Francis X Ezma

Ezma danced.

It had always been her preferred way of telling stories but very few people in this world had the space or patience to watch someone else dance and so Ezma usually provided music and learned how everyone else dances.

Today, as her fans deflect once more the blades that seek her life, she dances for hope.

She hopes that the Holy Kingdom black operations soldier in front of her dose not kill her.

She hopes that if he does kill her that she will have bought Shiro or Lily enough time to take up the fight in turn.

She hopes she can remember the steps if she lives, because this would make a great dance if she can repeat it.

***

Francis mutters a curse as the slippery gypsy deftly parries and sidesteps his knife again, and again.

This is not his kind of fight, not that you can call his preferred style a fight. Two knives materializing out of shadow to pierce lungs from behind and a quiet gurgle as he is already leaving is how it is supposed to go.

Not that he is untrained, his training by the army of the Holy Kingdom have seen to that, but even with the longest duel that did not bear the element of surprise he had been fighting weapons like pole arms and swords that, while still dangerous, lost a lot of effectiveness once inside their threatened range. 

This damned Gypsy though was more intent on frustrating his attempts to help the Commander than actually winning, making this fight come down to who made a mistake first or whose allies would come aid who.

The ground shuddered and Francis did a quick professional analysis of the battlefield

The Commander no where to be seen, Leopold being impaled, two new combatants of unknown power and skill om the field.

Francis needed to get out of here quickly. 

He made a clumsy lunge feinting being tired and as expected took a buffet of stiff blows to the face from the fans that expected him to be knocked out, so he rolled with them and tumbled in a hopefully believable impression of being flung away.

As he lay there his mind wandered as it was fighting back against feigned black becoming real.

Leslie's face appeared over Francis, "time to go sleepy head" they side with more cheer than any gutter rad right to. Francis grumbled good naturally and pushed them away.

Over a year of trials, following a shadowy trail from crime to crime. A heist one night with a cryptic parchment tucked among the loot, which leads to a kidnapping and a dying guard whispers a coded message that brought them weeks later to an assassination and a token to a hidden safe house. Then repeat until three days ago when a sabotage had revealed a clue for tonight,

Tonight during the eclipse, blood will reveal the circle

Francis and Leslie had often wondered who this circle was. Some of the missions reeked of being more important than just a scavenger hunt. 
So maybe they were some secret cabal with actual power in the world and not just a gang of jackboot thugs with aspirations to be viewed like a cabal. After all, even thieves and killers have their own mythologies and folk tales.

So Leslie and Francis, the best of their generation, slunk through the shadows darkening quickly with the coming eclipse to the building they had determined to be the location of the circle for tonight.

It looked to be a simple guard house but they had cased it and discovered among the graffiti the symbols they had come to look for. 

Leslie slipped in first while Francis kept watch, several times they had been targeted by other underworld dwellers with their own clues telling them the kill or hinder anyone doing particular activities that lined up with following the trail.

A repeated pattern from Leslie signaled the all clear to Francis who stepped in, closing the door gently behind him. Francis looked around startled to not see Leslie, despite the knowledge that they had found no obvious exit to this small supposedly four person building.

Leslie walked up out of the floor with a stupid grin on their face as Francis tried to stay professional before following his friend and partner down the illusion cloaked stairway.

Down through twisting tunnels for who knows how long, risking light from hooded lantern only when the path split and the needed to seek the symbols.

They came to a dead end with a shock, at first they did not risk the lantern for what if it was a trap, once they recovered their senses back tracked a few intersections then tried again.

The same results.

This time they risk the lamp revealing notches carved into the wall that match tokens they had recovered on their long adventure. Once the last one is tucked into its slot a gust of wind douses their lamp and they discover themselves in a dimly purple lit room.

Following long habit they pace and measure, looking for exits or ambush, until they find a wall bearing the inscription that had brought them there

Blood will reveal the Circle

An ornate dagger materializes before them.

Francis recovers himself in the present day enough to watch things unfold in the sanctuary. Harold had disappeared in a swarm of flying beast, but Francis only had eyes for the goblet dropped by Leopold.

He had seen one like it before, and it was worth his life to get this one.

With a sigh he come to a decision and runs for the goblet, slicing stabbing and dodging the nasty beaks, talons and claws. 
Francis keeps some part of his awareness on the hero and his party as they engage in fierce combat on the far side of the sanctuary.

Bleeding he scoops up the desired chalice and with regret breaks the gemstone on his ring.

As the magic sweeps the world away the memory returns

"Welcome, to the Circle my child." says a hooded man.

Blood drips from the ornate dagger held loosely in Francis' right hand…

Blood drips from Leslie's head held loosely in his left…