Fangs on the Plains

Malcolm looked overhead, waiting for a bank of clouds to obscure the moon before jumping forward, digging his heels into the side of the slope and skating down towards the lower line of trees. He didn't bother waiting to see if his protege was following, sure she could handle herself. He broke into a sprint when he reached the bottom, dashing forwards to take cover in a line of trees and bushes.

She followed along effortlessly, her stealth far from outmatched as she moved. Every step was silent, every movement muffled to obscurity. Her senses remained alert at all times, eyes focused on the world around her, touch borderline ignored while she kept her ears largely keyed to her mentor. Hiding was effortless, keeping her white robes shrouded beneath a deep cloak to lessen the beautiful, almost ethereal display.

Malcolm held up a hand, signalling her to stop behind her, and then gesturing to the squad of Eunoian scouts some ways away from where they were hiding. They had crossed the border, undoubtedly an act of subterfuge. Malcolm wrapped a hand around the hilt of his sword, silently pulling it from its sheath.

She nodded, reaching back behind her to pull her daggers from where they were crossed at the small of her back, drawing them out and readjusting her footing, sneaking and ready. Not a word escaped her; she knew her orders and she knew their task. Speech was unnecessary.

Malcolm effortless scaled a nearby tree, nearly silent in his actions. He ran across a branch over the clearing, immediately jumping down into the center of their camp, drawing his sword mid jump and slashing it downwards to firmly end one of the soldier's lives. Following that, he turned to the next, lunging forward and impaling her.

She took the ground approach, leaping and covering a patrolling guard's mouth with her hand while she plunged her knife into his throat. Leaving him there, she darted back into the brush, sneaking behind a second and slicing his neck cleanly and evenly. This action didn't go nearly as undetected, and another stood from his perch nearby.

Malcolm pulled a trio of unlit torches from his belt, lighting each in the camps fire before throwing them towards the tents, setting each alight. He turned to the few remaining scouts, grasping his sword with both hands and preparing to engage. One of the soldier charged foolishly, and he effortlessly ducked out of the way, hamstringing the young soldier and then stabbing him from behind.

She ducked away as the soldier came passed, a girl not much older than herself. With a sort of cold shadow in her eyes, she leapt onto the scout's back, locking her legs around her and gripping her head. With some effort and low doses of spell usage, she finally snapped her neck and left her on the ground. In a partial crouch, she approached the main campsite to join Malcolm, watching and waiting for trouble.

The second and third soldiers approached him more cautiously, shields at the ready. One male and one female, both looked about the same age. Malcolm stood slowly, his red-clad arm made more apparent by the flames spreading around them. He could see the recognition and associated fear in their eyes, and he dropped himself low, quickly pushing off his back foot. He rammed his left arm into the first soldiers shield and quickly nodded to Lia, ready for her to make her move.

She took off at a unusually fast pace, darting forward and slicing the back of the second soldier's knees. As she fell, Lia slid behind her, leaning back and holding her against her, dagger to her throat as she stared down with cold, unforgiving eyes into those of her frightened prisoner.

While the first soldier grew distracted from Lia's advance, Malcolm quickly brandished his sword and decapitated him. He turned the the final soldier, spinning his sword once before sliding it into his sheath. He knelt down in front of their prisoner, looking up at her while disarming her, pulling a pair of knives from her boots. "You're in Kiran territory. In a perfect world, that's an act of war. Hence why they sent us." The soldier bit her bottom lip, though her eyes were defiant. Malcolm sighed, looking up to Lia. "White, please do us all a favor. Slip your knife under the left arm, cut up, sever the tendons."

She nodded instantly, using her other hand to comply. The action was all but effortless to her, though she cringed as she did so, feeling the injury herself as she caused it.

The soldier cried out, and her blood stained the ground, though in small drips and not gushes. Malcolm started arbitrarily flipping one of the soldier's knives in his free hand, watching her. "This is what I can only assume is a fully authorized excursion into our territory. Now, we're going to be nice. We're going to let you go. And you're going to scurry back to your king and your general, and you're going to tell them that the next time we find soldiers in our lands, the Fangs will venture forth, and we will not stop until you've collapsed from the inside out." That said, he slid one of her knives back into the boot on the uninjured side, patted her on the shoulder, and nodded to Lia.

The young woman pulled her knife away from the soldier's throat, lifting her to her feet by her uninjured arm before directing her back towards her own kingdom and nudging her forward. Face shrouded in a hood, only the glint of her eyes were visibly, but the harshness evidenced in fighting lingered there. She made no further move until the soldier was out of sight. Almost immediately, she turned to her mentor, sliding the hood down to reveal her almost doll-like face. "I am going to check to see if any of them had notes on them, or anything of value to Kira." With that, she approached the nearest corpse, checking through his pockets.

Malcolm shook his head, going over to the corpse. "I'll handle that. Use your magic to make sure the fires don't spread." He moved to the next body, pulling out a few sheets that contained their orders but nothing else.

"Yes, sir." The words came out as two perfectly formed syllables, her voice possessing all of the poise and training of the greatest of politicians. Her cloak dropped to the ground with a complete disregard for the apparel, letting it fall into a heap amidst the dirt and filth of the outdoor world. She held her hands out before her as though to warm them with the flames, though such was quite the opposite. With crystalline eyes closed, she began to mutter under her breath, her skin taking on the hypothermic hue of death as cracks formed along her porcelain skin. Flurries burst from the shattered skin of her palms, ensnaring the blaze in submissive containment. Frost seemed to creep along her frozen flesh, clinging to her hair and making it seem like the weather was far more confused. Above her, the moon's glaze faded behind the traveling clouds, eclipsing them in the clearing, leaving nothing to light their world but the fire and its treacherous, impossible dancing in the distorted reflection of the ice.

Malcolm returned to the edge of the camp, searching the bodies of the sentries before moving to lean against a tree, waiting for Lia to fully finish. He looked through some of the notes, finding them all to be variations on the same orders. Apparently, they hadn't gotten too far before the Fangs had found them.

Before long, she snuffed the flames away, pulling her crystalline creations back into her palms. It took a while, but all traces of the ice were removed, her body taking even longer to reform into proper flesh, Behind closed-shell lids, a blue, hazed light could be seen, dwindling into diminishment until she finally gasped out, inhaling and exhaling suddenly as she fell to one knee, holding her raven hair back with one hand while the other pressed against her chest, aimed over her heart and lungs as she fought to regulate the trio.

Malcolm was quickly by her side, pressing a glowing green hand to the back of her chest, hoping to relieve the pain. "Are you alright, White?"

"Fine," she spoke, her voice hoarse as she eased herself to standing. "Out of training, it would seem." She looked towards him, the coldness of her eyes bearing resentment as they met his own, though she would never have admitted to such things. "Do you think these are the last? We were quiet enough that any others nearby might not have heard." Wobbling just slightly, she reached back behind her to check her sheathed blades, looking at them with pained disgust before wiping them off with a dark cloth at her belt.

Malcolm rested his hand on her back for a moment longer before withdrawing it, going for his belt once more. He pulled out two sets of what looked like sunglasses, offering her a pair. "Latest out of R&D. Strong as the standard issue night vision goggles, just compact. If there're any others in the area, these'll help us find them."

She glanced at the devices, nodding and taking a pair from his hands. Donning them, she blinked a few times, allowing her eyes to adjust to the change in appearances. Her eyes drifted to him, making out the familiar silhouette and details of his form, silently awaiting orders. Lingering just a moment, she darted her eyes about, taking in the scenery with a single dagger held in her hand, the other sheathed.

Malcolm put his own pair on, only taking a moment to adjust before darting forward into the forests. He stopped after only a few moments, scaling a tree to get a better vantage point. Ahead, some thirty meters ahead, there were lights. Malcolm waved her up. hoping for her to scale the same tree.

Her eyes caught sight of him easily, and she quickly sheathed the other blade. Taking a running start, only barely making a sound amongst the fallen leaves, she leapt up against the tree, scaling it after a few moments, seeming to almost float, though her elegance was not quite as apparent as usual. When their eyes met, she merely requested, silently, her orders, ready to repeat the process they'd just followed.

He pointed towards the light, then jumped towards the next tree, using them as a bridge to reach the edge. Some meters away from the next camp, he stopped, scanning the ground. His eyes narrowed when he caught sight of a large man in Royal Guard armor, berating one of his troops and threateningly waving a keyblade at the other soldier.