A Vow of Violence

[Baleran II]

The sun rose on the small town, and as it did, the town came to life. The townspeople awoke from their small slumber and began to populate the town once again. But not all was happy or joyful. The town was still in control by the Renovation soldiers, who were led by a Captain who was all too "kind" to the towns women. The people were oppressed daily by the soldiers, and nobody could do anything about it. Being small, the town really wasn't close enough to be apart of the Resistance. Though, that would definitely change today.

The Captain was doing his routine patrol and buy around the marketplace. He would "inspect" goods, which mostly meant he would steal them and never give any tender for it. Guarded by a small cadre of soldiers, the Captain was pompous and rude. His soldiers were the same, having learned from their superior. As the people watched the Guards, a single man walked forward. Clothed in robes and a brown cloak, his face was covered by a hood. Holding his hands together as if he were praying, he moved towards the Captain at a brisk pace.

A soldier noticed this and began to move to intercept him. He called out to the apparent priest to slow down, but he did not. Armed with a small gun, the guard raised it and came closer, just in range of the "priest". When he was close enough, the cloaked man grabbed the gun, pulled the guard and punched him straight in the face. The guard went limp, and the monk pulled away, gun in hand. Two other guards looked and raised their weapons to fire, but were cut off by the gunfire that erupted from the "Priest" himself.

He fired a few shots and threw the gun, rushing forward towards the Captain himself. The Captain, flanked by two men, had noticed the man rushing at him. He turned around just in time to see the "Priest" leap off the ground, and plant his two feet into the Captain's chest. The two guards backed up as they watched the Captain scream and fall back, the "Priest" standing ontop of him. The robed man threw off his cloak, and hood, revealing a middle-aged man, wearing arm bracers and light robes. No doubt a Monk. He readied himself, and the two flanking guards moved forward to attack, both armed with a gun and swords.

The attack had gathered a large number of people. The Monk was outnumbered greatly, by atleast 10-14. He gathered his strength and prepared to fight. He was not going to die now. He was going to fight his best, to stop these soldiers, and help the liberation of Rosinder.

[carrionjackal]

The young woman paused within the growing crowd and commotion, the sound of gun fire had piqued her interest moments before. It was by chance she happened to be one block over, enjoying the weather atop the roof of a trade stall, when she heard the shot. Now it was not uncommon at this time, given all of the fall out from the Revolution, to hear such sounds regularly, and in the crowded streets no less. She peered around those before her, trying to get an idea of what was actually going on in the scuffle unfolding in the street. Her height was definitely not an advantage at the moment, she was not short mind you, but not gifted with much height either. She would come up to the shoulder of most men. She slipped in between people and moved closer to the scene, reaching a hand up easily to pull her hood of her forest green cloak closer around her face. The hood was not ideal in the midst of the day, but at this point in time, it was better to keep as low a profile as possible.

The scene was now in clear view of the young woman. She watched the lone man, whom she presumed to be a monk given his dress and tactics, size up his opponents. He handled them easily, tossing them about and using their own weapons against them. She smiled quietly from within the confines of her hood. It was good to see someone fighting the good fight for once. The people fell victim to the soldiers far too often, and there was nothing they could really do about it. The regular common folk were far too intimidated by them to resist, and just gave in, lest they be executed. The revolution never sat well with Dendaline, but she could only do so much on her own. Finding those who would resist grew continuously harder as much of the resistance she knew of was already dead or prisoner. She still weighed her options with her present case.

She could choose to aid the monk, or do nothing. It really came down to a matter of whether she wanted to expose herself or not. Dendaline was quite protective of her hide, and was not about to lose it. She was still quiet about her ideals and it left her opportunity to work on the side as a performer. Blade dancers could dance, regardless of whether they were fighting or not. It offered her money, and in some cases and opportunity to get close to soldiers and betray them. However, this was not exactly a fair fight as it was turning out. There were probably a full dozen or so still standing. She had seen it happen before, but a little competitive edge might be beneficial for the monk. He could still prove to be an ally, or simply a case of the soldiers picking on the wrong person at the wrong time.

In any case, it was Dendaline's time. She worked her way to the edge of the crowd, and conveniently was well placed behind one of the soldiers. He was still poised and waiting to attack the monk. She had best be quick and highly discrete if she was to get the first one while still maintain surprise. Her right hand palmed the silver cap of her cane. She had kept it at her side, simply as a walking implement, for decorum, for whatever anyone wanted to believe it was for. Sliding her hand past the cap, she had a solid grip on the can itself, she easily raised it before her and concealed it within the folds of her cloak. She sucked in a breathe and then pushed to the front row, poised to strike the man before her.

The woman gripped the cane with both hands and drove the silver cap into the back of the soldier's head. If she was really lucky, that caught a vertebrae as well, but in any case, he would be out at least long enough to buy her sometime. Time to move and move quickly, she dropped her fencing arm and cane to her right, and with the left threw her cloak at the closest soldier in that direction. The action would reveal a slender, young blond, in a fine purple tailored suit. Closer inspection left some inconsistencies though, she wore no dress shirt, but a simple green tank, nor did she wear any shoes to speak of. The only thing adorning her feet were ankle bracelets of silver, hung with little charms and bells. Her hair was cut short, about shoulder length, with a light tendency to curve inwards. Then raising the cane once more she twisted about a hand's width down the shaft with her left hand, and removed a glimmering blade with her right hand. Poised with an offensive blade and a blocker, she was ready. The soldier finally falling to the ground, she grinned and growled quietly as she leaped for the soldier still fumbling with her cloak.