The Flooded District

[Soldier of Song]

The brightness of the morning did little to ease the oppressive atmosphere of the Flooded District, the fresh sunlight obscured by crumbling walls scrawled in cryptic messages gone un-heeded as the band of Overseers marched through its darkened alleyways. It would have been a welcome opportunity to dry their sodden uniforms, clinging heavily to their legs, but they stayed to the backstreets, searching their prey out as they would any vermin. Their presence would not have been welcomed out in the open anyway, what survivors remained in this forsaken district shutting themselves in as the Overseers passed.

It was a miserable assignment they'd been given, but none of them dared complain. Such heresy was most often kept to the barracks, criticism against the High Overseer murmured only between close company, grumbling kept to those fellows who had also fallen victim to his blackmail, and had no choice but to give into his demands anyway. Of course, not all of them had been forced into this glorified trophy hunt.

Kozel kept his gaze firmly to the ground and scoured the debris for anything amiss, any sign of movement that might signal a sudden swarm of rats to set them all to their weapons. It was almost as much of a danger as the heretics they were hunting now, but his wolfhound didn't seem to sense anything as she pulled forward impatiently. He was paranoid all the same. The Overseers conversing behind him didn't help matters.

"—and he's even stopped eating. The Hound Master tells me he's as good as gone."
"Do you suppose you'll have the beast put down, then?"
"What choice do I have? ...If he's not already dead by the time—"

The man's lamenting was cut short by a hiss from his companion. "Shh!" All at once, the Overseers were on alert as he spoke. "Hear that?"

The tension in the air was immediately palpable. Kozel hadn't actually expected they would run into any of those lowdown assassins, none of them had, but previous clashes taught them that often, there were no warnings in the first place. With their witchcraft, they could appear in an instant. He glanced at his hound, ready to turn her loose if need be, then looked rigidly to his fellow Overseers, their golden masks still glimmering in matching silent snarls.

"...I did not hear anything, no." And that wasn't always a good sign.  

[kamileunaire]

And without a sign, several crossbow bolts rained down on the patrol, before the air exploded with the chaotic sounds of an attack, their masked foes appearing all at once, out of thin air.

Unbeknownst to the seemingly -diligent- group of Overseers, a handful of eyes had been previously glued on their movements, watching silently from above. They'd been observing for no longer than fifteen minutes, but that was still longer than it had taken for the band to startle themselves. As they shushed one another, Zharkov could not help the grin that curled at the corner of his mouth. Always so jumpy, weren't they?

The master assassin and his underlings had been on their way back from a minor mission, and despite being on a tight schedule, he would be hard-pressed to let a patrol of Overseers go on their way unhindered. It was a rather small group, too, nothing that he and his boys couldn't handle. A plan of attack was formed in shadowed silence, and without any further hesitation, they began their descent.

A couple of the bolts hit their mark, lodging themselves into the pesky music box wielded by one of the Overseers, hopefully rendering it useless. The fact that they'd bothered to lug one out in the first place spoke volumes of their paranoia. Sneering beneath his mask, Zharkov wasted no time in pouncing on one of the zealots, dispatching him almost instantly before blinking away again, eerily silent as he singled out his next opponent.

As the adrenaline rushed, he snarled, bearing his teeth beneath his mask and clashing with his second victim. It was times like these he cherished most, unexpected moments used to test their prowess, and exercise control over their confounding and otherworldly powers. A cry from one of his younger lackeys drew his attention, and he blinked quickly to intercept the hound that accompanied the group. The startled yelp from the animal offered smug satisfaction, and Zharkov barged forward to confront its handler.