The attack had gone off exactly as the bandit god had planned, by total surprise. It was surprising to Quintus that so called civilized men turned into wild packs of dogs when the leash was loosened. This pirate band he’d settled into was precisely that, no more than a band of dogs preying on the weak. He wandered the streets moving towards his destination and he watched these ‘men’, his comrade at arms displaying their total lack of honour. Whoever said there was no honour amongst thieves told no lies. He watched one coward lift the body of a boy of no more than 12 years and he bragged to his companions about how he took him down. It was a disgusting display, and Quintus would have no part in it. Two other men dragged an unconscious woman from a darkened alley, adjusting their codpieces… Another pathetic sight that two men would need to beat the girl senseless to take her… Quintus was not above rape, but he certainly did not see the need to beat the girl into stupidity to do it…<br/><br/>These were dogs enjoying the spoils of war, but Quintus was no dog, he was a wolf. Why kill the boy when you can educate him, take him in and mould him in your image… Why beat the woman, when you can enjoy her feeble attempts at pushing you off her. He continued to make his way across the street that showed clearly the result of their endeavour. The bodies littered the street and the sky above was barely visible for the smoke. And the stench of death was everywhere. Loud boisterous voices were heard as three more of the dogs exited a nearby building carrying off large pieces of art and drinking from wine gourds. Fools he thought to himself as he bent by the body of a pirate. They would not be allowed to keep such large objects; those would be taken and sent back to fill the coffers in Rome.<br/><br/>His eyes turned to the man who lay dead on the ground. He knew this man, they had sailed together. He’d been a good man, and by the looks of the wounds he fought bravely and died with honour, a rare thing amongst pirates. Quintus pulled the dagger from his belt and quickly and cleanly cut the lobe form the man’s ear, freeing the gold hoop that had hung there. He wiped the blood and held it up to the blue smoky sky, which was a good contrast for admiring its beauty. It would bring a fair price. He tucked the bauble into his belt pouched looped to his belt and triple fastened. It hit the contents with a clang. The pouch was filled with rings and necklaces, and other small trinkets easily carried and concealed. He stood and tucked the dagger back into the sheath as he felt a long drop of blood slide down his cheek…<br/><br/>He hadn’t noticed the cut. He brought his hand near his temple and felt the wetness. But the drop continued to slide down his cheek and then it hung, lingering there… Then almost as if in slow motion it fell gently to land on the pauldron protecting his right shoulder. The left one had been torn earlier in combat leaving the massive muscles of his left shoulder bare. Quintus was often described as a large man, though barely any fat was retained on his body. His arms were large and muscular and some would say he had the strength of ten men, though this was only rumour, for Quintus was just a man. Protecting his skin from the constant chaffing of armour was the black tunic assigned to each man aboard his ship, and apparently to each man in the armada. He had donned it for the first time this morning and already it was beyond being soiled, the edges cut and frayed.<br/><br/>The drop of blood continued its journey, sliding from the smooth leather pauldron to run down the hard leather breastplate, making its way past the carving. He’d taken the armour piece over a year ago off a fallen enemy raider. A skull was carved in its center and crossed short swords were just below. The armour was etched and scarred in many places but it was still very much functional and had saved his life on more than one occasion. The drop then followed along one of the lathes that hung, concealing his codpiece and it ended in a large metal stud, and from here, finally the drop fell into the dust and dirt, ending its journey like so many others had done this day.<br/><br/>The scent of burning flesh made its way to his nose and he cringed. His sandaled feet began moving, the metal greaves, the only metal armour he wore glinted from the sun reflecting upon them as he moved towards the large square. He passed through it without a second glance offered to the dying men, whose bodies were burning. No one deserved to die this way he thought. The rippling muscles of his legs carried him quickly past the scene towards his destination. He paused only for a moment, gathering a silk scarf from the body of a pretty woman. It was clear her body had been violated and her throat slit. Her lifeless eyes stared blankly into the sky, perhaps in her final moment she prayed to her heathen gods for mercy, though it was clear it came too late. His helmet had been lost near the docks when the attack began. His shoulder length square cut brown mane was matted down in blood and sweat. He used the scarf to tie it back, pulling it all from his face.<br/><br/>As he moved quickly past the town hall he heard the senseless wailing from within. He’d heard of this woman’s plight. He held no pity for her. She betrayed her city and her people. Perhaps a nation would be enslaved for her actions… She slept with the devil, now she will pay the price, as she will burn eternally in hell. As he continues past these thoughts bring him to the devil himself, Azuriel. Many of the men claim him to be divine, but Quintus did not. A great man perhaps, in an infamous way. A ruthless demonic killer maybe, but a god? Certainly not. Quintus had stood a few arm lengths from him, he was flesh and blood, and as such, he could be killed.<br/><br/>Finally he approached the pottery store. It seemed odd to Quintus that a self proclaimed god would select this store to keep his seat of power, then again, Quintus was a simple man, he need not know how Azuriel’s brain functioned. He was here to obey. He stepped past the crowds, into the shop, his dark brown eyes scanning over the debris, the rubble of so many works of art, the black feathered arrows scattered. Being near so many cutthroats the man could not help but find his fingers wrapped around the hilt of his sword, which hung loosely on his belt, at his left hip, in some defiance to Roman officers from long ago. He could hear the sickening sounds from the adjacent room and he could only wonder what the Reaver was up to. That man was sick, if he even was a man.<br/><br/>Quintus took his spot near the front, and his eyes scanned the gathered mass, looking over all of them, before his gaze turned to the man in black sitting atop the large eagle… A smirk crested his lips. The noble eagle… To him the eagle was weak when compared to the wolf. Let the man sit atop his statue, Quintus would rather feel the earth beneath his sandaled feet…<br/>