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closed.

WHO: Bastien, Derrica, Edgard, Flint, Julius, Marcus, Tiffany, Tsenka
WHAT: It's a lovely day for a rescue mission
WHEN: Vaguely late Justinian
WHERE: A day out from Val Chevin
NOTES: Viiiolence

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The sword lowers, and Tsenka rises from her crouch, the blade of her staff dug hard into the earth in the process, and at Julius's side she nearly vibrates with the desire to

to

it's obvious what to do. To strike again while their guard is down, and have fucking done with it. It is not the presence of Flint or any of the others that stays her hand, not any inclination on her part to mercy or to moralizing, but the knowledge that even she can't pull anything out of the minds of the dead. Her lip curls, and she does not relax the threatening hold of her staff, but neither does she unleash another boulder, holds. Waits.

Some of them can always die later.

Bastien's arm pauses in the midst of the extension that would have pushed his blood-streaked knife—which is only a knife, one no one would look at him askance for using at dinner—against, or into, the barely-exposed side of a neck. The crossbow from the felled Templar is in his other hand, unloaded and held incorrectly. He might have smashed it into a head, given the opportunity.

He is not disappointed to be robbed of that opportunity. When the dust and adrenaline have settled better, he'll think about the fellow on the ground with Edgard's arrow protruding from the mask. Avoidable, if a show of intimidating force was all they needed. A shame.

But neither have settled yet, so he keeps the knife up, unwilling to fall for a feint. He looks to the Commander for orders or an example to follow. And he fills the sudden tense silence, for himself, with a cocky little knife-twirl.

That venom is still burning in the back of Derrica's throat.

The Fade is a far off prickle at the very tips of her fingers. Out of reach, but the distance is closing. She might grasp the hem of the Veil, but that does no good.

Yet.

The templar in front of her barely manages to lay her sword down before Derrica kicks it hard enough to send it skidding out of her reach. It is not comparable. But it is something. Repayment, of a kind.

But Derrica too, is looking at Flint as she says, "We should separate them, away from the carriage."

There is a question at the end of that, space for Flint to overrule or refine or substitute, however he sees fit.

Julius, for his part, is more surprised than Tsenka to find his first reaction to a quick victory is ... disappointment. He's not usually a vindictive man, but he had wanted to make those who had ambushed him and Marcus feel the same level of frustrated helplessness. It isn't a pretty sentiment, and he deliberately puts it away.

Instead, he glances at Tsenka and Edgard and motions his head toward the others. The element of surprise has been profitably spent and the battle is over; he doesn't see a remaining need to hang back.

Later maybe, there will be some space for a flicker of approval to be spared in Derrica's direction. At present however, Flint simply briskly corroborates the suggestion as he cuts up from the rear with his unsheathed sword still in hand:

"Move them down the roadway two dozen paces in that direction and collect their weapons. Edgard—" This, barked with the terse carrying volume of an order passed down the length of a ship. There is a dead man in the mud of the road, an arrow shaft jutting from the eye slot of his helmet.

(Aim to incapacitate, he'd said.)

"Gather their horses and lead them a ways back in the other direction. You,"—is addressed to the agent in the light leather armor—"Step down."

As if Flint's tone has smacked him in the head, Edgard lowers his bow and his head, walking quickly towards the horses. His hands shake a little. It was wrong. The wrong call, everyone thinks so and he should too. Or maybe if he hadn't it would be one of ours lying still on the ground. Or the whole front group: Bastien, Derrica, Flint and Tiffany, all gone. Or more and many. He sees it, then breathes slowly out, letting the vision go.

He'll focus on the horses as he was told.

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