• Graded • II. I've Got A Little List

[Kasoria]

9th Trial, Cylus, Arc 718
Outer Perimeter
11th break

Continued from here



"And a good day to you, dearie..."

Fuck me, you'd almost believe she was sincere, too.

Although that may have been a little unfair of him. He'd been dealing with the woman for a few arcs now, and had no reason to think she wasn't a cheery, genial, and shrewd individual. He wasn't so naive to think that all those who dealt in items of death and misery wore faces carved from granite, shadowed and cowl'd, like the villains from all the mummers' neat, tidy tales. No, Kasoria had seen enough of the city to know that often the greatest profiteers from death wore fine clothes, bore handsome faces, and smiled, smiled, smiled.

And yet were villains. Just like this one.

The woman seemed to sense him before he could sidle up to her properly. Kasoria didn't think she had some magic working in her favor, some way of warning her to an unknown presence, but she wouldn't have put it past her. Bright red eyes, like fresh blood in the suns, slid to him and narrowed for just a moment. The smooth, pretty face wrapped and framed by her hood broke into a smile, and damned if he could see any mockery in it.

"I remember you."

"Aye."

A wry eyebrow cocked, and the woman crossed her arms. Every inch of her seemed to be concealed in her cloak, only the tips of her pale fingers visible, white as chalk and matching her face. "Hmm. Yes, you weren't much of a conversationalist last time, either. How can I help you?"

Kasoria stepped closer and for just a moment, there was a tension to her body. The way it turned just a touch, as if presenting her weaker side, dominant hand sliding a little closer to the opening of her cloak. He'd heard the stories about what she had under there, too. Not just concoctions and potions and poisons, but a wicked little blade that would leave you frothing and choking to death with the merest nick. He had not desire to test his reflexes, and made sure she could see his other hand was empty.

Miss Givings was already frowning at the contents of the other hand. Reading the parchment grasped in it. She made little hums and hmphs and her lips twisted from side to side, mentally jumping around as she absorbed each item. Finally she sighed and tapped the top of the short list.

"Sorry, dearie, but those top two? Afraid I'm out for the season." Kasoria just blinked, disbelieving, and she read it perfectly. She shrugged with an abrupt giggle. "Can't always get the stock in, darling. Just have to do without."

"And the rest?"

"Hmm... well... fortunately for you, I do have something in that line. This season only, you understand. Quite the sales coup, if I do say so myself."

"Show me."

"Ooof! So brusque, darling. A little patience. Woo a lady, won't you?"

It didn't take long for Givings to realize her usual charm wouldn't do much good with this hairy little savage. As brisk and close-mouthed as he'd been a season or two before, purchasing poison (Scarf Rot and Ghost Mushrooms, two vials of each, at a decent mark-up) with barely a paragraph's worth of words exchanged between the two. He'd been dressed much the same, too... in fact, good grief, those were the same clothes!

She sighed and shook her head. Some people were just determined not be be any fun. She crooked her finger and he stepped closer... and now she was the one that noticed the slight but definite hardening of his stance. The way his legs bent a touch at the knees, and one hand moved to his hip, where lurked... something nasty, she'd wager.

The industrious vendor of the Outer Perimeter smiled softly to herself. How darling.

Kasoria listened close as she whispered a name, and a place. Along with her assurances that the man in question would be waiting for him by the time he got there in... say, two breaks. As he made to move away, small but firm fingers gripped his wrist, and he looked down-

-to find her other hand closing her fingers around his list. Patting the top of it. They were cold, and it wasn't just because of the weather.

"Keep hold of that, dearie. And I'll be taking my money now, thank you."

"I haven't got anything."

"Yet, my friend. Not yet. But you can imagine how my reputation would be tarnished if word got around that I was stiffing hard-working knifemen with cheap tricks. Much smarter for me to stick to my word and make sure we both get what we want."

Kasoria didn't look away from her smiling eyes. The endless deluge of humanity that heaved about the Citizen's Market was forgotten by him for a moment, as he ran her words back through his mind. Again, she seemed to peer into his skull, and fine mirth in what she found.

"How do you... Why do you say I'm a knifeman?"

"Oh, dearie..." She stalked forwards, just a couple of steps. Kasoria was reminded of a panther he'd seen once, in a cage and no less lethal for the bars. Just waiting for a chance to be let loose. "Word gets around. You know how it is. Now, if I read that list right, I'd say you're bill comes to... mmm... we'll call it fifty-two gold nels. Fair deal, I'd say, for the quality you'll be getting."

Kasoria didn't argue. His back to the crowd, shoulders hunched to shield from sight his purse and the fortune inside it, he counted out fifty-two gold coins. Each one vanished into one of Miss Givings multitude of pockets, and once the last one went spinning into the dark, she gathered the fabric around herself again and gave him a warm smile.

"Pleasure as always, dearie."

"What if what I get is not up to what I paid?"

"I'll have someone pop over with the difference," she said, voice as airy as he steps, already circulating away from him, blending into the endless dark of Cylus. Even as she left him standing there, Kasoria couldn't fail to hear her whispered words, as if they were just for him. Just them and those blood-red eyes, dancing in her cloak. "I know where to find you."

She was gone, swallowed, gulped down by the crowd and off to he-didn't-want-to-know where. Leaving the killer with a lighter purse and naught but a name and a time and-

No, he reminded himself. A deal made, and her word given.

He knew the value of such things in their world. If Miss Giving said what had had on his list (or at least half of it) was where she said, then it would be. Without your word and your grit, you were nothing in Etzos. Even such notorious a figure as Miss Givings knew better than to try and supersede that ancient law. He fixed his hat a little lower on his head, and started walking.

Receipt

-52gn for services yet-to-be-rendered (keep readin'...)

[Kasoria]

"She said he'd be here, right?"

"He handed over the nels, fuck wouldn't he be?"

He truly did enjoy Cylus. For most other professions it was a season of deprivation, denial, and slow withering, but for those in his field... it was a cloak of secrecy that he could wear for a while thirty trials. Shadows blanketed Etzos, ever longer the deeper one went into the city, twin suns unable to bring any light or sight to them. As the season drew to a close, Kasoria could close his eyes and faintly, barely, but definitely, hear the whimpers of fear carried on the air.

Every arc, a terrified handful of citizens believed it to be The Last Darkness. The long gloom before the earth cracked and all hell was loosed on the world, like the northern myths of endless blizzards that heralded the end times. He could walk through the shadows and the gloom and feel the tension on his skin.

The moons always shifted. The suns always returned. The frantic handful breathed shaky sobs of relief and went on with their arc... until next time. He would see a buoyancy in the faces he passed in the first days of Ashan, the way people would soak in the suns longer than usual, even on the most trivial of errands. Close their eyes and remind themselves how much they took them for granted.

Kasoria would have to retreat deeper into the darkness that was his clime and trade. But in Cylus? He was free... and that meant he could be cautious without worrying about being spotted.

There were two men below him, standing among the withered wreckage of a garden once lush and green. But it wasn't the current sunless season that robbed it of life: it was clear from the cracked, dry vines and crunching leaves that this house had fallen into disrepair long before. The assassin had circled the property, whispered to him by Miss Givings, and decided to... make a game of things.

Not quite, but close enough. Why make it too easy, after all?

He made a lap of the old house, with it's dead-eye windows and peeling paint, searching for a spot he could climb. The coal shed. Just above it, a ledge to a window. There was a doll staring out from inside, forever watching, forever waiting. Kasoria locked eyes with it, then tracked his gaze upward... to the roof. He checked the street and made sure he was alone. Then he walked over to the dust-covered shed and braced himself for-

Fuck me. Still healing, need to remember that.

Hoisting himself up onto the shed was the hardest part: the shock to his system that he knew had to happen. His biceps strained and his legs tightened and the healing cuts across each shrieked their indignation up and down his frame. But he ground his teeth and pulled himself up to the ledge, coming black-eye-to-black-eye with that doll behind the glass.

The nursery had been ravaged, pillaged, stripped as much as he'd expect any abandoned building in this part of town would be. Just four bare walls and floorboards so covered in dust they were almost grey. He frowned as he saw the slices and lines in them. Furniture dragged out, long ago but not as long as it had been occupied. A handful of toys strewn around, but this one... still left behind. Not even disturbed. Propped up on a silent vigil for a child that would not return.

Kasoria shook his head and looked up. He was only halfway there.

The roof was thatch, but the sort of thickly, sturdily-made construct that was common in Etzos. Slow to burn, easy to lay down, common across the Outer Perimeter. He raised up to a crouch and breathed hard. First shock: up onto the shed. Second burn: the ledge. Finale: the roof. Grasping handfuls of thatch and hoping it wouldn't tear as he snarled through his teeth and ignored the pain and then he was up and-

Birds hooted to themselves as he disturbed their kingdom. The shadow from the chimney fell across him and he panned his gaze across roofs and alleys and smoke stacks of all kinds. Dozens, hundred, stretching out into the wilderness... and then back the other way until the high walls of the Citadel barred their rude assortment. Beyond them, Etzos was a place of stone and marble and things immune to fire and rot. Kasoria looked up them, too, until the black night and the distance obscured them all, save for pinpricks of burning torches.

Voices, in the courtyard. Ah, yes. The game.

"How long's it been?"

"About a break."

"Fuck's sake..."

"Fates, calm yerself, would ya?"

They were stout and solid, and couldn't hide their bearing with civilian clothes. The wraith slipped across the roof of the house, crouched low and moving slowly. If they'd chance to look up, they'd see only another black smear among black smears. He could tell by the way the one paced and the other stood at ease, these weren't just black marketeers. Then there was the way the older man set the tone, voice full of easy command, like he knew his "suggestions" would be adhered to no matter the complaint.

Army. Haircuts, too.

"Lugged this shite all the way from the warehouse, now we're just sitting on it-"

"Next to it."

"You bloody well know what I mean! Good stuff, too... shame to give it up."

A short, straight, oddly-shaped little blade touched the moonlight, and it seemed to shine in Kasoria's eyes. The blade was far bigger than the simple wooden handle below it. Kasoria's lips turned up into a thin smile. The vendor had been as good as her word. There were a bushel of similar blades, glinting in the bad the younger man (soldier, remember?) carried. But that was only half the order he'd paid for.

He waited. Squatted in the shadows and indulged himself in his anonymity. People rarely looked up. They assumed threats would come at their level, easy to see coming, easier to prepare for. A cautious man (like this sergeant, casting his eyes around) would scan parapets and roofs, but Cylus... Cylus made such precautions a mixed bag.

There was a reason Kasoria favored blacks and browns and dark, dark greens. The shadows were his friends. They were a cloak all to themselves.

"We ain't givin' them to anyone. We're sellin' them, like the rest. Gettin' good coin for the lot, too, so put 'em back before y'scuff 'em up."

"Pah. Not likely, with this thing underneath 'em all."

Kasoria nodded to himself as a shimmering expanse of steel rings, all hammered and linked together, was lifted up by the... he'd have to guess "private". He would be a corporal, but he needed to learn to follow orders. The boy whistled at the sight of the intricate iron latticework, able to ward off a slashing sword or hatchet in a pinch. He squinted and saw that it was what he'd asked for: no sleeves, just protection for the torso. A chain-mail vest, not a shirt.

Easier to conceal. Less noise. More movement.

Time to move.

"Donny, don't make me fucking tell you twi-"

Glass shattered on the other side of the building, and distracted though Donny was, he was still trained well. He had his sword in his hand before he'd fully risen to his feet, Evans doing the same. It came from the house, this gloomy sodding relic they'd been told to go to by that messenger. Just a note with what to bring, and who to bring it to. Evans had frowned at the description, but shrugged it off. "The lady", as they called her, was a strange one, but her connections were good and her cut was reasonable.

The old soldier peered into the husk of a home and listened... to faint sounds, that spoke of life in that deathly place. Feet on stairs. On floorboards. Stone. Getting louder, more distinct. Until they came to the back door and-

Ah. Well. She wasn't bloody kidding.

A man matching the note was in the doorway. Didn't come close to filling it, either. He was almost a full foot shorter than Evans, and the doughy sergeant could see why the little man felt the need for some "protection". Especially the kind he could sling from a dozen yards away. But as he got closer and the face under the hood became clear, the wry, mocking humor faded from his ruddy features.

Kasoria looked up into his eyes... and Evans found only his own reflection in those black orbs, staring back at him.

"You have what I paid for?"

"Aye... yes, here they are. Donny, fuck's sake...?!"

"Yeah, yeah, sorry, Sar-ah, boss."

Kasoria's lip twitched. Definitely not corporal material. Not yet.

He watched in silence as the bag was fastened back up and delivered into his hands. Metal clanked and chain-mail tinkled heavily. He made sure to hold it with his good arm as his other hand unfastened one buckle, rummaged inside... and one of those odd little blades was in his hand.

Lighter than he expected, but only at the blade end. The balance was... quite impressive. He'd paid for the best work, and apparently he'd got it. He balanced the blade quickly on the knife of his hand, and it didn't fall. Once the center had been found, it was steady. The metal was cleaner and sharper (ho-ho-ho) than simple iron or steel, too. Something harder, tougher, that made even the razor-point seem lethal even to the eye.

Not all I wanted, Miss. But good enough.

He met the dealers' eyes one more time, nodded, and turned on his heel. They were proxies, cut-outs, nothing more, and he wasn't in the business of trading words with the hired help. This was business, after all. Evans watched the little man with the stony eyes walk away without a backward glance, and felt the wind rush across his face a little colder than usual.

"Er... Sarge?" Donny paused before he spoke, lest hidden ears take note of their (technical) treason. "Who was that?"

Evans swallowed and scolded himself a fool. Just another Etzos hardcase, same they'd been plying their pilfered stock to for seasons. Shame on him, with arcs and skirmishes to his name, chilled for even a trill by some cold-eyed little bastard.

"Dunno, son. A'right, let's be gone. Need a fuckin' drink."

Two sets of feet beat their way through the dead leaves. The house rested again, empty save for the ghosts and the memories.

Purchases

Good Chainmail Vest x1
Masterwork Throwing Knives x10

Thanks for Jade for the template

[Pegasus]

Kasoria

Overview

Miss Givings? I nearly died on a skittle I was chewing at the time! I very much enjoyed this thread - your writing is very rich and packed with detail. Considering the language used I'd suggest that you use a "Mature" tag to your threads, rather than solo etc. You have some lovely, vivid imagery, and I really enjoy reading your writing. Your story is cohesive and coherent and there are some moments where I could hear Kasoria's rough, gravelly voice. Really enjoyed it - hope you enjoy the rewards, PM me if I've missed anything!

Points

XP:10 (solo)

Renown:

Loot

All sorted in ledger. Thank you!

Knowledge

Discipline: Keeping Chatter to a Minimum
Intelligence: Getting a Lay of the Land
Intelligence: Observing and Assessing Before Revealing Oneself
Strength: Hoisting Yourself Up a Ledge
Stealth: Watching from High Up
Stealth: Using Muted Colors to Match the Gloom

Non-Skill Knowledge:
NPC "Miss Givings": Purveyor of Poisons, Weapons, Whatever
Etzos Underworld: Arms and Armor Sold by Corrupt Soldiers