Hey guys, I'm trying a different writing style, multiple POV's in a chappie. Let me know what you think!;)

The scribe was writing fast and concise, the hands always precise. Words were being written clean and small, no smudge of misused ink, any extra line or curve to the letters was imaginary. This was the hand of a master at work, his old mottled hands firm and swift in writing or of a girl who was scolded constantly by her mistress until she got each one right cringing at every letter she made, expecting the high-pitched, sour tainted voice of the person she had to obey.

The truth was lying on a thin line between the two, a very thin line. The scribe was a girl, no not a cute one with two plaited braids behind her ears, grinning viciously with the air of a prodigy. This one was nearly out of her youth, sixteen summers she had ….. experienced. Yes, experienced would be a good word; enjoyed would have been a lie.

The scribe sat on a high backed chair. Unfit for her average stature. A Pheraxian girl; black hair, dark eyes and a low, wide sloping nose were very Pheraxian qualities. Her name was easy to guess at, it was a very fitting description to her body, cylindrical in shape with a pointy end. No elegance or grace to it, short and simple. If you still can't grasp it, look at her hand, the thing she uses to write the beautiful letters, yes her name was Pen.

She listened to the sala, a thin man with a sharp nose and a bald head. Every word he said, the scribe wrote, word for word, pen for tongue. He was going on about his vael, ranting on and on like a priest.

His vael was the same every day. The same introduction started with how the Four frown upon the criminals who break the Sunset law, a law that the highest of nobles would run away from breaking. And so the scribe writes, but she tried hard not to laugh at the absurdity of it, nobles not breaking the law! That would be like the sun setting in the north. How boring.

Even the people listening were inclined to the scribes thinking, the audience, the guards, heck, even the jurors were rolling eyes and hiding yawns.

Then came the founding of the sadowa, boring as hell. He spoke, she wrote. The founding of Pheraxia by the Scozi, a great tale if told the right way, not in a lecturing stammer a schoolmaster could offer. But still she wrote. Next the liberation of the Pheraxians, it was a tangle of epics tied into history: Gehs Corad, the brain of the Exquisition; Hera Konecs, the maid of Coonaer, healer of the sick, mother to all; Joseph Rithcel the warrior scribe. The sala ranted them off as an afterthought and spoke how the law changed in those days.

All of these tales the sala said in a dry voice, no enthusiasm like a true teller, any dashing battles and rivers of blood were left for the imagination. Facts upon facts tumbled through his mouth and, in effect to the scribe's paper.

Gods! She was bored as a horse in a stable, eager to go out and run free with the wind. Summer was so boring. She should be out there with her friends, not here in a room fool of bored old men and one eager preacher.

Finally, mercifully, the vael ended. Freedom was close.

Hansel was slapped awake and let go of his fitful dreams about a dead sister. Letting go of something however, had to be replaced by grasping something else, even unwillingly.

Letting go of nightmares that would have left him crying if they were real only to be clutching at the pain of being beaten bloody by armored boots and wooden cudgels seemed a little ironic. Though, irony was lost on Hansel, he was writhing in the corner of a windowless cell of rough stone, gasping for air, not finding any, then shuddering at the pain, his body scarred and marred from it, his spirit and mind more so.

There is a part of every man's mind he can hide in, an island of calm beneath the mind that makes us talk, do and think. This part of our mind makes us numb to the world, letting us hide from the pain our body experiences. This part makes us look numb outside, sometimes almost dead, sometimes raving nonsense. It is different every time, most people call it shock or madness. Decide for yourself.

Hansel could not go this part of his mind however; he could feel every cut on his body tearing and bleeding, no stitches to close them. He could feel every bruise on his body, no salve to soothe them. He remembered his family, his mother, Millie; they only have each other now, no son or brother to help them.

He would not abandon them; if he could, he would push out the walls like the Vear and skim to his family with gold and food in both hands. If he could, he would whisk them off to a castle and find his good for nothing father to beat the living crap out of him and make him care for his family again. If he could, he would fly and fly until the world ended, if only he could but of course the things we want are never for us.

Through all of this a cool rag was placed on Hansel's wounded head, covering half of his face, a calm voice soothing him out of the blinding pain and the racking sobs, the words didn't matter only the voice. A voice suited for a child sitting on his grandfather's lap, the voice for a child on his mother's teat after he was hungry, and the voice for a broken child writhing on the floor.

It seemed like hours until he could move without hurting himself, though the gentle hand was still holding the rag still on his head. The soothing voice was gone, replaced by hushed voices not meant for his ears.

"-should go Beylan, it's near lunchtime, and you know how jailers are during lunchtime." The voice of an old kid, probably Hansel's age, off to the left. Worry laced his words. The soothing voice was no longer talking to him, but the calm in the voice was gone, giving a dry chuckle to the other kid.

"I know more than you know about jailers", he said. Something seemed to hint he knew them in a very personal manner, if you know what I mean.

"That's beside the point; we're not here to be captured, the Four know we have more troubles to worry abo-" he cut up short. "I think our little babe is up" the words implied something harsh, but no contempt fluttered behind those words. Hansel should know, he'd been living with a man who carried that tone of voice every second of his life.

"So it seems" the man called Beylan lifted the rag from Hansel's forehead, revealing a broken plastered hall lit up by a little gas lamp in the corner, casting terrifying shadows to those broken men, broken in body, mind and spirit; men who would succumb to anything.

Cells lined both walls; though all were closed Hansel knew he came from one of them. The smell of his own blood and vomit wafted up from his clothes, he dreaded the rise of bile but it subsided instantly as Beylan put a reassuring hand on Hansel's shoulder.

Beylan himself was an old man, grandfatherly in manner but not in build, he was small, small meant quick. He may have been old, old meant wise. His eyes were sharp knives, the youngest part of his gnarled body. His face was honest, too honest.

The other boy was fair for a Pheraxian, not fair like any Scozi, but close. He was at Hansel's age. True brown eyes stared at him,from a slightly paunchy face, he expected the antagonistic leer of an arrogant student envying a new apprentice, and it seemed he was Beylan's protégé. But no, they did not hold contempt, just a regular curiosity.

"Who are yo-" His voice was ragged and it hurt to speak above a whisper but the question hanged in the air as Beylan put a finger on Hansel's lip. "Listen" he whispered.

Hansel heard it, the sound was like an old friend, warning him thousands of times before; steps. The steps of armored boots.

Beylan gestured the other boy to get ready. He drew a short sword from his hip. There was a small sound as steel scraped leather but nothing more. Beylan then looked Hansel the eye, blue looking into brown, they seemed to say: fight now, questions later.

Beylan held up two daggers, making Hansel choose. The young man swallowed his questions, his pain and his longing to find his family, and chose the shorter of the two. Beylan seemed to smile a moment, but the moment vanished when the steps turned into runs.

Hansel flipped the knife backhanded; though the motion still made his hand shake he managed not to cut his fingers, and padded the shadow beneath the lamp painfully as the first pair of boots came into view.

Elson heard the puking and the sobbing before he smelled it. Why did he have to pass through the hallway? The answer wasn't important, the complaint was. He groaned, what happened now? Bad indigestion? A child who couldn't hold his breakfast? Oh gods forbid! A drunk in the sadowa?

With this thought he ran, and for the first time in his life he followed his nose and ears, not his eyes. It was hard, the sadowa's hallways branched into each other, making echoes of echoes and the smell was sometimes as horrid as if a whole round's worth of drinking was expelled, sometimes only a whiff in the air. Half an hour, several backtracks, a confused Elson staring at the exit, and a glimpse of something dark on a doorstep later Elson was opening the door. It was weird though, he passed no one in the corridors, the Sadowa was supposed to be bustling with people right no-

What he saw made him excuse himself and made a polite pool of vomit near the doorstep, careful not to vandalize the door.

"F-fff-fffour's whiskers, who did this?" Elson muttered lamely. A head. A head! A head on the table of the parlor, eyes wide open, mouth in shock, disbelieving the absurdity of death. Its bloody stump er stood? If something with no legs could stand then yes. Yes, it stood. It stood on the table around a pool of dried blood. He looked around for anyone to scream at, someone to blame, someone higher in the chain of command he could ask help from.

What he saw made him want to weep. There were two black haired boys about Elson's age sitting on the couch beside the table. One was tall, very tall, Elson could tell. His legs reached to the other side of the table, half-bent as they were. He was weeping into his arms as his grim looking friend tried to pat him on the back awkwardly. Not much help there.

The grim looking one stared at Elson as if he was a Fae, impossible to believe he could exist. "Who did this?" he repeated with the bitterest tone he could muster, it was easy under the circumstances. "I'd give my left arm to kill the fucker who did this". He paused "How do I know it wasn't you?" he had a dark look in his eyes.

Elson gulped, there was something manic as the other boy moved to him slowly, as if the effort of standing up was as hard as pushing a block of lead. The boy reached into his many-flapped coat. Elson did the same and gritted his teeth; he needed his dagger, if only he could find it. Damn this chamberlain uniform, he needed leather and mail! The boy came ever closer and brought out a metal hilt; Elson took another step back and fumbled for his dagger even more furiously than before. What came out made him hesitate.

It wasn't the wicked looking piece of metal he expected, a hand span of curved glass was surrounded rim to rim by something metallic. It was smaller than a dagger, and was no immediate threat but still Elson fumbled slowly for his dagger; in this he was successful. The leather grip was reassuring in his palm, but he didn't bring it out.

"You could put the knife away sir, I know it wasn't you, you lack the physical aptitude" the boy said this in a resigned manner, vengeance misplaced on an unsuspecting innocent. Elson was startled that the boy knew he had a dagger, though he hid it well. Elson narrowed his eyes at the boy, the dark look was gone, replaced by an impolite curiosity, not that Elson wanted the former but it was unsettling, to say the least. He wouldn't admit he had the dagger.

"Hmmm, too thin by half and you lack the materials." The boy seemed to calm himself inwardly and put out his hand. "Dominic"

Elson let go of his dagger, tucking it in a pocket. His hand never came out of the cloak. He looked at the boy again, he seemed innocent but Elson was a militiaman for a long time, seeming innocent and being innocent were two entirely different things.

"How do I know it wasn't you?" Elson asked suspiciously. The boy sighed and spoke as if lecturing to a boy "I don't have any blood on me now do I?" Elson noticed that before he questioned the boy but still his hand remained where it was. "And as you can see on my boots I puked earlier. No assassin would have a weak stomach" Elson looked down at the youth's boot cautiously, expecting an underhanded blow any minute, it didn't come. Puke being on the boots lessened the suspicion somewhat, not all of it gone. Looking in the watery eyes of the youth further lessened it but still not all of it. Never fully trust anyone you just met based on goodwill.

Elson clasped the other boy's hand. "Tell me from the beginning, fast" he said grimly.

They've been waiting for ten minutes. It wasn't a long wait, considering the window shopping the girls did a while ago, they were far from bored. Jana carried two new leather bound books in her arms while Tahine fingered a new knife beneath her cloak, with a little bit of 'haggling' it only cost 5 pawns. Hah! 5 for a wicked blade with an empty ring for a pommel was a great bargain, now a bit of chain would almost make her day. Almost.

She grumbled something unintelligible to Jana and stalked off across the busy square. She jostled and pushed and side pedaled onto the other side, the tide of bodies pushed her back, but she pushed back. Harder. She needed something to think on before the memories came back. Throughout the day the ordeal of baying the tide of memories took a toll on Tahine's patience, and needless to say her temper. She didn't want to snap at her friend, she needed the precious few that were left.

She was deep in thought, looking at the chains of metals across the glass, but not really seeing them. The shallowest part of her mind worked on the prices, durability and length of the chains she saw. None were to her satisfaction. One was all gilt and no use, some full of rust, the others were uselessly in between. The deeper part of her mind fought a losing battle; she remembered a door opening seeing a woman there, the floor and walls glistened with something, a pile of sticky clothes on the floor.

She never noticed Jana standing beside her, nor did she mind. A friend she needed and a friend was there, so the gods commanded. She tried to say something, something that could sway Jana away from her madness, her blessing, her curse. She tried then failed, when Jana touched her shoulder the moment passed. She held out a piece of paper.

It was written in fast writing, haste evident in the smudges and blotches of ink, it read:

To Jana Aratin and Tahine Bhelum,

You need to come to the Sadowa, I have urgent business here, but we can still discuss our trade inside.

Yours,

Gorz Beylan

All memory of the dream vanished from Tahine's mind. The words were meaningless shit, but the message was very, very clear. The bastard knew their names! She looked at her friend. Jana's eyes were hard and angry, reflecting Tahine's own orbs that held the same, razor-sharpness, nay more razor-sharpness than her friend. She nodded, Jana nodded back.

Two hard-eyed women, one in a great cloak too oversized by half, even if she was a bit oversized herself, the other a thin woman in a high collared dress made gaps in the throngs of people in front of the Sadowa, glaring at anyone who dared intrude upon their march.

Pen wasn't bored now, oh no. Far from it, she was excited. No one could be bored when the Rat of Solvaren was put on trial. The bitch was manacled hand and foot, two dervishes at her side, an Inquisitor behind her. She was a poor looking thing, bedraggled clothes the color of filth, dark hair in an untangled mess, her body scarred and bruised. The only thing that rankled Pen or the whole room for that matter was that the bitch was smiling. Smiling! The traitor of the city had the gall to smile while the judge hammered for order, though even he seemed a little disdained when the booing stopped.

"I order to court, the trial of Veruzia sol Venic. Under the charge of treason against the people of Pheraxia, Solvaren, and the Four themse-"

"I confess" It was only a whisper, but it made the hairs of Pen's arms go up. The entire room was swallowed in silence. That was a bit disappointing, Pen wanted a little howling of innocence before she broke, this wasn't fun at all. "Er, well… er? The judge stuttered a bit then coughed "Well that shortens the proceedings, guards!" The doors did not open. He coughed again and roared louder "Guards!" he shouted this three more times each time his voice grew hoarser, each time a smile crept on and on upon the Rat's face.

"They're not here anymore judge" another whisper, another hair raiser, another silence. "Do not speak!" the judge pointed at the dervishes "Tie her up"

The dervishes smiled as well, pulled down their half-masks and gave the audience a long look at their faces, skin more akin to coal, heads bald as a babe and teeth sharp as razors. Everything else was… not there. No nose, ears, eyes, hair, nor lips. The masks hid their featurelessness quite well. But even with no eyes they seemed to look at everyone "Ssssolvaren is oursss" the things hissed with very clichéd pointed tongues.

"Kneel!" they both screeched. "All of you kneel to the might of Sssed-"

"Not on my watch" Pen stared in horrified fascination at the knife sticking up from the skull of the dead ssssnake. The other hissed at an old man striding from behind the judge's podium, hidden door swinging open again as it admitted to young men in their teens. The scent of blood reached her and she fainted ungracefully, the stench her last waking memory.

Hansel blanched, staring at the corpsssse, it'sss blood pooling around the marble floor. The other boy clasped his shoulder "Steady" he gestured to a figure in dervish clothes. Hansel expected a hard man with harder eyes, seasoned by years of fighting; a few scars were also expected. The thing that looked at them hissing and spitting through its liplessssss mouth full of razorssss almost made Hansel shit himself. If he had eaten earlier.

He looked at the other people in the room, a pale looking judge, most of the audience were clamoring and shouting away from the room, but there little square of space remained as quiet as a grave. That left a dirty girl smiling wickedly, and a big man in Inquisitor red, a mask on his bald head made him a candidate for another monssster.

The girl spoke up "We have most of Solvaren's gates at our beck and call Hollow, even if you could beat us, escape is very unlikely." She licked her lips, it made Hansel shiver. "A failed tree licker and a failed thief, how lowly company Hollow, how low for one such as you" her voice was awful cold, her words meant she knew them and that was colder still. Hansel shivered to his spine.

The girl seemed to notice this with a smile "Surprised failed thief? Surprised failed tree licker?" She laughed a horrible laugh, a laugh that would turn grown men into cowards, children into sobbing meat, and women into bleak whores. The laugh continued on and on, all the while Hansel felt his already tired body weaken, his knees buckling under him. It turned into a gurgle as the other boy strode towards her and swung his sword at her feet. How did he get there? Hansel's mind couldn't comprehend how the boy could move so fast, without running.

The shock on the girl's face turned back to her cold smile, yellow teeth glinting at the sound of metal meeting metal. "Best be proper lad" The inquisitor grunted. He could have been laughing behind his mask, or he could have been as featureless as the ssssnakes, nothing much changed.

Beylan was quick at getting there but something caught his ankle and he sprang away "Three on three'sssss the proper way Hollow" the dead ssssnake hissssed, blood bubbling as he spoke on the ground, though it took no time at all for him to stand up, the knife still sticking out of his head.

"You're againssssst me boy"

Hansel gulped down his bile and forced himself to look at the sssnake. Taller than him, that didn't mean much. The sssnake pulled out two daggers form his belt. Hansel looked around, there weren't much people left, and the judge seemed to have fainted, no help there. No help from Beylan and the boy as they struggle with their marks, Beylan wrestling with his, the boy dancing with his sword. All the while the girl smiled her yellow smile. That left Hansel and the sssnake. The armed ssssnake.

"Eyesssss on me" Hansel was flung to the judge's podium, his breath coming out of him. He rolled away as a dagger flew an inch to where he had been. The sssnake hissed and ran to him, Hansel pretended to sway, though pretending and the real thing were divided by a very thin line. The snake jabbed his dagger at Hansel's head, only it wasn't there anymore, it bulled thorugh the sssnake with all the strength Hansel had left, that is to say not much. Good thing his dagger came with all his weight.

They crashed on top of each other, each one snarling and hissing, one trained by the slums, the other could have been trained in hell for all its furiosity. Hansel knew he was weak so he hacked and slashed at the sssnakes wrists, hoping to dismember them. But the snake caught each strike with a parry of no great effort. The only thing keeping Hansel alive was the wild cuts and wilder angles he slashed with. And before he knew it the sssanke wassss on top of him.

"Time to die! But remember eyesss on me" Hansel knew he was going to die, he knew deep in his bones. He knew it as the sssnakes head moved clossser, the teeth wanting to tear him out, piece by bloody piece. He knew as the mouth was a breath away from him the stench not unlike a slaughterhouse that had the rot. He knew as the mouth was touching his shoulder, as the pressure grew then lessened. He knew when a hand reached out to grab hold of him, to let him stand. He knew it as the head rolled away into the benches, the body falling on him. He knew he was going to die, thankfully not today.

Elson whistled tunelessly, the sound very small in the big space. The tall guy could swing, without a doubt. The corpse of a dervish laid rumpled on the floor, a Sukger looking boy his age trying to stand from under it, though the effort seemed to be wasted. He peered around the room. A dervish lay dead on the floor beside a small grandfatherly man, though the image was ruined by his bloody fingers. Another boy, almost Scozi fair sat on the floor a smoking short sword held in his hands, while a giant of a headless man was sprawled in a haphazard position.

He saw the Rat sleeping on the floor. His head ached, he tried to speak but Dominic spoke first "Please tell me what happened here, slowly, from the beginning" Elson reckoned that'd take a while, though the Four know he needed a rest. His eyes widened as the grandfatherly man spoke behind him, at the doorway. "All right, you boys, best take a seat" He looked at them with blue knives. They obeyed.

Like I said before the more potatoes review the better the quality. MORE POTATOES = BETTER STORY :)