Neighbor against Neighbor

[Bleys Bashire]

Two robed men passed the pitch black nook Bleys was hiding in. He allowed them to move ten feet farther from him along the cobble stone road before he stepped out from the shadows, cleared his throat, and whistled. The two turned to face him; blood stains glistening on their robes made obvious by the faint moonlight. As one of the two men stepped directly towards him, Bleys whistled a second time and both were instantly feathered with arrows. The killers emerged from their covered positions, covertly removed the bodies from the street, and removed any obvious evidence of the ambush.
 Bleys darted between two buildings and hastily made his way three streets over to the next position in the previously arranged traps. The last was merely the fifth attack his detachment had completed this night. If Xeric's plans were succeeding, several other small bands of men were likewise waylaying anyone wearing bloodstained clothing. Seaside had become a killing ground.
 Bleys push his concern for the greater success of this night from his mind as he pulled a loose sod of grass over his body, leaving only a small gap that was barely big enough for one eye to see the ongoing along the street. There was more blood to spill this night.

[Xavior Mues]

 Xeric leaned across the roughly cut yellow pine table to examine the Seaside map. Reports had arrived less than an hour ago and clerks had updated it accordingly. In three nights of hit and run tactics, 125 people had been killed and 13 structures burned to their foundations. The people were either servants of Bile, or psychopaths that had risen against their own neighbors in the most vile manner. The structures could be rebuilt, but the message was clear: 'No servant of Bile's nor citizen complying with the policies' of Bile was safe.' The displaced masses had found a sponsor, been trained, armed, and sent back to their former homes on a mission of bloody vengeance.
 The Mandelorian, and the Sith after her, had grown a sickness in Seaside, a cancer; Xeric intended to cut that cancer out.

[Xavior Mues]

Yuri shifted his weight and adjusted his uniform again. He still thought the red, blue, and green dress uniform looked odd on him. Just weeks earlier, he barely knew the pommel of a sword from the blade, and now he was a guard under the command of the new Baron. He tugged at the overcoat as he watched the intersection he was assigned to.
Smoke rose in the north from one of several burnt structures. To the south, stone masons were placing angled structure stones, carpenters raised skeletal wooden frames, and laborers cleared charred debris from torched buildings. The wounds left from the recent bloody nights were slowly beginning to heal and people were returning to their homes, but the divisions left from the scarring violence were still simmering.
Yuri adjusted his stance as he tried to stamp out the memories of his time in the killing field: The adrenaline of the moment. The trill of the sudden conflicts. The excitement of success. He had always thought of killing as a violation of basic morality, but that wasn't how he felt. He had drawn blood, taken lives, and he had enjoyed it. Not for the first time, he wondered how he could ever tell anyone of the things that had happened.