Nou Zi (Open)

Dribbles of water leaked from the corner shingles of a half-house stationed in the middle of New York. The streets were lined with people that ranged to diplomats, peasents, to that of a common man. Those weren't the only ones that were present however. A collection of British soldiers were gathered around a small square. In the center, was a elderly man with a noose tied around his aged neck. Accused of "foul play." That was what the man, Jonaton Hersh, preached from his spot on the stage, behind his podium. "Yes, foul play. Giving the information provided by the soldier he was quartering to the American scum." Jon strode the left. "Unforgivable." He said, a faint smile on his face. He motioned for a guard to come his side, ready for the area beneath the noosed man to open.

Something flew threw the air, cutting through the rope that connected the noose to the frame, and stuck to the wall behind it. It was a sword. Not those of the norm, but, curved, and with almost no hilt guard. A figure flew from a rooftop down to the platform, landing on a redcoat, killing him. He walked up to the guard by the convicted, and deleted his legs out from under him, and on his way down, nailed him in the back of the head with his knee, knocking him out. And before Jonaton could react to what happened, the hooded assailant ran up to grab his katana, which was stuck in the wall, and turned to Jonaton. "You." The figure grunted, his Roman accent strong in his voice. "You are Mr. Hersh, no?" Jon, terrified walked backwards, shaking violently. "Ye-es. What is it to you?" A smile grew across the shadowy figured face. "Hmmmm. No wander you're a dead man." As he finished his words, and swine his katana forward, decapitating Hersh. He bent down to face to face the dismembered head that sat on the platform. "By the way, My name is Ragio."

A short and relatively harmless trip to the city to check on her brother, that was all it was meant to be. So why did she take the detour to the main square? Torin softly cursed under her breath as the situation became as clear as the noose around the old man's throat. With self assured steps, she approached to get a closer look, to hear what was said. It was some argument of which she held no care for in truth. She was half native to the land and here the Europeans fought for who became the next ruler.

    Her thoughts were cut short however when a blade sliced clean through the hangman's noose and the prisoner dropped in relief. Someone favors the blue coats, she thought more to herself, eyes narrowing on the following scuffle. It seemed the hooded man in strange garb knew what he was doing even if his blade was unlike any she had worked with before. With her curiosity piqued Torin could only push closer through the crowd which had a mixed reaction. Some like her, pushed closer to see or hear more, drawn in by the sudden turn of events. Others recoiled in shock or horror, but what was to be expected by those of weak mind? She was easily able to shove people out of her path, years of working in a forge didn't go to waste in times such as then. Her left hand snaked behind her and grasped the edges of her hood only to pull it low over her face. She still had business in this city and to get caught or persecuted for what she was and her curiosity didn't bode well.

    A small scowl marred her features visible under the hood as she got close enough to hear the words being spoken. 'No wonder you're a dead man.' Had this been planned somehow? Now the stranger with strange weapons had her undivided attention. Two blades hung on her hips and a small buckler on her back, hanging from her small pauldron hidden by a worn traveling cloak. With this, she felt ready to take on everyone except the men with guns. Cheating, dishonorable way of combat. Matteo had been clear on his thoughts and those teachings transferred from master to pupil.

   Fortunately all of this happened in the span of the poor sap's head being severed with a stomach turning squish and thump as it landed and the murderer bent down to talk to the head of a man who could no longer hear him, let alone care. He said his name... Ragio. It was a name the woman would not be forgetting soon as most of the crowd flinched back while she stood stock still, not seeming to notice the British soldiers lining up and taking aim on the bent man. "Foolish. Don't stand there! Run!" She hissed out just loud enough for the man on the platform to hear before glancing behind her to the guards and deciding better of being brave with an excess of ten rifles pointed their way. Honestly? What kind of man stayed to gloat after a kill? Thee was really no time to think about it as she bolted to the nea rest point of safety, a busy side street full of commotion where she could drop her hood and blend, deception being one of her stronger traits.

"Well, It seems we don't see eye to eye, aye?"

Ragio chuckled at his little pun. He cocked his head to that of the British soldiers. It finally hit him that he was gonna get shot. It wouldn't be the first time. No time to think, their muskets fired away, and Ragio rolled out of the way, and popped back up to his ready stance in mere moments. The assassin strode his way over to the soldiers, who were now in a tizzy to reload their firearms and pump the Roman full of lead.

When he finally made it up to the gunmen, they were shaking in their boots, weapons trained on the hooded assailant. Ratio motioned towards the soldier to the far right, and as he squeezed the trigger, was moved by a fast paced hand, changing its aim towards the head of another soldier. With one down, three more left after him, downed by the strike of Ragio's katanas. The six that remained frantically drop their guns and trotted down the street.

"Well, well, I was right, no?" Ragio snickered, as he walked over to where the girl from behind hid.

Pausing at the sound of the strange accented voice, she glanced back in time to see him roll out of the way of poorly aimed musket fire. “Aw, hell…” she grumbled as she redirected herself into a darker corner of the area. Acting nonchalant was not really an option when a street was in open panic, lest you look out of place. Tossing down her hood, she opted instead to level a glare as frozen as the wastes of the ninth circle of Dante’s hell on the man’s turned back. All she could do was watch on as the bloodshed ensued in front of her, but just far enough their screams couldn’t chill her soul. It didn’t stop the shiver. Cold blooded killer… Not the kind of man you take home to meet your mother most certainly, and even less the kind of man you waited for… wait.. Wasn’t that what she was doing?

Rubbing her temple with a free hand to stave off a throbbing head, she turned to melt with the crowd. The only reason she’d really cared was two things. Her half brother was in the militia and the guy kinda saved a militiaman. Second, he had interesting weaponry. It was times like this very one she cursed her mind and it’s ability to bounce it’s focus away from what could have been life or death. Granted, she avoided being shot, but by a very narrow margin. Too narrow in her opinion and yet, there that voice was again. She hadn’t melted quite fast enough.

When she spoke, it held a bit of venom much like a deadly snake waiting to strike, though that wasn’t really her. She’d seen death before and the man who was now behind her was a bringer of it. She never turned to face him though as she walked, taking a purposeful stride, but nothing too brisk lest she look like she was frightened. And she wasn’t.. Never! Alright, maybe a bit but who could avoid the hairs raising on their neck when the voice of a killer was practically in your ear? “What you did was foolish. They could have shot you. How they didn’t is well beyond I as you stand out like a deer in an open field might.” She was a gruff woman, but her voice could have been pleasant if not for the terseness masking her fear which she would never admit. “I would ask a name but the less I know, I think, the better.” There was a pause as she shook her head, rembering the purpose for her aiding him to begin wih, possibly risking her neck. "Where'd you get the blade? It's not from here nor England." Her tone held curiosity, the lifeline she could throw him then.