"It's a cockatrice," Vargos stammered "But it shouldn't have been able to follow us!" 

By all accounts, Vargos would have been correct. The nature of the Cockatrice in the world are that they are, for lack of a more creative mind, giant chickens. They are both wildly defensive, and horribly cowardly. When normally pressed, they would turn and run away unless they possesed a nest to defend. In this case, Rusuilini had, by way of surviving an impressive number of stab wounds, managed to rout the pair of Cockatrice that had arrived. They had, in the process, managed to slay one. The current and present, dangers mate. This drove it into an anger that pressed the creature to pursue the attackers, and one of Rusuilinis assassins had managed to sneak into Vargos party. 

Rusuilini passed away some days later due to the recieved wounds, unable to outrun death. Though it did allow the creature to make some final amends to the assassins that had accompied him, for whatever its worth Death is not a terrible soul. 

"You have got to be shitting me." 

The creature screamed in an eldritch tongue that, if understood, would have made even the most hearty of soldier turn their nose up at the use of profanity. 

"What do we do?" Artessa asked. Her eyes flashed from the doors to the windows, clearly looking for an escape. 

"We could run?" He said. 

"Seconded." She nodded. 

"Get them!" Vargos screamed. 

A dozen things happened at once. The regular patrons, as one, leapt to their feet and fled. The portly man fell back behind the counter, and made to defend himself with the actions of hiding. The assassins all produced weapons from their pockets, pouches, sheathes, and other objects made to hide weapons and made to attack. The creature, gave another nasty comment and began to step further into the room. 

"Lets move!" Morgan grabbed Artessa by the wrist and pulled her aside as a short dagger flashed through the air and struck into the back of a fleeing patron. 

Morgan, quick as he could, pulled her aside and readied his blade to attack the coming assassin. She gave him a curse and squeezed her wrist in annoyance. She was about to make a comment about her feelings toward being manhandled, when another blade swept towards her head. She kicked out and caught the man in the chest, sending him backward with an enhanced kick. The flickering pool of magic tinkled off her leg as she came to stand once more, and nearly caught another blade into the shoulder. She retreated a step and ended up back to back with Morgan. 

He was currently engaged with a pair of assassins wielding small, thin daggers tipped in an ivory color that gave him the distinct impression that it may be poisoned. The first of the two got a feeling about him to charge, and as such completely confused their companion. The second swung wildly and accidentally knicked the side of the first, who quickly turned and made the same motion into a third that was making their presence obvious. Morgan stabbed into the now center figure and watched the three drop. 

"That was-" 

"Watch out!" Artessa slammed into his side and launched him towards the wall. A moment later a large claw from a distinctly peeved cockatrice flew past and clipped a trio of assassins. 

"What was that about running before?" He asked. 

"I think now would be the best, yes." She said. They turned as a pair and darted towards the exit as the creature ripped apart the furniture and damaged the barrels of ale. 

Rain. Heavy and thick. Stomping of feet and an errant scream that died in the lungs of the screamer. Morgan pushed aside the front door to the Small-Fathers Inn and ran through the pelting storm towards the stables, Artessa quickly following at pace. They pressed out and into the half enclosed space, taking temporary cover from the assualt of weather and creature. 

"This is pure madness." She exclaimed. 

"Welcome to the world." He said. 

He pulled the door open to their horse and gripped the reins, making sure to untie them from the nearby rack. The beast was looking displeased with the weather, but a single stern look gave it the impression that perhaps the weather wasn't so bad afterall. Morgan swore as a body, or something heavy, collapsed onto the rooftop of the building and shook down sawdust and debris. 

"We should go." Artessa repeated. 

"I'm not one to disagree." He said. 

With horse in hand, the pair ran out of the stables and into the cold, damp night. Morgan lept up and extended a hand for Artessa to follow, when another blade came flying through the air and struck into his wrist, mere inches from Artessas very own hand. He turned to see the figure of a bloody Vargos ambling from the door. 

"Not... yet..." He breathed. The creature smashed into something behind them and another thud filled the air. 

"Artessa, lets go." He offered her the injured arm again, but before she could make a move the short man was sprinting towards them. 

Vargos was fast, faster than most people would have considered possible for someone who looked so woefully out of step from the rest of the soldiers and killers of the world. In fact, as a child he'd been apart of a number of sprinting teams in the local schools, though had injured himself in his youth and failed to make any Kingdom team. He'd regretted that fact for many years, but never more than now. He was full tilt running towards the pair on the horse, when the old injury in his thigh decided to act up, and he dropped from the pain. 

"Yargh!" he managed. 

"What was that?" Artessa asked, spells power flickering in her palms as the man had rushed towards her. 

"I'm not sure," Morgan said "Now lets go." 

She dispersed the magic that had been building in her palms and gripped his hand with a ferver that stated she too wanted to leave. With a quick pull she was aboard and wrapped around Morgan as he directed the frightened creature towards running away. 

The Cockatrice chose this moment to make its final attack. Seeing as how it had caused enough property damage and had managed to kill the offending assassin that had fled from Rusuilinis group, in scrambled through the inn and towards the stables where it hoped to get a quick bite to eat before going back about its business of destruction. It spotted a figure nearly collapsed in the mud, blood, and rain, and stopped. It hadn't seen this one before, but surely it wouldn't mind being eaten. 

The massive beast lowered its jaws and prepared to snap at the collapsed creature, when suddenly a flapping of wings caught its attention and a Raven swooped in to strike. It scratched at an exposed iris on the beast and sent it sprawling backwards from surprise. 

Vargos, never one to waste an opportunity, had seen the creature about to devour him and had made plans to avoid it. What he hadn't planned on was their scout raven swooping in and blinding the beast. He gave woop of joy and threw up his arms in pride, then stood and realized where he was. 

The pair atop the horse had gone, fled in a wild run during the attack. He tried to spot them on the distance but only man

aged to cover his eyes in rain. Vargos siged and turned to look at the beast before him, still reeling from the sudden attack on its own eyes. He gave a quick glance over the carnage surrounding him and then smiled, readied a pair of blades, and rushed towards the beast. 

It turned into a very long night.