Though the night might be quiet, most sleeping in their respective beds or dens, one was up and prowling. Quietly does she slip the shadows near the small unassuming farm stead as she normally does most nights. Though tonight was different, normally she made one round every few hours, resting and sleeping in between, but tonight something in her gut told her to be watchful.
Alkajira, or simply Jira as the locals knew her, was not all that she seemed. The village thought her to be a simple serving girl, in her father's tavern. The Tavern aptly named, was just as unassuming as the farm stead, opened six years before when Kinngar had moved in with his uncle. Jira herself had been but fifteen at that time, now a grown woman of twenty one.
However, there had been a few whispers of her own quiet demeanor, of her brooding posture and sometimes surliness in the establishment. This is because Jira was no ordinary serving girl. From the time she had been able to lift a practice sword of wood, her father had been training her. Training her for this night it seemed to the woman.
Hair, black as a starless night, was pinned in a tight braid wound and bound in such a fashion that there was not much dangling for someone to grip. Instead of the gowns she was forced to wear to keep a low profile during the day, her body was clad in tight leather breeches and tunic, not a strap loosened to hinder her movements. A long iron sword swayed at her hip, one long tapered hand steadies the hilt as she crouches low.
She had been in the woods when the animal noises had alerted her, but whoever was behind this attempt was well organized, not only were there a group slaughtering the animals but also ringing the perimeter. Two such people lay dead behind her, one whose throat had been cut ear to ear, and another with a deep gash slicing from his hip to shoulder. This had slowed her down.
Then she hears his voice calling through the air, and she swore under her breath. He was announcing his where abouts to anyone around, stupid fool..the ungracious thought slipped through her mind even as her own silence was broken. Her feet fall now fully against the ground, rounding the cabin just in time for him to slip in and to see the figure of a swords man round the opposite corner behind him.
A grunt is given, and her sword is once more swinging into action. While the man focused hsi gaze on Kinngar, his face stony and emotionalless, even as a thin blade emerges from his sternum, then slices upwards until he slowly slides off, landing with a wet sound face first onto the floor. From the shadows Alkajira steps over the dead body, her dark brows knitting together, sapphire eyes blazing darkly. "By the gods get down..do you not see the arrows?" Her voice might have been melodic if not for the impatient demanding tones there in, her shoulder bracing against the door jam as she attempts to assess where the archers might be laid in waiting.
"We have to get you out of here...keep your voice down..we have to move now but you will need more then your night clothing...hurry and change..The others come.." No sympathies does she offer, nor does she seem particularly bothered by the now three dead people littering the cabin. "Get your uncle's clothing rather then try and climb up unless you have some on the lower floor...go!"