• Mature • Cleansing (Graded)

[Kasoria]

31st trial, Zi'da, 720
The North Woods
Just after midnight

Continued from here


The first men were dead almost before they knew it. Well. One of them, anyway.

Trent had the bottle halfway to his chapped lips when the arrow punch into his neck. All he heard was the hint of a whistle, the suggestion of something zipping through the air, and then the cold was no longer his concern. There was heat. Agony. Thick and choking and salty and pouring out of mouth and through the hole punched clean through his throat. He tried to call out, beg Adam to help him. He could see his friend's eyes widen with shock, horror, panic, then become splattered with red as he coughed, spewing his life's water across his mouth-

But he was dead before he truly realized it was happening. He went down to the darkness holding onto some faint hope that maybe, if he just rested a while, it would be okay, when he opened his eyes again.

Adam wasn't so lucky. He was the "almost". He saw his friend die, heard the bottle smash, felt the hot, sticky spray on his mouth and blinding him as he sputtered in disbelief.

When the next arrow took him in the chest, he knew what was happening to him. He didn't die right away. And he saw his killer.

Drifting out of the field of perfect, unmoved snow. Like a vision from the hell he'd never believed him. Unhurried, but focused. Already notching a fresh arrow into his bow as the last was still vibrating in Adam's chest and without so much as beat of hesitation-

TWANG

-send another one through his throat-

"INTRUDAHHHHHH!"

-just a moment too slow.

Fuck.

He didn't say the word. Didn't have the time, not to utter or drag his mind from the task at hand. He moved with purpose, economically and precisely. He knew the difference between Speed and Haste, and knew the latter tended to breed mistakes like a dog did fleas. He kept his senses focused purely on the job in front of him. Namely, reducing the number of men in his way to zero, and going from there. How and in what order? That was irrelevant.

Boy went out like a believer, he thought with a suppressed sneer. Brave. Fucking waste.

He couldn't feel it, yet he could. The nameless, invisible ripple through the air, as whatever magic Sintra's minions had weaved through the area awoke. He'd come across it before, in the sewers below Etzos. He guessed, with more in place and their mission even more crucial, there were... higher ranks present. So even a good fifty yards out from the cluster of cabins, he could hear men stirring, rising, rousing, roaring, clamoring and clattering with weapons and boots and clothes and-

Kasoria suppressed a smile, this time. Good. Saved him having to find them all.

"To arms!" A man came rushing from the nearest cabin, brandishing a sword, firelight gleaming off his breastplate. Orange and red glinted off chainmail about his arms and legs, too. "On your fucking feet and get this son-"

TH-THUNK

The words died in his throat as an arrow crashed into his groin. Kasoria wasn't going to waste time or missiles trying to pierce plate armor. Instead he sent the man screaming to the ground with blood gushing from his crotch, and when he got up to his knees, sword now a crutch he used to lever himself upright-

THUNK

-the last arrow snapped his head back as it went through his eye and into his brain. He gurgled once as Kasoria swept by him, barely even looking down. He fell back to the snow and sent tufts of it flying up into the air. Red smears floating down to stain it and Kasoria saw none of this. Figures were starting to emerge in greater numbers from the cabins. Angry and raging, like bees from a hive or ants from a nest-

Spiders from a hive, he thought as he notched two arrows at once.

TWANG

He waited until the next two were close enough for the shot to work. Firing two arrows at once would see them part ways after a few dozen feet. He remembered that much from his exhaustive, experimental training in Rharne. So he didn't want to snap off two and have them fly off into the air. He needed to be patient, wait for that mathematically deadly moment when bodies would intersect with trajectories-

-both men were hit. One died with an arrow through his heart. The other was nailed in the shoulder, and slumped but did not fall, did not die-

SHUNK

Kasoria skewered the fresh arrow in his hand through the man's open, mewling mouth until he felt it punch through bone and muscle. The minion's eyes popped open, face a picture of unimaginable agony. Kasoria rippd the arrow free and kicking him away, notching the arrow as the body was still falling back, drawing and aiming and firing all at once-

-killing another man behind him with an arrow to the throat, so close he couldn't miss, a wall of flesh now charging towards him-

And that's just the fodder. The masters, the commanders... they won't be so stupid.

The Raggedy Man tossed his bow down, and filled his hands with sword and dagger.

That suited him fine. He was better with these, anyway.

[Kasoria]

He cheated, of course. Fighting the unfair fight came as naturally as breathing, and Kasoria had no desire to be remembered as a man noble, principled, honest, and dead. Better to live and still be useful.

He would have preferred to stick purely to steel and iron wielded by muscle, tests of skill and grit... but his ego would not be allowed to swallow his reason. His magic, his Sparks, were as much tools and weapons as his blades. Like them, he wielded them without concern for honor or equality.

They die. I don't. Sounds fair to me.

The clutch of charging Sintraists saw the little main raise his hands as he dropped to one knee. His fists glowed as he summoned power into them, face lit by swirling white and blue that warred and mingled across his face until it split into a cry and he brought them crashing down-

-blast of ether exploding into the ground, flowing out like the ripples of a falling star-

-sending spikes of hard earth shooting up through the snow like deadly Ashan shoots. Every man in the half-moon space around him suddenly stopped and screamed. Those behind skidded to a halt and the Raggedy Man just growled, sending a new pulse of power through the ground, making it tremble vaguely-

The spikes extended. Tapered. Sharpened. Long as dirks and short swords. Impaling those men already fallen and shrieking. Ending their suffering quickly, if not painlessly. Then, as the man got back to his feet, the glow in his hands seemed to fade... and a new one replaced it. Pouring out of him as if from the tiny cracks and holes in his skin. Suffusing him with a shimmering sheen of energy that seemed to ripples off him... then stop and harden an inch from him. Moving as he moved, making his appearance distort faintly, like he was being viewed through an old, smeared mirror.

"Fuck're youse waitin' fer?!" A distinctly Oh'Pee accent snarled from their ranks. "Kill the fucker! NOW!"

Leader, Kasoria's mind whispered, but before he could deal with that, they charged.

They would overwhelm him. This was a fact. He far surpassed all of the sword and dagger, but sheer numbers would decide the matter. It mattered only how much he could thin the herd before they managed to break his defense. And he knew, from that ugly, blazing light in faces so, so young, that they would. They would die to land a blow, give their lives to draw his blood.

So be it.

The first and second died swiftly

A clumsy strike, overextended-

-parried by his gladius, leaving the man's front open to a backhanded slash from his dagger, cleaving open his throat before being sent sprawling by an iron-wrapped punch to the face-

-sent spewing blood and froth into a press of his friends, who cursed him as he fell, pushing him aside, forgetting about him right away.

The second was faster, surer-

-too sure, feinting high, then slashing low, forcing Kasoria back a step, rallying again to stab through his grey cloak-

-only for Kasoria to twist sideways, thrusting strike sailing through the air, dagger blurring up and down, slicing through bicep and forearm, killing his grip-

-gladius slashing up to take his arm off at the elbow, slashing down again to cleave almost through his knee. Crippled, screaming, unarmed, he went down turning the snow red as arteries exploded sizzling into the frigid air. There he would die, screams ebbing to moans then gurgles, ignored by all.

Still they kept on. Forcing Kasoria back, defending more than he was attacking, surrounding him, until finally a dagger breached his guard, stabbing for his ribs-

CRACK

"Wh-What-?"

Kasoria had half a trill to appreciate the shock on their faces. Their disbelief as the dagger bounced off the oil smear barrier around him. The impact seemed to be redirected back as hard as it was given, knocking the blade from the killer's hand, and as his jaw went slack with shock-

-Kasoria's backhanded blow took his head off. Expression frozen onto his face even as it flew through the air-

CRACK

Another blow turned away. This time breaking the wrist of the man carrying the mace. Panic was starting to overwhelm courage. Layer after layer of replicative power wreathed Kasoria, and every layer was infused with Backlash. He was having to pour more and more ether into his magical armor, replacing every layer as it was destroyed... but it was worth it. Not just for the physical protection, but the psychological shock. The deathblow it gave to morale... and then, he heard it.

"He won't die! He won't fucking die!"

"Shut up!" That voice again. Even as he fended of blows, Kasoria sought it out. "Keep on him! Wear 'im down an'-"

FOOM

Ether lanced through the night. Blue and white and terrible in its accuracy. Kasoria threw out his arm and hurled his ether through the gap in their ranks. The closest could almost feel it crackling like lightning, missing them, ignoring them, but their leader-

-clutched his head in shock. Feeling the air close around his helmet like a wind coming from all sides... but start to squeeze. Kasoria bared his teeth. Fates, he could feel the strength of the metal. For but a moment, it resisted him. Hard, mundane iron besting his magic... but he had more to spare. Sweat springing onto his brow, he let out a roar and clenched his hand into a fist-

CRACK

The helmet crunched inwards, like a pot staved in by a mace. The leader wailed high and agonized as the Shackle crushed inwards, breaking bone, pulping flesh and eyes and nose and mouth and he wouldn't stop making that unholy noise.

That's when they broke. When they saw their leader scream and claw at what looked like his head being smashed into his skull, blood and brain matter oozing from the rents in the metal. The face in the opening was squeezed and popped like a tomato jammed into a too-small cup, spewing out effluence and begging all at once.

Kasoria grinned, but didn't waste the opportunity. He buried his gladius into the back of the nearest man to turn away from him, then ripped it out through the side, smashing ribs and pulping organs as he did. His Sparks started to groan as the strain of his magic truly began. Shuddering through his bones, weakening his muscles... but the deed was done. The fear had been sown well.

That's when the crossbow bolt hit him.

[Kasoria]

Yana was not afraid. She could understand why she could be, but she wasn't. She had a duty to her Mistress that pushed back that primitive human emotion and shackled it in the pit of her stomach. Fear clouded judgement, opened you up to all kinds of mistakes. It set the hands to trembling and the mind to single, simple, easily-predicted and negated paths. She would need her cunning and her skill to see the end of this... this...

Animal.

She risked a glance at the tree to her left, seeing Oflar's black form almost at the same height as her. Which was about thirty feet off the ground. He was ratcheting the mechanism back on his crossbow and loading a fresh bolt. Even from here she could see the hatred etched onto his face. Like her, he had likely gone through a few. Surprise. Amusement, briefly. As if one stunted mortal could hope to prevail against their numbers.

Then horror. Anger. Outrage. As the bodies kept piling up and magic flashed and buzzed around the little heretic and their friends started to die. Man after man died, loyal and stalwart souls... or useful fodder, depending on the moment. Whichever it was, it could not be tolerated. There was but a thin line of acolytes between the invader and the cabins now. Most of it were panicking, terrified fools who were starting to run, breaking, sending snow flying as their feet pounded through the drifts as they tried to escape.

It falls to us, she thought, and let an iron-hard flush of resolve pulse through her.

Yana didn't raise her crossbow again. She strapped her own weapon over her back, and with her bare hands and feet, made her way down the pine trunk. By the time she reached the snow-covered ground, the crossbow thrummed again and the second time, the invader's Shield broke and she heard a grunt of pain-

Kasoria. That was his name. The one their Mistress had told them of. A fanatical, butchering, unreasoning murderer who sought the death not just of followers and faithful, but Sintra herself. Yana had scoffed at the very notion. No swordsman, no mage, no mortal could do such a thing. None would even know how. Only a god could kill a god, and this whirlwind of death was a mortal terror, but still just that. Mortal.

Yana sneered as she watched the little man stagger away from the pile of bodies he'd made. Crossbow bolt jammed through his left bicep, making his arm hang loose and limp. Running for cover through snow that kept him moving slow-

An easy target. Especially with the Venomous Bite in your veins.

Another bolt came flying out the darkness, but the old man was still game, as it were. He threw out his good arm and a chest-sized Shield flashed into existence. The bolt smacked off it but Yana could hear the groan of exertion, see the man stumble. Overstepping. She knew the signs. He'd been very impressive, oh yes. Used quite a selection of powers and spells to decimate, almost destroy their band of followers. But now he'd got nothing left in the quiver, and two targets left to be dispatched.

Focus. Take no chances with this one.

By the time she came to the oak, it was ready. She could hear heavy breathing from behind it. A hiss and a grunt and a sickening slurp of sound as the crossbow bolt was yanked back out. Yana stopped. This one was a monster, but he wasn't stupid. He'd hear her approaching if she wasn't careful, and she needed to get close. Besides, the Venom was in him now. He was doomed to slow, numbing helplessness no matter what he did. So she waited. She was patient... and when she heard him start to slump and slide down the tree-

-she leaped out of cover, easily avoiding the instinctive swipe with a sword, made slow by the Venom robbing Kasoria of his strength.

"Fucker!"

CLANG

Weakened or not, his mouth seemed to work just fine. The curse was sharp and quick as Yana's short, curved sword smacked the gladius clean from his grip. Then she just... watched. He strained, of course. Maybe without the Venom, he'd have redoubled, found his feet, attacked even with one working arm. But he was no longer strong; Oflar had taken that from him. Oflar, who was padding slowly through the snow to stand at her side. Flakes of it were starting to fall again. Wind rushed and scattered them through the air between the the two cultists, and the fading Kasoria.

"No point fighting anymore," Yana said finally, once the sword had fallen from his grasp and even his face had frozen into a slack, nerveless mask. "The Venom in you? Works fast, and well. Our Mistress supplied us with a precious amount. Rare... but for the likes of you, a wise precaution. You won't even be able to twitch for another... I'd say ten bits or so."

"An' you'll be dead 'fore then," Oflar said, rougher accent betraying his local birth, raising his crossbow. "I know the stories about yeh. Too dangerous t'keep youse-"

"Not yet."

"What?! Yana, I know this bastard! Whatever yeh think he knows, t'ain't worth the risk!"

"It will be," she said calmly, reaching down to pick up the gladius. She admired it for a few moments, feeling the razor edge. "After we take his hands. His feet. His eyes. Then he will be safe."

Oflar's face split into a smile that was barely worthy of the word. So much malice had no place being expressed through it. He lowered the crossbow, deciding he would enjoy the-

"What was that?" It was gurgling. Struggling to speak. Head bowed from lack of strength even in it neck. This weakling, this mortal, bereft of their Mistress' light and thus damned. "Speak up, will you?"

Yana scoffed and lifted up Kasoria's head by the hair. There was no fear in his eyes. That annoyed her. But no bother. She was sure that after the first few bits were lopped off, there'd be plenty of it. Enough, mayhap, to avenge their fallen friends.

"You know, I expected more from you. Some cunning. Some... strategy. But expert in magic as you are, you were still easy meat for us. Expended all your ether and now you're just a man pinned to a tree. A fly for the spiders."

It gurgled again. She leaned closer. Oflar shuffled a few steps. Something... something was wrong here. Kasoria was... smiling?

"'Uh'said..."

"What? What did you say?"

"... y'sure 'bout dat?"

The smile widened. Impossibly. But clearly. Yana's eyes widened just as she saw the glow.

From Kasoria's limp palms. Pressed to his sides-

-and against the tree.

"Ofla-"

Too late.

Concluded here

[Basilisk]

All good, carry on.

For record keeping

Intervention

Kasoria,


I am intervening in this thread for three reasons, at the request of the Peer Reviewer who first looked over this thread, following his own discussions with you. This intervention does not come with a warning, mind, but it does raise issues that will need to be addressed for this thread and kept other threads in the future. Firstly, there are two issues regarding the matter of these NPC's used in this thread and its related threads. The first issue is that these NPC's were not submitted for approval prior to being used. As a Peer Reviewer yourself, you should be aware that flavor-NPC's that do not have a write-up are not allowed to have Blessings or Magic, as these are comparatively rare in the setting and require the NPC to have done something to gain the Immortals attention, then have done something to further it in the case of Adored and beyond.

The second issue is that, while you have Maltruism has approved these NPC's and he himself said he would have if asked beforehand, no one outside the two of you have seen these NPC's, which means that the thread cannot be reviewed by our Peer Reviewers because they don't have access to the information required to properly review the thread. Nor, for that matter, do most of the staff.

Finally, unrelated to the NPC's, is that you were told to delete and re-submit your review request after the NPC's had a write-up that could be looked at, not to edit the request. This is because while the NPC's are being written up, the review request will have moved on and it's incredibly likely to be lost in the queue because of this, especially if the original reviewer is unable to continue with the request, due to their own workload.

When the NPC's have a public write-up and the review request has been properly re-submitted to the forum, DM me and I'll remove this intevention.

-Basilisk

[Pig Boy]

Kasoria

Experience: 10 xp no magic.

Knowledge:

Abrogation - Shackle: Crushing a Helmet Around/Into an Enemy's Head
Discipline: Splitting your Attention Between Maintaining Magic and Swordplay
Dual Wield - Dagger x Gladius: Disarming with the Dagger, Kill with the Gladius
Intimidation: Using Magic, Steel, and Savagery to Break the Will of Greater Numbers
Ranged Weapon (Shortbow): Two Arrows, Two Targets, Same Shot
Ranged Weapon (Shortbow): Firing Multiple Arrows At Once Requires Timing (and math)

Renown: 10

Skill Usage: Mostly appropriate to level, with some improper magic use.

Loot/Losses: none

Injuries/Conditions: Spark Antipathy (Transmutation)

One of the most dangerous Overstepping penalties. Spark antipathy is when the Abrogative Spark recognizes other Sparks within a mage’s body as problematic or as enemies. A mage suffering from Spark Antipathy will naturally Abrogate any magic they attempt to cast, as if reacting to that magic defensively. This leads to an extensive amount of ether expenditure and additional overstepping.

This consequence will last for about ten trials afterward.

Consequences: none

Comments: Hey, sorry about the lateness of this review. That out of the way, let's get to it:

This following passage concerns me:

He couldn't feel it, yet he could. The nameless, invisible ripple through the air, as whatever magic Sintra's minions had weaved through the area awoke. He'd come across it before, in the sewers below Etzos. He guessed, with more in place and their mission even more crucial, there were... higher ranks present. So even a good fifty yards out from the cluster of cabins, he could hear men stirring, rising, rousing, roaring, clamoring and clattering with weapons and boots and clothes and-

You can't feel mark magic as a transmuter, nor as an abrogator. The only mage that can actually feel mark magic is an attuner at the master level. So since you felt far too much as an abrogator/transmuter, I'm handing down a heavy overstepping penalty. What Kasoria actually felt, was his abrogation spark detecting the transmutation one. Not mark magic.

That aside, this was a fine display of violence and tactical trickery. I really loved the action sequences, the visceral and tactile sense of every part of it really brought the sequence along toward the end, and I look forward to the next entry.


If you have any concerns about this review, please PM me about them.