knife edge [coyote, nak, open]

[FAOLÁN]

As admittedly groggy as his injuries were beginning to make him, Faolán was not stupid enough to take his eyes off the other important figure in their little equation. It was difficult to keep rein on both his anger and indignation, especially as the redguard kicked him, but it was his pride that suffered more than his physical well-being. He was back to being treated like an animal, a common cur, and though he may have voiced very loudly and adamantly that he would take his sweet time in getting to whatever cage they had in mind for him, he was all too willing. Breaking out wasn't difficult beyond his abilities and once the reachman healed he would have the muscle to do so with ease. So, he grudgingly supposed, he didn't have it too badly.

Unless they decided to kill him, of course. Two arrows lodged in his body wouldn't exactly let him put up a fight.

To be honest, he didn't know what he was more surprised over when the shady mage's intentions suddenly became clear: that he would betray the woman who was (supposedly) his partner-in-crime, or that he would do so with what looked like a pleased expression on his face. And to think, Faolán had believed that mages were a refined people. With a mental shrug, he looked away, determinedly not letting himself be troubled by the squabbles of greedy fiends.

"Think positively for a change," He commented offhandedly, the words belying the sharp glint to his eyes, feeling infinitely more confident now that the threatening arrow was no longer a factor in the conversation. Maybe he had more to thank the mage for, other than the uncomfortable tightness to his muscles that was undoubtedly a result of the unpleasant electrical shock. Gods knew he would probably prefer the dark-haired man's sarcasm and what seemed like overconfidence rather than the woman's overbearing abuse and anger.

"At least you know now what it is like to be wronged. Add an unfair bounty to your head and maybe you could sympathize with me." Smirking - as if he found the idea of her doing such a thing to be hilarious - he began the grueling task of beginning to walk again, uncaring if he left his escort behind. It wasn't as if he could run, anyway, as tempting as the idea was. The mage should consider himself lucky: as angry as Faolán was over his current position, he at least had honour, and wouldn't stab the man in the back.

[VULCAN]

A smirk formed on the mage's lips as he realized the angered-Redguard was smarter than she looked - she had made the right decision in giving up the Forsworn and had potentially saved her own life. Vulcan was an assassin; there would of been no sleep lost for him had he gutted the woman or set her on fire. Although, the mage knew that the same could of even happened to him if she was not injured; at any moment she could of placed her aim in the direction of the Imperial and made exactly the same request - working with contract killers was a dangerous trade, especially working with the ones you didn't know.

Vulcan was completely aware that he had made a new enemy today; the Redguard appeared to already hate him before he had betrayed her so with this stunt he just pulled, he could only imagine her feelings towards him now were probably along the lines of wanting to kill him. However, the confidence of the mage was more than enough to stop him worrying about a simple mercenary with a temper - he just caught himself a wanted Forsworn! That would be something to brag about! And the fact that gold was involved in the reward too just made things sweeter.

"You only have yourself to blame, Redguard; teaming up with a stranger can only lead to bad things!" The mage mocked, keeping an eye on the Redguard as he advanced along with the now-moving Breton who also had a few things to say to the woman now that she was out of the equation and no longer able to irritate him.

Patting the Forsworn on the shoulder as he followed him down the path, Vulcan sighed before putting his staff away. "Well, things only get better for you from here - you preferred me to her anyway, right? Redguards aren't very happy people, are they? Imperials like me on the other hand, are great company!"

Hoping that things would be smooth from here, Vulcan kept an eye on the woman as they got further and further away, making sure she didn't try any funny business once they had their backs turned.

"And if you be a good prisoner along the way, I might just stop and buy you a drink before you end up in a cell. Trust me, I won't miss the couple of coins once the reward for you comes to me. See, us assassins aren't so bad - aside from the lightning bolt and stuff!" Vulcan told him, sounding rather pleased with himself and feeling triumphant to say the least.

[AMANI]

Her cheeks burned from embarrassment. Her eyes narrowed at the back of the Forsworn's head. If she had the energy, she would have retorted bitterly, as was in her character. Amani's wound was beginning to take its toil on her; however, and she knew that if she wasted anymore time with these two men that it would be hazardous for her health. She gritted her teeth and began to take a few steps down the path, away from Rorikstead. If she took a carriage to Whiterun...would that be too far of a journey? Amani cursed and quickly peeled off her spaulders and top, tying the garment tightly around her midsection, covering the wound tightly. Her wound gently throbbed underneath her new bandage as a small clopping sound reached her ears. The Redguard turned to see a horse and its rider walking up the path. She held back a sigh of relief, now she wouldn't have to track down a carriage.

With the last of her remaining strength she yanked the rider off his horse and climbed into the saddle, tugging the at the reins of the animal. She gave it a small kick and the horse took off with a small neigh. Amani ignored the owner's curses as she rustled his horse away. She saw a way out and she took it, who could blame her? Well, the horse's owner most certainly would blame her. Amani grunted, trying to center herself in the saddle so the bumpy ride wouldn't bother her as much. She gripped the reins in one hand and pressed the other into her bound wound. Amani growled, fantasizing about the methods of torture she would use against these two men when they crossed paths again. That mage would get the worst of it, undoubtedly. She hoped she didn't have to wait long before she could grab his pale neck in her dark hands and just...

A jolt of pain ran through her and a wheeze left her throat as the horse flew over the rocky tundra. Whiterun wasn't that far. Whiterun couldn't be that far. She grunted and tried to squint her eyes, hoping to see the outline of the city on the horizon, but she saw nothing. She bit her lip, brow furrowing in concentration. That Forsworn would pay for putting her in this position of weakness. She'd disembowel that milkdrinker and leave him for the buzzards.

(( Amani has gracefully bowed out ))

[FAOLÁN]

Faolán only cast the woman a lingering glance as he began to make his way along the path, not feeling particularly guilty for wounding her or, consequently, for mocking her when she was proverbially struck down. Obviously it was a wound to her pride and he thought it suiting. If the dark haired mage was any indication of what assassins were like - he shivered slightly at the word - then they certainly needed to be brought down a notch. It was funny, really - though decidedly chilling - that they found their home in bloodshed and false bravado that came with killing an opponent while their back was turned.

If anything, that stray thought served as a prominent warning to the reachman, who slowed his halting, painful stride and all but glaring witheringly at the other man who dared to pat his shoulder. Stiff-faced, the Forsworn didn't react to his jolly - if not sickeningly confident - statement, his dark glare icy. Even so, there was a pinch of truth in what the Imperial said: at the very least, all he wanted was money, while the woman wanted revenge and probably would have happily given it with a dose of extra malignancy.

Faolán scoffed quietly as, oblivious to his own dark mood, the mage chattered on, serving only to become an irritation. The Forsworn did not appreciate the reminder of his impromptu electrical shock, flayed nerves wincing at the reminder. He growled at the thought of sharing a drink with the man as if they were friends and compatriots, rather than captive-and-capturer. That term alone roiled in his gut, making him viciously shrug away any attempt at friendliness from the other, his jaw set.

"I would rather not, thank you." He husked, a rough yet controlled courtesy, trying to focus on, well, not focusing on the pain. There was, of course, the tragically unavoidable urge to add something bitingly sarcastic to that statement, but he refused to. As much as his pride was screaming for him to be a nuisance, the stiffness of his muscles and the arrows said otherwise.

Gritting his teeth hard enough that he expected the mage to hear the noise, Faolán attempted to focus on gathering his magicka reserves back while he walked, hoping desperately for the opportunity to heal himself. Though doubtful, maybe the mage would be ignorant enough to ignore it, therefore giving him a chance to escape anyway.

[VULCAN]

Glad to see that the woman had finally accepted defeat and rode off into the distance with an unlucky fellow's horse, Vulcan had felt like this was an event he had won - after all, he had the target under his command and was soon to turn him in for a generous amount of gold. Could this night get any better for the Imperial?

However, the mage was aware to the fact that he had made two dangerous enemies in the space of about ten minutes. On one hand you had the dominating Forsworn who could probably throw Vulcan around like a rag doll given the chance; and on the other hand there was a seemingly short-tempered rogue who knew how to hold a grudge and then some. Perhaps this could bring him more trouble than he would want in the future - although he was a member of the Dark Brotherhood and if anything, making an enemy out of Vulcan was sure to bring more terror down your way. The guild of assassins might not of been in their prime, although all their current members were more than capable of slicing throats and dishing out murder better than most could ever dream of; the guild would soon return to its former glory and certain individuals would find themselves wishing otherwise.

Being able to tell that the pillager was not exactly enjoying the company, Vulcan shrugged when the Breton denied his offer, obviously not wanting to share a drink with his enemy. Oh well, at least he offered.

"You know, you're really quite lucky." Vulcan started, unable to keep his mouth shut for more than two minutes, "There are others I know who would like to take you in dead instead of living. So give us a smile." Vulcan muttered with half a smirk, spotting a group of imperial soldiers aligned with the Legion in the distance, planning to turn the Forsworn warrior over to them. "Well, looks like you'll be in their hands in a few minutes. Anything you want to say to me before we part ways? I know you want to." Vulcan said, the smirk still placed upon his face.

He knew he was annoying the silver-haired man, but he could care less. Looking at the injured and captured man, Vulcan could see all he was now, was a beaten Breton! In less than a few minutes, his work would have been done for the night and this pillager would be in better hands!

Vulcan wasn't going to see him again...right?