Too dumbfounded by the current happening Tarysus seems oblivious, though to your dismay he turns to walk right along the batlements as if to get a better veiw of Aseir. Several gurads take his place but still, no one notices.
"Aseir Miruster he calls out, pronouncing it ackwardly, but with nervousness or ignorance you do not know. "How dare you return here," he hesitates, "Are you not shamed of your most terrible defeat?" and a few of the tavern patron chuckled.

Not far away the activity had reached Jaileh's ears, he not making it vey far the night before. he rubbed his eyes, and crouched down low as he ran through the low bushes and grasses. He ran past a small, leafless oak and then Greymoor was visible. Jaileh saw the impending execution, what had interrupted it however he did not know, thankful that he was not the one with a nuse around his neck...yet. And then he saw it, a lone rider, a white banner occasionally picking up and whipping to and fro in the breeze. This might be worth sticking around for, he thought.

The Emperor's reluctance to come down is no surprise to Aseir, but it still draws another laugh. Where's your courage now, he taunted silently. His shouted reply, however, had none of that hostility. As pleasant as Aseir's tone was, one would've thought he was speaking casually about the night's wine choice.

"Tarysus! Is this any way to talk to an old friend? Come down here and lets discuss this like reasonable people."

Tarysus could not hide his anxiety as he turned away from the crowd, whispering something in his closest guards ear.
"As you wish, humble Aseir," he says facing you again. Several of the gurads had already left the battlements, and now only two were left in the immediate vicinity of the gallows, both's attention was on Aseir.

A moment later the wooden gates open under the gallows and Tarysus rides out, unarmed, his escort follows, and it is then that (aseir) sees the Emperor's finest. Five fully armored warriors holding long spears proudly above, the Galoric banners attached waved behind. It took a few moments to pass through the crowd and cross the bridge where they stopped: some twenty meters away from his old friend.

"Such lack of trust, Tarysus... I'm disappointed in you," Aseir called back cheerfully, tone still not at all matching his words. "I come here for a social visit, and you insist on dragging these poor guards along. Why don't you let them get back to their drinking and gambling, and spare them the boredom of this business?"

The complete confusion obvious in Tarysus' expression was absolutely priceless to Aseir. Business or not, he was definitely enjoying his little game. Even the uneven odds, and the danger of taunting an Emperor and his elite guards did nothing to harm his good mood.

"So, Aseir... what are those rebels lives worth to you?" he said gesturing back to the wall. one hand is behind his back and the guards glance at it farily conspicuously.

"Oh come on, Tarysus," Aseir replied with a hint of annoyance, "there's no need to be so direct. It's so much nicer when we can discuss these things like civilized people you know..."

Seeing his words having no effect, Aseir paused to think for a moment. Or at least pretended to, as everything was following his carefully prepared script. "I would like the prisoners back," he finally answered. "Therefore you will give them to me." The demand was made without even the slightest threat or anger, just the calm confidence of someone speaking inevitable truth.

Tarysus' eyes alone portrayed his swirling emotion. he hates you so much, yet cannot kill you, and as you were about to find out: depended on you. He spurred his horse foreward several meters, leaning in as if to whisper, "Aseir, what are you doing?" he paused and galnced over his shoulder. "I... Aseir I need help. We know who the attackers were, it is only too obvious." he looks down at the mane of his mount, refusing to meet your eyes again.

Several corpses are floating downstream, somewhat of a relief that you would not be returning to a capital full of dank, rotting bodies. More were coming.

Thrin grumbled something about "politics" and spat at the ground. His eyes were cold and dark, his body poised like a coiled viper, and an intense expression was plastered onto his face. Beads of sweat, however, were forming on his brow as he glared purposfully at the two men and the royal gaurd. Next to him, the cackling figure of Isys was thrashing about on the floor, drawing Thrin's attention only for a moment before he resumed his silent watch.

The voice was haunting him again, pulling him in all directions with the words. Ish garrahd... Death's song played over and over, trying to obscure his thoughts, trying to take him in this moment. That was what he wanted, the daemon lord--the keeper. He wanted Thrin's soul, and he knew this would be a great time to get him... Maybe the only time. With all his willpower, Thrin fought an inward battle against the shadow that threatened to end his life here. At the same time, he was trying to conjure up a resonable escape plan. Between the two, it was a loosing battle.

If given the opportunity, just a tiny opening, he would tear a canyon out of this situation. He would let the rage surface, he would let the malestrom of violence swirl into the spiraling vortex of death. Until his blades moved with that whirlwind, he would summon it forth. If given a single chance, he would dance with death. Not the pathetic attempt he had done at the tower... He would unleash the fury in no less manner than he did during the battle of galor. He would surrender.

Persperation continued to build on his forehead as he watched for exactly that kind of opening. His only fear, if fear he could have, was that the hangman would have him first. He couldn't mess this one up, the stakes were too high for that. It would have to be the perfect moment, otherwise he would die in this town. This pathetic, Imperial infested town. Ish garrahd neen faldt. His soul could not be devoured yet, not in this place. Not with a deed undone. He continued his fight with the darkness, more sweat collecting on his forhead. Before him, he could only watch as events continued to unfold, and he was beginning to lose both wars.

Akechi remained silent through it all. He was watching Aseir talk with the "Emperor" Tarysus, hoping to get out of the situation unscathed. Isys, to his left, was laughing maniacally and cutting at his bondings. How did he get that shiv? Akechi asked. He must've made it himself. The guards not facing him anymore, he tried to get Isys' attention to let him know what he was up to.

OOC: Sorry I don't have much right now, my wisdom teeth are killing me! Good thing they're out on Friday.

Tarysus summoned the willpower to look up at his hesitant rival, he had felt ackward at calling him by first name, but it was a lesson learned.
"...Emmisiary of the great Habassan nation..." he started, but abandoned it immediately, "That was not an invasion force that attacked Galor, they were lightly armed, simple; a force designed to strike fast and hard. A preemptive strike on the most vital target, and if you had not intervened they would have been succesful. but regardless, the invasion force will follow. I would rather be at the mercy of Habassa, then at the sword-point of my father's homeland. Please." nad again he stops to look down at his animal, and beneath his decorated armor he seems to morph from a cruel and malignant tyrant to the helpless coward he is, not prepared to face the consequences of his father's actions.

Stunned by his enemy's impossible words, Aseir was slow to respond. With those few words, his entire carefully crafted plan fell apart completely. His mocking words of only seconds before had suddenly become prophecy. You will give them to me. And now they had been proved true beyond even his most hopeful dreams. The wreck of a man in front of him had no will to argue back, and would concede to any terms he demanded.


When Aseir finally spoke, the cheerful mood was gone entirely, replaced by deadly seriousness. "You have prisoners I want. We will not speak any more on this subject until you return them." His expression left no room for negotiation, or for compromise. The emperor would agree, or he would be left to die, and Aseir wouldn't feel even the slightest guilt.

By the gods! The bindings are loose! Gently unwrapping the coils from around his wrists, Isys eased himself forward, back into the position he was in prior to his laughing fit. There was still the noose around his neck, which would be more then a bit difficult to remove without attracting the attention of the guards. Isys would be forced to rectify the situation.

The guards must die. Akechi's curiousity would be quenched at another time. Now, all that Isys saw were guards and how to kill them.

There was one guard directly behind him, and another to the right of Quarien. Cautiously, Isys inched back, a glint in his eye.

"And what're you doing?" the guard asked inquisitively. "You know," the guard said, beginning to unsheath his sword,"People like you are the reason people like me have weapons like this."

Isys' silence showed more than any words could, as he released the shiv from his palm, slashing the guard in the neck. It may not have been fatal, but it's inteniton was of a different kind, and Isys' desires were fulfilled as the guard plunged to his death.

The other guards leaped to response, ready to attack, just as he leapt over to the other prionsers and began cutting them loose. Despite the nooses found on their necks, Isys had managed to cut Akechi and Thrin's bindings, but he had only weakened Quariens before the guards neared him enough to attack.

OOC: Sorry this is so low quality, but I'm in a rush. Both tired and also have to do about thirty minutes of work to do.

"They are yours then," Tarysus uttered in a tone that reflected his bitter defeat, but yelling erupted from the battlements as he met Aseir's eyes.

It did not take the risk of getting slashed at with the shiv for the guard to shove Quarian's precariously perched form off the battlements. His bound hands are pulled away from your blade as he falls and your eyes shift to the grinning soldier who know sports his own BROAD SWORD.

The emotions felt by Quarian as his feet left the wooden platform wtih knoledge of the noose around his neck were undescribable. His hands instinctively tried to come foreward and break his fall but the bonds prevented them from doing so and in one short moment he felt the pop in his neck as the rope's slack was spent. He swung foreward, beginning the hanging directly below the rope's connection to the gallows wooden beam: a bit less than a meter from the wall. The adrenaline released from the first stages of suffication was amazing; his face reddened and he hissed with a running nose from the tears in his eyes.


Tarysus steered his horse around and looked back at Aseir with wide eyes after ordering his escort back to the fort. You can clearly see Quarian dangling at the end of his noose, the length of which putting his chest level with the top of the wall.

OOC: Thats what I'm talking about... THAT IS WHAT I AM TALKING ABOUT!

Time to burn.
(EDIT:) Oh pop... I mean snap... I mean... Forget it.

IC:
Without his hands bound behind his back, the noose was relativly easy to remove. In fact, thats why Thrin was bound in the first place. He wasted no time in freeing himself and joining the fray, slamming himself full force into the gaurd that was about to deal a high blow to Isys. It wasn't a forceful smashing of two bodies into one another, so much as it was a disarming throw. Thrin's right hand gripped the mans sword arm by the wrist while he was still trying to raise the weapon. With a firm hold on that, Thrin's other arm lifted the gaurd off the ground with the momentum he had built in the charge. The soldier's body moved off the platform, but his sword arm stayed behind, and in an instant, only his sword remained where he stood only moments before.

A solid strike hit Thrin square in the back, knocking him to the ground. His shoulder suddenly stung, but it mattered not--the sword was now close at hand. Scrambling to his feet, Thrin ducked under another fist from a lumbering foe, reaching down for the handle of the weapon. The gaurd he had thrown was already starting to recover as Thrin felt the familiar touch of cold steel... His blood rumbled. Rolling, Thrin dodged a downward swing from the executioner's axe that left the blade of the weapon embedded into the wooden platform only inches from where his head had been. His fingers tightened about the weapon in hand until they were white knuckled and the viens in his arm stood out.

Ish garrahd neen faldt... The voice was angry. Furious. It wanted his soul, it wanted him to make a mistake, he wanted to give him endless agony until eternity come. It wanted death. It would have death; the rage was summoned. Adenaline poured into Thrin's circulatory system as he let it all flood back. That pain, the agony of that moment. That heart-breaking incident that he never spoke to anyone about. Her. He remembered the way the blade had slid into her flesh, a thought he would never forget. He burned with the fury of it. He burned with rage at the Imperium and all it stood for. And he burned within simply to burn.

It was then that his eyes took on the same gleam that they had held before, the same feeling of depth. There was the sadness, all the darkness, all the agony he had felt and still felt. The only thing holding that in, deep down in those pale eyes, was the anger, the hatred. The only thing he yearned for was death.

He was death.

Shouting a battle cry, he tore forth across the platform. The executioner was as an unmoving statue to Thrin, the axe swung for him, but the whirlwind of attack was already in motion. The massive weapon met only air, as Thrin's agile form slipped past. The dance had begun. Step, one two, Thrin was directly to the man's right his weapon halfway through a deadly arc, his body turning in time. Step, Thrin was slightly behind the man now, facing the mans left, the blade was at its peak. One two, death began its descent, step, one two, Thrin was facing the direction he had been moving again, the blade's cut now completed. The axe fell harmlessly to the ground with two halves of a man.

Thrin had lost no speed in that attack, utterly focused on the task at hand. Another step brought his toe to the edge of the platform. Below him gaurds were rushing to apprehend the criminals, speeding past him on the way to the stairs at the back. Cold steel met one of them in the face as he ran past, and then Thrin lept from the platform. No movement was ever wasted once his eyes took on that particular quality. His motions became fluid and graceful, each swing dealing death wherever possible. Everything with a purpose. As he lept, even then, the tip of his stolen weapon was seeking a new target to bloody...

Akechi's bindings were the first that Isys cut after his own. He snapped his arms forward and pulled the ropes off. His noose was already pulled tight, so he had to slowly pull it loose to get it off. Isys had dispatched a guard and was fighting off another by the time Thrin was up.

Time seemed to move in slow motion as Thrin made light work of the remaining foes in the immediate vicinity. Akechi was astonished at the rate he could move. It seemed almost as if it weren't him, as if some outer force were pushing him along with an invisible hand. Out of the corner of his eye, Akechi saw Quarain falling over the battlements.

He saw the rope snap tight under the weight of a body. Finally Akechi was able to slip free of his own noose. Bracing against the frame of the Gallows, Akechi grabbed ahold of the rope with his right hand. Akechi pulled up the rope a bit more. Bending over, he reached out with his left hand to Quarain.

"Grab ahold Quarain!" Akechi yelled at him. "Can you hear me?"

Quarian's face blues as you haul up on the rope; a bad idea, and he gurgles a bit more. His eyeses become bloodshot, although you cannot see him and you see that his bindings are still too tight for him to free his hands.

Akechi lets off the rope quickly as he hears Quarain struggle more. Reaching down further, he grabs Quarain underneath his armpits and attempts to haul him up. Moving slowly, he manages to get Quarain up enough so he can sit atop the wall. Akechi starts to loosen the noose, which is quite tight and hard now.

Quarian falls back in your lap, unable to hold himsle fup as the blue fades from his face. When at last you succead in breaking the tension and loosening the noose you see the imprint of the rope in his neck, bright red. The veins in his neck are swollen and he struggles to slow his breathing as he coughs and spits.

With Isys and Thrin fighting to your right a guard appears on the battlements on your left, charging at you weapon drawn.

Akechi notices a guard coming at him full bore from the left, ready to thrust with his broadsword. He pulls Quarain a bit further from the edge of the wall, rolls backwards and is up on his feet. Akechi rushes at the guard, avoiding his first stab.

The guard's arm is still extended from the thrust when Akechi moves in and grabs the outstretched arm with both hands. His right hand on the handle of the sword and his left just above the guard's elbow, Akechi drops his center of gravity, steps and pulls. The guard on one foot now, lets go of his broadsword fairly easily trying to regain his balance. Akechi grabs ahold of the broadsword and kicks the guard's remaining leg out from under him. Akechi quickly dispatches the guard as he's face down on the ground.

As soon as the man goes down the sound of pounding hooves reaches all your ears, and looking up over the crenelations you see The Emperor's elite escort of five heavily armed and armored gaurds on horseback. They're weapons are not drawn and they are yelling something inaudible up at the chaos-strick battlements.


ooc: make sure not to rely on ooc knoledge

Fluid grace held every single movement, the mask of professionalism now plastered to Thrin's face. Death rang along with the cold steel around him as he closed in on each individual target. The man he had slain in his descent had provided him with the broadswords twin, which he now weilded with deadly proficiency. The flash of blades was doubled with its aquisition, providing him more of an edge on the group around him.

He saw everything as if from the outside his own thoughts, adrenaline having taken hold on his body. Time stood still for the deadly ex-smuggler, time he used to count every bloody instant his actions. He could see the beads of sweat, count them too if he wanted, feel the individual vibrations as his weapons clashed with theirs. He heard the whistling in his ears as his lighting fast strikes swept around him, and through his enemy's gaurd.

He saw every droplet of blood as his sword peirced a mans stomach, its double parrying a high thrust from the man his opposite. Effortlessly, he pulled the first blade free, spinning out of his parry and around another thrust at his chest. In the whirlwind movement, he caught the man who had just attacked on the side of the head with his fist, and then with a sword in his back. Death coiled in before the man had found the ground, Thrin stepping over him to get at the last remaining soldier.

Without his comrads, the soldier had taken a desperate look in his eyes as he saw the last of his comrads fall, knowing he had not long left himself. He lashed out wildly, hoping to catch Thrin at his flank. Mistake. He cut wide, letting Thrin pass without even a break in stride. The response was a blade planted firmly between the eyes.

The man crumpled backward, brain dead but heart still beating. His entire body ridged with the force. Slowly, his legs gave out from under him, and his body fell from the sword, the face slipping away from the bloody blade and the man that still held it firm. Thrin watched in morbid fascination as the disfigured eye stared at him unseeing, ruined along with the mind that controled it. With only an instant of hesitation, Thrin began to bound down the steps towards the crowd, and the riders.

OOC: F*ck. Removed.

One of the last men on the battlements released the lever to the right of the Gallows; a similar system used to open the much larger gates at Galor. The lever's position change suddenly released a counter-weight, suspended by chain, which yanked the gate beneath you into the hallow in the wall.

The elite riders skidded to a halt, turning quickly to face the rebels rushing down the weak inner steps that descended from the gallows. The part summoned in the growing crowd outside melted away as they rushed in to see what was happening. A few moments ago the real cheering had begun as the Imperial soldiers began dying.
"Halt! you infidel, Halt, I command you!" the leader yells, the sword he motions at you with gleams with sunlight as the brown dust from the horse hooves envelopes the other riders.

You stop curiously, even in your bloodlust and give attention to the brilliantly armored rider 10 meters off. He lowers his commanding blade as the dust removes itself from the riders behind him. He pauses, taking in the bloody scene, "The Habassan, Aseir Miristar negotiated your release five minutes ago," he says the last phrase with particular irritability. "If you still want the oppurtunity your horses are in the stables."

Although confused that your release was not compromised by your actions you go to the stables anyway, retrieving your mount. When you emerge from the shack, built onto the wooden wall of the fort Quarian is mounted as well; shaken, but being assisted by one of the escort riders.

In a few moments you are all across the bridge, Aseir sits proudly upon his mount several meters ahead and Tarysus is off to the side, slumped in his saddle. You can count seven corpses at various places drifting silently downstream on the Rakatal River.

All released and unharmed, Aseir noted with satisfaction as he surveyed the released prisoners. Poor Tarysus doesn't get an easy death with honor after all...

When he finally returned his attention to Tarysus, the commanding tone in his voice was obvious. Aseir held all the cards in this game, and he knew it just as well as his defeated enemy. But he didn't waste times with games and humilliating Tarysus. Instead, his order was short and simple.

"You have bought my time, Tarysus. Now state the terms of your surrender."

ooc: sorry, I have been in bed with fever since my birthday.

An expression of immesurable disappointment appeared on Tarysus face.
Quickly, it was replaced by one of anger and he said, "Surrender?" with open disbelief. "I am no threat to you or your nation!" He backed up his horse, unsure of what he was to do-
Galloping.
From around the hills two riders appeared, yelling and turning to look back over their shoulders; Galoric scouts.