The Martyr

Marketplace

This open air marketplace is a veritable paradise for shoppers. Sights, sounds and smells assault the senses as soon as one sets foot in the Marketplace.

Unlike the rest of Umbar, this vast acreage set aside for merchants and commerce boasts two streets running parallel from North to South, both of them three times the width of a normal road that winds through Umbar. Another equally wide street running East to West bisects the two roads, creating a grid.

Flanking the roads and neatly lined are two story buildings, with shops on the ground level and living quarters on the upper level. Merchants from generations past have kept the tradition going, and here, people will find master craftsman and women hard at work, whether it be in jewelry making, bread baking, leatherworking or rugweaving.

In the center of the wide roads that criss cross the Marketplace are the small individual stands, tightly crammed together. Merchants who sell their goods in these stands tend to cater to the every day shoppers by selling fresh fruits, vegetables, breads, cheeses and meats, along with baubles, household goods, tools and cheap, ready-made clothes. Each stand is shaded with its own canopy, and often decorated with colorful and enticing banners and signs.

At the bottom of the social order of merchants are the peddlers who hawk their goods on carts, weaving through the throngs of shoppers, offering the best deal in the Marketplace.

In the center of the grid is a stage where slaves are auctioned. When the stage is not being used to sell slaves, local artists perform for the enjoyment of the shoppers.

The sky is clear and the sunlight shines brightly. The afternoon spring air is hot and dry around you.

***

The spring sun glares down upon the Market of Umbar, baking merchant and customer alike. On this day of the week, the market is at its busiest - the wide square is a riot of colors and scents and sounds: Multi-hued fabrics compete with wholesome produce and aromatic spices services, both innocent and infamous are for sale here as is human life. But the auction stage is silent today - the misery of human enslavement is confined to pens.

Into the square marches a contingent of soldiers, all bearing the purple and black raven of Farside Tower. In their midst strides a tall woman. Her skin is tanned a golden brown her black hair long and braided with gold fillets interwoven. Her arms are bare and adorned each with a golden band. She wears red-dyed leather armor and a long silken skirt of golden-yellow. At her hip hangs a curved blade in an ornate sheathe.

She climbs to the stage with her head held proudly - her manner typical of those belonging to the Noble Corsair Houses.

Following close behind the woman is a young man, clad also in leather but stained black, who too wears his sword at his hip. Yildirim eyes the crowd suspiciously, his face betrays little of his thoughts save for tension, his jaw tight, his brow furrowed. He climbs the stairs of the stage and takes a position off to the side of the stage, resting his hands on the pommel of his sheathed blade.

There is no hip large enough for the blade strapped on the back of the assassin. The Gondorian Great Sword, taken in the recent skirmishes with the Rangers of Ithlien. There is naught that hides the assassin today, with his trade mark cloak falling off his shoulders. He waits, and watches, as it seems, he is not alone.

Already in place, sitting upon the trestle table surface of a salted fish seller. Though the merchant seems less then pleased to have Jugartha\'s rump occupying shelf space, some arrangement apparently has been made as he merely cries out to potential customers from the portion of his stall not occupied by the lanky desert man. A few fish organs slowly decompose at his feet as he picks at his teeth with a fish bone, a slight patina of oil on his lips giving evidence to his impromptu picnic. He still doesn\'t appear to be armed, and shows now badge of allegiance to any Lord, though he doesn\'t step forward to draw any undue attention. His head has been unbound and his hair has been fluffed out into a corona of shadows in the shadows.

A youth, scarce notable at all stands thither in between a man -- one of such awesome proportions that it is no small wonder that his fine coat, stretched thin over his gut, does not burst -- and a couple engaged in petty squabble over some matter or other. Though, he is alien to all three in simple garb where theirs is fine, and of face unlike to them in color and health where his is thin and theirs plump and well stuffed. Yussef, \'tis.

\"Look there, boy!\" The rowdy fat man says, nudging the youth barely half his size and less in the side with an elbow, pointing with his free hand. \"Noble Farside Folk. Pah!\"

And the youth but blushes in response, wording no reply, but his wide-eyed glance follows the procession closely all the same.

Su\'ad also stands in the crowd, all eyes it seems. She stands where she can see other \"players\" on the stage, as it were. Yussef gets a glance, and Azradi is watched to some extent, and Slik\'koo as well. But she\'s not here to watch those, no. She wears unassuming Corsair garb, very like when she first arrived in Umbar, showing no affiliation. And she stares about the crowd, without trying to appear as if she stares about the crowd.

The arrival of the Farsiders has caught many an eye. Most appear simply curious many look on the contingent with approval many others offer the group looks that range from suspicion to outright hatred.

The woman moves in the middle of the stage - standing close the edge. With hard gray eyes she stares into the crowd, slowly scanning the entire market boldly catching the eye of random men and women. Slowly she spreads out her arms to either side, holds her head up higher and calls out in a clear voice: \"PEOPLE OF UMBAR, HEED ME!\"

Her voice carries over the heads of those nearest it enters the bright canopies of the individual stalls and wafts through the open doors of the brick shops. \"I am Azradi anAzulada, sister to the Lord of Farside, Alphros!\"

\"Many are the rumors that fly about the city on swift wings. I come to speak the truth.\"

And there is a hushed silence then, at first heads turn here and there to look on the proclamations of the lady of Farside.

And then the low murmur of many voices akin to the sounds of waves from a calm sea upon the shore.

\"What truth is that!\" The fat man by Yussef\'s side shouts over the marketplace his voice carrying loud and clear.

Mulling around, Slik\'koo moves to the side of Azradi and makes sure his own guards are in position. A few affirming nods and Slik\'koo seems content with the situation at hand....for now.

Yildirim\'s hand slips to the handle of his blade, while the other rests easily on the pommel, knuckles soon turning white as Azradi begins her address. Perspiration begins to bead on his brow as his eyes dart between the many denizens of the square. But he manages to retain the visage of the watchful guard, rather than one of a boy with worry or fear etched into his face.

Jugartha extends his tongue, and slowly lets it lick at his lips, the salty oil garnering his attention until suddenly words are shouted to cut through the general background din of the marketplace. Idly scratching at his cheek, he leans up against the rickety pole that holds up the flap of tent fabric that provides some protection to the produce from the brutal sun overhead. A sly grin on his features as he draws up one foot, the heel planted on the edge of the counter and his knee providing a convenient chin rest as the other leg dangles free, drawing off-circles in the dirt at his feet.

Wandering through the edges of the market square is an unspectacular young Corsair girl, wearing plain clothing dyed in earthen colors. She wears no jewelry, nor anything that might make her stand out from the bustling crowd. Her black hair has been brushed back into a loose ponytail tied by a brown piece of cloth. She strolls by a stall selling various food spices, its shopkeeper peering over the side to keep a close watch on her, lest she steal any of his wares. At the loud proclamation by the woman standing upon the stage, Qutn\'s eyes dart towards the lady\'s direction, listening intently to the speech she is about to make.

\"My brother, Lord Alphros, and his loyal men and women come to set you free from the unnatural tyranny of the Emperor!\" Azradi cries in answer, her eyes seeking the questioner in the crowd.

\"We do not seek to set him in his place,\" she denies, \"Nay! Believe not the rumors that claim it is so. Perhaps you have heard the strange tale that Lord Alphros claims the throne of Gondor? It is true, for our family descends from Tarannon Falastur and the Queen he took from this land, Beruthiel - a Queen he cruelly cast off, not knowing she was heavy with his only child and son!\"

\"But he seeks not to be King of Umbar, or Emperor,\" the Corsair lady assures, turning to those on her right, \"Nay! He is the Lord of Farside, and he heralds the return of the Tower Council! For thus has Umbar been ruled for millennia in unity and balance and so it must be reinstated before the city can be governed in freedom.\"

Su\'ad looks about the crowd, listening to the Corsair Captain speak, then craning her neck to see who answers. Then she elbows the stranger next to her, and gestures at the stage. \"What madness is this, then?\" she asks with a slightly disguised voice. \"An Umbarean lord King of Tarktown? Who could imagine such a thing? Who would /want/ it?\" She smiles and ribs her hapless neighbor once more, then cranes her neck once more to peer over and around the heads of others.

\"The Emperor has brought nothing but chaos and unrest to Umbar,\" Azradi asserts with a hard edge to her voice, \"indeed to all of Harad. He has forsaken the war with Gondor to fill his own coffers and increase his own power. He has abandoned the tribes that keep the Northerners from invading our lands - forsaken the ancient alliances between that brave folk and Umbar.\"

\"Alphros has corrected that error.\" Those closest to the stage might see the gleam in her eyes as her passion mounts, \"It was he alone who united the tribes and with his own soldiers and the Corsairs of Umbar repelled the Northerners from our lands! And now it is time for him to restore the rightful rule of this ancient city! To bring her to her former power and might once more!\"

The solitary man watching the show from the verge of the fishmarket scoffs at the words, glancing back over his shoulder he mutters softly to the storekeeper and then laughs aloud at the mans uncomfortable grunt of response. \"Probably right, but who is to tell her?\" returning to give his full attention back to the stage.

\"Alphros is the error!\" comes a shout from the crowd, \"I make a good coin without the need for more nobility like yourself picking another tax from my pocket!\"

\"Aye!\" The enormous man, undeniably visible to any who should seek to eye his form, bellows in turn. \"I too! The Lord of Farside needs not fund the war to bring his coveted kingdom to heel with florins of mine!\"

As for Yussef, his eye is turned to Slik\'koo, a hand slipping underneath his cloak to grasp at something at his side almost surreptitiously so much so that the movement is quite obvious.

A brick goes flying through the air.

Su\'ad turns her head to see where the shouts come from, looking toward the back of the crowd. She notes Jugartha sitting in the stall, but her eyes pass on soon enough. Then she jerks her head at the second sound, her hand resting on the scabbard of her sword, reassuringly perhaps.

\"As if the Emperor does not take more than his fair share?!\" comes a shout near the first, \"You may make a good coin, but I and my friends made better when he did not set the tax by a whim he had in the morning! Don\'t be blind. One man to rule this city? Madness!\"

\"People of Umbar!,\" Azradi calls out once more, \"Topple this false lord who has defied the ancient laws of our glorious city! People of Desert, Flame and Seaward - choose from among yourselves a worthy and strong lord to rule you! One who will honor and abide by the Old Ways!\"

\"People of Black!\" the anAzulada entreats, \"We are not whole without you! Remove your weak lord and replace him with another. Let Tower Black join the Council with dignity, pride and honor. No recriminations should be leveled against any in this city who wish to see restoration.\"

\"You will only pay one tax as you do now,\" Alphros\' sister counters, \"to your rightful lord.\"

\"Stewards, cast off your allegiances to the Emperor and prove your worth to rule as true lords - if you cannot, step out of the way. Let the strong and worthy among the Towers rise to make their claims! But be warned! None can sit upon the Tower thrones without the will of its folk!\"

\"We will be free!\' she cries. She lifts both arms to the sky and tilts her head back, chanting out, \"Umbar! Umbar! Umbar!\"

And other voices in the crowd chant with her, the scoffers not withstanding.

His demeanor fatigued and nearly lazy in appearance, Jugartha extends one hand, fist raised, punching the unobtrusive cloth \"All hail Lord Alphros. Saviour of Umbar.\" he mutters as if speaking the words will somehow make him believe them. Flipping another small coin over his shoulder and grabbing another salted fish, he bites the head off, and sucking air in sharply to suck out the eyes, the brains, those small pockets of meat in and around the head and collar. \"Down with the Monarchy, ye can\'t trust a bloody king. Down with Alphros!\"

The bland young girl standing by the spices stand crosses her arms and shifts weight over to one foot as watches from afar. She inhales a large breath of air, almost as if in a gasp, as the edge of her eye catches the movement of an object flying through the air. Her mouth forming into an \'o\' shape, she simply watches it, but makes no attempt to warn anyone of it. Her eyes search through the crowd, trying to spot the whereabouts of the person who threw the brick.

The glowering eyes of the assassin watch the swooning member of Alphros\' family with interest. Held at bay by a mere gaze of the Farside Assassin.

The chant continues with some, \"Umbar! Umbar! Umbar!\"

Others raise up their own call.

\"And if Black does not come to the table, purge it from the city! Take back what is ours! Freedom or Death! Freedom or Death!\"

\"A council of Lords is only a council of bureaucracy! No Lords! Only our Emperor!\"

\"Go home, little girl! Bring your brother from hiding and let the Heir of Gondor speak to us!\"

\"There\'s too many.\" Su\'ad mutters to herself, turning in a circle now trying to keep track of who is chanting in support, and who is shouting in anger. She raises her hand to smooth her hair, her face twisted in anxiety.

Suddenly she is jostled from the side, as a fight between two men breaks out right next to her. She jumps back and watches warily, unwilling as yet to try to participate.

And then suddenly, Azradi stops chanting. She lowers her arms and those closest to her can see perspiration beading on her brow. Her eyes go unfocused and she slowly crumples to the stage - while tensions mount around her and angry words fly.

A silent signal is given and from the crowd, amongst the chants of \'Umbar\' comes a new more threatening word. \"Dagger!\" The men call, from unseen places before Slik\'koo rushes the stage. The folds of his cloak envelope Azradi\'s breast for a moment before the Master Assassin moves the cloth. \"Healer! We need to get her to a healer!\" Slik\'koo calls concernedly as he looks around almost stricken with panic.

From the chest of Azradi, a long throwing dagger rests straight up.

Spitting out the fish head and then pushing himself up off the counter, one booted food grinding it into the ground, making a red and green smear as he stalks away from the relative comfort of the smelly market stall. Jugartha places the fish into his mouth, and then gripping the tail pulls it from his mouth, using his teeth to scrape away the meat from the spine as he wanders vaguely towards the near riot that ensues. \"So the emperor is bad because he would be a king, but Alphros is good, because he wants to be a king. Just not here, eh?\" he asks a stranger, but moves on without waiting for a response as he carefully picks the carcass clean until only the last dregs of nearly translucent bone remains. \"But why now, here?\" he asks another but again simply seeming to stir up a conversation but not waiting for a response as he moves on.

Yildirim, so focused on the crowd, does not see Azradi\'s fall nor notice her until the assassin\'s makes his call. Eyes wide, he draws his blade, shouting to Slik\'koo, \"Can she be moved? Let us take her now!\"

Dagger. The shouted word causes Su\'ad to tear her eyes away from the little brawl next to her. Once again her eyes dart from place to place, and she catches movement from the stage as Azradi\'s special guard interposes between Su\'ad\'s view and the form of Azradi. She gasps, and when Slik\'koo calls out for help, she cries out in dismay. \"Azradi!\"

All at once the crowd, already charged, seems to go into motion. Some surging forward, some trying to flee, neighbor attacking neighbor.

Su\'ad pulls her sword from its scabbard, and tries to wade forward. \"Yussef!\"

Azradi\'s eyes fall upon Slik\'koo for several heartbeats and then slowly close - her countenance curiously lacking in expression. Her lips part slightly and a soft sigh escapes. Then her chest rises and falls no more.

\"No! We can\'t move her! Healer!\" Slik\'koo roars as the crowd flees, and turns making it difficult for those to come forward. Looking down at Azradi, as her chest seems to slow, he leans down and says something into her ear before screaming again for help.

Jugartha laughs aloud as he stops by the crowded well and pulls himself up a bucket of the water after waiting his turn, still absently speaking, though not to anyone in particular, rather to the merchants who in the face of murder and assassination will not stop the efforts of turning a profit. \"How convenient, no dagger thrown, and the only one who saw the blade was the one closest to the woman. Makes you wonder eh. I wonder who he is. Trustworthy I expect, he looks like a good and gentle man.\" winking as he spills the water across his face, gulping down a great quantity as the rest spills across his features to moisten the robes across his chest.

As beckoned, the youth comes elbowing the man in front as he goes.

\"Watch yourself, fat man!\"

\"You watch yourself, lapdog!\" Fists take wing in Yussef\'s wake as he sidesteps, and darts this way and that to make his way through the crowds, on a path to intercept Su\'ad\'s. \"Cap\'n!\" He cries, \"Cap\'n!\"

Yildirim turns his focus on the crowd, scanning for those who stand and watch, or for those fighting their way to the crowd. He catches sight of Jugartha, drinking lazily, frowns and continues to search for any healer working their way towards the stage.

\"\'e\'s a high ranking member of the Farside Tower Sir, Slik\'koo he is.\" The merchant mumbles and quickly rushes from the scene with one more departing sentence. \"I saw lots of stuff thrown, too, could be one of them that did it.\" The tweedy merchant yeeps before rushing away and closing his stall.

Su\'ad hears Yussef\'s voice, and hurries to intercept him. She places both hands on his shoulders to square him to face her, and speaks intensely. \"I can\'t go to her. I\'ve got to do what I\'m here to do. But you go, and you help her.\" Then she pulls him close, whispering in his ear.

Su\'ad +whispers to Yussef, \"... ... ... ... ... the ... Council.\"

Then Su\'ad releases Yussef, and turns to face the other direction, looking for those who would take opportunity of the chaos.

An eyebrow arches at the words, and calling after the retreating merchant, Jugartha scoffs, not moving closer or making any attempt to get involved in events he has no conception of. \"Well if you want to kill someone, you hire someone who can get close. Friends make the best killers.\" laughing aloud and tossing the bucket back down the well and stepping aside to let the next person draw water as needed, turning his head he wanders to the very edge of the crowd, able to overlook the churning masses of humanity to try and get a glimpse of the action, humor still at the forefront as he surveys the chaos.

The lad\'s gaze turns narrow in that brief exchange. His answer is soundless a word or two drowned in the noise of the mass of men and women of Umbar all around, and a nod. Turned like so, Yussef\'s strides lead, albeit in a path that is not quite straight, to the podium where the Farside folk gather about the fallen woman.

He arrives presently pushing himself in next to Yildirim.

\"They murdered her!\" cries out a woman in anguish, \"She spoke the truth and the Emperor murdered her!\"

Jugartha snaps his fingers at that comment and laughs aloud again and shakes his head \"Almost brilliant.\" he mutters and steps to one side, out of the way of those hurrying in and out of the chaos surrounding Azradi and into the modicum of shade cast by a nearby building.

Offering a hand to help Yussef onto the stage, Yildirim casts a glance back to Azradi, \"We must take her to a healer! There is none here and surely she will die if we don\'t take her now!\"

A woman pushes her way to the front. \"I am a healer!\" she announces and climbs up on the stage. Quickly coming to the side of the fallen corsair, she edges the others away. The kneeling beside Azradi the healer touches her inner wrist. Several moments pass and she frowns, then shifts her hand to touch the side of the woman\'s neck. The frown deepens. She leans forward and lightly places her ear on the woman\'s chest, avoiding the dagger. Again, long moments pass until she rises. With sorrow in her eyes, she shakes her head at the gathered men of Farside. \"I am sorry, she is gone.\"

She places her hand on the dagger and pulls it forth...

The helping hand is awarded a brief glance, but it is taken none the less, hoisting himself up on the stage with Yildirim\'s aid.

And there is something... amiss with Yussef\'s eyes, then, barely recognizable such as it is, cold and hard -- bent on Slik\'koo\'s back. He steps closer one hand swinging freely at his side as he does so, the other hid \'neath the folds of his well-worn cloak.

He pauses, his attention shifted to the healer with a level stare.

\"I\'ll go fetch the Lord Steward!\" Slik\'koo cries out as Azradi is pronounced dead on the stage. He growls and looks around to the scrambling crowd. There are many familiar heads however those of the Slik\'koo\'s Assassin\'s bob towards the front stage.

A tear slips from Yildirim\'s eye as he turns to Slik\'koo as the healer makes her pronouncement, his sword held towards the assassin, \"You will pick her up now,\" he orders, his voice grim, \"And we will rush to the tower to find a proper healer. We will delay no longer in this,\" he says, the healer seemingly ignored, \"If you will not, then step aside. Yussef will take her and I will guide him.\"

\"Stand aside woman,\" he says to the healer.

\"Then you best have Yussef carry her, for I have news for the leader of Farside.\" Slik\'koo growls and looks over his shoulder, noticing the cold steel of Yildirim\'s sword, and the Assassin lifts his hand to the large shaft of his Greatsword. \"I assure you, you will not win if you want to fight me.\"

Ignoring the assassin\'s answer, he steps past Azradi\'s body, towards the stairs, \"Yussef, take her. And follow me. Quickly.\" The tip of his scimitar held before him, he begins to slip down the stairs.

When the healer withdraws the blade, a goodly amount of blood wells up from the wound and joins that which has already stained the front of Azradi\'s armor. But once spilled, there is no more to come. She rises from her place beside the fallen woman wordlessly, and backs away. The looks she offers Yildirim is full of sorrow and sympathy. She offers the bloody dagger to the nearest man, Yussef.

Dead.

Color drains from Yussef\'s face his glance downcast to unmoving Azradi -- and fleeting quickly back to Slik\'koo.

His face is flushed red suddenly his hidden hand is revealed -- empty?! -- as it grasps the throwing dagger by the hilts and he springs forward, heedless of Yildirim\'s commands, plunging the knife at the Master Assassin\'s belly with a cry:

\"IT WAS YOU!\"

Jugartha smiles as others seem to have thought as he did. Rolling his shoulders and carefully pulling the desert hood up and over his afro and cinching it tight as he carefully affixes a black veil over his face, leaving his features in darkness with only the slight outline of his protruding nose giving away any aspect to his features as he turns on his heel and starts to slowly wander away from the crowds, back towards the rest of the city where people aren\'t getting stabbed with throwing daggers, or where people attack big sword wielding types with the same dagger.

Su\'ad\'s eyes follow the movements of Slik\'koo\'s men, then he notes his attempt to exit the stage. She moves laterally through the crowd, on a roundabout interception course for Slik\'koo\'s path. But as Slik\'koo pauses after all, she pauses, unsure what to do. Then she is suddenly distracted by a crazed man, wielding his own dagger and stabbing at anything that gets close enough. She ducks and sidesteps, and kicks him back into the crowd. But during the distraction, she misses some of what happens on stage. When she can see again, it is to see Yussef lunge at the Tower Lieutenant. She sucks in her breath, and feels both pride and fear. \"By all the Heroes and the beasts of the sea!\" she swears, and now runs full tilt toward the stage.

Turning about, Slik\'koo pulls forth his Greatsword, only to be stabbed in the belly. \"Hmm, you have no proof that it was me. I stood beside her, and called for a healer. I tried to save her!\" Slik\'koo growls as the stage is filled with the bodies of seven cloaked characters. In their hands, combo of swords and daggers. \"Valtor, Mestraw take her body to Farside, see if the healer can help her, and bring Taymullah out and see if he might be able to help her.\"

Eyes moving towards Yildirim, he smiles wide. \"I have underlings for laborious tasks. However if you think to attack me, remember that it\'s six on one, and the odds are against you.\"

Alphros\' squire glances back as he nears the bottom of the stairs. His eyes widen in horror at the new scene on the stage. He curses loudly and climbs back up the stairs, sheathing his scimitar, \"Fools! Fools and damned Fools!\"

He kicks towards Yussef, to push him out of the way even as Slik\'koo bears down on him and his men take to the stage, \"Move damn you, move!\" he growls to one and all between clenched teeth.

\"Look! That boy is mad! Mad I tell you!\" Utters a baffled onlooker.

The greatsword brought to bear seems to give Yussef some pause he stumbles backward, unknowingly thus evading Yildirim\'s boot-heel -- his footing slips, and he falls backwards, the knife falls from his grasp, clattering to the deck not unlike himself, and the landing knocks the wind out of him.

He but stares up at the men who gather \'round with wide eyes, gasping for breath.

Now Su\'ad is at the stage at last, and climbs up onto it. Sword still drawn, she holds it down at her side by her leg. \"If you do not mind, /Lieutenant/, your men will stand down, and these lads will remove the Lady back to Farside.\" she says with a voice shaking with...emotion perhaps?

Tilting his head back and laughing aloud, Jugartha saunters out towards the punishment square, reaching out with one hand and snaking a lemon from the pile, watching the vendor to see if he spotted the theft. Frowning as the sharp eyed merchant wasn\'t so distracted by the blood sports to miss it, and flipping over a small brass coin and taking three more lemons to stuff into his pockets, so they bulge with citrus as his teeth dig into the sour fruit to suck the juice, cleaning his mouth from fermented fish. \"Oh come on, you picked the bloody fight, fight!\" he growls but doesn\'t turn back to lend a hand despite his own suspicions.

\"My men will stand down once Yildirim leaves I refuse to command them to stand down, only to be attacked again.\" Slik\'koo growls at Su\'ad. He watches every movement on the stage, his bright eyes scanning the stage.

Su\'ad seems satisfied with this reply, and glances to Yildirim. \"Both of you carry her to Farside, Squire.\" She glances also to Yussef, more than a little concerned about his condition. \"You\'ll have a Corsair escort. Get her and go...\" But Su\'ad just stands there, waiting for it to be accomplished.

The words fall on at least one pair of deaf ears as Yildirim steps past the fallen Yussef, and continues towards the fallen Princess of Gondor. He walks through the assassins, easing his way through the small sea of killers then kneels, taking up Azradi\'s body briskly in his arms. He stands with a grunt, straining with the weight, and begins to march back towards the stairs.

An inhale through the nose. \'Tis no sniffle. Just that, a breath.

Surely.

Yussef scrambles to his feet. \"I believe that knife is yours,\" He says quietly, though in truth it is more akin to a growl than words, his youthful tone edged with a now cold wrath -- though who indeed would fear such a thing, after this display? -- as he looks to Slik\'koo.

He turns away without another word from dagger, assassin and all, lending Yildirim what aid he can.

\"Stand down,\" Slik\'koo calls as Yildirim departs. Moving towards the other end of the stage, he picks up the dagger. Turning on his heel, he departs from the market square.

Su\'ad takes a step forward, holding out her hand. \"I\'ll have that, thank you!\" she speaks forcefully.

Su\'ad swears under her breath as the assassin departs quickly. After a moment, she runs after him, tailing him wherever he might go.

Fini