• Mature • [Volta] We Gonna Rock Down To...

[Kasoria]

30th Trial, Cylus, 719a
Volta, South-West of Rharne
10th break

"You really need all of these?"

"Never know, in my line a' work."

"Which is?"

"Bounty killer."

"You... You mean bounty hunter."

"I know what I mean, boy."

The watchman gulped and decided not to press the matter any further. The little man barely came up to his shoulder, but he didn't seem the kind that appreciated a grilling over correct terminology. He wasn't even looking at him, and Talos took the opportunity to study the man in a little more detail. He was all lean, sharp features under the muck of travel. Clearly he'd done a lot of it. Everything he had was strapped to his back, clothing his body, or packed into the bag over his shoulder. He had a trimmed mustache that would be an affectation on most men, but on him seemed to lend an air of wry sophistication.

Wry, because Talos had just spent the last five bits removing and packaging the weapons the man had been carrying. Someone carrying this much killing metal, and of these kinds, was hardly one Talos would call "erudite".

"Amazing..."

"Hmm?"

The young man followed the stranger's gaze towards The Spires. Driven deep into the ground and stabbing upwards into the crackling, roiling sky. Every chime or so a fresh discharge of jagged, blinding energy would lash one of them. Sometimes even jump between two or all, dancing in the air between them and then grounding or racing down into the dirt. As Talos looked, a double-burst of furious power crashed into both, booming out with a clang of thunder that sounded oddly metallic-

-and he saw the stranger take an involuntary step back.

"Oh, nothing to be worried about," he said with an amiable smile, ignoring the hostile look that scorned the idea that Kasoria had been worried. "That's just to keep the bad sorts away."

"Bandits?"

"Or armies," Talos said as he kept working. Fates, that was... number ten. Ten packages, ranging from hand-sized to as long as his arm. Half of them were short, sharp little throwing knives, but the rest? Everything from brass knuckles to an ax that still whiffed mildly of blood. "Anything that comes to close to the spires, carrying anything that can attract a charge-"

A boom and a flare of light that made even this last day of the Season of Darkness seem like a Saun afternoon obliterated the last of the sentence, and spoke for him at the same time. Fingers of deadly light scraped across the ground for a moment, gouging blackened strips out of it. The soil had been dead for centuries now, zapped and torched and frazzled of all life, it seemed. Now it was Kasoria's time to gulp. He imagined how many dozens would fall before getting past The Spires. How many hundreds. Even targeting them with siege equipment would be difficult, so thin were they. You'd have to lash ropes to them and pull them down, being subjected to endless streams of lightning all the while.

No bloody chance.

"But like the lad says, they're only for the bad sort," a new voice said, older and deeper, more authoritative and belonging to a man with lines on his face and scuffs on his breastplate. This one looked down at Kasoria with eyes harder, colder, and unafraid. "But you're not that, are you?"

Kasoria knew when he was being baited. Fates, harder men than this had grilled him before. He'd lost count of how many times he'd been hauled off to the local Blackguard house after some cunt or another had turned up dead. Granted, half the time it was his knife that had ended him, but honestly... after a while, it just seemed like harassment. He sighed and shrugged his shoulders.

"Don't reckon a bandit would admit t'that, aye?"

The older watchman - Kasoria didn't know if that was the right term for them, but he knew the walking, breathing, bullshitting officers of The Law in every city on Idalos when he saw them - hummed quietly and opened one of the little leather packages. Brass knuckles glinted under the wrapping. Another revealed his karambit. Yet another, the reverse side of his ax head, a short, vicious pick that could punch through skull with a single blow, helmet be damned. Kasoria crossed his arms and glanced over his shoulder.

Line's getting longer. They won't want to drag this out.

"Lot of deadly metal for one man," the sergeant said, professional enough to re-wrap each weapon as he perused them. "Makes people like us suspicious, is all."

"Well, that is yer job," Kasoria said, reaching under his cloak and enjoying the brief stiffening of limbs before him. They thought he was still armed. Amusing, but mistaken. "Maybe this'll help clear things up."

It was a slip of parchment, not a scrap. The edges were not frayed, and it had been carefully folded and kept in a pocket protected from the elements. The wax seal at the bottom was still sharp and clear. So were the words. As the two men in front of him read it, Kasoria enjoyed their reactions. The older man merely raised his eyebrows slowly, impressed but hiding it well. The younger man, though?"

"That's... really the seal of Martell?"

"Knight Commander Martell," the sergeant corrected sternly. "And yes, that's his mark, all right." He glanced up over the top of the sheet and studied Kasoria anew. "Bounty receipt documenting payment of said bounty for the head of one "Kev the Butcher"... with a separate payment for the member of his band. Words penned by, invested with the authority of, extend all courtesy to.."

He let the words trail off and Kasoria didn't react at all. He knew what the letter said. He'd read it before, and been sitting outside the Knight Commander's office while it was being written. Lightning crashed into The Spires again, lighting the faces of the two men pure white for a moment. Finally, the sergeant folded the slip back up, and handed it back to Kasoria.

"Looks official enough to me," the older man said, tearing off a ticket for the new visitor and plastering on a fake smile as he handed it over. "Enjoy Volta, Mister Thagoras. Don't get up to mischief."

"Not what I'm plannin' to..."

The sergeant wasn't letting go. Quite pointedly, in fact. Kasoria looked from the ticket and up the arm, into the man's eyes. There was a firmness there now that was different to the steely suspicion of before. A short but slow nod. Words that seemed infused with a wary, grudging respect.

"I know a man that horned helmet fucking bastard killed. Good man. Good soldier. I thank you for ending him."

He let go, and Kasoria nodded back. He was still getting used to the sheer absurdity of having the law thank him for killing people. But he knew it was only absurd because he new his history; they didn't. Hell, they didn't even know his name. The little man picked his bag back up and hefted it over his shoulder. One more blast of roaring light illuminated him as he walked past the checkpoint.

Volta stood before him, wood and stone and brick and as little metal as possible. Already he could feel his nostrils tingle from an impossible miasma of chemicals and alchemical concoctions hanging over what seemed to be every street. As he got closer, he started to see that some of the street lights were lit not by lamps or torches, but by... some means he did not quite understand.

Have to ask about that. If you have time.

He grunted to himself as the second sentence rumbled through his mind. Yes. That was the priority. Cylus was nearly at an end, and soon the suns would return. The sea ways would throng anew with the heavy traffic of Ashan, making up for a whole season lost to the darkness. Ships bearing everything from dates and silks to slaves and weapons and correspondence... and passengers. He felt the leather pouch stuffed deep into his cloak, trusting the material to protect the coin he had inside. Between the river pirates and Kev the Butcher, he finally had enough.

The thought quickened his step. As if he could walk across the Orm'del Sea, if he wanted to.

He was going home.

[Kasoria]

"Heard yeh've got a ship leavin' port on the morrow."

"Heard yer lookin' fer passage across the sea."

"Word travels fast."

"Aye, well, small town an' all that..."

Kasoria smiled wryly as the salty dog across the table drained what was left of his ale and gestured for another. The barmaid glided swiftly over and replenished him. Clearly he was a regular, and one that liked to keep his whistle wet. The assassin (no, remember, "bounty hunter") studied the other man, much as he was studied in return. He'd met his fair share of the like in his time. Craggy, weathered faced. Hands tough as leather. Clothes simple and functional, but the rest of him bedecked with charms and talismans and tattoos from shores not just trials, but seasons hence from the shore they were on. Eyes that had stared down hurricanes and leviathans, pirates and slavers. He guessed the man was a little older than him, and to survive long enough to become a captain, that meant the man knew his business.

"What're ya drinkin'?"

"Whatever you put in front of me, Mister Thagoras."

Kasoria snorted and waved down the barmaid. She nodded rapidly his way then set off again just as rapidly. The Slippery Sal was rolling tonight, heaving and roaring with a wash of seafarers enjoying the last night on land. Cylus was but a trial or two from ending. Soon, within a few dozen breaks, the suns would return. Countless faces across the land would feel their warmth on their faces again, offering prayers to whatever gods they chose, if they wished. Kasoria would smile when he felt it, but he had no gods to thank.

Everyone's getting their last few drinks or fucks in quick, like. Before they're dragged off to sea again.

"Man after me own heart."

"Oh, I'm sure," the captain said with a chuckle, taking a long pull on his drink. "So, wanna get down to brass ones?"

Kasoria's smile widened a touch. He liked the man. He reminded him much of Vorund, with less of that dead bastard's icy calculation hiding behind his eyes. But there was some of it still there. Skill and luck, these things saw a man to success on the seas. But you had to known when to be a heartless bastard, too. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a bag of coins. Not all of the money he'd got from the bounties he'd collected, but a good chunk of it. The captain lifted it, felt the weight... then shrugged.

"That'd do it, aye." He paused, just long enough to see Kasoria's hopes rise. Then he crushed them, and Kasoria stopped liking him. "If we were takin' passengers, anyway."

Kasoria's smile faltered and it was gone by the time he added another, smaller bag to the larger one. He spread his hands over the top of the table as he did so, mindful not to spill the beers plonked down in front of them. "Pretty much all I've got, mate. Held enough back to get me a space on a caravan and-"

"Sorry, mate. Like I said, we're not takin' passengers." The captain could have left it there. He didn't owe Kasoria any explanations or sympathy, after all. In fact, the assassin was already moving to reclaim his coin and get to his feet when the man started speaking again. "We've got a season's worth of produce an' cargo burstin' the holds, that's all we got space for. That, the rations, the water, spare riggin', an' the crew."

Kasoria paused and digested this. No room for passengers, then... but that didn't mean he didn't quite have an in. He sat back down, and took back the larger purse. Then he clasped his hands and leaned across the table.

"Then hire me on. As part a' the crew."

"We ain't hirin'."

"You'll wanna hire me."

"You think bein' hot wiv' a blade means y'can sign on wiv' anyone?" The captain snorted and shook his head. "Know anythin' about sailing? Know how to rig a line? Cast a sail? Read a chart?"

"Youse gonna tell me that alla' yer crew are able seamen?" Now Kasoria's smile was back, but it took a mocking edge he couldn't quite control. Men like the captain, they had to be good at what they did. But the men under them? That was a different matter, and he'd been to Foster's Landing enough to know that truth. "How many of 'em are farm hands an' mill workers, lookin' fer adventure?"

"Still got all the men I need. Don't need anymore."

"How about droppin' two of the ones y'took on fer muscle, an' hirin' on a man worth 'em both?"

Now the captain flat out laughed. A booming, rollicking thing, exploding from the maw in the middle of his beard like thunder from a filthy cloud. He threw back his head and let the sound explode out of him. All the while, Kasoria kept smiling. This little man, grinning across the table, and no amount of scorn would wipe it from his face. Finally the captain started to cough and choke and cleared his throat with another healthy swallow.

"Why not? Saves you the wage of a crewman, dunnit?"

"You? You think yer worth two of my lads?"

"Aye, probably."

"Yer serious?"

"Don't I look serious?"

In point of fact, the captain decided, the little man did. There was no jest in his eyes, nor true mirth in his smile. He looked into the eyes of Mister Thagoras now, and saw not careless bravado but a cold, immovable confidence. He thought back what he'd heard about this man. The river pirates and The Butcher, both slaughtered by a foreign killer. Word traveled fast, after all, especially up and down the river. It had arrived long before Kasoria and the barge that bought him from Rharne to the mouth of the Zynyx. It had flitted around the taverns and pubs and inns, then been mostly forgotten. New stories had replaced it, but the captain had remembered.

He took another, more thoughtful drink.

"You can prove t'me yer worth both of 'em, you've got a deal."

"Lemme guess: fight 'em both?"

"Beat 'em both, you mean."

The little man didn't hesitate. Just held out a hand and the captain shook it. Rivers and Lang would hold a grudge if they lost to this icy bastard, but he'd be saved the cost of a man this voyage, which was money that stayed in his pocket. Besides, it was just business. And if Thagoras lost? Well, tough shit. The man got up and the captain noted the smaller purse still on the table. Kasoria shrugged.

"Keep it. Consider it an incentive."

"Fancy word for a bounty hunter."

"I have moments."

"Tomorrow. Dawn. Meet on the boat, the-"

"Lady Love. Pier Fourteen."

"How'd y'know?"

"Small town," Kasoria said, taking a deep slug from his ale and leaving the rest, along with the money. "Word travels fast. In all directions."

He left the captain chuckling into his booze and walked away, seeking a warm bed and a full night's rest. He'd need it, come the dawn.

Continued here

[Korva]

Rewards!

Name: Kasoria

Knowledge:
Skill
Intelligence: Spreading Word in Taverns and Pubs
Negotiation: Offering a Deal that Saves the Other Party Money
Negotiation: Sweetening a Deal with an Incentive
Negotiation: When One Offer Fails, Try Another
Persuasion: Using an Official Document to Vouch for You
Philosophy: The Curious Hypocrisy of Legalized Murder, a.k.a. Bounty Hunting

Non-Skill
"The Captain": Crusty, Cunning, and Veteran Sailor
Location: Volta: Storm-Wracked and Lightning-Charged Seaside Town, Rharne
Location: The Spires: Volta's Towering and Terrifying Lightning-based Defenses

Loot: A small purse left with the captain as an additional incentive
Injuries: NA
Renown: NA
Magic XP: NA

Points: 10

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Comments: all Kas' threads make me feel like I stepped into his world for a minute. The dialogue was especially well done, the way you write accents is wonderbar, great job

If you feel I've missed anything or if you have questions about your review, please don't hesitate to send me a quick PM or ping me in Discord. Thanks!

**Made by the magnificent Kes