Night Roaming [OPEN]

[Erech]

The darkness of the night overwhelmed the shanty city of Ohzanee. The eerie shadows and whistling winds gave a scary feel. Although, none effected the cold and emotionless face of the Elite Guard of Murate. His face inability to feel emotion, the lack of feelings and the harsh, vigorous training methods had turned Varro into a man of legends. Renowned for his victory of the mythical Worgen Twins, his blade stained with blood and a mysterious inscription engraved upon his gladius. The cold winds brushed against his skin as he walked the dead of the night. The taverns still beaming with what little life they had and the homes dull as the villagers slept. Varro was an odd case, he had been having recent spells of insomnia, disabling him from sleeping and causing him to feel quite uncomfortable. The cold rush against his body as he walked the cracked, cobble paths of Ohanzee refreshed him, wakening him a little. He moved towards the stables, he found the company of horses a relaxing presence. He stepped from the cold winds of the street into a near empty stable, only home to two small horses. Varro was disappointed, his eyes scanning the barn and then his body moving back out into the cold of the night.

The moon was high, shining brightly onto Ohzanee with silver light. Varro’s eyes shifted around as he watched the shadows, Ohanzee was filled with assassins and black markets and no one, not even him could be too careless. He fingers run along the hilt of his blade as the inscription rung through his mind. It was the only thing he had left to remind him of his father. Gannicus, a great warrior of Murate, surpassed by his only son Varro who stands Elite Guard of Murate.

His dull armour tied tightly to his bulging muscles, his long braided hair falling down his back and his unshaven jaw gave off quite the intimidating look. Not many would dare to stop such a man, let alone speak with him. His reputation was high amongst the Muratian’s and most if not all knew his name. Many villagers feared him, whilst soldiers looked up to him as a role model. Varro was only concentrating on becoming stronger and serving Murate, he didn’t care if he was setting a good example, nor if the villagers feared him. He only wanted to serve and nothing more.

[Desperanza]

The night was open and lay out above her. The inky night sky held slivers of silver that stretched out across the landscape. With the copper mare beneath her, the assassin’s emerald eyes scanned the trees around herself, listening for any other sounds other than that of Nesfira’s footfalls. She didn’t really want to hear anything other than the mare’s footsteps for that could represent both trouble that she didn’t want and trouble she didn’t need. She did not fear the night; she quite frankly did not fear anything. As she moved the mare forward into a slow jog, the town of Ohanzee was beginning to draw closer and as she did so, she eased herself back slightly as she glanced among the buildings. They had been recklessly pulled back together after the hurricane. Haphazardly buildings stood with a soft glow here and there but for the most part, there was no light. Most were sleeping.

There was not many people to speak of around Ohanzee. The death rate had been high after the storm and yet, somehow there were still people that seemed to sprout out of the earth when the worst had passed. She had not returned to Ohanzee since the storm took place and now, as she gazed around the town, she was curious. She took a breath and inclined her head to a pair of men that were chattering beneath their breath at the front of the stable, chattering about the Murate guard that wandered the streets. She arched a brow and glanced to either side of the street down the walkway, curious. It wasn’t often that she got word of the head guard but she wasn’t stupid, she knew who he was and yet, she did not fear. Not even word of the head guard could put her on high alert. She could hold her own, even against him. If not by her blades then by her body surely.

However as she approached the inn and tavern, she glanced towards the small building where drunk men were glued to tables with stale ale filled in their glasses. The windows were frosted over with grimy dirt and she wrinkled her nose, remembering rather suddenly why she didn’t linger here often. Now, as her gaze traveled towards the castle, she grinned slightly, curious. She knew that Magrej had another right hand man, another assassin that he went to when he had work to be done but she cared not. As she approached the gate, she reined the mare in to pass through the gate but the mare stopped abruptly as a guard stepped before her to stop both the mare and the stranger at her back and yet, Aurora was no stranger. However with the cloak at her back, her assassin blades hidden from view, she scowled at the guard with a roll of her eyes, “Get out of my way, soldier.” She muttered warningly.

The man however was nervous and stubborn. The head guard was on the prowl at the moment and he would rather not have Varro return to find that he had let a stranger pass into the castle unquestioned but the assassin would not have it an in one lithe slide she moved from the saddle but pulled the reins out of the reach of the guard, refusing him access to her mare. She slapped his hand away with a warning glance and released the reins, shooing the mare who happily spun on her heel and darted off a few yards to keep from being captured and as the guard reached out to take a rough hold of the assassin she hissed, her left hand flashing to her right hip to take hold of her dagger at her right hip and in a flash the blade had been clamped within her hand, the silver flashing dangerously in the light of the moon and within moments, a sharp cry filled the air and the guard was screaming in agony, his right hand laying upon the ground, cut away from his body. “Apparently your momma didn’t teach you that it’s not respectful to grab women in that manner.” She muttered with a dangerous gleam to her eyes as she circled the man who fell to his knees. There was a clatter of metal, more guards approached. One hand lowered to tug free the guard’s helmet, her other dagger clad hang came around and across the man’s throat. The warmth of the blood sent her heart racing, and she grinned as the dead body fell to the ground beside the severed hand and she turned on her heel, brushing the blood from the dagger against the hair of her victim before sliding it back into place in its sheath as she strode towards the castle entrance, guards beginning to flutter and yell within the yard of the castle as they darted and scrambled to cover for the dead man and the assassin disappeared within the castle with a quiet chuckle.

It was night time, however, so she didn’t expect to stay long. Maids scuttled about here and there but she ignored them, making her way through the dining room where she took a pear from the gold fruit bowl at the center of the table, biting into the juicy fruit as her fingers graced the polished wooden table before she wandered on. She searched the castle a bit, curious as to what was currently happening within the walls of the castle. She nearly jumped at the sight of the second Princess of Ellsinora tucked into a bed in the castle, rather far from the ground level and yet she wasn’t chained, nor tied down. She wasn’t being used as a torture patient or a prisoner at all, curious. What the hell was Abigail doing in Murate? She arched a brow, dropping the half eaten pear to the floor of the bedroom as she wandered forward and gazed over the raven haired Princess before she shrugged, turning as a maid hissed and ushered the assassin out with a frightened look. Rolling her eyes, Aurora obliged for she had taken a look and didn’t need to anymore and finally, with her inspection finished, she made her way back towards the ground level, and back towards the courtyard again instead.

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