Never leave the path..., ...the big bad wolf is always waiting

[Katherine Anne Ashby]

The docks were a veritable pot of scum and lowlifes but that didn't stop Lady Katherine Anne Ashby from prowling through dark streets in search of something precious. It had been nearly five hours since she'd begun her journey and in that time she'd found not a single lead to assist her. Not that she'd been looking terribly hard. Her quest was a false one, an excuse, something she'd used to convince herself she was doing the right thing in leaving the comforting safety of her home in Athera, a small but prosperous city in northern Valhaven.

Her grandfather was going to have a fit when he heard the news. Though she had left in secret during her usual ride on the countryside, it would not be long before the household staff at Harbrooke Manor realized their mistress was not returning.

Of course her only real regret was that she'd been forced to take her leave in the dead of winter a fortnight before all her favorite winter festivities were to commence. There was also the fact that it was cold enough to keep even the most nefarious of thieves indoors, or, so she made the mistake of assuming.

The scuffle of something against damp cobblestones almost went unnoticed in the young woman's hurry to get from point a to point b before it got any darker outside. She disregarded it with nary a thought, assuming it to be an animal digging through the trash that lay in a dirty, crumpled, smelly layer on the ground. It was in turn covered by a melting blanket of ice and slush from the previous evenings storms. It was neither cat nor dog for both animals were smart enough to find shelter in such abominable weather. Not Kat, no, she had a mission to accomplish, a point to prove.

So to say that the sudden appearance of a slightly hunched figure sidling out from a cross street to bar her path was expected would have been a fallacy of the most grievous nature. She had to stop so quickly to keep from running into the stranger that she nearly lost her balance and fell on top of him instead. In actuality she managed to rock her weight backwards and instead hit the grungy wall of a building to her left, using her hand to steady herself as she turned wide, confused and mildly annoyed eyes on the huddled mass. It wasn't much bigger than she was though it was broad enough to nearly fill the narrow path she'd been following making it impossible for her to duck around it.

"Was that entirely necessary?" she snapped, the fingers of her free hand already seeking out the weapon that hung heavy against her hip. It was neither sword nor dagger but something in between and just as deadly if wield properly. Kat was quite apt in the maneuvering of the blade now held securely in her hand, the hilt and pommel fitting snug against her palm. She remained in the slightly leaned position against the wall only because it offered both a little leverage if she needed it and gave the impression that she was both weak and frightened -- neither of which were presently the case.

The hunched mass grunted slightly and shuffled a bit closer. Kat frowned, fingers tightening on the hilt of her blade.

"I've got very little of value my friend," she admonished with a scowl. "I assure you, however, that I am quite capable and ready to defend the little I do have so I suggest you maintain your distance."

As though it had been waiting for just that moment the figure shifted, straightening to full height and shedding the tattered cloak it'd been using to mask its true size. A man stood before her now over six foot and still broad enough in the shoulder to allow him a comfortable lean against the wall and still take up enough room to keep her from advancing beyond him.

In what little moonlight was able to penetrate the maze of back streets she made out the gleam of teeth as the man grinned at her. Though she couldn't see well enough to take good stock of his eyes, she was certain that the express on his lips did not reach them.

Though she was now less confident than she had been just a heartbeat ago she did not let it show as she raised the blade into view. "I repeat again, sirrah, I am quite capable of keeping what's mine."

"We shall see," he replied, his voice smooth as velvet. "We shall see." Without warning he had moved and Kat found herself pinned against the alley wall by sheer body weight alone. She felt the fingers of one hand curl around her throat, firm but gentle. Another set of fingers wound around the wrist of the hand gripping the blade though they lacked the tenderness of the ones about her neck. They began to squeeze and she had to bite back a disgruntled cry as fragile bones compressed under the pressure.

"Though I'll hate to do so and the value shall go down," he whispered, his mouth so close to her ear she could feel each warm breath as it rolled passed his lips. "I will break it."

When the pain became too much for her to bear and she was certain he'd done exactly as he'd threatened, she released the weapon and with a heavy heart listened as it clattered against the litter strewn street.

"That's better," her attacker whispered, his fingers caressing the hollow of her throat. "I've been watching you, ever since you arrived. I wasn't sure at first if you were entirely alone but finding you here, now, confirms it. Don't you know it's dangerous for pretty little girls to wander off by themselves?"

Feeling anger override fear, Kat grit her teeth and brought her free swinging upward. She caught the side of the man's face with her fingernails, five sharp talons digging into the flesh of his cheek. He let out a yowl of pain and outrage and Kat felt herself being lifted and slammed back against the wall. It was done with enough force to cause her head to bounce painfully against the stone and sparks to dance before her eyes. Blackness clawed at the edges of her vision but despite the pain she managed to keep a solid grip on awareness.

The grip on her throat had tightened now and the man was still cursing, saying things that Kat had never heard before. Seconds later his face was pressed close to her own again and he was close enough that she knew for certain the smile on his face did not reach the cold blaze of his eyes. "You've got spirit, bitch,"he growled and she could see the lines of blood on his cheek were she had broken the skin. "Elric will have fun breaking you."

She grimaced when she felt his tongue slide across her cheek. "I love the taste of fear." She was afraid now though she still managed to keep it bottled up inside of her. "Time to go."

Like a trigger, his words prompted action. Go? Go where? No! "No!" she screamed in outrage, her leg rising as her knee aimed for something soft and vital to bury itself in. "No!" She might as well have been trying to break down a wall for all the affect it had on him. His hand tightened more and the flow of air to her lungs was abruptly ceased.

"Shhh, don't worry, I'm not going to kill you," he whispered, reading the obvious fear in her eyes as she struggled for air to fill her screaming lungs. "You're worth so much more alive. I can't very well carry you around kicking and screaming, can I? That would attract unwanted attention... shhh, no need for tears."

Though she hated herself for them, she couldn't stop them from spilling over her eyelids and down along the curve of her cheek.

"Sweet dreams," he whispered as he leaned in close again. "I'll see you when you wake up."

Kat couldn't fight it, the darkness came fast and subdued her quickly.

[Iskender Leon Kudret]

The grimy docks were the perfect place for Iskender to blend in. No one here looked twice at the man buried in the heavy, cloak with a collar lined in thick, gray and black fur. No, such a thing was a commodity here in... wherever the hell he was. He was rather certain he had started in the south of Numor and had been headed a steady northwest since then. So maybe... Valhaven? Or he may have veered into Lochmare or Denic. It was hard to be sure without a map.

Iskender yearned to throw back his stifling hood. The thick suede interior was wonderful insulation for the weather worn leather exterior, but he wasn't feeling overly thankful for that right now. It was cold enough, sure, he thought as he made his way down the alley to his left, aiming himself toward the bar on the corner--bars were always treasure troves of information, but despite all this, Iskender was hot. Toasting. Possibly it was because he hadn't had reprieve from the damn cloak for the entirety of his journey. All of it was a moot point, he knew, because the cloak offered so many more rewards than it did grievances.

The most obvious and vital point was that it masked his identity, an identity that was now becoming more than common among the people of Trymere thanks to one Alexander Von Drake. It boiled his blood that his name fell from peoples' lips in the same sentence with the word 'murderer.' And to think that the people of Trymere were ignorant enough to believe the ramblings of a foolish and greedy man such as Von Drake! It was astonishing. It made Iskender feel a stronger sense of pride for his people of Casia. They were not so weak-willed and minded.

Which was the reason he was here. Searching out a princess who was missing. And was the reason why he was carrying the long, deadly weapon belted to his side. This, of course, was the other reason for the cloak. One tended to draw suspicion when carting around a hand-and-a-half longsword. Especially if that person was him.

Iskender was drawn from his own quiet brooding when he heard the unmistakable sounds of a scuffle going on near the mouth of the alley, near the pub. He listened intently as he came to a stop, his chocolate eyes narrowing to identify the figures ahead of him.

"No! No!"

Those two words were decisive enough for him. Iskender waited a moment, quickly planning out his approach.

He crept forward stealthily, careful to make nary a whisper of sound. When he had reached the cornerstone for the pub, he hunched his back, his eyes honing in on the larger figure as he hefted the woman over his shoulder. Damn, he hadn't gotten there soon enough to save her from injury, but hopefully he could save her from a worse fate.

"Heya thurr!" Iskender slurred his speech dramatically, lurching away from the dim glow of the tavern on what appeared to be unsteady feet. "Whatchu' got?" He staggered forward a few more steps as the larger man swirled around. "Enuff' ta' share?" He gave a drunken giggle, as though he had thought of the finest joke.

The large man made a noise that could only be described as a snarl as he assessed the sloshed bum before him. "No." He snapped out the word, layering on all the menace one man could muster--and it was a lot--before he turned his back on Iskender to continue on his way.

"Now, now, goo' sir. Tha' wuzzint' so nice, wus' it?" Iskender pointed a limp finger his way, setting the most drunkenly stern look upon his face as he took a few more sloppy steps forward. "Didden' yer' mother teach you any manners?" He only grinned when the man turned back his way. "O' mebbe' you 'ad to knock 'er out 'cuss you can't get luck no 'udder way? Huh? Tha' it you big bastard?"

The man whirled back toward Iskender, a ferocity painted all over his face. He set the woman down none-too-gently to the cobblestones and headed toward Iskender, cracking his knuckles. "That's it, you little fucker. I'm going to kill you. Just for sport." He charged at Iskender.

"Is that so?" Iskender laughed out the words, clear as a bell, as he slid his longsword smoothly from its sheath, the metal whispering against the case as it pulled free.

Astonishment shone in the large man's eyes, but he had too much forward momentum going now to stop his progress. Iskender raised his sword high, the metal gleaming in the soft night air, and brought it swooping toward his assailant, twisting the weapon at the last second to smack him full upside the head with the broadside of the blade. It had all the force of a regular stroke and had the big man stagger off to Iskender's left. He turned at the ready to face him, gripping the hilt of his sword firmly in his palm.

"Much more difficult, isn't it, to attack someone who is prepared?" Iskender rotated his wrist in a practiced circle, swirling his blade through the air. He saw the man's quick calculations going on, his eyes scanning the area for a weapon, only no realizing the distance he had put between himself and his bounty: the woman. "You shall not have her." Iskender's voice was cold and hard. He didn't even spare a glance the woman's way, his eyes were focused on the man before him.

"Who the hell are you to decide?" He was raging. The depth of his anger was tinging his vision with red. No one said no to him and no one kept him from having what he wanted. He wished he had grabbed that bitch's sword when she'd dropped it. Going for surprise, he charge Iskender again, howling when the sword sliced across the skin of his forearm, leaving a smear of blood in its wake. Retreating, he backed his way toward the pub with Iskender hot on his heels, they had managed to trade positions during their short scuffle so that now Iskender was standing between him and the bitch. Reaching behind him, he broke one of the rungs of the porch from the railing with sheer force, fueled by his outrage.

Well, things just got more interesting, Iskender mused, as the man came at him, brandishing the splintered wood like a sharpened club. They spared and dueled for only a matter of minutes. Iskender took a fierce blow to the chest. He was almost certain he broke a rib. But the match was decidedly over when Iskender knocked the man to the ground, the blade of his longsword slashing across the man's face, marking him from above his eye to the bottom of the opposite cheek. "Now your ugliness is worn on the outside as well." Iskender's voice was still calm. Then he proceeded to bring down the hilt of his sword, smashing the pommel into his assailant's head, rendering him unconscious.

Sliding his blade back into its sheath, Iskender brushed off his cloak and hands and turned to head back toward the woman. It was time to see how she was doing.

[Katherine Anne Ashby]

Like breaking the surface of a lake, Katherine returned to awareness gasping for breath. Every bit of her ached. Whether that was due to oxygen deprivation or the fact that she'd been recently dropped onto the ground like a sack of potatoes was up for debate.

She lay there for several long heartbeats as her mind tried to piece together what had happened. She'd gotten a little lost, though truth be told since she had no destination was it truly possible to become lost in the first place? Then she'd gotten assaulted, failed in her attempts to defend herself and wound up being choked into unconsciousness. She was still disoriented. She could hear voices but the words were muffled. Feet scuffled every now and then across the ground but she couldn't judge their distance.

How long had she been out? Where was she? The ground was cold and wet beneath her. Was she still outside? In a dungeon of some sort? What sort of fate was she to face? A shudder rippled through her and she forced herself to open her eyes. She was surrounded by blackness and for a moment she wondered if she had gone blind. It took her a second to realize that her cloak hood had fallen over her face and thus blocked her vision entirely. As she turned her head she noted something hot and sticky. Blood? Had she cut her head?

Kat took a deep breath and tested movement. Her fingers flexed, hands, arms, toes, feet, legs, all seemed in working, twitchable order and nothing seemed to be hindered by any sort of bindings ropes or otherwise. Forcing another deep breath in and out of her lungs she was about to attempt to sit up when she heard approaching footsteps.

Her captor?

Every aching muscle in her body went tense. She had to do something. She wasn't going to go down with out a fight. She shifted slightly, drawing her arms beneath her in order to gain some leverage and when the source of the foot falls drew close enough she leaped upward and threw herself on him only to promptly keel over and throw up as a jarring pain spiked through her skull. Both winded and nauseous she decided to remain as she was until otherwise prompted to move again. She could be such an idiot at times.

[Iskender Leon Kudret]

It seemed that she was moving around, Iskender noted as he approached, which was always a good sign. He wasn't exactly sure what he would have done if she were still unconscious. Carried her? Where? At least that part of the dilemma was solved for now. Who knew how long a battered woman could hold consciousness?

Iskender had parted his lips to greet her, inquire as to how she felt, but before he could get the sound to make it past his lips the woman had pounced like an animal and leapt upon him. He caught her awkwardly, taking a steadying step backward to keep them from both toppling over into a heap.

When she proceeded to slump over, Iskender's brows furrowed with concern. A concern that was greatly levied when she turned her head and emptied the contents of her stomach onto his shirt, splattering only the smallest drops of vomit onto his cloak. "Lovely." He grimaced.

Shifting, Iskender held the woman out at arms' length. "Thank you for that. Really." He carried her toward the man who was still laying prone in the street, sprawled out, clearly defeated. Lowering her feet to the ground, he demanded, "Stand." As though he could get her to do just that with the sheer vehemence of his voice. Well, at least he was going to try.

Angling away from her, Iskender quickly scanned the streets and storefronts. Seeing no one, he quickly flipped back his hood and stripped off his cloak. It was such a relief to feel the cool night air on his skin. Too bad it had to be under such... messy circumstances.

Still keeping his back facing the woman, he carefully peeled off his soiled shirt, making sure that no part of the vomit made contact with his body. Flipping the shirt inside itself, Iskender flung it toward the tavern's porch. He was sure they'd seen their fair share of soiled clothing by now and would know just what to do with it.

He made quick work of stripping the unconscious man's shirt from him. The only strain came from having to maneuver the man's dead weight. Iskender pulled the shirt over his head. It was a tad too big for him. The dark material hung from his frame, the man had been a bit stockier than he.

"What the hell were you doing out here by yourself this late?" Iskender tossed over his shoulder accusingly, trying to be careful to keep the light from hitting his face as he stooped down to collect his cloak. He pulled the thick material back over his shoulders, cinching it quickly at the throat. As much as he was hating the damn thing right now, Iskender was glad to don the make-shift disguise once again.

He didn't turn toward the woman to get her response until he hidden his face in the shadows of his hood once again. His eyes studied her face, deciding definitively that he did not know her. It was more than likely that she knew him. Who didn't?

His face was everywhere. As was his name.

[Katherine Anne Ashby]

Vomiting on her unknown rescuer had not been her intent but she wasn't able to help herself. She'd risen so quickly and without regard for her head injury that the entire world had gone topsy-turvy causing her stomach to lurch violently and well, the result was evident.

If it hadn't been so much effort to remain standing, the moment Iskender released her she would have made a run for it. Katherine had little knowledge of what had happened after she'd lost consciousness and in her mind this man was as much an enemy as the one that lay in an haphazard heap on the ground.

All she could do was watch as the man in question stripped the shirt off the man on the ground and then shed his own clothing in order to replace the shirt she had soiled. As each second slipped by her mind began to clear though there was no denying the stabbing throb emanating from the side of her skull where her head had come up close and personal with the ground.

"What the hell were you doing out here by yourself this late?"

Both the question itself and the harshness of the tone caught her completely off guard. Who did this man think he was to question her? To speak to her as if she had committed some grave crime in her actions. She felt a ripple of anger wash off her and grit her teeth. The only thing thought that convinced her to hold her tongue was the simple fact that he'd saved her from whatever ill fate had been in her future. At least, that was how it appeared. There was no telling what her 'savior's' true intentions were.

She was about to speak when he turned to face her and for a moment she forgot what she was going to say. Kat tried to make out some distinguish feature in the darkness but even with the light of the moon it was near impossible to determine if she knew the fellow or not. She doubted it but there was something about the general facial structure that seemed ... familiar.

"I got lost," she said at last, a defiant edge to her voice to show that his opinion of her actions didn't matter in the least. He did not know all the facts, was unaware of her intentions and motivations, so who was he to judge her choices?

[Iskender Leon Kudret]

It was an effort for Iskender not to recoil from the woman when she hesitated after staring into his face. He chided himself, knowing full well it was virtually impossible for her to make out his features with his head buried so deep within the folds of his hood. However, he still breathed a sigh of relief when she spoke.

"I got lost."

There was a challenge in the woman's voice that Iskender appreciated. Despite this, he could not help but think that without his intervention this woman would not be standing as freely as she was just now. After a moment's deliberation, Iskender decided it best to keep that obvious tidbit of information to himself for the time being.

"Lost is it?" He nodded his concealed head. "Where are you headed? Perhaps I can point you in the right direction?" Iskender rose his voice no more than absolutely necessary, stepping away from the prone man at his feet.

He had struck out so far this evening on his quest to gather information and while he highly doubted this woman had anything pertinent to his cause, it never hurt to poke around a little bit. His wild goose chase had led him to Valhaven and so far it was seeming just that: a wild goose chase. And he needed to find the damn disappearing princess. Yesterday.

It was difficult to thoroughly maintain and run one's people and land when you were the most wanted man in all of Trymere. He had had to leave things in the questionably capable hands of his staff in order to hunt down princess Isabelle. His search was proving fruitless and with the way things were going this woman, who had already vomited on him, would prove to be just as unhelpful as everyone else.

[Katherine Anne Ashby]

During that moment of silence during which he pondered over what she'd said to him, Kat couldn't help but fear that perhaps he did not believe her. When he finally did speak she felt a rush of both relief and annoyance wash over her.

"Lost is it? Where are you headed? Perhaps I can point you in the right direction?"

His helpfulness to Katherine seemed merely a ploy to ascertain just what she was doing out so late. She fought a scowl and bit the inside of her cheek to keep from speaking out of turn. She tried to muster up an appreciative smile but couldn't be too certain how well she managed. "Your kindness knows no bounds but I assure you I am capable to finding my way from here," she motioned in the direction of the pub where he'd tossed the soiled shirt.

With that having been said she back tracked a few steps before reaching down to pick up something off the ground. The short sword she'd dropped in her early attempts at defending herself. A rush of heat flushed her cheeks as she thought about how easily her attacker had managed to over power her. She had to be more aware, on her toes, in the future.

Slipping the weapon back into its hiding place she hesitated before picking a direction and walking as though she knew exactly where she was going.