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Dragon Age: Shield Maiden's Journey

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She was taken back by his outburst, her pale eyes going wide. However, as he chastised her a small smile bloomed on her lips, and she shook her head slightly. She said nothing, and let the tiny quirk of her mouth say it all. His words were raging, and she could see how upset he was, and were they in opposite positions she would have reached out to comfort him, but instead she let him vent. Once he was done and he sat down hard with a sigh, that smile faded. "I am mad, but you're going to get us found-out if you keep calling me "my lady"."

There was a brief moment of silence before he was standing once more and pulling on his gloves, she was told to remain where she was, but every part of her wanted to follow, sword in hand, just for the chance to spill some blood. Valerius was right about something, she should be madder, she should be raging through the streets killing any who dare call her a liar. But no, they had to think this through, and it left her feeling dirty.

The Cousland sword hung on her hip, a constant reminder of the weight she now had to hold. Her home was burnt to the ground, her family dead-- of course her brother had gone to Ostagar and not yet returned, and was likely dead as well, any friends she once had probably thought she was a traitor, Maker only knows what kind of stories Rendon Howe was telling. She felt the urge to empty her stomach after a few seconds, this was the first real time Valerius had left her alone on the whole journey there, he hadn't even given her privacy to bathe, and the thick layer of grime under her armor and across her face was proof of that. But now her thoughts returned to her dead family, and she was angry.

The night before the attack was normal, if not pleasant. They had welcomed Howe like an old friend, given him food and ale, and then he murdered her brother's wife and his child in cold blood, they hadn't even gotten the chance to get out of bed. Had it not been for the old warrior showing up at her door and throwing orders her way, she might've ended the same. Even know Aimil could hardly put together the night, it was a blur of fire and blood, she did remember breaking into the treasury-- a metal boot to the door seemed to work-- and taking the heirlooms she carried now. But the heraldry on the Shield of Highever had gotten badly burned, only traces of her House's sigil still remained.

Valerius returned without her noticing, she was staring down hard at her hands, wishing for not the first time, that she had the powers of a mage to burn the whole place down, yet there was not even a spark. He spoke, and she finally looked up. "I did," she admitted with a nod. "Though whomever said it would probably be less friend, and more enemy.

"Perhaps we should sleep on it," Aimil offered, "A good night's rest on an actual bed might make our heads work a little better."
 
The journey had been long and arduous, leaving the duo with little time for luxuries such as proper rest or a bath. "Perhaps we SHOULD afford ourselves a little sleep. We can scarcely think straight with fatigue clouding our minds." said the old veteran, shaking his head. The room in and of itself was simple enough, with a large four-poster bed in the back, next to the hearth. The room they were currently sitting in was little more than a table with two sofa-like seats. It wouldn't be comfortable, but Valerius knew it would suffice. He had had to make due with worse in the past.

"Take the bed, My La-" he caught himself, looking away for a moment. "Aimil. You need your rest, young lady, and these tired old bones still have enough sense to keep watch. I will be okay here for the night." he said, removing his gloves and boots. Setting them next to the door along with his sword and shield, he sat down and took another drink, finishing off his mead.
 
She cracked a smile when he slipped, and opened her mouth to protest, but already the old master was removing his gauntlets and boots, settling himself down as comfortably as he could. Sighing, she shook her head at him, "Stubborn old bat," she muttered under her breath with a chuckle, half hoping he would hear her.

But argue she did not, and instead went to the task of unbuckling her armor, piece by piece it fell off of her, exposing the tight leather jerkin she had been wearing below the chestplate, and the leggings that were under her mail and greaves. It felt nice to let her body breathe, and she didn't waste much more time thinking about it. Soon enough there was a small young lady standing near a pile of metal, she was a few inches shorter without the armor, and a fair bit slimmer. Though no more armor fell off of her, she seemed comfortable enough, internally she was debating if she ought to loosen the cinch around her breasts. After a moment, she decided against it, the last thing she needed in an ambush was bouncing breasts in her way.

She climbed onto the bed without a word and kicked the blankets down until there was only one thin one she could pull over her. The amount of people in Denerim made it seem warmer than her old home, and much more than the open road, so the sheet was enough. She settled quickly and tried to let sleep come to her, but it would not. The slant of the bed eased pain from Aimil's back she hadn't known she had, and she sighed softly. "You can have the bed tomorrow," she told the man across the room, evne if she was supposed to be sleeping, "this was sent from the Maker." Aimil rolled to groan her comfort into a pillow.
 
"Alright. So it's a fight you want then? It's a fight you'll get." Dario said rubbing his eye patch as it started to itch. He removed two arrows from the quiver and held them out like daggers. He readied himself for battle, as much as he could have at least. The two men circled each other around the bar as the bartender sighed and threw his hands up. His enemy cracked his knuckles and then creaked his neck. He had no idea what he was in for, Dario's training an Antivan Crow prepared him for multiple scenarios. And with a quick flick of the wrist, the thug's hand crashed right into Dario's face, sending him crashing down through a table.

"So, I assume you'll be staying the night, again?" The bartender asked the defeated crow.

"Assuming makes an ass--." Dario began to say before passing out in the makeshift bed made of broken wood. Dario had become soft without engaging daily in battle like he used to. It was time for a change.
 
Sleep came quickly for the denizens of Denerim. In the tavern, the old veteran Valerius could hardly sleep a wink, his armor clattering loudly as he fidgeted through a restless night. Every time he closed his eyes he could see the faces of the men who, for 10 years, had lived with him as if they were family. And now they were no more. Not too far from him, his charge slept, though whether she was getting any REST was debatable. Somewhere in the bar, the barkeep would be finding a place for Dario to sleep off his.... display. Inevitably, Dez would find some place to lay his head for the night, though the chances of that place in Denerim were equally high of being an alley, a pillow, or a prostitute's bosom. And somewhere in the bowels of the city, Syl would be slinking into slumber with the man she was sharing a bed with.

Morning came swiftly, the sun burning away the darkness of the night like fire on silk, the rays of light beamingout from across the Eastern Sea, as if to greet the city itself. Shopkeepers were setting up their wares, laymen going about the business they were hired to do, and in the tavern, one very irritated barkeep was busy cleaning up the events of last night's ruckus- those corpses weren't going to move themselves, Andraste willing.

Valerius sat upright in bed, groaning and pinching his brow, rubbing fatigue from his eyes. The night was unkind lately, and Valerius knew it would soon catch up to him. Pulling his boots on, he groaned as he exited the room, making his way to the front room of the bar. There, he ordered 'room service'- if it could be called that- before stumbling tiredly back to the room, awaiting a tray of food and drink. It wasn't much, he knew- more than a sovereign's worth of food, but the waitress had given him a good deal- but something in the back of his mind told him that a small act of kindness such as this would somewhat help Aimil's emotional state.
 
The sound of bells roused her from her sleep. She had been in a light sleep since the sun began to rise, but had spent most of the night with her eyes closed, willing away the faces of dead men, women and.. child. The images had become disoriented as the night came by, until she was silently praying to the Maker to make it stop. Aimil would admit she couldn't remember when she had fallen asleep, but the lines across her face told her it had been long enough.

However when she sat up and took a look around, Valerius was no longer in the room. Up she went, pulling her sword from her belt that still lay across the floor. "Valerius," she called softly, peering around the room. Her sleep had left her clothing rumpled and crooked, but now her eyes were hard. She called his name once more, then began to search the room. Throwing the small closet door open, but no body fell atop her, nor was there one under her bed, or even out the window. A glint caught her eye, it was from his armored gloves still laying across the table, and her shoulders sagged. "Thank the Maker," she breathed, she didn't think she could handle another death.

The clink of her door startled her again, and the woman waved the sword still in her hand to it, as her Stewart stumbled back into the room. "Oh," she dropped the end of the blade towards the ground. "I apologize," she said after an awkward moment, inching back to her things to put the blade back in her belt. "I had not heard you leave."
 
There was a blade pointed at his face, but Valerius had been right in expecting such a response. No doubt the events of the last few days had put his charge in a state of heightened awareness. "I did not wish to disturb you." He replied, sitting down next to the table, his armor rustling as the plates shifted to pad his weight. Not long after, there was a knock at the door. "Enter." Said the old warrior, leaning back a bit. The waitress came inside, a tray of food in her hands. Porridge, fruit, milk, and even fresh bread were all there, the money Valerius had given the woman having gone to good use. No doubt she had gone to the nearby market for some of the delicacies, as the tavern didn't seem like the place that would hire a baker.

Setting the tray down, she quickly set about separating the meals into two equal portions, wiping her hands on her apron as she finished. Satisfied with the service, Valerius dismissed the young woman, but not before ordering a pint of mead to be brought out soon. It wasn't quite as flavorful as the stuff the Chasind Barbarians of the southern Hinterlands brewed, but the notes of fermented honey and juniper berries was still a pleasant aperitif.

"If we are to.... Go about looking for sellswords-" he said with a look of disgust. "We should fill our bellies first. After that, I suggest we stop by The Pearl. If there are two places mercenaries spend their off time, its in Taverns and Brothels." He said, tearing out a chunk of the bread loaf and scooping some of his gruel onto it. Five Star cuisine this was not, but when one needed energy to burn, a simple porridge was a great way to begin the day.
 
The night was a dull one for Dezrith Reinhart, feet dangling from the rooftop of the tall, billowing smokehouse, as he watched the world turn beneath him - watching the life he had missed: children playing, teens fumbling and failing at first love, and wide, open eyes without a care in the world. He was too far to make any of the faces out or distinguish between elf and human, which was all the better for him as he lived through them, fabricating fantasies like they were lost memories he could never quite remember until now. The memory of two lovers was the best of all. There was a girl in the free marches who gave herself to him in exchange for her little brother's life, averting damp eyes through clenched teeth as he plowed her, but now the memory was of that same sweet face blushing in the streets of Denerim, smiling as she turned her head in embarrassment. He never cared to ask for her name, so now he gave her one.

---{ O }---​

A low groan left Dezrith's lips as the sun lit up the room, rousing him from his slumber. A number of blind swings of his hand later the blanket covered the mage's face, letting him drown back into one more hour of lazing around dreamlessly, finally finding himself on his feet as a mindless, fixed action pattern found him in and out of the bathroom, gobbling down a bowl of rice, and donning a new pair of clothes for a new day, balancing between consciousness and unconsciousness as he closed the door to the old, rickety apartment behind him, clumsily hauling himself down the steps from the tall building as he made his way to The Pearl, one of his usual spots for recreation, and finding new victims for his ploys. Not everyone who visited a whorehouse was an entitled prick, but entitled pricks tended to regularly visit whorehouses. A simple mug of ale - not really fine liquor to a man who had worked as a bartender back in Starkhaven - had him in the corner, drinking in silence, and, as usual, watching the world turn.
 
It always sort of unsettled her at how calm he seemed, even as she lowered her blade. Though his words brought a small smile to her face, "thank you, that was probably the most rest I've gotten since... we left." She finished her sentence half-heartedly, the smile fading as quickly as it came. Once her sword was stashed she joined him at the small table, and just in time too. The waitress was deft with her placement of plates and food, Aimil settled back and let the girl word, accustomed to being served instead of serving herself. She thanked the waitress softly as she left, leaving the two in privacy once again.

Aimil didn't wait for him, she began to nibble on the portions in front of her, it was hot, and it was fresh, that was all that mattered. The last thing she wanted as another stale hunk of bread and near-molding cheese. She started on the bread, dipping some into her porridge and chewing silently. Aimil had to stop when he spoke of brothels so casually, not to mention the piece of bread caught in her throat from surprise. She coughed for a moment, and pounded a hand across her breast. "Excuse me?" She asked once she could breath again. "You're serious? A brothel?" They weren't even there and already her cheeks were going pink.

"I'm wearing my armor then."
 
"Perhaps you misunderstand." he said, catching the fact that she seemed perturbed by this bit of information. "I did not mean to suggest we offer you up as a lady of the evening or anything of the sort. Not am I suggesting to barge in on said women plying their trade. You are free to wear your armor, ma'am." he said, downing a bit more of his porridge as he sliced off a hunk of cheese with the provided knife.

"Mercenaries are at their most calm after a job. That means either when they just begin to drink, before they get wild, or when they've.... had help relieving some tension." he said nonchalantly. Noting the fact that Aimil seemed so uncomfortable, he spoke up once more. "I wasn't ALWAYS a castle steward, you know." he said with a knowing smile to himself, stuffing a bit more bread into his mouth.

As he finished, he stood and stretched, the couch not having provided the most comfortable nights rest. "Shall we get going?" he said, pulling on one scaled glove after another. Of his armor, Valerius noted, he realy needed to make some improvements. The old warrior worked best in heavy metal plates, not chain and scale mail. Sadly, massive pieces of armor such as that were expensive, and Valerius knew he'd have to find a way to earn a few Sovereigns if he wanted to operate at peak combat performance.

The Teryn wears a nice suit of mail..... perhaps I should seek out Master Wade before long. Perhaps Herren could give me a good deal...
 
"I know," she said stubbornly, making a face at him that reminded her of younger days. She quickly got out of her seat though, sliding with some grace out onto the floor. Where she began to pull her own armor on, piece by piece. Of course, it took her a few minutes longer to get the whole thing back on. Each piece was connected to another three, and sometimes even Aimil would miss a buckle, but not today. She felt more exposed here in Denerim, she had met many, if not all of the lords and ladies of court at some point in her life. The last thing she needed was someone to recognize her here.

As she was pulling on her own gloves and shifting her shoulder guards around she finally agreed that yes, she was ready. Aimil was quiet as she followed Valerius, she wouldn't have been able to find the place without him. The streets seemed darker, danker, a little bit more brown than she remembered, it was quite dull. The streets twisted like mazes and sometimes she felt as if they had already passed that same building, but Valerius would assure her he was on the right path.

The brothel was a decent sized building, and one of the nicest in the area. That had to speak for the quantity and quality of clientele. It took her a moment to prepare herself, but she put on her straight face and placed a hand on her sword, and followed after the steward.
 
Upon first glance, most people would not assume The Pearl's building to be what it was. A rather plain looking, if clean, building, was a foil to the business conducted within. Those with a higher moral compass would call it a 'den of debauchery' but to most people, it was simply The Pearl. Walking inside and shutting the wooden door behind them, Valerius looked about the unassuming front room with it's reception counter to the left, and made a note of the hearth opposite said counter. Walking past and opening the door on the far end, Valerius was greeted to a massive main room with several tables, a bar in the back, booths on one end, and an assortment of.... 'wares' on display near another door to the left.

"Welcome to The Pearl!" said a good-looking woman with her hair done up in double buns. Valerius was not wrong in assuming this was the Madame of the establishment. "I am Sanga. And you, sir, are in for the treat of your life. For only 40 silver, you can enjoy the pleasures of the flesh like nowhere else on Thedas. What's you flavor, handsome?" she said, making a grandiose sweep of her arm at the 'samples' near the door.

"Apologies, madame. We are not in the market for.... pleasure. We've actually come in seek of something else. May we speak in private?" said the old warrior, trying to avert his gaze from the scantily clad elven women nearby. With a wag of her finger, Sanga motioned for them to follow her to one of the private rooms in the back, away from where the women (and the men) plied their craft. Following swiftly, Valerius made his way past the wooden door, brushing past a man with the strangest tattoos he'd ever seen along his body.
 
"Dario, wake up." a familiar voice rang to his ears. He flipped up his eyepatch to see that it was Master Ignacio. Dario lifted himself up to greet the crow trader as Ignacio's impatience grew. Putting out his hand in a gesture and raising his brow as to say "pay up," Ignacio was clearly angered. He had been extorting money from Dario ever since he found out he was alive in Denerim. In exchange, he would not alert the other crows of his untimely revival. Dario was a week late on his monthly payment, and didn't have the funds to pay him with.

"Oh. I see. What unfortunate timing you've chosen to no longer keep your secret."

"Why's that?" Dario questioned reaching for his bow.

"Ah. Ah. Ah." Ignacio said drawing his blade before continuing, "Loghain has hired a bunch of crows to take care of a certain Warden, and guess what? The crows are all over town. I'd watch my back if I were you, never know who might recognize it... and stab it." Ignacio cooed as he left the tavern.

Dario sat back down and sighed heavily, brushing his hand over his head. His fist shook with fear as it gripped the bow tightly. He swallowed hard and dropped a sovereign on the counter of the bar. He feared it was the last time he may see this place, the Gnawed Noble tavern had been good to him. He felt it only fair to give a little back. He'd keep his last sovereign for The Pearl to have one last hurrah before his former crows came hunting for him. He finally arrived, as he constantly looked over his shoulder with paranoia. Patrons were drinking mead and playing Wicked Grace at the occasional table. A glimmer of hope sprang across his face when he spotted a friend conning yet another victim unaware of her superior card "skills." After her opponent had enough, Dario stepped in, slapping the gold coin onto the table.

"Care for a game?" he smiled, his eyes saying different.

"What's wrong?" she said.

"I need to get on your ship Isabella and I need to leave tonight, otherwise, the crows would have killed me by then."

"Dario. I'm sorry, but I can't help you. I'm waiting on an important meeting, but that won't be until a few days. So until then, why don't you take this back, and follow me into the backroom?" she said sliding the sovereign on the table back to him.

"At least I won't be seen." he said taking her hand as she led him to her temporary quarters.
 
The dim glow of lyrium slithering along exposed arms were covered again as Dezrith caught the older man glancing his way, eyes meeting his own as the man walked on with his companion - a young, pretty little thing. Humans, Ferelden by the look of them. Dezrith's eyes captured quick glances of quirks and features. Straight back - unnervingly so, and subconsciously. This was a noble - no, a bent fingerbone - a noble servant. No change in skin-tone under his beard: this man had a thicker beard than he was accustomed to: a long journey without luxuries. Darting glances; a runaway.

Conclusion: This man is the guardian of a Ferelden noble who had somehow been forced out of their ancestral home. The girl behind him was more than likely that noble. But what were they up to? And why a brothel? It was terrible how Dezrith's curiosity was creating more questions than it was answering, but at this point he was too far in - he had to know.

Eyes closed as he wafted through the sounds of the brothel for the pitch and tempo of the guardian's footsteps, following their direction for as long as he could until they faded, thinking it distance enough as he began to follow, pulling a tray from the shelves, setting down the still near-full mug of ale on it as he would hide in plain sight, hoping to catch the old man's words, and those of his ward.
 
Aimil was able to keep up with the warrior, also taking her time to understand the place. It wasn't half as bad as she had expected; there was no humping happening anywhere her eye could see. Instead though it seemed to be a small bar with women barely wearing anything at all, and men of all sorts dressed fancily. Some of them even made her blush, but by the time she went to look for Valerius, he was being beckoned away by a very pretty older woman, around his age she would even guess. But that brought unbidden thoughts to the mind, and the girl quickly wished she had something to wash it out.

But she didn't go to the bar where she would like to be, instead she followed the old warrior into the private rooms in the back. There had been lots of strange sights to Aimil, but she seemed rather calm, and had not taken notice of the man with the tattoos.

Sanga led them to one of the furthest rooms back, and unlike most of the rooms there, this one did not have a bed, instead it was an office. A desk, complete with book cases and art. It was actually rather nice. "Please, sit," she bid them with a smile, there was only one chair across from the desk, with a high back and cushions, but before she could speak a word, Sanga continued, "there is another by the window."

Aimil took the chair and settled it near the other, but let Valerius take the center seat. Sanga smiled broadly, "So how may I help you?"
 
With a nod of his head, Valerius took the center seat with a word of thanks to the Madame, sitting so he could face her properly. "Madam, we trust that, being in the business you are in, you can keep a secret. Please understand if we wish to keep some anonymity, but to make a long tale short, we require... assistance. I understand your establishment is reputable for it's wares AND as a gathering place for..." he said, grimacing. "Sellswords." he spat the word as if it were made of molded cheese. "We are in need of loyal men. We need mercenaries that are faithful to more than just whoever pays the most. I know it's a long stretch, madame, and we are grateful for any assistance you may provide, but we are in an admittedly dire situation." said the old warrior, casting his eyes down.

The comely woman looked a slight perturbed, cradling her head in her hand. Slowly, the older woman looked up and right into the old warrior's eyes. "I cannot help you, brave knight. I can offer you secrecy and asylum for a time. One does not live in Denerim without memorizing the face of the future ruler of Highever." she said, turning with a knowing smile to Aimil.

"But I am afraid that what you seek is beyond my means, sir knight." she said with a solemn note in her voice.
 
Aimil let Valerius speak for them, he was better at it than she. He had years and years of experience of being patient and asking for permission, she did not. As a lady, Aimil had spent her whole life being given the things she wanted. Her lips pursed as they were denied help, and the grip on her sword tightened, she was frustrated now. Would no one help her. The woman gave her a knowing look, and her words humbled Aimil, "That would be my brother," she said softly, possibly unheard.

Sighing heavily, the armored woman rose to her feet, "Could you give us a direction to look? Just some small help?" Aimil's voice grew louder than she meant it, but quickly curbed it. She didn't sit back down, instead she moved to pace in the back of the room.

"Unfortunately no," Sanga said, and there was sorrow in her voice.

The young warrior wanted to hit the wall, wanted to put a hole through it in frustration, but instead she just clenched her fist at her side. "Well this was worthless," she grunted, "so much for our only lead." She ran a hand over her face.
 
Dezrith was slightly late to the door of the room, but it seemed he hadn't missed anything important. They were after swords. They wanted to take the noble's lands back. And then the madame said a name. Highever. Naturally, the Tevinter mage had no idea where this Highever was located, but knowing its name was enough for now. From there, Dezrith's curiosity was more or less satisfied, as he turned to the main hall just as three men walked into the door. The twitch of the middle finger - archer. Eyes darting with pursed lips - tracking with deadly intentions. The one next to him with lips just as pursed, palm curled backwards with open, bent fingers - daggers. Two more men stood up simultaneously, making brief eye-contact with the three before breaking off. All had the sun-kissed olive complexion of an Antivan. Conclusion? There was only one possibility. "Crows." he muttered to himself under his breath, slipping the tray with the shitty ale on one of the counters before promptly making his way to the room he had just been spying on with the fastest tip-toe he could muster, slipping open the door and shutting it behind him.

"I'm sure whatever you were doing must have been incredibly important," Dezrith began with nonchalant sarcasm, eyes wandering the room, paying special attention to the windows as he searched for one that had footing he could climb down on - he would jump if he had to, but he was intent on avoiding as much bodily harm as possible, which was why he was making the jump to begin with. "but you have crows in your establishment, madame. At least five, likely more, from what I learned in Starkhaven. And I have no interest of being caught by a stray arrow- do none of these windows have a ledge or anything?" he ended with annoyance, interrupting himself as he finished assessing all the exit points.
 
The strange man with the tattoos had decided it was proper to barge into what was obviously a private conversation, but when he blathered on something about Antivan Crows, Valerius had perked his ears and began to pay a bit more attention to the new potential threat than to the apparently rude stranger with the intricate brands. At a moment's notice the old veteran pulled his shield forward, blocking his upper body and face as if the simple wooden shield were an Aegis of a sort. In a flash he was at the side of the door, doing his best to press himself against the inevitable blind spot. If intruders were to storm the room, they would have to deal with a flanking attack before they could take out their target.

Moving a hand up to his lips, Valerius made a motion to stay down and for Aimil to draw her sword, hoping to try and use the female as bait. His blade at his side and poised to strike, Valerius awaited the first sounds of footsteps crossing the threshold. He would not have to wait long. It had been some time, he thought, since he had last fought a worthy opponent in honorable combat, having spend the last decade mostly training new guardsmen and the occasional sparring match. He had to admit, it felt good to get the blood flowing and the excitement coursing through his veins. The old veteran had almost forgotten this feeling, the rush of adrenaline that one could only get from an impending life or death situation.
 
Aimil had moved as well, to the other side of the door. The signal to her was useless, her sword was already out and ready, her back straight and feet firmly planted on the ground. Aimil didn't stop to think about savouring battle, she was weary from it in truth. All she wanted was Howe's head on the end of her sword but she was willing to work for it. So she put on her serious face and readied her shield. Most of the time she left it strapped across her back, or even down on her hip, covering the ordain sheath for her blade.

However the fight she was expecting didn't come, the footsteps faded into a different room, there were voices no louder than the others and her sword lowered just but an inch. There was a long moment of silence, she glanced to the steward at her side, but that was her mistake. The madame cried out and ducked under the large desk and a half dozen men garbed in leathers and hoods with all manner of weapon readied were rushing through. Aimil didn't think to defend, she cried out and struck to her side at one of the men in the charge, catching him in the side and throwing him to the ground.
 
There were, in all, six assailants. Each on of them bore dark leather clothing to obscure their features in the dimly lit room, but they seemed to move as a single cohesive unit, the six storming about the room with the precision and deadliness that could only be learned through a lifetime of training with the Antivan Crows. Though they all bore differing weaponry, the principle was the same- relatively short blades to more easily move through the cramped room, each of them honed to a razor's edge for maximum killing efficiency and armor penetration. There wasn't a doubt in the old Veteran's mind- somebody had a mission, a clear target they wanted removed, and they had paid top dollar for the Crow's services.

As soon as Aimil had made her move, the old guard struck, bashing the last assailant's head with his heavy wooden shield, the -thunk- of wood against the padded leather hood resonating before him. Sword raised, he quickly followed through the shield bash with a well-placed slash at the assassin's chest- it didn't look like the assailants were too heavily armored, so at the very least Valerius hoped to hit something tender. In any case the shield had to have dazed his opponent. With luck, his opponent would be too distracted with a crippling headache or even a concussion to be much use in retaliation.

As he was gearing up for a shield strike to the knees, a sharp pain was felt in the old man's shoulder. One of the assailants had somehow managed to pierce his splintmail armor and drive one of the daggers into his body. Luckily for Valerius, the relatively short blade of the dagger was wrenched too tightly into the metal bands, the armor not letting it's newest prize go. With a whirl, Valerius used his free arm to deliver a thunderous blow to the attacker's head, a sickening -crunch- being heard as blood spattered out from beneath the hood. Not long after, the assassin was little more than a twitching, soon-to-be-dead heap on the floor.

"Be sure to keep at least ONE alive!" he roared, reaching with his shield-bearing hand to try and dislodge the dagger embedded in his shoulder.
 
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