Sera spared a glance at Milo and Pretty and seeing that former was still on his feet and the latter was stirring she joined Idris in the chase after the female leader.
"I've got some rope," Milo calls to the group. He looks to see where Idris is heading since he couldn't see the leader's escape from his position, also noting possible locations for climbing or fixing the rope.
Down (Handle Animal - DC 15): The animal breaks off from combat or otherwise backs down. An animal that doesn't know this trick continues to fight until it must flee (due to injury, a fear effect, or the like) or its opponent is defeated.
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Kivan seeing all of his allies rush off after the leader will consider the other two runners before moving towards the downed men where he will check to see if any of them are still far enough away from death to be saved so that they can interrogate them later.
Pretty will stand up and drink a powerful potion that her slender tail brings into her hand, then stand up and start the pursuit. She has her darkness still active over her, so it will hopefully help her in those circumstances, but she drops one of her daggers since she needed a free hand.
Then 1 round later she starts pursuing the leader, through the same path.
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You're not about to let some smug assassin rough you up and then just take off like nothing happened. As the woman flees nimbly across the rooftops, you give chase.
Well, most of you. Kivan remains behind to start the business of getting the first pick of loot examining the fallen for clues. He finds that the burly man felled by nix and himself is still breathing, albeit shallowly.
Idris has to make a second attempt after not getting quite enough of a running start, but makes it up to the rooftop, seeing her quarry on the next rooftop over. "There you are, b$@*&," she mutters as she ducks down below the ridge of the roof in hopes the assassin won't see her following.
Five Seraphinas bit their lips as they considered which path to take. The rooftops might be treacherous, but it seemed the best chance of catching the woman. Not waiting for Milo's rope, she dug her claws into the wood and scaled the building like a glaring of cats, surprisingly quick.
Seeing the two girls on the rooftop already, Pretty decides to go the other way, following up and trying to gain time through the different path, squeezing through the alleyway with ease.
Kivan attempts to stabilize the man if necessary.
Then Kivan leaves the man to be looked after by the dog while he pulls out his new book, and begins seeing how well the surgical techniques work on the dead body of the other assassin.
"Guard, " Milo commands Nix, instructing her to stay with Kivan and the fallen assassins. Noticing that Idris and Seraphina already climbed up the building without the aid of any rope, Milo follows after Maja on the ground. He navigates his way through the city's narrow alleys, trying to keep an eye on the position of the lead assassin or his companions on the rooftops.
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The assassin doesn't spare a backwards glance as she beats feet for safety. Her footwork is sure and practiced, and she moves across the rooftops as easily as a normal person walks the street. Loose tiles spray from under her feet but do not slow her, and she pays no heed to stinging coal smoke as she barrels through the plumes of chimney effluent. The assassin tucks and rolls from the roof, landing in the midst of the wrecked cart fiasco, still running.
Idris follows the assassin, slightly less graceful but still moving effectively across the tiles, and throws her cloak over her mouth and nose to block the smoke. With a battlecry, Idris lands in front of the wrecked cart, looking about to spy her foe.
Seraphina stares open mouthed as she watched the women speed recklessly on their way. She did not have such skill with jumping and was still wearing the fine silk gown, and so she went a much slower pace. She slips on a tile, but manages to maintain her footing.
Milo barrels through the crates, knocking them out of the way as he rushes through. He can make out Idris ahead in the midst of the wrecked cart, but doesn't see the female assassin.
Pretty tries to climb through the crates, but a loose box made her slip and lose precious time.
"Let me by, move!" yells Idris as she tries to find a way past the cart. Finally she leaps into the air, using one of the people trying to right the cart as a step, landing atop the cart. From this vantage, she catches sight of the assassin trying to push through the crowd, and looks for a quick way down.
Emerging from the pile of crates, Milo finds himself in front of an overflowing, reeking sewer. He inhales deeply, then holds his breath, then hops carefully to a partially submerged cobble. From theren he leaps to a pile of trash and then onto a lump of some unknown smelly substance, and finally to the opposite bank. Looking up, his eyes watering from the stench, Milo notices that he is now ahead of the assassin, with Idris just behind her.
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Thick smoke from the rooftop chimneys blocked Seraphina's view so that she could no longer see any sign of Idris or the assassin. Determined not to give up, she took a deep breath and then held it, plunging ahead. Finally she spotted a clearer way through and took advantage of it.
Somehow she had managed to come down off the roofs right behind the assassin and in front of Idris.
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"Move, you thrice-damned poltroons!" yells the assassin, rebuffed by the wall of bystanders. The crowd continues to stand around, unconvinced of the urgency of moving aside. Snarling, the assassin shoots a hand to her belt - and comes up with a gleaming knife, saw-toothed serrations darkened by a black smear. She raises it to strike a flashily dressed man standing in front of her.
The fleeing assassin makes yet another bad decision in her target selection. As her hand starts to descend, the man shoots his arm forward, pivoting swiftly on a planted lead foot to avoid the blow, and grabs her by the wrist. Before the assassin's mind catches up to events, the man twists her wrist backwards, pulls her off-balance, and sends her sprawling to the cobbles with a leg sweep. The dagger skitters out of reach.
"Pretty mouthy for a Swordpact! Would that your hands worked as fast as your mouth!"
The crowd reacts appreciatively to the takedown and taunt, hearty laughs and whistles ringing out around the downed assassin.
Five Seraphinas stalked toward where the assassin had been knocked to the street. "Make way! The city guard draws nigh and that woman will face charges for what she has done! Make way!"
Idris jumps down from the cart, but lands roughly, and takes a few seconds to catch her breath. As she does so, she notices a gap in the crowd open up, and she hurries to pass through it, even as she breathes heavily.
Drawing her sword, Idris approaches the assassin. "She's no Swordpact! She's an imposter, an assassin, and she's mine!"
Pretty tries again, but again inefficiently. She makes a mental note to go through the roof next time...
Milo attempts to charge through the crowd to head off the assassin before she escapes, but the gawkers have stopped to watch the altercation between her and the other man. Milo grumbles under his breath as the crowd moves directly into his path, but is relived to see that they are making way for Idris and Seraphina to pass through.
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Face flushed red with humiliation, the assassin scrambles to her feet and draws her rapier, brandishing it at the crowd. The sea of bystanders still feels disinclined to move, relishing the show. Many of the crowd are armed, and at each turn the assassin is met by impassable obstacles. Her plight worsens as the party arrives and presses through the crowd.
The flashy man who stopped the assassin has a good chuckle at the situation. "Captured by the Free City! Not everyone is so fortunate as to meet their demise in an ironic manner, lass, you should be thankful! It would be advised, dear, to take a knee lest all five of that fiery lady give you rough council!"
The man extends his right hand. A ring on his index finger glows brightly, and a ethereal blade of flame grows swiftly into being. He holds this ghostly blade at the ready.
The man is instantly recognizable by his weapon. He is Aegoth Caerscion, duelist from the Fireblade Academy who took the moniker a little more literally than anybody else. He is barely passable as a swordsman, but excelled at the unarmed forms taught at your unconventional school and possesses minor magical talent. He was several years ahead of you at the Academy and thus did not socialize much with you during your stay there.
"You'll never take me alive," hisses the assassin. "If you bastards spill my blood today, Daggermark will have its revenge upon you all! Each night you will lie awake and trembling, listening for footsteps on the threshold! Each morsel of food will sour in your mouth, for any bite could carry the poison which ends your life! Do not trifle with the City of Knives!"
"Taking you alive isn't my plan. You and me, b&#%*. We're settling this now."
"What's the matter, assassin? Bitten off more than you can chew? You attacked us with no sanctioned writ, of that I feel sure. And with poisoned blades, no less! Idris, take care." She dropped her voice low, speaking Draconic, "When eyes are upon you, your actions must be above reproach."
Still, she moved to support Idris' attack, hemming the assassin in. Not wanting to reveal her claws in front of the crowd, she drew her seldom drawn dagger.
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The assassin snarls and goes for her blade. Idris closes in, scoring a cut across the woman's arm. The assassin spins to the side to get away from the flank set up by Seraphina, faking a low stab to the leg in an attempt to get past Idris' guard. Idris isn't having any of that and easily sees through the ruse. She parries the blow and delivers a solid punch en passant.
The crowd roars its approval at the spectacle. A street urchin grabs ahold of Seraphina's sleeve and tugs, trying to keep you out of the fight.
"Oi miss, lett'm fight! We 'aven't 'ad a show the likes o' this fer weeks!"
The urchin's sentiment proves popular, as the crowd shifts to encircle Idris and the assassin. Bystanders push and shove to get a good view of the affair, and several loud wagers ring out as sporting members of the crowd stake money on the fight's outcome. The gamblers seem evenly split on their predicted outcomes.
Meanwhile, back in the alley, Kivan's field experiments confirm several things which his newly-acquired medical textbook explain. It's probably a good thing everybody else ran off.
Idris laughs joyfully as the battle is joined, and presses her attack against her foe.
Milo doesn't recognize the man with the flaming sword, but he is relieved to see that the assassin is cornered for the moment. He does not push his way forward to see the duel but instead watches the crowd closely for any signs of the assassin's assistants or other attempts at foul play.
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There doesn't seem to be any foul play occurring. If there's anywhere in the world where two duelists can be assured of a match without interference, it's the home grounds of the Aldori Swordlords.
The assassin stumbles from Idris' counterpunch, not quite getting her feet under her in time for the next pass of blades. She is therefore unable to react in time when Idris goes in for the kill.
Idris' blow beats aside the assassin's rapier and sinks deeply into her chest, sprouting out the back of the stolen Swordpact Society tabard like a foul tree of steel and blood. Idris continues pushing until her hilt meets solid flesh and the two women are standing face to face. The assassin's eyes are wide, and the light from them fades fast as her lifeblood gushes over Idris' hand.
"th-th-they w-w-will f-f-f-ind..." she forces out with failing lungs before going limp, a trickle of blood running out of the corner of her mouth. When Idris pulls back her sword the assassin crumples to the street like a puppet with its strings cut.
The crowd roars its delight at the masterful blow. Exuberant bet winners crow as they collect their winnings, sword-bearers discuss the mechanics of the short fight, and less-sophisticated bystanders simply jeer, clap, and holler.
Through all the din and commotion a small group of people beats a path through the crowd. Shoving his way through the press, a broad-shouldered man flanked by two equally-statured companions does what the assassin could not and makes a hole in the wall of people. The man has an eyepatch over his left eye and wears the embroidered uniform and tasseled epaulets of a captain of the Restov Guard. The crowd quiets as authority arrives.
"Make way! Make way, damn your ears, make way! You there - lower your weapon and step away from the fallen! This gods-damned better well not be what it looks like, swordling. You know the rule about public dueling!"
Panting and sweaty with exertion, Idris obeys the command, lowering her blood-covered weapon and stepping back from the corpse.
"She and accomplices attacked us, wearing a stolen uniform of the swordpact. She nearly killed my friend, threatened my... another friend of ours who isn't here, and used poisoned blades on us like cowards. What's more, she claimed to be from Daggermark, a city of assassins in the River Kingdoms. This wasn't a duel. I was just disposing of trash for you, captain."
Idris tries a winning smile...
...the effect of which is rather spoiled by the splatters of the woman's blood across her face.
Still wounded, weakened and panting with the exertion of the chase, Seraphina patted the child's shoulder gently to release her sleeve and with a flourish of her hands, she ended her mirror image spell and stepped out to address the guards.
"Idris speaks the truth. I am Seraphina of House Medvyed, and I attest that as we traveled from the Lord Mayor's Palace to our lodgings, this woman ambushed us with several men and attacked us with poison blades. I still bear the wound from one here," She raised her sleeve, showing the wound as she winced with pain. "We were forced to defend ourselves, and when the tide of the battle turned they all scattered like frightened rabbits, this one threatening that we would see her again. The others seemed little more than lackeys, so we chased the leader and cornered her here. She would not submit, even when surrounded by all these people. Idris did what she had to to, Captain."
She turned to the crowd, hoping for support and felt dizzy from the bump on her head. She put out an arm to steady herself, smiling gratefully to anyone who takes her arm to aid her. "My apologies, I am unwell."
Idris flicks her sword, sending the blood running down the blade and off into the gutter, and then wipes it clean with a rag. She calmly sheathes it, and stands in an alert, but peaceful pose.
Limping towards the guards, Milo indicates his leg, still bleeding from the slash of a sword. "Sir, one of this woman's companions attacked me as well. "
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The guard captain strides forward, making no move to the sword at his side. He crouches to examine the evidence, checking the dead assassin for documents, jewelry, and identifying marks. Finding a total lack of identification, he grunts and picks up the fallen rapier. The captain flips it over and examines the pommel.
"Maker's mark, Hephestine Blades of Fortwick Street. Newly bought or seldom used, no wear or damage."
Laying the blade down, the captain moves to the fallen dagger and gingerly toes it, eying the tarry black substance smeared across the cutting edge with misgiving.
"Secure this, carefully," he orders his men, one of whom steps forward and picks up the dagger with a burlap cloth.
The guard officer straightens and takes in the onlookers. He points to a slender man wearing a brooch with the Swordpact Society's insignia upon it and questions him. "Taelern, have you seen this woman at studies within the Society's halls?"
"No, sir, I have not. She invoked the name of Daggermark, and I believe her to be an assassin. She'd have put up more of a fight if she was one of us! B#~*& cost me a pretty copper!"
"It is as the accused says," interjects the flaming sword-wielding dandy who blocked the assassin's escape, the blade retracting into a dazzling ring on his hand as he speaks. "She is a student of the Fireblades, though I recall not her name. The deceased did not fight with Aldori style, and threatened all with skulduggery and poison."
The captain looks around again. "Does any blade here dispute the account given to me?" Silence answers his question, and he nods curtly. "Very well. I see no need to pursue the matter further. You are free to go, swordling." With that, the captain rounds up his men and returns to his patrol through a hole that opens in the disintegrating crowd.
The dandy duelist moves to Seraphina's side and takes her arm. "M'lady, are you sore hurt? Shall I summon a chirurgeon?"