The last of the sun's rays disappeared from view, thrusting the hills in the surrounding area into a quickly-approaching darkness. The fires from the camp glowed like beacons amidst the blue-purple of the starless night. Soldiers could be seen finishing camp build-up, taking food from the camp cooks, herding the citizens of Stovisholm into makeshift cages, and speaking amongst each other.

Jeshin raised her hand slightly, then signaled ~forward~ to the group. They wore wrappings on their armor and light colored clothing to blend into the surrounding night better, sticking to the grass next to the road. Joshua, Kor'lo and another archer stayed on the hill, preparing long-range support if needed. Joshua had put together a special metal bow made of pulleys and fittings, running flat metallic bands into a massively oversized bow that reached his neck when stood on the ground.

He screwed a metal base into the dirt of the hill, placed the contraption into the base and fit the string through the pulleys, then wound it, pulling the string taught. Jeshin had never asked where he had gotten the monstrous thing, but she suspected he got it from from an Industrualis in the Iluvin Desert. They were known for their insane devices made of cogs, wheels and metal.

The group fanned out through the tall grass, making their way to the camp in a staggered formation, moving with the breeze swaying the surrounding plains. Jeshin could see Cossack just ahead of her, his staff held parallel to the ground, and she could hear the heavy steps of Norvor behind her. Vara was on her way to circle toward the northern section of the camp, while the other six crept closer to the guards on duty.

Jeshin hissed low, stopping the group as they came across two guards patrolling the sea of grass. The grass reached up past their waists, and they were marching, slowly and disciplined, around the camp perimeter, each keeping an eye on the other. One of them passed near to Jeshin, and signaled to Cossack.

The two of them moved, quickly, and sprung on the two guards, pulling them down into the grass with them. The two silenced their captives, Cossack by slowly building pressure on the guard's neck, twisting, until his neck made a sickly pop, while Jeshin clamped one hand down on her captive's mouth and ripped his throat out with the other. He made a gurgle as blood pooled quickly under him, his eyes glazing over.

A different hiss this time and the group was moving again toward the camp perimeter. They piled among the various tents, taking down loners as they came across them, slitting open tent sides to stab the occupants within. They moved quickly, leaving no soldier alive. Jeshin darted quickly past tents toward the brook and large tent she had seen before, searching for the guard that had manhandled his charge. She sniffed the air quickly, then began to run full speed, jumping over campfires and meandering soldiers.

The alarm was sounded as she and the rest of the group were found murdering the soldier's companions. The camp sprang alive, and Jeshin ran past soldiers, slamming into one that made him fly backward and fall hard on his back. One of them stepped in front of her with his sword drawn and swinging down, but she stepped backward, snapped her wrist forward and broke the man's neck with hardly a pause.

She could hear combat in full swing now from where she had been, the shouts of the Voiceless Ring mixing with the screams of dying soldiers and orders of the officers. She could see many of the soldiers fly backward into tents, supplies and campfires, large iron arrows buried halfway through their chests. Joshua had joined the fray, she surmised. Many of the people of Stovisholm were running away from the fighting, while others were wrestling with their captors. She flitted past it all, knowing Ranel had done as she had commanded, freeing the prisoners. She broke out from the main sections of the tents into a wide area set in front of the large tent she had seen before.

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The guard she had seen earlier was in front of the tent, his sword drawn. However, instead of looking toward the tents she had come from, he seemed to be turning toward the inside of the central tent, confusion and alarm mixed on his face. She stepped forward quickly, making the soldier swing his sword behind him in alarm at her footfalls. She dodged backward, stepped forward and grabbed his sword arm at the elbow, his surprise palpable as he looked up at her. Her rage from before came surging back up to her face as she lifted the soldier up by his arm until his feet were off the ground.

He swung his fist at her with his free hand, but she caught his wrist mid-swing. She twisted his sword arm and broke it like dry, rotted twigs. He screamed as she gripped his throat, then tore out his other arm, throwing it far behind her. She heard a man's pained shout from inside the tent while the soldier continued to scream. She then threw the man into the tent, his body flying through the tent flaps.

She stepped through the portal of the tent, her face and arms covered in the guard's blood, her neck a mass of rage veins. In the center of the tent was the girl crawling away from a massive fur rug she lay on, her hair free and loose, night shift torn to pieces. The man she had seen earlier in the day had only his breeches on and his forehead to the ground, puking on the rug and holding his genitals. He fell onto his side, away from the crawling, bleeding guard, then grasped for a short sword near a large bedframe in the corner of the tent. He got up to his feet shakily, hunched over but keeping the blade between him and Jeshin, mouth and chest covered in his bile.

She stepped forward slowly without taking her eyes off the man, put her foot on the guard's neck and pressed down hard. The guard lay still but twitching, his blood soaking into the rug and tent floor. Her eyes flit to the girl, who hid as much of her exposed skin as she could, the look in her eyes one of both fear and intense defiance. She was shaking heavily, but wound as if ready to bolt or fight.

Jeshin's eyes quickly landed back on the man as he swung his sword at her. She dodged, waiting for an opening. Even though he was off-balance, his sword work was refined and tight. His form and physique suggested he was well trained in combat, his demeanor that of one of petulant nobility. She backed away to a table near the entrance of the tent, dodging his sword, then grabbed an elegant chair.

She parried the man's sword again and again, then caught his sword in the chair legs. She twisted the sword, pushed the chair into him, then quickly raised the chair, disarming him and throwing him off further balance. His face was a mixture of rage and surprise as she grasped the weapon and swung it down. He backed away, his arm raised to protect himself, as she sliced through his forearm, cutting it off just before the elbow.

He screamed as his stump bled heavily, but held onto his elbow and backed away to the far side of the tent, toward the bed. He grasped what looked like a statue of a satyr coupling with a nymph and threw it at her. She blocked the object with the guard of the short sword, allowing it to drop to her side before witnessing him cutting a slit in the tent with a small knife. She stepped up to the opening as the man ran into the deep night toward the east, trailing blood behind him.

Jeshin watched him run through the waist-high grass, uttering a 'hmph'. She slowly turned to look at the girl at the other end of the tent, covering herself with a found sheet, her expression unchanged from the fear and defiance. Jeshin stepped toward her, her form towering over the shivering girl. She stopped at her feet, crouched and looked into her face. She studied the girl's face and eyes without expression, before breaking into a wolfish, toothy grin.

'Hello, Alexandra. I see you've had a busy couple of days. My name is Jeshin. I lead a mercenary group. I knew your father, long ago. As he took charge of me in my childhood, I'll see to taking charge of you in turn. Welcome to the Voiceless Ring.'