• Mature • The Hound and The Shadow (Yndira) [Graded and bombed]

[Kasoria]

"I... I just... wanted it..."

Kasoria had to admit, it was all rather underwhelming. Not the thrilling and necrotic brawl beforehand. That was a nice break from the norm. Usually it was just the living he hacked up. Fighting something that couldn't be killed with a simple slash or thrust was... a little more challenging. Not to mention the whole lead up, and he didn't just mean the pantomime that Yndira had pulled off. No, this was two seasons in the making, with a trail of bodies and a prestigious robbery in its wake. He still remembered the meeting he'd been present for, where Vorund and their Council contact had spoken of the sword guard, the robbery, and the possible conspiracy behind it.

It all reeked of mystery. Of layers and deceptions and hidden hands of motivation. Shadowy parties and inscrutable motives. Kasoria chided himself for such romantic notions. When he he become such a child? So willing to slash at shadows?

Most times, it isn't deep or profound or... dramatic. It's just a greedy bastard with means and motive.

But he still had to be sure, so gave the sniveling cunt another slap.

Wersham's head rocked back as the blow split his lip open. His sobbing barely skipped a beat. He breathed deep and out, blowing bubbles of snot. Kasoria grimaced and wiped the back of his hand on the man's breeches... which were even more bloody, as it happened. He sighed and waited for the man to collect himself. He'd only asked a handful of questions, making sure the man understood that yes, he knew about the ragged little band of thieves he'd hired, and yes, he knew they'd been hired to steal the sword guard.

No, they weren't alive. Any of them. Guess why?

"That was all? No-one put you up to it?"

"N-No!" Wersham was still able to use words, but not full sentences. They seemed a bit beyond him. He couldn't take his eyes off his shattered leg, knowing that it would likely have to be amputated. He'd wailed about that. Kasoria had hit him until he stopped. "I-It w-was a pr-pr-priceless art-art-"

"Artifact?"

"Yes! Pe-People would p-p-pay a f-f-f-"

"Yeah, I get the idea." Kasoria sighed as he got back to his feet, wincing at the tension in his legs from squatting so long. Fucking hells, he hated getting old. "Plenty of punters willing t'buy, pay more'n you paid those lads t'steal it, blah blah blah..."

There was a bleak, empty silence. Broken only by a weird sort of clanking. Kasoria turned around and saw the woman playing with her new... thing. Hmm. Another exotic piece, by the looks of it. He studied his own weapon for a moment. Just an ax. Big and nasty and sharp and heavy. It suited him, just as the eccentric flail-chain-dagger abortion she carried did her. He shrugged to himself.

Fuck it, might as well keep a souvenir.

"W... Will you... Let me go...?"

Kasoria turned back to the man and thought about burying that ax in his head right down to the throat. He probably could, even with a blood-pissing arm he still needed to tend to. One swing, one splatter, and this job was over. All these jobs were over, going back scores of trials. But he'd made a deal, and he had a feeling the... "woman" behind him liked her food fresh.

"Ain't fer me to decide, mate," he said, shrugging helplessly and already looking beyond him for his lost gladius. "Lady'll be handlin' youse."

Then he did something stupid. He turned away from the crippled man, and faced the woman. She was caught between fascinations, it seemed: the weapon in her hands, and the frozen marrow, club still held high. They stood between Thrall and Master, only the former was useless and still without the latter commanding it.

Getting old. That's what he blamed it on. Because he knew Wersham knew what was coming next. Not exactly, not the how, mayhap not even guessing what Yndira truly was. But just... the general ending. When was anyone ever "let go" in this sort of situation? Why leave a loose end when you could snip it off at no expense to yourself? So, he forgot that-

-and he forgot about the second dagger.

"Right," he said, addressing Yndira as Wersham gripped the throwing knife he'd pulled from his leg. "He's all yers. I'll pay yeh, get me sword an' thenFUCK"

Pain set half his right leg aflame from foot to knee, and he collapsed down into a crouch as Wersham jammed the blade into the back of his shin. In the same moment, the furious, desperate man shrieked that weird fucking language again. Similar words as before, if Kasoria remembered correctly. But not exactly. He looked up, just in time to see Yndira's disgusted expression mingling with surprise-

-and green balefyre eyes reignite in the dead sockets of the figure behind her, club rising once again, ready to swing down and smash her skull to pieces-

"DOWN!"

Wersham's manic smirk had just enough time to die, when he saw the little man lunge forwards and tackle that fucking whore off her feet. Both of them fell below the sweeping club that his precious marrow swung at her... only to continue through the air, bronze-studded end too heavy to stop-

-as it missed them completely, and continued for his own head. The one consolation he felt was that they'd still have to deal with it. It wasn't much. Kasoria could have sworn he heard a tiny, disgusted sigh, just before two words that ended with a-

"Oh, sh-"

SPLAT

[Yndira]

Right. So this thing was done. The old man seemed to be finished with his end of this arrangement. In retrospect, he'd had an easier portion of this, if it hadn't gone to absolute shit in the first half of his interrogation. And for that - he'd be paying extra, or she'd be bringing home his fingers. It didn't take much strength to bite those off and he was wounded. Slow and tired; she'd see how quick he could avoid her this time. He addressed her, perhaps indirectly, and she looked up.

While the old man would blame it on age, she would blame it on Wersham no longer being relevant. He'd be the subject of her attention once more in a much more malicious fashion than he'd seen previously, but her focus was on the money owed to her and more. So, of course - of course - it would be disgust on her face when the old man went down. That Wersham had the audacity to do something that would only impede the inevitable for a few more trills was outrageous, but more so disappointment that the old man had been careless. He was supposed to be the better of the two in this situation, and yet he was acting like it was amateur hour. But it was surprise that morphed her features as she realized what this opportunity had given Wersham.

There were those words again, rushed and eager to put an end to the two attackers. Another hiss left her. Her momentum forward was stopped quite abruptly, another voice bouncing off the walls of the warehouse as the old man tackled her to the ground. Her head smacked against the floor as his weight pressed her down for a trill, just short of feeling as though it were flattening her. Head pounding like a drum, it took her moment to realize that she was looking up at the ceiling and there was the distinct rattle of bones as they moved.

The clubber - whatever the fuck she was supposed to call the thing - was moving again and Wersham wasn't. Had she imagined that would be what she'd do to him? Certainly. It'd been a very appealing thought to have commanded the thing to crush his skull in just the right way but now she couldn't. Wronged again by idiot men, particularly the one on top of her. "Off! Off!"

It wasn't just that him being on top of her was repulsive - it was a notable part of it - but the walking bones were coming back around and she wasn't going to find herself trapped under the old man's weight. She shoved and kicked for the added urgency and to put distance between them just in time for the punctuating swing of the club to land in the empty space.

It was not fear at this point.Yndira had already faced one of these creatures and was yet still alive. Her life had not been snuffed out the first go around, and it would be much the same this time. It was anger that fueled her. That this entire night had not gone the way she had wanted. That she'd had to run into the old man and have her mood sullied just for a deal he hadn't fully figured out the details of. If you planned to ambush someone, you tended to make sure they had nothing up their sleeves. Basic ambush etiquette, right? Or was it that these men both suffered from extreme cases of pride, that somehow seemed to equate to them getting their hands on her in one form or another?

Whatever the case, there was nothing quite like a Naer enraged, especially this one in particular. She'd learned something important when dealing with the first skeleton - aim for the head. She had every intention of doing so, gaze trained on the thing. Her aching frame was forgotten in favor of finding an outlet for all that rage. The tumble she'd been forced into had rid her of her weapon and she had to nearly dive for what was left of the leg she'd previously destroyed. Tendons were ripped apart with a quick pull, the Naer falling back on her rear as the skeleton swung again. This was getting old, very quickly.

She threw the limb-turned-weapon, only for it serve as a momentary distraction. But she was learning that that would be enough as she shoved forward and grabbed the ankles of the thrall, pulling it forward. Down the creature went and she scrambled over it. She didn't care if the old man had gotten up again - she might as well do the work herself at this point - balling up her fist and slamming it down over the ribcage of the thing. Pain radiated through her, then her side as the club met her side. But the movement had been impaired by their current positioning.

A change of plans needed to be made, because this wasn't working fast enough. Which prompted her too grab the skull and attempt slamming it back against the ground repeatedly. The pain of being struck in her side dulled as her focus narrowed in on the task at hand. The cathartic reverberation of the impact on repeat between her fingers until it stopped and the fire extinguished from the creature's eyes. But she kept going because there was nothing wrong with being careful.

Yndira supposed there was a lot more she could be careful with. Like Wersham's corpse, for one. Who knew if he had some sort of spell put on him that would only work when he died. Chest heaving, she glared over at the body for a trill. Almost drunkenly, she reached for the club still clutched by skeletal digits and pried them off with her uninjured hand. Standing was made easy by using the club for support, cradling her injured hand close to her chest as she dragged the weapon across the floor to the corpse. Defiling the dead didn't include nudging for signs of life, did it? Regardless, when there appeared to be no response, she made sure to double check by hoisting the club upward and slamming it down over what was once his head. Then again. And again, and once more until she was sated, strength leaving as she collapsed just beside the corpse.

Unfurling her fingers, she reached out one hand towards the Raggedy Man. "Money. Now."

Ith'ession | Common | Pailtic | Thought

[Kasoria]

"Yer fuckin' welcome!"

Kasoria managed to spit that out as he rolled off the young woman, growling with pain as he smacked the knife still jammed in his thigh against the stone floor. As if he needed to be told that. As if he needed her to tell him to get off, get upright, and get back to killing that fucking thing. He knew his luck, and the games the Fates played with him: he wouldn't be blessed enough to have the spells that powered that bag of bones just stop once Wersham died.

"Shit-!"

CRACK

The spun and fleew apart from each other as if yanked by ropes, and the club smashed a spiderweb into the stone beneath them. Solid stuff, and yet the abomination had cracked it like cheap wood. Balefyre eyes burned and a fleshless face shrieked at them as it raised the club again. Kasoria scrambled away, looking left and right for his ax, and finding himself smacking into the wall Wersham rested again, face to face with a corpse.

Fuck me... not exactly.

Even Kasoria winced as he saw the wreckage of the dapper entrepreneur's skull. Everything north of his upper lip was splattered and spread across the wall and a rather fetching Rharnian tapestry in a broad, dripping, smelly arc. His tongue didn't so much loll from his mouth as it was... barely stopping itself from escaping completely. A handful of teeth were dotting the stones and both of his eyes were elsewhere. Along with pretty much everything in his brain pan.

Fuck it. Bigger things to worry-

Actually, there weren't. The woman bounded to her feet and went after Clubber with nary a pause. She snatched up a bony, severed leg from some fallen construct and wielded it like a club of her own. Both weapons crashed into each other, Clubber clearly distracted with her... and Kasoria oddly found himself with nothing to do. So instead he worried about that dagger. Reached down and yanked it out-

-elbow jogging against Wersham's side as he did, and drawing a familiar clink of metal from within. Kasoria's gaze fell to the essentially-headless man's absolutely ruined formal wear, and he stole a glance at the woman. She'd dove low, yanking Clubber low with her hands around his ankles... and Kasoria shrugged to himself.

Might as well.

A fulsome purse almost bulging with bounty was soon discovered. He tossed it from hand to hand and winced. Fucking arm. Fucking marrow. Fucking Beneath. Gingerly, and with his good hand only, Kasoria weighed it. Seemed like... around two hundred, if he had to guess. Pretty much what he'd expected from a big spender like Wersham, throwing his coin around like he was the biggest noise in the orchestra. Well, he didn't need it anymore. Kasoria pocketed it just as-

CRACK

"Oh, fer fuck's sake," Kasoria muttered with a roll of his eyes, seeing the woman straddling the thing actually punch it in the ribs. "Like that's gonna fuckin' do anythin'! The head, girl! That an' only that!"

The old man kept muttering as he reached up and yanked some sort of cloth or another from the table. Something silken and embroidered, with symbols and words and languages on it that he couldn't guess it. Probably expensive. Probably make some fancy lady or fancier noble clutch their breast and declare they just had to have it. Kasoria spat blood and tied it around his thigh. Staunched the blood with the fine material and then tightened it-

"Shhhhhhhhite..."

Gotta be done. Stops the bleeding, holds you over until you can get home.

There was a feral, furious commotion from in front of him, and Kasoria looked up with almost casual curiosity. He couldn't imagine the girl losing, he had to admit. She was tough and she was smart. She just... wasn't exactly good at this, yet. Still unpolished and brutal. Look at her, slamming the skull against the stones like a brawler, when she had a weapon right there waiting for her. He was sure he heard a crunch when that club hit her side. Quite an effective weapon for breaking bones.

Ah, now she's got it.

Kasoria pushed-hauled himself up the wall as Yndira reduced the marrows skull to splinters. Blow after blow, coming out between enraged bursts of breath. He even had time to find another scrap of cloth, regrettably dappled with Wersham Bits, and use it to bind his arm. In fact, one end of the scrap was between his teeth when Yndira spoke to him. He looked over to her, comically caught just as he held one end of the cloth, wrapped it around his cleaved bicep, and tightened it with mouth and hand.

"Toof... yeah, yeah, be fuckin' patient."

He reached into his pocket and tossed her the purse he'd claimed from Wersham. He didn't look to see if she caught it. He figured she'd realize it was a little light, and didn't hurry. Fuck her, he was wounded. She could wait. He reached into his own purse and started to count out the remaining hundred as he limped towards where his gladius had gone flying. Reclaimed it, sheathed it... then went after the knives.

An impatient huff sounded out behind him like a petulant trumpet. He spoke without looking up, not even bothering to hide his grin.

"There. Now y'made me lose count. Lemme start over..."

So he did, the grinning little shit, knowing he was thus all the while. But also pondering on... not paying her. Which would mean he'd probably have to do something else. He could just not pay her the extra hundred, say they were even after he saved her life. He couldn't imagine her seeing things like that, and Kasoria couldn't imagine he'd give a fuck... if she were any other being. But she wasn't. She was a Naerikk, a child of shadows, and those cunts could hold a grudge like no other mortal race. And while he could swan out of there without worrying about her oh-so-scary "Gift" even touching him, thanks to the ward he was wearing, and while he was pretty sure even with two wounded limbs he could take the snotty bitch, he still had to leave the building.

Into the shadows. Into the deep, dank darkness on the way back home. Into a house that would be filled with darkness and shadows. She could follow him. Ambush him. Turn into that nightmare he'd seen before and tear him apart, and he knew that, because he'd seen her do it.

So just kill her now. She can't use her Gift. She won't expect it. She'd wounded, and they're not beyond Vri.

You nearly killed one before. She ran from you, because she knew you would. This little thing is no different.

The coins stopping clinking into his hand. A hundred gold nels. Bright and fat and shiny. Quite a haul, in some places. He weighed the amount in his hand, and it almost strained his wrist. His eyes flickered to her over it, face taking on a brif, golden gleam for a moment. But his eyes were never anything but black. They never were. He thought of the damage he could do in the... two or three trills he'd have, after tossing the pile in her face. How many bones he could break. How she wouldn't be able to use her Gift, or change into that nightmare from before, not standing in the light.

No.

He thought about how hard it had been just fighting two of those things. He thought about his odds, had he'd been forced to fight all four. He didn't like thinking about it, and it was because of her that he didn't have to. So the Raggedy Man sighed, reached out... and tipped his hand, sending a shower of golden metal into the purse she had open and waiting for him.

No. He would show appreciation for her work. He would show mercy.

Yeah. Sure she fucking sees it that way.

"Youse should take that wiv' ya," he said as he turned away, gesturing briefly to the peculiar, dagger-chain-mace abortion of a weapon she'd been using before. "Suits yeh."

Kasoria went out the way he'd come in. Limping and bleeding, and relishing his date with a bottle of rubbing alcohol and a threaded needle. But the bleeding was stemmed (for now) and it wasn't that far of a walk. He bundled himself up against the cold and chuckled into the clothing around his mouth, filling the space with hot, welcome air. Good thing about fighting those things: he didn't have to worry about getting blood all over him.

"Y'did fine, girl," he said. Then he paused, long enough to turn around and favor her with a slash of yellow and white teeth against the shadows of his hood. Long enough for her to read the lie in the smile. "Pleasure workin' wiv' ya."

The assassin turned and walked out with her reply ringing in his ears... if she bothered to make one, anyway. In truth, he wouldn't have stopped or turned again in either case. The cold air smashed into him and made his eyes wince and tear within a dozen steps. Even the rodents weren't braving the cold and he could understand why. He tramped and limped across the cobbles, a poorer man but contented in that clean, professional way he'd grown so used to.

Questions answered, loose ends snipped, job done.

Receipt

-100gn from Kasoria, +300gn to Yndira (a hundred from Kasoria, the rest from Wersham's looted purse)

I have no idea how many Wealth Points 300gn equals out to, but I know I had enough in Kasoria's ledger to make the payment. Since Kasoria is presently penniless, a couple thousand miles away, and this was two whole seasons ago almost, it hardly matters. I just want to make it clear that Yndira got the full whack, and the Review should reflect that.

[Yndira]

With the wane of adrenaline, everything hurt. All the anger that had fueled her before was gone, leaving her with nothing but pain and exhaustion. This had been a lot more work than it had been worth in her opinion. Breathing alone resulted in a tremendously horrid cacophony of pain and if she were the type to thinking death being more of a release from it, she’d be inclined to think so now.

The old man was taking his time to count those coins and if he took any longer she would be the old woman. The huff that left her was a painful one, but it seemed he took it as something else. She could see the disgusting grin on his face as he stated he’d lost place. A vile move to go with a vile man. The long night was drawing on longer with his antics.

The last time she had been so injured had been in a filthy alley. This was perhaps better, save the carnage of the used to be a man. The thought of eating him would have been much more appealing if she had the energy for it. Most of the work was already done - dead, opened up like a lid taken off a platter. But the idea of active consumption was still too much work.

But at last the money came. Yndira had to wonder if he’d considered skimping out on her. She might have. Her father might have. There it was again. Her eyes narrowed as he spoke; she didn’t need to be told what to take and what to leave.

“So kind. Remind me of father.”

Yndira wasn’t sure how much the old man knew about the way her sisters and mothers handled their men, but if he knew anything he would see this as the insult it was meant to be. And if he didn’t, then he truly was just another dense man prowling the street. But then again, she didn’t know him and vice versa.

The naer took her own time in getting up, waiting for the pain to alleviate some. She could have also spent this time speculating just how much of a shit show this had turned into to. But she had been paid in the end, and if she really tried, she might even have more than a few hundred nel worth of items to take. Vases were out of the question.

Lips pursed, she forced herself to stand. Had all this really been worth the nel given to her? What was done was done, though - no going back now. Introspection of her feelings of this ordeal was a moot point. Grabbing her prize and money, she didn’t bother giving the carnage another look.

Besides, she didn’t have time for it.

Ith'ession | Common | Pailtic | Thought

[Aegis]

[anchor=OptionFour][/anchor]

Thread Review

o.o

Holy hell that took a hard sideways turn for the worst. Jesus. You both synergize well together in your writing, and this was my first time reading Yndira. It was a pleasure, truly. Made my lunch time so much better. Great job!

I cannot award the 300gn or a wealth point equivalent unfortunately, as it is prior to the wealth system and the grandfathering.

Word Count: 21,075
Review Request Link: viewtopic.php?f=242&t=16103&p=110897#p110909

Kasoria

• Skill Points - 15
• Renown - 0
• Skill Knowledges
  1. Acrobatics: Leaping Tackle
  2. Axes & Bludgeons (Waraxe): Perfect for Heavy, Cleaving Strikes
  3. Axes & Bludgeons (Waraxe): Far Stronger Blows When Wielded Two-Handed
  4. Axes & Bludgeons (Waraxe): Top Heavy and Thus Requires Greater Control
  5. Blades (Gladius): Pushing a Block Up and Away to Leave an Opponent's Torso Vulnerable
  6. Intelligence: Bar Staff are Useful Sources
  7. Intelligence: Recognizing Potential in an Acquaintance
  8. Interrogation: Punctuating Questions with Punches (just to keep them focused)
  9. Medicine: Tying a Tourniquet
  10. Medicine: Stemming Blood Flow to a Wounded Limb
  11. Medicine: Applying Your Own Dressings
  12. Negotiation: Payment AFTER Services Rendered
  13. Negotiation: Make it Clear You Can Always Go Elsewhere
  14. Strength: Heaving a Stone Slab
  15. Strength: Brace with your Legs, Push with your Upper Body
  16. Tactics: The Honeypot Trick
  17. Tactics: Knowing When it's Better NOT To Fight
• Non-Skill Knowledges
  1. Location: Gentleman's Leisure, fancy brothel in the Outer Perimeter, Etzos
  2. Necromancy: Marrow Thralls
  3. Necromancy: Marrow Thralls - Stronger Than They Look
  4. Necromancy: Marrow Thralls - Destroy The Skull
  5. Necromancy: Marrow Thralls - No Flesh or Muscles or Organs to Damage
  6. Necromancy: Marrow Thralls - Not Slowed Down By Hacking Off Limbs
  7. Necromancy: Marrow Thralls - Vulnerable to Blunt Force Attacks
  8. Necromancy: Marrow Thralls - Tough, Strong... But Slow
  9. Necromancy: Marrow Thralls - Commanded by Spoken Spells
  10. NPC Wersham: Antiques Dealer, Fence, High-Roller, Deceased
  11. NPC Wersham: A Fool for a Pretty Girl
  12. PC Yndira: Working Girl, Naerikk, Ally of Convenience Alone
  13. PC Yndira: Cold and Calculating Predator
  14. PC Yndira: Monstrously Powerful But Untrained (for now)
• Items and Other Rewards

Yndira

• Skill Points - 15
• Renown - 0
• Skill Knowledges
  1. Acrobatics: Dip and dive
  2. Acrobatics: Forward roll
  3. Acrobatics: Going with your momentum
  4. Appraisal: Worth more because it's old
  5. Endurance: A spear to the leg
  6. Endurance: A club to the side
  7. Deception: Pretending to be interested
  8. Detection: A familiar face in the crowd
  9. Intimidation: A weapon for added effect
  10. Intimidation: Show that you mean business
  11. Negotiation: Sometimes there's no room to negotiate for more
  12. Seduction: All in the smile
  13. Seduction: Ego boosts
  14. Strength: Bones are a lot harder to break than they look
  15. Strength: Throwing vases
  16. Strength: Using a heavy object as a weapon
• Non-Skill Knowledges
• Items and Other Rewards

Final Notes

If you have any questions, please PM me.

Code: Select all

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[Maltruism]

MOD BOMB!!

The investigator did not have to wait long. Prostitutes or not, professional or not, women snubbed by a man, in favor of one he subsequently treated as more attractive, were not given to many emotions besides malice. And selling out the perpetrator of such a transgression to the guard was as good a payback as any.

These two women were no exceptions. Having apparently greeted and latched onto Mr. Wersham at the door of the Gentleman's Leisure, they'd considered him their fare for the night, only to be waved off at the appearance of some naerikk slut like yesterday's news.

Grinnley Fastwell's usual chores were those crimes committed with magic. His was a special cell of the Black Guard, an offshoot of the SSC, or "Special Support Committee" which was based out of Foster's Landing. His garb was warded against virtually every magic imaginable. Not every magic imbued into a single garment of course. He had to make an educated guess on what he was facing and don the appropriate cloak. The point in this case was that Wersham himself was under their scrutiny, his corruption was rumored to be necromancy.

Unsavory as that domain was, it was not technically, in and of itself, a crime. But a wealthy man, trading in rare, highly sought goods was unlikely to have avoided resorting to his addiction in the course of his dealings. And Fastwell ached to bring him down for it.

The crime scene had all the fixings, most verifying the accuracy of all the evidence they'd needed for a conviction. But the body had rendered arcs of research and surveillance moot now. What matter the mummified monstrosities crushed and broken? What matter the value of the ruined artifacts not involved in his investigation? What matter the laments of historians and researchers over lost opportunity for study? All that mattered was that the crucial element he'd now found in pristine condition was worthless to him. Wersham was already dead.

The one saving grace was the petty, catty, envy of these women over the naer who had stolen away with Wersham - the last person seen with him while he still lived. Said to have gone back to his home with him. That same home where his dead body had been found among the ruins of artifacts worth tens of thousands of nel. Hundreds even! But all that mattered to him was the steadily growing details of the perpetrator's description. These scorned women were only to pleased to wrack their brains for every last detail. And Grinnley would see her brought to...justice.