II - Sigh of Smoke

Chapter 34 - Blessed

-Atlanta-

"Shit!" She cursed into the air, grabbing Menaleen firmly by the arm and throwing her behind them. Her cold eyes darted into the darkness, to the source of the voice where a burly man stepped out of the shadows, a curved blade glinting in the scowl of the moon as he unsheathed it from his back. Riddled in scars, and with beady eyes that dragged themselves over them, he frowned at her directly. 

"You're not from here, are you?"

As he said that, more figures appeared behind him. It was as if they had interrupted on some gathering made up of Zarkarians that looked like they had just returned from a fierce, drawn-out battle. The small crowd peered at them, curiousity turning to suspicion.

Then the man—most likely the leader of the pack—pointed his sword at Atlanta and her companions as if pinpointing his focus. She kept silent as she stepped backwards, gesturing for Lucan and the others to not yet touch their weapons.

"Two pale ones, and two that look like ours. Well, only a little bit on that one," he sniffed, cocking his chin at Lucan. Then he looked over his shoulder at his people, then back to the frozen group of four that stood out in the open before him. As things clicked in his head, he grinned. "We have here our Dragon Blessed, do we not?"

A thin woman slithered out from behind him, piercings in her nose and lips. Her grin was as menacing as her wild blue hair and the tattoo along her arm that looked like a vicious snake. "Aye, Tret. So we do."

Then the others unsheathed their weapons, a scatter of swords and daggers and one morningstar that they carried every hour of every day, Atlanta was sure. She remembered having done that before, as it was a Zarkarian habit. Not one person walked without a weapon at their side, unless their job required otherwise.

Once the air sung with the cry of unsheathed blades, Atlanta unsheathed her own sword, feeling her right hand empty and sweating. She cursed under her breath, regretting her decision not to double-wield, eyes darting among her opponents.

There were about seven of them. She could handle mayhaps three of them at once, considering the possibility they did not choose to go one on one. Lucan, by her own estimate, could handle perhaps three as well. At least, Dareon had to get one.

Thinking quickly, she tried to decide between immobilizing or striking to kill. Either way the kingdom would be alerted of the Dragon Blessed being inside the kingdom, and if not that, a group of people had gone about and killed seven Zarkarians in the night. It wasn't as if murder was uncommon, but this many deaths would cause an unsettlement if not an uproar. However, if they left them to live, word would go by faster.

The man in front of her seemed to hold some status. At his death, many would know for sure that it probably wasn't some random attack. Plus, he looked troublesomely capable, muscles seemingly like stone, and his blade something he carried like an extensiom of his own arm. The snake-like woman with the piercings had two curved daggers in her hands, and the way she stood made her look ready to pounce. Out of the seven, those two specifically seemed like the bigger threats.

Lucan unsheathed his sword at his side, and Dareon took out his dagger and handed it to a wide-eyed Menaleen, nodding to her reassuringly though he seemed to shake like a leaf.

Right. He had never encountered other Zarkarians of this level before.

Atlanta lowered her stance, turning side-face with her right hand pressed against her lower back. No apparent weaknesses in her opponents yet, but they had to have some at least. If not, there wouldn't be much hope for them getting through this. Of course, there were many escape routes, but they'd never outrun them if they were already outnumbered by them.