• Solo • But In Battalions

[Kasoria]

35th of Saun, 722
Westguard
8th break

He watched the coins counted out in front of him... then he watched the pile halved, and slide one half away from him. Money due him, earned by him, through skill and commitment, yet he had to watch the bastard across the table keep it. Woe to any Etzori to suffer such a thing.

Kasoria blinked and sighed. After the first few seasons, he learned to swallow the bitterness.

But it never stops being bitter.

"An' it never will."

"Pardon me?"

Fates, now he was fucking talking to himself. Kasoria blinked again and his reverie vanished. In its place was the scowling figure of Flightmaster Nader. Behind him was the youngling that served as his aide. Now newly fifteen arcs old and on his way up the ranks, apparently. The look on the man's face didn't bother him; he'd seen it every season on this day. Sneering if not on his lips then his eyes, relishing the control he had over his underling. Kasoria allowed him the fiction that he was wounding his pride so indelibly; it allowed him to operate with less restriction or scrutiny, as long as his immediate superior thought he was a broken man. But that trial... that trial he saw a similar look on the boy's face. Noticed his tunic pressed and cleaned with the same exactly standard as Nader's. The same neatness and order, on a face three decades younger.

That made his teeth snap together behind his lips. Anger warred with sorrow in him. That this man would steal his son so; that his son would not just hate, or fear, but disdain him.

Swallow it. You knew what this would be.

"Nothin', sir."

"Well then move on, you're holding up the men."

Not "the other men". Just "the men". As if he were not part of that formation, not really. An interloper, an aberration, something that had to be suffered due to the plethora of advantage he brought to the Army, but accepted? Celebrated? Respected? Never. Kasoria scooped up his season's pay into his purse and didn't think on it. Time, as usual, was his ally as much as his enemy. It soothed raw wounds, if you gave them the time. Allowed him to deal with the sting, if they were repeated enough.

Which they have been.

"Flightmaster. Mark."

"Not Mark anymore," Nader said as the instructor turned away. Kasoria stopped and looked at Martyn. Not the man talking. "Middlemark, probationary. His character and performance these last two arcs has been impressive. By the end of this one, he may be deployed."

Kasoria's black eyes slid from his son's. Brown and warm. The opposite of his own. He looked down to Nader and digested what he'd just heard, heedless of "the men". He was fifteen. He was a child. He'd had training and drilling and he'd seen sorrow, even horror... but not battle. Not war. Not like they had. But that wasn't the point, was it?

"What about yer mother?"

Martyn bristled at the mention of anything "civilian" mentioned in this martial place. For more than a moment, he was a boy again. Putting on a strong show against an enemy... which was how he saw him. His eyes darted for a moment before he spoke.

"Steps have been taken. She won't be alone."

"She's gettin' worse." Kasoria was as blunt as he was merciless. Jessye was never his love and never would be, but she had raised his son and been both reason and balm throughout the arcs. He checked on her, cared for her, passed her coin when he knew she wouldn't be too proud to accept it. But the truth was, coin couldn't buy life from one so quickly running out of it. "Healers'a told you as such, an' me. She needs yeh around-"

"Then why don't you-"

"Miss Jessye will be provided for, Mark Kasoria," Nader cut in smoothly, raising a hand and stilling his protege's words at once. "She is a good woman. On that, at least, we agree. She'll be tended to while her son is awy."

More silence. Grumbling from behind him. The line was growing. Kasoria didn't care.

"You reckon he's ready?"

Nader flushed for a moment and his one good hand curled into a fist. "You question my judgement, Mark Kasoria?"

Which was all the answer the little man needed. He looked back at his son. Martyn tilted his chin up a little more. Proud. defiant. Fates but he was growing up well. All the broad-shouldered strength of his mother. None of that lean, rangy hunger he'd suffered through as a youngling. He'd wager more than one girl had been sneaking glances at him, maye even approached him.

Not that you'd know, eh?

Kasoria shoved his purse into his pocket, and shook his head. Like a stone block moving from side to side.

"Yer not."

Mark Kasoria turned away from the counting table and walked past the line of waiting soldiers. Nader sputtered something as he walked. He didn't look back. Not for his sake's, but for his son's.

Wealth Ledger

-7WP from awarded Seasonal Wage of 15WP

[Kasoria]

The suns went down and the people went home. Hardly a remarkable thing, but now he was among them. Not as camouflage or observation, like a wolf with a sheepskin wrapped tight about it. No, now he was just... like everyone else. A pack over his shoulder where the remains of his lunch were carried, along with clean clothes and other items. He tramped across cobbles and dirt and looked at folk as they passed by.

Many looked away. Many did not. That was progress. But still...

Kasoria sighed and kept walking. Home was away from the garrison, the center of Westguard. It wasn't until the crack and hammering of construction, the dull roar of city life had faded and the wide, flat fields conquered the horizon that he was able to see it.

Set apart from the town a little. Open land around it, so he'd see anyone coming a good bit or two before they arrived, in the sunlight. A thatched, steepled roof over a space maybe twice as big as his old home in Etzos... but that was country prices for you, he guessed. Everything was more expensive in the Big Rock. As he walked closer to it, he couldn't help but half-smile. So many arcs, he'd never had a home. Just a place he'd lived. A space where his clothes and weapons and food and bed had been stored when he wasn't using them. Few things made that old place in Etzos "home". Now he had not just a home, but a house. Bought and paid for, with an acre of land around it, ringed by a fence he'd spent a whole season putting up himself.

Kasoria's thumb twitched in memory. Fates, you'd think for someone so used to swinging metal about...

He walked through the fence and noticed the furry little shadows flitting about around the rock-and-stone walls. More than before, every season, it seemed. He didn't know if that was due to word getting around or them bleeding like rats (oh, very funny), but it still made Kasoria's smile widen a touch. They mewled and purred around him as he approached. All proud swishing tails and soft but lean bodies. He dipped a hand low and let them sniff and nuzzle. Some he recognized, but none of them were his Bella. She was long dead, he knew, and Fates but if that didn't grieve him as much if not more than actual human beings he'd lost over the years.

"A'right, a'right, lemme geddin' the fuckin' door first..."

They acquiesced, but barely. Pride and patience do not make for allies, and cats were nothing if not the former. The little man unlocked his door and checked the devices he'd set, like he did every time he left. The hair he'd licked and set along the door and the jamb at about knee level... still there. The sand in front of the door... undisturbed from the straight, level pattern he'd set it in when he'd left. He nodded. No point getting soft and careless now, when he was...

What, exactly? The thought followed him. Plagued him. Harangued him no matter the trial or mood. Is this victory, old man? Rotting in a cottage with your cats and the boy hating you a league away?

The old man looked around his home. Took it all in and accessorized at the same time. Kitchenware and food stores. Furniture, firewood, and clothes. This was just one room, as well. His bedroom was through that door, the bathroom in another. An actual bathroom, too. One with a bath in it. He hadn't been that pampered since he was a boy. Of course, having to trek down to the river and collect all the water was a cast-iron bitch, but he was seeing about getting a cistern set up, so...

Clopping footsteps from outside. A distinctive smell through a widow. Ah. And there was that, of course.

"It's better than what it was," he reminds himself, shedding his pack and going to pour dinner for the parade of felines. "An' it's only been an arc."

That won't matter, once they send him away.

Kasoria paused in mid-pour. Ignored the mewling calls from his ankles. Deployed. That was the term Nader had used. Like he was a piece on a board, to be moved across it how and when he wished. Which, aye, was the whole point about commanding troops, but Martyn wasn't just a troop. He was his son... and he had not spoken in jest nor bitterness. He wasn't ready. He hadn't seen and done and been hurt enough to be ready.

Oh? Even with all you've-

Something shaggy and long moved into the window and shoved a snout through it. Some of the younger cats hissed and scattered away; the older ones flicked an imperious glance up, then ignored the stupid big creature. Kasoria looked up from the table and smiled. Grateful for that mocking, insatiably bitter voice being stilled by the sight of those big brown eyes staring him down. He reached up a hand and the creature didn't back away from him. Gave a whuffling snuffle instead and Kasoria chuckled at the blast of hot, smelly breath from its nostrils.

"Aye, Victus. Ain't forgot about yeh, mate. Gi' a old man a mo', eh?"

Weath Ledger

14WPs for purchase of Tier 4 (3+ occupants) property
2WPs for Master-work Furnishings for the property
1WP for acre of land around the property
2WPs for set of Master-work Household Items
1WP for 20 trials' worth of food (average quality)
7WPs for average-quality Mount (Horse, "Victus")
1WP for Master-work Accessories
Total: -28WPs deducted from Ledger

[Kasoria]

"Not like I can do anythin' about it, aye? Boy made 'is choice. He wants this. He's trained fer it, an' he's done a good fuckin' job of it. But... it's fuckin' nasty out there. Bolstrum, Crosston, Fordwell... shite, everything south a' Relay's still up fer grabs. Restorin' order. That's what they'll be doin'. Dirty bloody work, an' he ain't ready. Then again... who is?"

The horse snuffled and turned that long head around to regard him with one eye. After a trill or two of appraisal, it snuffed out more steam and turned around. Kasoria grunted and went back to his brushing.

"Fine help youse are, wanker..."

He knew damn well what it said about a man nearly fifty arcs old talking to a fucking horse. Lots of fingers tapping temples or making little twirly circular "nutter" gestures when his back was turned. Well, fuck them, too. He didn't do it anywhere around people, and he appreciated these... chats, with Victus. Every trial he needed to feed and water the beast, brush the fluff, bugs, and straw from his flanks. He'd never owned his own horse before; never needed one, being a city boy. The whole world is literally at your feet when you live in Etzos: all you have to do is follow them and walk.

He paused and looked over to the lights of Westguard. Growing larger and more numerous every season. But around it, pitch and patient as a panther, was the shadows of... everything else. Farmland, wasteland, fallow land, woodland... but no people, no cities, no towns. Just endless darkness, and all the horrors the mind imagined were within. Kasoria grunted again, rueful smile tugging at his lips. Long ago, he'd been one of them. As at home in darkness as a Naerikk, even if he couldn't see through it... well... not without a little talismanic aid.

Unbidden, he brushed his fingers against the torch medallion around his neck. The runic one underneath it. The former meant he could see into shadow and the endless, mutated cloud of shadow billowing about him was hidden. The latter? It rendered him immune to the Gift of Shadows. Fucked if that hadn't come in handy, long and ago.

Not so long, old man, he reminded himself. Fates... so much in the last few arcs. Four? Five, at the most? And here you are. Still a solitary bastard with a son he never sees.

He kept brushing. Lost himself in the slow, smooth, long strokes against the flank of the horse. Once that was done, in about half a break, he'd do the gelding's shoes, making sure there were no stones trapped in there. Then he'd make sure his trough was full and leave him to the little home he had attached to the side of the cottage. Not a barn, just a slanted roof that jutted out from the cottage as a whole, with a little paddock inside for Victus to be locked into when he wasn't allowed to wander. Saddle, bridle, reins, stirrups, tools for shoeing and cleaning... all were kept out there. Yet another example of the life he was making for himself... or trying to.

"Pretending to."

Kasoria sighed. Fates, the fuck was he going t-

A crash of shattering ceramic shut down his mind save for the part he'd relied on for the last thirty arcs. Before the echo had rattled across the open ground, a curved blade was in his hand. A part of his old life that was always with him, forever sheathed and strapped to the small of his back. Victus snickered nervously at the sudden change in his human companion: the creature seemed to have gone from amiable to reptilian sharpness in a instant, like the snakes he was so careful never to disturb. Kasoria patted his neck and slid away from the horse. Dipping into the shadows under the eaves of the house.

Ears straining. Breath slow and shallow so even the hiss of it wouldn't interrupt his ears. No sound of feet on the boards. No voices. No rifling hands, and when he dared a peek through the back window-

"... fuck's sake!"

The cats were as insouciant as one would expect. They prowled and padded around the remains of the water jug, utterly ignoring the frustrated look on the small human's face. Hands on hips, he swept a baleful gaze over them. One that would curdle the piss of any recruit in the garrison... and they blinked slowly back. He sighed, defeated amidst the devastation.

Wankers.

But when he started for a sack, something to gather the remains in, he stopped. Opportunity was to be found in misfortune, or so they said. Fates, wasn't his whole life an example of that? This was no different. Kasoria licked his lips and sat in front of the shattered jug. He gathered the pieces together in his cupped hands... and he breathed... and he thought... and he focused...

Come.

The minor herd of felines wurbled in curious confusion as the human's hands glowed. All at once what seemed like a miasma of glowing blue flowed from his palms. The eyes set into the back of his hands snapped open, mirror of those in his face, staring sightlessly but intently. His Transmutation Spark growled hungrily, eager to be set to task. Kasoria cast the ether into the chipped, broken, jagged shards of porcelain. It flowed around them, into, through. Soaking into them until they were saturated and-

Deconstruct.

He could see through them. They were somewhere between the waking world and... somewhere else. They were as much substances of magic as porcelain and even as he cast his will, Kasoria heard his Spark whisper their quality.

Porcelain. Ceramic. Cold. Smooth. Fragile.

"Alter."

He spoke the world aloud and closed his eyes. Focusing on the recent memory of that jug, sloshing with water as he poured himself a drink. The fat bottom and slim neck. The chipped handle and the stain on the base. He thought of it all and poured that will into the collection of chaos in his hands. The cats stared, wide slit eyes shining with white and blue as the material squashed and melted and reformed in front of them. He opened his eyes slowly... and smiled. Still see-through, the jug was whole again. All that was left was to-

Refor-

BANG-BANG-BANG

A bettering thrice hammered into his door and-

-he went for his blade and-

-his Spark went yelping back into his flesh as he got up-

-shattering the thing all over again-

"Fuck! Fate's FUCKING damnit!"

Foul of mood and stomping swiftly, Kasoria ripped open the front door, not even trying to hide the fact he was holding a blade. It was late and he was busy and now he'd have to collect all those pieces again, just as he was near the end! Couldn't they have given him one more bit? Maybe even less?! The door swung open and he glared up at his visitor, lips curled back in anger-

"... Father?"

That died the moment he saw his son's face. The grief etched deep onto it. The tears running down his cheeks. The lost, hopeless look of one who's whole life has become darker because another is no longer in it. Lit by the candles from inside, he saw no trace of the disdain and budding malice Martyn held for him. Now he saw a boy lost and hurting, and he knew exactly why. For only one thing could break a man so utterly... and some part of him knew, if it weren't for that, he would not be here.

From a long way away, he heard the karambit clatter to the ground. Martyn let out a shuddering breath, and Kasoria closed his eyes with a wince.

Jessye.

[Pig Boy]

Kasoria

• XP: 10
• Knowledges:
  • Animal Husbandry: Grooming a Horse
  • Socialization: Knowing You're Playing at Life, Rather than Living it
  • Stealth: Leaving Hidden Devices to Mark if Anyone has Entered a Place After you Leave it
  • Tactics: Choosing a Home for Defensive Potential, Not just Comfort
  • Transmutation: Sculpting: Repairing a Broken Jug
  • Non-skill: Location: Kasoria's Home on the outskirts of Westguard
  • Non-skill: NPC Martyn, Saun 722: Soon to be leaving Westguard
  • Non-skill: NPC Flightmaster Nader: Was NOT Kidding about Kasoria being on Half-Pay
• Wealth Points: -35 for Nader's cut and various expenses. You've already deducted this from your Ledger I see. This is just for the UCP record.

Skill Review: All Skills used appropriately to PC's level

Notes: Hey, this was different from how I usually see Kasoria, you weren't lying. Still, it was clearly written, and easy to follow the narrative as Kasoria went about his motions on pay day.

Kasoria's concern for his son, mingling with an anguish of having to deal with the kid's loyalty being stolen away from him and concern at his early deployment all melded well here to give a good emotional impact. An impact that came home to roost at the last scene, when Martyn presumably comes to tell Kasoria that Jessye is either gone or sick.

The home life of Kasoria is... not what I expected it to be. I don't know what I expeted, but crazy cat man was not it. Still, I enjoyed his cats.

The sculpted jug should last for a good number of trials (having been sculpted and reshaped with Transmutation it is not permanent) I forget how many off the top of my head, but I seem to remember around 60-90 trials for a master transmuter? Before it will need to be rededicated with ether to keep it together.

Anyway, this was some good writing, well done.

If you have any questions, comments, or concerns regarding this review, feel free to PM. Enjoy your rewards!