knife edge [coyote, nak, open]

[FAOLÁN]

The reachman honestly wasn't sure whether he was supposed to laugh or growl at the fact that the mage had managed to dodge his own attack, because he had done it in such a unique way that he managed to fall off his own chair. In fact, when the dark-haired other spoke again, Faolán's lips were pursed in mild bewilderment, his eyes narrowed as he chose to stare skeptically at the man rather than comment on his hasty excuse. The forsworn's bemusement only increased when he reached for his cup, and he wondered if the mage was going to take things seriously.

Unfortunately, these two seemed to have a habit of taking him by surprise; his head still ached from being smacked with a damn bow and he began to reach out with a mild smirk to knock the cup away. That is, before it exploded in his face. Yelling loudly, more from surprise than pain, Faolán immediately closed his eyes, bringing his arm up to shield them from any nasty damage. He could feel the ceramic biting into his skin and gave an enraged snarl, dropping his free arm and bringing up his blade, glowering savagely.

He barely took a step forward, preparing a heavy swing, when there was another distinctive hum of air and an arrow struck his sword - too close to his hand for comfort - the shock of impact traveling all the way down his blade and into his arm. Hissing in surprise, disgruntled and having almost dropped his sword, Faolán leaped back, his dark glare switching from the mage to the Redguard who had been the one to shock him, tiny rivulets of blood pooling and running down his right arm. So far, things were not looking good for him; both of his opponents obviously preferred long range over short-range attacks, so he could not go for either of them without being attacked by the other. The floorboards creaked under his weight as he shifted, crouching slightly, his expression grim.

Funny, the kind of partnerships that were created with the promise of some gold.

The forsworn was far from being tired - adrenaline had knocked the exhaustion from his bones as soon as he stood up to yell at the woman - but he was wary, very wary. Slowly, his eyes moved from the mage to the swarthy woman, eyes narrowed. He couldn't rip the magic out of the mage, so the silver-haired man promptly decided that he would relieve her of her only long ranged weapon. At worst, he could be shot with an arrow, but he would fare much better without the threat of being hurt further.

Without warning, he ripped his (favorite, damn it) cloak off and threw in at the woman as a distraction before lunging forward with a bellow, completely intent on salvaging her weapon and snapping it in two.

[VULCAN]

What Vulcan had hoped would be a direct hit to the face turned into something nearly as good. As the shards of the cup tore into the flesh of the target's arm, the mage knew that he couldn't waste anymore time and had to follow up with another dangerous attack so he could keep the big Breton off balance. He could only imagine that his Redguard partner was thinking the same thing - their constant attacks seemed to be harming the pillager and even somewhat confusing him; he just didn't know which enemy to go for! While not a pre-planned tactic, the heat of the moment certainly tipped in their favor so far and hopefully for the deadly duo this would continue.

Expecting the Forsworn to make a charge at him, Vulcan was left rather shocked that he was still not considered the main target just yet. When the warrior took one step towards him, the Imperial was sure that he would need to prioritize dodging sword strikes and heavy hits - but it had seemed that the Redguard would have to be more worried about that possibility than him as the Forsworn once again turned his attention back to her. Well, it sure surprised Vulcan, but it was a nice surprise to say the least!

Although, he noticed right after that it was probably because an arrow nearly took the target's hand off. Perhaps the pillager was going to try and remove the bow from the Redguard's hands? He could only imagine that with each shot, it was beginning to get more and more on the Breton's nerves.

The silver-haired man wasted no time and charged towards the woman, showing some cunning by distracting her with his cloak and going for a more dangerous blow at the same time. Vulcan didn't really care for this woman, but he knew that if she was taken down by their common enemy, it would make things much more difficult for him.

"Hey," Vulcan called out loudly, trying to attract the Breton's attention, "how about I show you some real destruction magic?" he grunted, his free hand beginning to glow. There were sparks forming in his hand and in a matter of seconds, a rod of lightning was present in the mage's hands and ready for take off. Trying not to give his enemy a chance, Vulcan launched the rod of lightning towards him at a frightening speed, small sparks bouncing off it as it rushed through the air.

It wasn't his most dangerous spell, but lightning was a type of energy that would provide a threat to anyone; regardless of size, race or power.

[AMANI]

They had him on the ropes, or at least Amani was hoping they did. Surely the Breton couldn't handle two opponents of their caliber for long. Or were these two just digging their own graves by standing against this looming pillager? The gold on his head better be worth this, because she was definitely not wasting her share on fixing this inn after the dust had cleared and a victor had been named. Amani's yellow eyes narrowed at the pillager. He was not only an an avid swordsman, but had training in the arcane arts…how wonderful for him. Really. Can you feel her downright glee bubbling up from within and flooding the room with admiration? No? Good, because that's not what's happening.

The tankard shattered, and Amani was lucky she was so far away or she might have had one hit her in the eye. Also, lucky that some of the shards engraved themselves so cordially into the pillager's arm. Still, even when he was distracted with the mage's attack, her arrow had been deflected by his sword. Amani bit back a curse as he shifted his attention to her, eyes burning, glaring, glowering…it was almost enough to make the woman admit that the pillager was extremely enticing when he was seconds away from making an attempt on her life. That didn't change the fact that Amani was furious with him, of course, and that thought fell to the very back of her mind. Let's get the gold first, and then she can add his glower to her list.

The fireplace in front of her didn't prove to be as superior protection as previously thought. The second the pillager had gotten his sword back in his hand, there was a cloak coming right at her and Amani immediately knew that she was the target of his next attack. The grip on her bow tightened, her free right hand rising to push the heavy piece of clothing out of her way, only to free up her vision to see an angry pillager lunging, over the fireplace, and toward her. Amani tensed and tried to swing her bow at him once more, hoping that it would allow her a few spare moments to put more distance between them. There was a distinct crackle from the other side of the room and when her eyes moved to find the source, she saw a lightening bolt hurtling toward the pillager. She smirked and hoped that if it hit him, it would enable her to move away and ready another arrow.

[FAOLÁN]

His cloak proved to be quite an excellent distraction and Faolán could just about see the alarm on the Redguard's face as he lunged. The man had every intention of snapping her neck as soon as he got rid of both the bow and her puny little daggers, as crass as it sounded. He was far from being merciful now, even though he always made it a rule to be so. He'd always wanted to be an exception to the reputation that many of the Forsworn managed to dredge up for themselves, but it seemed the galaxy was against him. He couldn't exactly be merciful to the people who'd made a laughing stock of him now, could he? The man had no intention of letting these two drag him away to the gallows where he'd be hung for him 'crimes'.

Faolán's face was contorted into a somewhat feral snarl, uncaring of the heat that bit at his skin from the fireplace. He'd just about gotten to the woman, too, the cloak still flying to the ground, when he heard the mage's smug voice. Startled into stopping, and quite indignant, too, he'd barely landed and angled his body toward the other man when the spell struck him head on. His reflexes may have been in top shape, but he was just not that fast. The lightning went right through him, exploding on contact with his body that sent him reeling backward, crumpling like a marionette with its strings cut.

The Breton gasped, his body contorting in agony as the magick raced through his body and he could almost feel it sucking his own reserves of Magicka dry, leaving him with no chance to pull off a speedy recovery. This all happened in the space of three seconds, however, and though his body screeched in protest, Faolan pulled himself up, wobbling somewhat on his feet.

If anything, the sparks attack only proved as inspiration and the forsworn promptly decided that he had absolutely no chance fighting against the two of them. With a snarl, he swung his sword at the woman, who appeared to be readying another arrow, wasting no time in lunging for his axe and getting it out of the wall. He was cursing his cowardice, but the more reasonable part of his mind knew that this would be the only way he would survive and remain free.

Knowing he'd most likely get shot, or worse, Faolán immediately tore for the door, sputtering breathless curses along the way. It was his own gold wasted, too.

TACTICAL RETREAT

[VULCAN]

And just like that, the battle nearly came to an end; the devastating rod of lightning connected with the Breton in what was a direct hit. A grin formed on Vulcan's lips whilst a few chuckles could be heard under his breath, rather pleased with his aim. It wasn't often that he got to hit someone with that spell, so this moment was actually quite pleasing to say the least. However, there seemed to be one problem with the outcome - the pillager was still living! Vulcan had come across some real tough guys in his line of work; some of them were absolute beasts of men who could keep charging with an arrow poking through their shoulder. This guy on the other hand, just took lightning to the chest and lived.

Now, Vulcan had a few encounters with those fur-loving Forsworn before, though he was certain that none of them could be this tough when it came to taking hits like a champ; it seemed like he would need to cook up another lightning rod in order to finish off this brute. And knowing Vulcan, he had more than enough mana at the moment to do it. That is, if the Redguard didn't finish the job before he was able to set up another spell; truth be told it wouldn't really matter to him, the job would be done and then all what was left to do is take the body and cash it in for that hefty sum of gold.

As the Breton got up and made a run for the door, Vulcan looked on, somewhat amazed by the durability of this silver-haired fellow and scratched his head for a moment at the time the injured man reached the door. Vulcan was good with his spells but in order to stop this guy in his tracks, it may of taken more than a second - and it took about that to open a door and leave...this one would be down to the Redguard. As long as she could keep up with the fellow, he wouldn't be escaping anytime soon.

Vulcan looked over at the woman while the target was about to escape, "Uhh, you're the rogue here, right? Aren't you guys supposed to be quick or something?" He asked rather plainly, before pointing to the door with his head, "You probably better go after him and I'll catch up; this staff is a bit heavier than it looks." Vulcan finished, somewhat bluffing about the staff as it was really not much heavier than a sword. About to make his way over to the door, he waited for the Redguard's response, assuming that the Breton couldn't flee at maximum efficiency due to the injuries inflicted over the last minute or so.

[AMANI]

Had she said she hated magic? Oh that couldn't be FARTHER from the truth! The rogue wasted nary a moment in gawking and quickly put distance between her and the pillager, almost pressing her back against the wall as he dealt with the pain brought on by the lightning bolt. She readied her arrow, seeking to put him out of his misery as he tried to come to terms with his undoubtedly spinning surroundings when out of nowhere he managed to swing his sword with enough coherence that it made her jump, breaking her concentration and causing her to drop her arrow. Amani, having made the mistake of pressing herself up against a wall, was unable to dodge, the the sword made a fine cut into her, above her stomach but below her breasts. The familiar burn of pain ran through her, as Amani gritted her teeth and picked up the arrow she had dropped. Now he was going to die as painfully as possible. She was going to swiftly decapitate him and then jam his head right up his ass. As painfully as she could.

Amani's eyes flashed with anger, her temper flaring by this point. "Don't tell me what to do!" She growled as she gripped her wound and ran out. Pft. As if he would be any use now. The gold should be hers at this point - the mage, except for that time where he saved her life with a lightning bolt, hadn't been any help at all. She growled, the pain from her injury still radiating through her, her hypersensitive body forcing the pain to flood even into her mind. The Redguard hadn't looked to see how deep or how shallow the cut was, but her organs weren't exactly spilling out for all of Rorikstead to see, so she took that as a great sign. Blood quickly covered her hand and armor as she bolted after the pillager, contemplating if she should call the guards on him as well. No, this was entirely personal now. No one embarrassed, injured, and yelled at Amani all in one night. No one.

Her vision was beginning to blur, she paused and readied her bow, taking in a breath. She steadied her aim on the fleeing criminal and let go. The arrow whizzed past a guard's head and through the air, hopefully zeroing in on the pillager. Amani growled and shoved past the guard who she had nearly sniped and continued onward, trying to ignore her body's warnings that she should stop and try and find someone who could heal her. She wanted the gold. She wanted his blood. She wanted to see him hang from the gallows, body dangling off the rope like a raw chicken in a merchant's stall. If she had to skirt dangerously close to death to do so…so be it. The stakes were already high. Amani cursed audibly and paused to take another shot at the pillager, aiming for his legs this time. He had to stop running or she was just going to get angry or faint, you know - one or the other

[FAOLÁN]

The few short seconds it took for the forsworn to reach door felt like a small eternity and every nerve in his body was straining for the recognizable sound of an arrow through the air, his body tense in expectation of some sort of piercing, burning pain. Faolan had been on the receiving end of one too many arrows and each time a scar was left, he was rather certain that he didn't want another archer looking at him. Ignorant of the wound he had inflicted upon the redguard woman, the man all but bolted out the door, taking a split second to decide which way to go before abruptly turning left - a route that he recognized was better than the unknown, he figured, even though he knew that particular route didn't have any trees, forests, or other environments that he could flourish in.

In fact, he felt very out in the open along this path and an exasperated growl built up in his throat as he realized that his running figure would be a fine target for both his pursuers or any Hold guards (his silver hair didn't help). To be quite frank, he was disgusted at himself for taking the act of running away so seriously, but it couldn't be helped. It wasn't as if he-

There wasn't any warning before the dreaded whoosh and with a muffled thump, an arrow landed itself (rather conveniently) nearly in the center of his shoulder blades. It was a moment before the man could actually get past the sudden shock and feel the pain, which quickly escalated into a burning agony that almost sent him to his knees. Trembling now, he grunted softly, trying to simultaneously scramble forward again and pull the arrow out, uncaring of the threat of blood-loss. Unfortunately him, the projectile was as a point on his back that he just couldn't reach and with a snarled curse, he decided to take his chances and continue running, valiantly ignoring the torture that was being shot.

It was getting quite hard for him the breathe, now, and Faolán wasn't sure if it was because of where he had been shot (damn near his spine) or because of the exertion he'd been putting himself through. The reachman was closing in on a bend in the road that he was hoping could be used to confuse his pursuers.

All too suddenly, another murmur, another arrow, and he didn't even bother trying to hide his howl of pain, crumpling to the ground and staring, distraught, at the shaft that protruded from his calf. Cursing the archer to every corner of every hell, Faolán struggled to pull himself up but could barely take one step without falling to his knees again.

It was probably exactly what the redguard wanted. Knowing he'd most likely be out of commission, he stood up and whirled, leaning heavily on a rather large boulder at the side of the cobblestone path. Shaking and gasping for air, Faolán took out his own hunting bow and one of the few arrows he had left, notching it and pulling the drawstring as far as it would go, his expression and whole posture extremely tense.

He wouldn't mind giving her an arrow to the face, really. It was the least he could do for payback.

[VULCAN]

The Redguard woman wasn't too fond of Vulcan's advice on what to do, which was not exactly a surprise since she didn't seem to be the friendliest individual around from what the mage had seen so far. Although, right after replying Vulcan saw that she exited the building and went after him anyway - an amused grunt came from him as he was about to leave as well. "Thanks for listening." The mage mumbled in a smug manner, shaking his head slightly as he advanced towards the door and left seconds behind the woman. He was hoping that the Breton did not make it too far - big fellows like that always seemed to be pretty fast too; take a charging mammoth, for example.

Stepping outside just in time to see the Redguard plant an arrow into the back of the pillager rather impressively, Vulcan noticed the wound on her body; it looked pretty damn painful and the mage could imagine that such a hit was going to take a toll, whether it be in the long run or the short run - there was a chance of either happening if she didn't get some sort of medical attention. However, the more important thing was securing the Forsworn in the distance. While Vulcan was thinking about a way to stop the guy in his tracks since he was quite the distance away, any plans he had were thrown out the window when a second arrow zoomed through the air and connected with the target's leg, seeming to stop the silver-haired warrior from going much further.

A satisfied look appeared on Vulcan's face once he noticed the target failing to move away, looking as if he had given up against the pair of assassins; smarter than the average Forsworn, no doubt...but then again, also more determined. Realizing the man had his bow and arrow drawn, Vulcan was expecting an arrow-shaped projectile coming for one of their head's any time soon, but the Forsworn had yet to fire. Was it some sort of warning for them? Was he trying to tell the two of them that should they advance, he would make sure they did not reach him? Whatever his motive, the mage was not going to back down - they had the advantage here and he didn't want to miss this.

"So, it seems our friend wants to shoot an arrow at us - any ideas? I'd imagine it might be a problem to try and get close to him, seeing as it's an open area." Vulcan stated, looking at the Redguard before focusing his sight on the Forsworn again, not wanting to take an arrow in the head because he was too foolish to keep an eye on the target.

[AMANI]

Later, Amani would wonder how she managed to sink two arrows into her prey without falling over or missing. For now, she wasn't one to look a gift horse in the mouth, and she silently thanked whatever Gods there may or may not be that she hadn't missed or fallen over. She would have smirked at the loud howl of pain the Breton let out, but the pain from her own wound prevented her from making any other sounds save for small groans and grunts of anguish. The Redguard pressed her palm against it, feebly trying to stop the bleeding. Biting down on her lip as she tried to stand up straight, having heard the approaching footsteps of the mage. Not the time to show weakness, definitely not the time. She let out a harsh exhale through her nose and pressed her hand harder into her wound, begging whatever higher power that may be that she would stop bleeding long enough to finish this and get herself to a healer.

Granted, that seemed like an impossible feat, there wasn't a healer for miles as far as she knew. Amani grunted in response to the mage. She was also unwilling to go near the pillager, especially since she was now walking around with an open wound. An arrow to the knee face didn't sound too wonderful at the moment - shocking, I know. Amani slowly peeled her eyes away from the Breton and looked around her, they hadn't stumbled too far out of Rorikstead - she could still see a few nosy villagers craning their necks to catch sight of the trio. The rogue let out a grunt and reached behind her for an arrow. "Why not get the guards and save us the trouble? We'll still get the gold for it." She carefully nocked the now bloodstained arrow and pulled the string back, aiming as best she could in this pained state at the Breton. An uncomfortable, throbbing agony rushed through her entire body, and began to come in waves, earning strangled grunts from the Redguard woman.

She gritted her teeth, hands trembling from the pain wracking through her frame. Curses and insults varying in severity flashed through her mind. Her voice was low and strained. "Or you could just hit him with another lightning bolt, much cleaner that way." Killing was too good for him. If she had her way…oh he'd beg her to kill him. Plead. Implore. Beseech. She wouldn't of course…well, not at first anyway. Now what was worse…cutting off his eyelids? Or burning him with hot coals? Decisions, decisions. It was almost tragic, she probably wouldn't get to touch him - especially if the guards came into this. Oh well, she'd have some closure from the thought of him rotting in a cell for the rest of his natural-borne life…or perhaps they'd hang him! Oh she'd love to see that.

[FAOLÁN]

They seemed to have a habit of discussing what they'd do with the reachman while he was right in front of them, didn't they? He'd thought they were more intelligent, but obviously he'd have to re-think his decision, especially if they continued to let him hear their plans with what he assume was no remorse. Another round of pain shocked him into exhaling sharply, still unaccustomed to the throbbing of both his back and his calf. Faolán narrowed his eyes at the woman as she readied another arrow, knowing that, beyond a doubt, an attack at this short range could very well kill him.

Though the redguard's lightning bolt made him think otherwise, the man had been under the impression that they wanted to keep him alive - no doubt to send him on his merry way to jail, collect their damn gold and leave him to the guards to be tortured. The thought sent a brief shiver of apprehension through him. He honestly didn't know why he put up a fight. In hindsight, the black woman's idea had been a good one; two birds with one stone, both of them were happy and he wouldn't be bothered by her again. Faolán supposed it was only his twisted sense of pride that made him balk.

Look where that pride got him now. Two arrows that were causing him a considerable amount of pain, shards of metal in his arm and what he could only think was blood running down the side of his face from the redguard's quite literal bow attack. She was a vicious one, wasn't she?

But if he'd been in better condition, he could have been able to escape. At best, he'd contract an infection of something. Faolán didn't want to be known as a coward who let himself be carted off, but it was the only thing he knew he could do. He wouldn't get far by running and he didn't want to be on the end of a lethal shot. At the very least, he could attempt an escape when he had sufficiently healed.

He spat out a disgusted curse still, furious that he had to give up. Letting the drawstring go slack, he flung the bow to the side, leaning forward with a pained grunt and trying to take as much weight as possible off his injured leg. God forbid if they tried to be rough on them, because he still had a good few punches left in him.

[VULCAN]

"No, guards could make the whole thing complicated. I'd rather not get officials involved; me and the law aren't friends anymore." The mage told his temporary partner, uncomfortable with the thought of the guards getting their lawful minds involved with the violent situation going on between the three skilled individuals. The last time guards got involved in a certain situation he found himself in, he ended up paying the guard nearly a hundred gold to pay off a bounty the damn fool found out about - a hundred!

Vulcan much preferred the second idea she came up with; lightning made him happy. However, that could of left him quite vulnerable to the Breton, because if he had enough left in him to pull off a decent shot then there was a chance the mage might of been walking around with an eye patch for the rest of his life. And to be quite honest, that would be something he wouldn't find funny.

Before anymore words could be said, the sight of the target throwing away his bow was one the mage did not expect to see - had the Forsworn given up? Was it some sort of trick? Vulcan had doubted it; the man was injured badly and had little chance against the duo of assassins, perhaps he'd rather walk away breathing from this battle with his life than die in this small village? It was certainly the choice Vulcan would choose!

"Is that Forsworn for 'I surrender', hm?" The Imperial asked, raising a brow and making eye contact with the silver-haired man, before looking back at the Redguard, "Is that Forsworn for surrender?" He asked her, partly for confirmation and partly for his own amusement.

While not expecting this, Vulcan took it as a good sign - surely, the Forsworn would be worth much more money alive? You could do a lot more with a living person than you could with a dead one. If all things went well, the client who ordered the hit would realize this and hand a nice added bonus for such an accomplishment. If not, then you can imagine Vulcan wouldn't have nice things to say about the fellow.

"Well, if he's done then things should be fine from here. All that's left is to take him to the nearest prison for a while, then get everything cleared up." Vulcan told the Redguard, noticing she was trying to hide the pain that the Breton's attack was causing her. "You're wounded, by the way."

[AMANI]

She had to admit that the Imperial had a point, besides, they were still in Whiterun Hold - the guards may recognize her for her…previous transgressions. That would be messy, unless she gave herself to them willingly…and despite her current condition that would not happen. The guards in Skyrim were a joke to Amani, and while she was being honest, she would barely bat an eye if they had all suddenly dropped dead. They were hardly useful…and that's coming from a criminal! The Redguard woman had once noted that the guards in any given hold were more inclined to take the odd bribe here and there rather than chase her down in earnest, so usually she put aside the odd septim for them…when she felt generous, that is. Still, when the Imperial mage stated his distaste for the guard it put a small smirk on her face. So, Amani wasn't the only one who spat at the mere mention of the guardsmen of Skyrim. Or perhaps he was on the run as well? Ah, who cares at this point.

The Breton threw his weapon aside, earning a curious glare from the scorned woman. Why…is this a trap? She begrudgingly lowered her bow, arms tired along with her quickly weakening body. Even if he was badly injured - possibly mores than she was - the Breton didn't strike her as the type of man who would give up no matter what the odds were. Amani swallowed, eyes roaming over the Breton's body, looking for any excuse sink another arrow into him, but she found none. Still, it struck her as odd that he'd roll over, belly up like that. It confused her, baffled her,…disappointed her perhaps? The Redguard growled and returned to clutching at her wound. Stupid Breton. Whoever taught him how to fight, well even Amani would give them a small nod of acknowledgement for their superior skill (just not while Faolan was around though). Still, she'd never look at their kind the same again, that was for sure.

Turning to listen to the asinine banter the Imperial was spewing, Amani snarled. "It better be." It wasn't that she was sick of the fight, she just didn't want to die from the bloodloss. It was getting very hard to focus and she knew she didn't have much more time to sit here and blabber. She raised her bow again, pulling the string back as she stepped toward the Breton. She didn't trust the Imperial to keep to his end of the deal by splitting the gold with her for a second, especially if she fainted in the middle of the road. The Imperial's nod to her wound made Amani pause and slowly turn her head to look at him. She said through gritted teeth, the Redguard had reached her boiling point ages ago, and the pain from her wound wasn't making her attitude any fairer. "OH AM I?!" She growled and rolled her eyes, and continued on to the Breton, attempting to kick him lightly when she was next to him. "Get walking." Amani kept her bow trained on him, ready to fire at the first inkling of danger.

[FAOLÁN]

To say Faolán felt way out of his league was an understatement. He was so used to being the stronger one in any fight, the man who could take on a bear and walk away with nary a scratch - someone that quite a few bandits shed a tear in front of when they got on his bad side. He was usually the one doing the intimidating, the one to be feared. And yet here he was, overwhelmed within the span of an hour and feeling apprehensive beyond what was natural for him somewhat stunted emotional range. It was as close to fear as he could get, because he wasn't quite certain what would happen to him and there was a murderous gleam in the redguard's eyes that promised it wouldn't be pretty.

His future, all of a sudden, looked bleak. Faolán fought the urge to curl his lips and growl at the woman, refusing to seem more barbaric than he actually looked. His dark eyes narrowed, locked warily on the bow and arrow she insisted on keeping shoved into his face. Admittedly, he was rather taken aback by how violently she was treating her supposed partner-in-crime, though the reachman was far from being appreciative when she decided to turn that attitude on him. He jerked as she kicked him, hissing loudly and all but snarling at her.

"Don't assume you can take your bad temper out on me, wench," Faolán snapped, straightening despite the horrid burning in his back, glowering darkly at her weapon as if he wished it to burn to pieces right there. He was sick of trying to be polite and the pain made his vocabulary significantly less flowery.

"If you haven't forgotten, it was you who mangled my calf and made it difficult for me to walk. You'll have to excuse me if it will take longer to get to your gold." Not even bothering to be witty about his sarcasm, the forsworn's knuckles were white as he gripped a piece of ivy and took a few steps forward, sweat breaking out on his forehead as he tried to ignore the pain of the arrow still caught in his calf. He certainly didn't want to take it out, anyway, not when he'd likely bleed to death in his current company.

Wearily, the reachman glanced up at the path that lead back to Rorikstead and beyond, not looking forward to the lack of support.

[VULCAN]

As the Redguard moved towards the defeated Breton, her response to Vulcan pointing out the obvious showed she was less that happy at this moment in time - most likely due to the fact of the wound, because he could imagine any other mercenary who just caught their mark would be more...satisfied. Perhaps she simply had a habit of being angry? The mage didn't know her well enough to make a reasonable judgment, although he wasn't planning to; after all, he had a plan for this very moment which wouldn't make a certain someone very happy at all.

Watching as she kicked the Forsworn pillager, Vulcan examined the state of the target for a moment. From what he could see, the silver-haired man was done fighting, he could imagine that he wouldn't be getting any more trouble from him for a while - no matter how tough you were, a couple arrows and a lightning bolt were sure to take you down a notch.

As the Breton stood up in his own time and began to advance in the direction the assassins wanted him to, Vulcan casually strolled around the Forsworn while watching him, so he didn't make any moves...and then when he got around behind the Redguard for a mere second, his plan was set into motion.

From behind, Vulcan placed his bladed-staff behind her, inches away from her upper back while his free hand blitzed towards the side of her skull, a vicious flame roaring in the palm of his hand wanting to be let loose. Holding the flame near the side of her face, just close enough for her to feel the heat, Vulcan had a serious expression and a mind to kill - he wasn't going to split the reward with some Redguard stranger! "Unless you want me to turn you to ashes, I'd suggest dropping that bow on the floor. Now." Vulcan commanded coldly, the flames in his hand spitting, almost as if they wanted to be unleashed. "I wouldn't advise fighting back either, with that wound, finishing you off would be too easy." He told her, expecting the woman to drop her bow to the ground but also ready for a fight if she attempted anything foolish.

The Imperial's eyes didn't move off the Redguard although he was fully aware of the silver-haired man just meters away - assuming he was too damaged to make a getaway, the mage didn't think he would be a problem in this situation.

Waiting for the Redguard to listen to his demands, Vulcan was watching her every move.

[AMANI]

Things had changed much too easily. Friends became enemies. Enemies become friends. Amani could spew some such nonsense about how life was some sort of bowl of assorted candies, but not only was that incredibly daft but she wasn't exactly in the mood right now. She didn't know who she wanted to kill more, the Breton or the Imperial at the moment the mage chose to betray her. Honestly, she should have seen it coming. Not only was he some sort of criminal, he had hung back for almost the entire fight…mentally Amani cursed herself for being so foolish to trust this mage for even a moment. It only took a moment for someone to betray you, especially when your back was turned and you were preoccupied with some Breton berserker. The Redguard contemplated whirling around and fighting for her right to hoard the reward money.

He was right though. Amani wouldn't admit out load, but he was right about it being easy to kill her in this state. Especially in this position, there was no way for her to spin around fast enough to sink an arrow into his skull before he set her on fire. Her stomach twisted into knots, as shame almost blanketed the pain she felt from her injury. She couldn't take care of herself, defend herself, she was being forced to stand down by a mage, perhaps this hadn't been the first time she had been manipulated like this, but regardless it was still a death blow to her ego. Amani let the string to her bow loosen in her grip. She let the arrow drop to the ground with a soft clink, but she didn't let go of her bow, assuming that the mage would take if from her and sell it to some ungrateful merchant. This bow was all she had now, all that she could rely on. It was her favorite possession, though it wasn't as if she had very many.

Behind pained pants, the Redguard managed to growl, "You'll pay for this, you dirty mage." Amani would find him again, do unspeakable things to him, take all the gold he had on him and leave him for dead. She most definitely would. Her vision was beginning to blur, Amani bit her lip, and pushed her free hand into her wound again in a feeble attempt to alleviate the pain. She had to get to a healer, a doctor, a priestess - something. Amani shifted her weight. "Just take the damn man and leave." She wanted to gold. She wanted the revenge, but she wanted to live too. She'd retreat now, just so she could fight another day in hopes of being able to sink a poison-tipped arrow into this sun of a horker soon enough.