand. "You really do have a good nose," added the Sixth with a wry grin. Where the ugly painting of Amaryk once hung was instead a rather purposely made crevice and a noticeable stack of parchment.
 
'So I've been told.' Taking the offered hand, the Fourth eased himself back onto his feet. Still smarting from the impact, and the shame of being put on his arse by a knuckle-dragger, the mercenary examined the nook through narrowed eyes, not one to dwell on the recent past.

'You at least finish the bastard?' The Undying asked, searching around for his blades. His boot caught on a lifeless limb, and he kicked it aside, revealing the crimsoned steel hidden beneath.

Hello, my beauty. Picking up his scattered long knives, the Fourth returned to his brother's side, a bloodied cloth clutched between his fingers. 'Anything interesting in them there papers?' Jutting his chin towards the binders, the mercenary plucked a shroudlamp off of a nearby hook, gave its glass a flick. The magic caught inside flared up at his touch. The gloom receded, then vanished completely as he repeated the trick with a few others.

'Don't suppose Lady Luck decided to favour us today, huh?' It wasn't a question. 'Here's hopin' the bastards got sloppy.'
 
"More or less," replied the Sixth with a casual shrug. "He'll be looking to the moons for the rest to his days if he does manage to come 'round." The man was dead, or near as 'lest some goddess show up and touch him pretty. Knucks wasn't even in favor of the local whores let alone some deity. He was done as done could be. Dancer'd just cleaned his blade and wasn't keen on seconds just yet.

The lamp provided much needed light as the Sixth quickly shuffled through parchment. His previously ensnared life taught him to sort the wheat from the chaff. Anyone else and each document was near akin to a shroudmine. Tonight's business wasn't about coin, it was about settling debts; the price was altogether different.

Dancer suddenly stopped discarding pages as a grin caught his face. "Seems we've come up sixes on this one brother." The mercenary tossed aside everything else as he held one particular piece of parchment aloft. "Rest of that was the usual fuckery, herdlard greasin' the wagonwheels. This," the parchment again. "This is one-time business."

He tucked the evidence away, looking to the corpses and back to the Fourth. "It's Jhagarth, name's there clear as day."

A name not casually spoken.
 
'Jhagarth? Arshaka's lapdog?' His wasn't a name widely known nor talked about. But everyone who was anyone knew where his loyalties lay. Read, the Steel Rabble. 'Shouldn't be too hard to drum up support against the bastard, what with the letter. The hard part's trackin' him down.'

Of all the Free Cities, Crorefell numbered amongst the largest. Full to the brim with mercenaries and freemen, locating Jhagarth would like as not prove a task and a half.

'Anyone can be bought in the City of Fools' went the old saying. Not strictly true. Slavery was outlawed, and there were a fair few cadres that prided themselves on their steadfastness. Still. If money was the root of all evil, Crorefell was sitting pretty close to Hel. 'Guess those rumours about him being tied to Imperial Intelligence were true,' said the Fourth, scowling down at the papers like they had just insulted his mother. 'Should've clipped his wings when we had the chance.'

An old nuisance, was Jhagarth. Picking up the papers, the Fourth took great care in stashing them on his person.

'We should take this to the First, see what she has to say.' The Fourth allowed the power flowing through him to ebb, his head already aching from the revelation. 'Maybe she can pull some strings, light a few fires under arses.' A grin, rare as it was true. 'Arshaka stickin' their oar in will certainly help. Toga-wearing fucks!'
 
"Guess we'll just have to make sure we don't make the same mistake and ground him for good this time." His brother wasn't wrong, Jhagarth was a slippery mark. Had enough coin to stay in the open most times and the backing to keep hidden when things got hot. A tricky bastard all around. Still, he'd made more enemies than friends. Can't be a 'Shakan symp in these parts and expect sweets and smiles.

The Sixth also knew the Empire would only prop Jhagarth up for so long. He was useful but not indispensable. The Empire's lurkers were quick to cut a rotting limb even if the same couldn't be said of Arshaka proper. Just had to put the man in a position where even those imperial shits didn't want anything to do with him.

Subtlety like that was going to take a defter hand. "Hopefully she's not too busy this time 'round." And still breathing, he didn't add. Last meeting got postponed because someone took a run at her and the others. The First and Last didn't go down easy and someone learned that the hard way. Just had to hope they took the lesson to heart. Unfortunately there were too many dumb bastards in this city that would throw themselves under Tapan's hammer if the money was right.

"Back to the Dragon then?"
 
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