12/12 Evening with a Clown (Danger Loss)

It wasn't for no reason that Crowley was there. He wanted to find someone, even limping- The raid had taken its toll on the jester, yet for what good it was?

He did not care.

He was still out for blood. Still out to make someone, ANYONE, pay for what happened to the Syndicate. And this unfortunate being just happened to be... Task.

"CAPTAIN, OH CAPTAIN!" The Jester cried. "IT IS A TERRIBLE PLEASURE TO MEET YOU!" Perhaps the wordplay was intentional, or even then, it was obvious what part of his meant the terrible.

If it wasn't obvious enough from the daggers glared, a literal one was produced from under its sleeve, slid out as if it was prepared for such a thing to happen for quite a while.

Yet, the clown did not waver.

"You see- I was told to... Not get in the way of the Watch."

"That you guys could be friendly! But for some reason, I don't know exactly WHICH, I have a feeling it is not reciprocated." The porcelain mask on its face extended, a wide illusory grin spreading through.

Perhaps there were more words to be said.

Likely not.
(Crowley)
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Task was out on his nightly patrols, whistling away a quiet, somber tune to coalesce with the clangor of the blowing winds against the ramshackle structures of Sudsbury. The bald watchman had always favored these quiet evenings on his lonesome. It was a bit melancholic to be sure, but it gave the commander time to think about all that he'd been dealing with. Introspection was key after all.

Self reflection.

Yet, as the commander made his way to the dirt fields where he'd made his post as a constable four years prior, the bald commander was instead staring down a jester of some sort, an eccentric man quite unfamiliar to the bald constable even if his voice did sound...mildly familiar.

Yet, as a dagger was drawn, Task instinctively raised his fists, hard, brown eyed glance of justice falling upon the clown as he puffed away thoughtfully at his corncob pipe.

"It is commander now, I was only a captain for a brief time. I did not know I was popular amongst the thespians, truly I must be blessed with a commanding presence."

While the bald watchman's tone was deadpan, his eyes would squint as he mulled over the jester's words. In particular the regard for the watch to be....avoided.

"Who...told you not to get in the way of the watch? Who do you work for clown...why wouldn't it be reciprocrated? Answer my questions, and perhaps things will remain civilized. Unless I don't like the answer."
(Task)
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"It is not the commanding presence, Commander." The jester explained, every single movement of his perfectly calculated- It was artistic even in how he walked around, the leg almost looking like a prop for most purposes, if only the rattling chains did not reveal their true mangled nature.

Yet, the jester did not stop for even a singular second on his walking around, adding only to whatever sounds his own body made by just moving with the faint steps on the sand. The winds howled around, making the place sure for a spectacle of sorts.

Yet, the multitude of questions are addressed, little by little. "Come on, masked, hurt by the First Light, doesn't it give you hints of who I am?" The jester continued, before shaking his head from side to side, arms moving to encompass a wider zone.

"We are the owners of this part of town here. The Syndicate."

"Protector of the people, no matter what." He spoke out, before a curtsy was done- One that he had to rely on his non-mangled leg for that matter, only rising back to an upright position due to a gust of wind. Was he intended on kicking the Commander out of the slums even if he was hurt?

Well, it sure looked like that.

"So, please- Leave. I won't attack unless you force me to."
(Crowley)
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Task would stare down the jester with his dutiful, brown eyed gaze as whatever remnants of a smile upon the watchman's face quickly became a stern frown. It was clearly apparent that Task was not pleased with the answers he was receiving, his calloused knuckles raised towards the clown terrorist as the commander shook his head with determination.

"The syndicate own nothing but their own criminality and the fate of being brought to justice. Nothing more, nothing less. They are criminal scum, and all of them will be brought to justice for their offenses against the law of Osrona and the crown. The constabulary is flawed, true, as all people are. But we are the ones that exist to protect the people....you vandals stopped being righteous the moment you harmed innocent civilians."

The bald commander would point his fist towards the Syndicate as he shook his head grimly, bowing it respectfully after a moment's pause as he stared down the killer clown withfearless and determined duty.

"I Commander Task, by the duties entrusted to me by the Royal Osronnan Constabulary, do so charge you with terrorism and sedition. Justice is blind, my friend, and you are guilty. I cannot walk away from my responsibilities, and you from yours."

Task would widen his stance as he raised his dukes, preparing for what was no doubt going to be a dangerous evening of good, manly fun.

"It seems we're at an impasse, then."
(Task)
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[02:05] He sighed softly as the young cadet walked up.

His felinae hand strayed to the blade at his waist. For now. The Cadet simply waited...sure this was far beyond him...but he'd assist the Commander should he need to...
(Cheemu Terrowin)
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 Cheemu Terrowin says, "Give the Commander the space he needs to fight. Disperse. if you're not a memeber of the watch or the Order. You'll be in danger."
 Eustace observes his armor.
(Eustace)
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"HEY, YOU'RE TALKING ABOUT ME HERE!" The jester seemed even somewhat outraged at the time by Task's reducing of the Syndicate to a criminal organization that was going to be brought to justice. There was no denying in that, or perhaps even there was. Crowley just did not care about it, for now.

"I did not mean the Constabulary, but yes. You are right indeed- No one's perfect." The jester's words echoed out peacefully; He wasn't phased in having to answer it, although the undertone of frustration remained within for the most part.

Yet, it still limped from its defective leg.

Around them both, darkness rose- It tried to slowly corner out Task's senses, knocking whatever they could out. For others? The jester was merely tugging on the strings of his lute, but for the Commander himself, the ambient was soon turning grim.

Tiny, red eyes observed him from every place. Rats rose from the water, waiting for the perfect opportunity to pounce, attack and destroy whatever exposed skin they had.

Yet, for all those around, the illusion that cracked the mask and slowly warped its porcelain surface was obvious. It turned into a happy little smile, faux eyebrows created by simply rising a crevice on the off-white texture, and a lip forming into existence.

Illusion, one way or the other.

Yet, probably not the most dangerous part of his.
(Crowley)
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"Yes, I'm talking about you here, criminal scum."

Task take a deep breathe as he bowed his head respectfully to the jester, igniting in a shroud of pulsating mana as his sinewed arms bulged with increased mass, the density of his musculature enhanced by the concentration of mana within their fibers. The bald commander would turn his unyielding gaze to the criminal clown, raising his calloused fist to the illusionist with a firm nod.

As the battlefield of Sudsbury's slums darkened in response to Crowley's illusionary tactics, the bald justice aspirant would focus purely upon the task at hand, his mana the only lantern he required in this dark night against the shadows of criminality.

"Then it's good I corrected you. It would a shame to be wrong and a criminal at the same time."

Task would prepare to engage in a hands on brawl with the clown, raising a strong fist against a master of mirrors.
(Task)
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 Cheemu Terrowin says, "<<Holy heck....I don't think i could assist task...even if i wanted...that guys...massively strong..."
 Cheemu Terrowin says, ">>"
 Myrra says, "I did say."

 Seconds, all they had been were seconds too late.

The sounds of civilians running away from this scene mixed with the explosive auras that swelled from amidst the center. One hand positioned upon his staff as sands bent and weaved around with each and every powerful step this Knight took forwards.

Bold as could be.

The Syndicate continued t make their moves.

Just as they had arrived it seemed as though this battle had grown dangerous, far too dangerous for the allowance of either Knight to step in. The City Watch clashing against this man, illusions being struck aside by fists of absolute fury.

All whilst they could only watch.

"Remain on guard until we are given an opening. Should we rush in now? We'd risk not only our own lives, but both of theirs as well." His duty was not to be impeded, his sense of righteousness which had long since clung upon Eustace now ever present.

Twisting and raging stands remaining ever on the side lines, watching as this battle would rage on.
(Eustace)
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 Erika didn't like the sound of it at all, if only they hadn't been busy simply talking - and instead, doing what they typically did. They could have helped initially in the situation. Honestly, after their successful rescue of Asphira, Erika was sure they would have hung low.

But she was wrong!

Erika merely nodded to her partner's words, gray eyes never taking their gaze off Crowley as she stood at the ready.
(Erika cos Salis)
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The fight began- Oh how EXCITING to see it happening right before his eyes! And with so many eyes to watch, slowly gathering from the scene. Some scurrying to gather help, and others struggling to stay around and keep up with the pace.

Of course, the clown RAN during most of the fight. Through the endless alleys, through dirt, always obscuring the path that was left behind for Task to go through. He did not want to win this by fair combat, or even by the way that he was limping, he could not as well.

It was foul trickery, each time the path divided in multiple options, he went through a single one; Yet, a brief illusion followed through the other two, with their very footsteps mimicking. Nearly one that could fool anyone that was not attentive enough.

Luckily, Task was!

Or unluckily. Upon turning on a specific corner, a loud cackle echoed through the slum's walls, each corner registering the jester's trademark sound.

A lute, accompanied by a loud "AHAHAHEEHEHEHEHEHA!" It was erratic, and perhaps a small insight to what the one that found himself at the center of the assault was facing when that small tip resulted in a dead end.

The rats once again appeared, tiny red eyes spreading around, observing from every window, from every door, and every small crevice that they could rise from- And soon enough, jumping at the Commander. Most wounds were only skin-deep, felt by the razor winds that ran over that specific corner of Sudbury, but some...

Some were real. Crowley hid amidst the illusions, the poorly made knife that he held in his hand stabbing, slashing and cutting through flesh. He knew if he was going to lose, it was best to make it painful. Not only that, but memorable.

A blind hit from Task was lucky enough to stop the jester's assault, undoing most of the illusions, even if the sensation of paws climbing up on his body would remain for a few- The jab was enough to cause the Enforcer to once again depart, carried by a forceful gust of wind.
(Crowley)
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[02:39] Task would engage with determination against the jester as their exchanged words gave way to dangerous combat of watchman against criminal. The gathering of the crowd briefly worried the commander that there could be casualties nearby, but the presence of the knights brought the commander a bit of ease as he faced down against Crowley with gritting teeth and thudding fists.

Having to pursue the criminal clown throughout the slum dirtways, the ruthless cacophony of the jester's maddening chatter painful barraged the commander's constitution with ruthless reverbations. Though his fists laid true upon the criminal, he was beaten back by the sheer force of illusion and concussive sound as he'd proceed to cough up blood with a grimace.

Crowley was no joke, Task would have to take this fight seriously if he wasn't going to get hurt.

His senses were suddenly barraged by rats, gnawing upon his flesh as he gritted his teeth with illusory pain from the barrage upon his senses. Yet, the bald commander's pugilism demanded an iron body, and his saws the rats only munching upon the metal of meddle.

Steadying his stance, the commander would prepare to pursue the winding and weaving criminal once more with determination to persevere, regardless of whether he succeeded or not.

This was his job.
(Task)
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Something was up. The chase was continuing, but soon enough, the sound of the jester's own voice would pop up. He was not laughing or making more of an active effort to do so, but to any who tried to follow up with the combat, they'd hear the words mumbled through the very windows of the houses.

"This leg- It's getting in my way! Fuck damnIT!" And then, the clown finally stopped running for a few moments- His steps stopped suddenly, and there was only one sound that could be heard, mouthed and replicated with his own tools.

"Slish. Slash. Slish. Slash. Crack. Creck." The sound was obvious to anyone who had known it in the past; A blunt knife, carving through flesh and bone. And soon enough, Task, and hopefully the others, would find a singular souvenir from the fight.

A severed leg, mangled by chains- It seemed to already be completely useless, most of the tissue already went necrotic due to lack of blood- Certainly, a remainder of its fight with Audree. Now discarded to the side just as if it was another obstacle.

How he coped with the pain? It was unthinkable. Perhaps, in the end, the jester did not do so. Perhaps the cries of pain were simply muffled by his own music, echoing louder and louder, growing erratic, metallic and raspy all at once.

It was growing far from a symphony, and simply into a chaotic, unpredictable pattern. It progressed further and further, until it suddenly stopped as Task arrived at yet another dead end. The same illusion as before ensued, but this time, there were only the sound of rats... And a violin, carefully sliding through the tension.

Bite after bite from the illusory mice were going to leave a scar, the sensation of pain one much more dangerous than the harm itself in the clown's point of view- His knife was not strong enough to pierce through skin properly as well, yet it still slashed through skin. Not without the effort to go through-- "FINALLY!"

One impact broke through, running over Task's bones, blood painting the scenery, spread by the constant gusts that spread over the clown's surroundings. It painted the street red, but yet, the worst was yet to come.

"Now, it is time for the Grand Finale!" The winds tore apart a few fences, causing the jester to soon enough push the commander onto the speared tips, aiming to pierce him through the chest- Yet, without time to take aim into account, Crowley luckily missed, the fence perforating through Task's biceps.

The commander's world was shrouded in darkness for a few moments, the constant faux bites of rodents remaining, the sound of his laughter echoing through, and yet, it was all broken by a single other one.

Crowley took his mask off, specifically for the Commander, and with one hand against his lips, mouthed a kiss. "MWAH!" With the mask fastened quickly enough for none to look at his face, the jester's voice echoed through the halls of stone once more.

"Be sure to send the knights my regards, will you?"
(Crowley)
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 ** Crowley has inflicted an injury upon Task. ("Torn Muscle", "The winds tore apart a few fences, causing the jester to soon enough push the commander onto the speared tips, aiming to pierce him through the chest- Yet, without time to take aim into account, Crowley luckily missed, the fence perforating through Task's biceps.", "Temporary", "Duration: Medium (4 days)") **

Task would continue the dread pursuit of the illusory criminal with bated breath and determination as he stumbled through the endless alleyways manifested by the mad jester. The commander's heavy plate armor did him no favors as he jogged forth with smoker's lungs to lock down the illusionist's position. With heaving breathe, he'd continue to attempt to pin down the ever shifting movements of the jester with blast and blow, though for each moment passed he found the bombardment of concussive sound weakening his fortitude.

Yet, the watchman found himself at yet another dead end, the clown criminal's antics obscuring his perceptions with invigored trickster antics as Task scrambled to yet another blockade, wracking idly at his head as he tried to pin down exactly where the clown had gone. Yet, the bald pugilist had lost sight of him, his ears continually bombarded by audible assault.

With a song of glinting steel and the chittering of shadowy,illusory rats, the bald commander would find his bicep ruthlessly gouged by the brutal assault of the clown, blood spurting from his right arm as he gritted his teeth with pain, his vision blurring as all of his senses were bombarded ruthlessly.

Shrouded in shadowy darkness as the commander fell to his knee in pain and over stimulation of senses, his blurry, brown eyed visage would fall upon the jester just as he revealed his faced, only for a moment, to task, showing him with sudden and apparent certainty a man who Task had always thought to be an only average actor.

But he'd put on quite a show.

As the kiss was mouthed, Task would grit his teeth and move to pursue the criminal, before the effort of the movement would cause him to collapse face first upon the ground. Blood continued to leak from the jagged gouge the ran upon his right arm, the commander's senses overstimulated to the point of near non-function.

Trying to push himself up as his vision began to darken to his own form of unconscious blackness, Task would gaze upon the departing jester one last time, a futile effort to pursue the criminal scum with a grit of his teeth.

Yet, as he failed his duty, his body failed him. The commander of the watch would collapse upon the ground.
(Task)