"Friend, what was it about those ribbons?"
DHarem frowned as he remembered.
When had they seen it?

A man stepped up and tapped his shoulder. A swift armbar and he was immobilised. Cloaked, with the small red bow attached to the collar area.
Eleven thousand electrum he had offered. Refused. Get out.
Red bow attached to collar.
He opened his mouth and -

"The stranger who wanted to employ us to kill the councillors. The RRR," Bon said for him in a monotonous voice.

DHarem's moth wavered, "I think we have a more important task than buying a drink."

Walker watched the other men patiently, turning from Varis to DHarem as the former asked the latter about the red bows. His eyes flit over to Bon as the man explains the bows, then furrows his brow and turns towards Varis.

"Attempted to retain you to kill a councillor? That -was- a councillor they left with. And if there are Smythians involved with violent criminals attacking the Tithuanan government..." he trails off, resisting the urge to bolt out the door alone and get himself killed.

"What should we do? The councillor may already be dead, if your friends are right."

Walker waits tensely, watching Varis with a tight-lipped expression.

Varis' face drained of colour in seconds as he mentally cursed himself for his lack of perception, his lack of thought. He, like DHarem, stood still, but spoke quickly from a dry throat, realizing as Walker had the potentially suicidal likelihood of running out swords drawn.

It occured to him to do so anyway, to run out shouting and throw caution to the wind, but he wasn't going to risk the lives of his companions or the hospital in the process.

"Bon, please, go outside subtly and see if they're still moving and you can find them, come back as soon as you manage. Don't be noticed." Varis spoke, refusing with an iron will to let his raging inner thoughts seep into his voice and words, watching his companion leave through the door, striding thankfully quickly but not an obvious sprint. Thank the Lords for Bon.

"We shouldn't assume anything, and if we can find them I'll try to find out what's going on peacefully. If it goes badly then you, DHarem, alongside Bon can cause a distraction with any Magemead we have, though don't destroy any part of this city unless necessary. Thomas, rush in beside me if things turn ugly, but stay back otherwise. Walker..." Varis spoke at speed up to now, but stopped for a second to look into the face of the near-total stranger, "...I can only beg for your aid if it becomes necessary. You are under no obligation, but I'd like you to stand by Thomas under the same strategy. Between the five of us, this may be possible to pull off...if the Councillor is still alive."

Varis fought the urge to swallow in terror. The same thoughts flashed through his head as they did before when he was throwing his magic into the councillor's body to save him. He did not almost kill himself to let the councillor die by Varis' own incompetence. He did not almost kill himself to still have to tell An'Jantar that his colleague and friend was killed.

Lords, please have the councillor still be alive.

Moments later, Bon stuck his head back in the main doors, and gave a signal.

They all arrived before the Clinic, and could clearly see the six "nurses" prepare to take a right turn into a small alleyway. They stopped, though, for some unknown reason.
The more perceptive of the five heard the slight "shup" of a sword leaving a leather sheath, and saw one of the nurses get into a combat stance, threatening someone.

Bon was no longer beside them, however. He was the one being threatened.
"I don't think you want to try that, dear friends."

DHarem and Thomas glanced at Varis, ready for orders in the new situation.

Walker's facial expression barely changed, only a slight quirk to one eyebrow. "A life is in danger. There is no need to ask." He followed Varis out of the clinic, when Bon gave the signal, drawing forth both of his blades and hiding the long daggers and his hands in the folds of his cloak. He did not speak as he walked, and his footfalls made hardly a whisper. He halted as they came upon the assassins apparent, weapons hidden and ready, standing with an almost casual slouch to his posture...its casualness belied, to those who know of such things, by the way he was raised up on the balls of his feet.

(OOC: Leaving post as is, hanging at the back of the group as Varis instructed, unless someone does something rash)

-Varis had donned his armour by the time Bon returned.-

Present Time
Varis knew all he had to do was distract the 'nurses'. He needed to firstly give Bon time until they were in a better position to help him, Walker was already preparing to aid more effectively, and can easily be mistaken for a bystander considering he wasn't a known associate of Varis, besides a short conversation in the hospital. Better yet, DHarem was smart; he'd be preparing to avoid notice and maneuvre himself for the best effect while Varis spoke, or prepare one of those Magemead vials.

"Nurses! Would you be able to direct us to the Councillor for Knowledge? My companion and I have need of his services!" Varis called out respectfully, gesturing to Thomas and himself. Certainly their armour would make them stand out as mercenaries of some form, and limit too much attention from falling on Walker or DHarem. Varis' voice betrayed no hint of his bluff, though his use of An'Jantar's position was intentional as it was both largely true that Varis was looking for him, as well as interest in seeing how the Nurses would react to the mention of another councillor.

Varis intentionally kept any sign from his face that he'd recognized the threat the nurses were making, and their confrontation of Bon. Speaking was among his greatest of talents, as was his famous luck...but even so, what magic he had left, feeling rejuvinated by Walker's proximity, was bleeding into his words, subtly commanding attention on him and him alone, something any Bard will learn even without Magic.

Playing off of Varis's casual lead, Walker nonchalantly saunters along, slowly, stopping near the corner of the alley and looking up the street with an expression of interest. His hands still held his weapons in a reverse grip, pressed against his forearms, concealed inside his grey cloak.

When people train together a long time, they realise that they can communicate without speaking, with mere looks.
When people spend years training in combat and special operations, they realise that they can see through disguises and plans.

Unfortunately for some, Smythian Knights train together for a minimum of ten years.

Around the nurses stood the five heroes, all in various positions of combat readiness.
All six knights drew their weapons in one single movement, and pulled together instantly, before -

"Iu."

A voice on the roof to their right had spoken.
It was a cloaked figure, the same as before, wearing the red ribbon. The knights stood, readied.
"We meet again, mercenaries. You will find the councillor in his manor, I think. A friend of mine is planning on paying him a visit this week..."

As with most of his sect's enchantments, Sy'karios had done a terrible job with his Prison. Still, they were Ethronian mages all of whome went by the ancient adage:

"[I] Hurl enough mana at a problem and it will solve itself. [/I]"

Smiling to himself, Karrain twined the last strand of mana around the Shard, memories of his time before the Prison flooding back...
The fetes and balls at Prince Uxas' palace, the young king's laughter at his first child's smile. The flames as the Tithuanians and Depthians and invaded, the blue arcs of his Voidshield holding the buckling palace walls intact...his flight with the last surviving heir to the capital, pursued by Deckie assassins until the two stumbled wearily into that Smythian salt-merchants...Smythians.
Karrain frowned as he heard a faint echo...a voice imbued with magic.
"...councillor of knowledge."

Varis...An'Jantar...a lie.

"Curses!" Karrain leaps to his feet, channeling completed, gathering the ambient mana around him. The scarlet clinic was still a few streets away, however with enough resonant magic to level a city block, that distance didn't seem so far at all.

Varis' face betrayed no emotion, even as he mentally cursed himself. Now the Smythians have someone with them who knows the group and their intentions perfectly well...

And the Smythian's themselves...well... A diplomatic solution was looking impossible, and Bon may not have long left, threatened as he was. Varis prayed that DHarem - or Bon himself - was quick enough. Still, Varis had his magemead attached to his belt if he ever gets the chance to use it without harming any ally, though he didn't look forward to a duel with a Smythian.

He still just had to bide time.

"Another 'friend'? You cannot buy an entire rebellion, not in a city on this scale, how do you intend to make the allies you need?"

"Another 'friend'? You cannot buy an entire rebellion, not in a city on this scale, how do you intend to make the allies you need?"
The RRR cloaked figure replied with a chuckle, "You'd be surprised at my resources. I have managed to acquire the services of Barbant, you shall be intrigued to know."

DHarem growled, and Bon took a sharp intake of breath. Varis was similarly affected.
Barbant was the most expensive, and probably most successful, assassin ever to walk the face of Anchor. A rich man, he began to take on assassination missions, always "for fun", but nonetheless with a good financial advantage for himself. How a simple nobleman suddenly acquired the skills to become Barbant the Red Assassin is unknown.

"You know full well that I have the Electrum to afford him. It's sad how predictable you are, not even expecting an attack on An'Jantar... I wish you good luck in defeating Barbant. He's said to be quite-"

... and that's when the cobbled stone of the street shook, dust and shards of rock rising from a small crater, colourful spirals of pure mana swirling around the utterly awesome figure that was Karrain.

With a whiplash of mana, Karrain disperses his spell, raising his head slowly and blinking.
"Well."
The Sacrelarch raises his hands, sumonning two orbs of coruscating energy to them with a click from his thumbs and forefingers.
"Smythian Knights."
His centre of balance shifts slightly as he turns.
"And a man on the roof."
"Here I was thinkng that Anchor had changed over the past eight thousand years."
The orbs of light disperse at a single sylable form Karrain, mana flying out towards the cloaked figure attempting to form a corona of ice around his legs.

OOC: I'm assuming that I know what Smythian Knights are in which case Karrain knows that asking them to drop their weapons probably won't work...pitching someone, probably their employer from the way everyone's arrayed, off a building is probably a better bet.

A cry of shock erupted from the mouth of the man who was on the roof.
With a crash and a scream he fell to the floor, at the foot of the building, feet joined together with ice.

Advantage Karrain.
But good training isn't for naught.
The "nurses" all drew their weapons and slipped into a formation that Karrain recognised from many, many years ago.

Three lined in front, two on the sides and one behind, in a sort of staggered formation. The Magebreaker. A formation designed to lessen the impact of any magic used on them, discovered through research by an ancient Ethronan scholar into runes of power. The six men in fact formed the rune "Keisa" from the alphabet of a people from long, long ago.
Mana formation is lessened through this set-up.

Good training is not for naught.

For once, Varis was glad that a decision had been made for him, and the Smythians seemed to now be safely disinterested in Bon anymore, thankfully.

Matching blades with those Smythians seemed an impossible task, but...Varis had realized his terrible underestimation of the ancient 'Sacrelarch' until now. Lords, Varis could steel feel every magical thread in his body almost instinctively recoiling at the sheer force of whatever spell caused Karrain to appear. Perhaps there's a chance they'll all make it through this alive.

'Lords, protect the councillors.' Varis silently prayed, a habit gained from long travels with a Seeker, before drawing his sword with a speed he only attained through practice, lifting it into the air above him.

"All City Guards; Smythian Assassins by the Scarlet Hospital!" Varis bellowed, his voice tempered by living as a Bard. Even so, he doubted many would be nearby or in great enough number to help, "Dharem, now!" Varis finished, trusting DHarem to know his meaning - to throw the Magemead vial now that the Smythians were isolated by themselves, rather than near Bon. Varis wasn't prepared to trust his own mediocre aim and risk collateral damage.

The yell echoed over the rooftops.

DHarem grinned, pulling a Centralium chunk from the pouch he had been given, and lobbed it with all his force at the New Smythians.

What happened from then on was chaos. A huge explosion left them all deafened and blinded, dust rising from a deep crater, the smell of burning flesh and hair rising up.

It took them all a few minutes to recover. The charred bodies of five New Smythians lay on the floor, one still coughing and spluttering. The Frostlocked "employer" was nowhere to be seen.

The sixth New Smythian knelt behind An'Inglefar's stretcher, a sort of sardonic smile on his lips, as his hands slipped from his sword stuck upright in the councillor's chest.