• Graded • The World Beneath The World (Noth)

[Kasoria]

Kasoria had of course heard the old truism that everyone had a plan, until they got hit. Whether it was from pug-nosed prizefighters or growling instructors at the Academy, twenty arcs and an age ago, he'd absorbed the universal wisdom of it. You could plan and prepare and train and yet, when that first shock of impact rattled your bones, or the first step out of two or twenty was removed or rendered moot, everyone had to re-evaluate what happened next.

He'd been under the impression that being seen at all was him being "hit". A swift escape following a quick, efficient execution had turned into a lung-bursting marathon through the fetid side of town, and now he was at the end of it. More blood had been spilled, and he wasn't getting paid to murder drunks. But the chase was nearly over. He could hear scuttling on the roof tiles as he pushed open the window, arcs of dust and rust giving way under his strong hands.

Whoever the bastard was, he was either spooked, or making one final run for it. Kasoria started to pull himself out the window, almost out to his waist as the moons were blotted out by-

"MotherFUCKER-?!"

He may have been a man of letters, but he was not one of eloquence when he saw the... thing fly towards him from the roof. It was huge and black and blue and there were feathers, thousands of them, flapping a great gust of wind into his stunned face. Red eyes like charcoals stared down at him, and he didn't know whether it was wings or coat or cloak stretched out on either side of him-

But he saw the talons. Evil and curved and flying towards him and his mind screeched and tried to get him to move his fucking sword-

Too late.

Kasoria screeched as a double handful of eagle-like talons tore and slashed his shoulder and breast, torrent of furious monster crashing down onto him a broken trill later. His feet flew up and off the ground, hips grinding into the windowsill and acting almost as a fulcrum, tipping him out of the window and the gladius was forgotten as instinct took over. Straight, sharp blade careening out the window and tumbling handle over tip, down and down...

Not far, but far enough. He barely heard it clatter against the cobbles. His eyes were wide, his mouth was a slack, quivering hole, taking in sights that should have been impossible. Even with the night and the darkness he could make out a face, a flat mouth, a jutting nose, a hideous concoction of man and raptor fused together and-

-bounding off him, talons ripping free and taking arcs of blood with them-

-and he was still falling, tumbling out the window, reaching out-

He screamed again as his hands slapped down and gripped hard... onto the edge of the broken window. The assassin was still, finally, blessedly, but hardly improved in his fortunes. He was hanging from the window, feet dangling over the edge of the building, without a sword and, oh yes, his hands were getting slowly cut to ribbons by broken glass.

The assassin breathed. Held the breath. Focused on that simple task even as his mind raved and ranted about monsters coming to eat his fucking liver. Panic would kill him, sure as specters from the night. He swallowed and tried to haul himself up. Sweated and strained but the harder he tried, the more glass was forced into his hands. He looked down and around, trying to see another ledge-

Light. From below. Bobbing and drifting his way. The stench of horses and dwarfing it, swallowing it whole...

"Dead! Bring out yer dead! Dead! Bring out yer dead!"

The corpse collector was making his way towards the house. Kasoria frowned and peered, seeing a thick mound of stiff and still bodies packed into the rear of it. As they approached, the older man cried out his words, tradition being highly valued among his kind. They were, after all, the final stewards for so many poor souls. Then his younger friend stopped the cart short, and waddled over to something.

"Hey... nice sword, this."

Kasoria looked down, straight down, tucking his chin against his chest. The cart was almost directly below him. Stalled for but a moment while his own damn gladius was pilfered, but it wouldn't be for long. There was a sudden flap against his back, unnatural wind from those wings, and fuck me, he had time to scream in his own mind, the old drunk had been right.

He'd feel bad later. As it was, he just had to-

let

go.

The simple trick of gravity became a bad joke as he went weightless for a trill, then started to plummet like he weighed quite a bit, indeed. Windows and roof tiles and walls and lights and stars and all the solid, still things his eyes took for granted became blurs. He fell back through the empty air, buffeting his cloak like flaps of loose skin as he fell down towards the cart.

But before he landed, in whatever shape that would be, he saw a double flash of red on the rooftop. Burning and blazing and pinning him with a gaze straight from hell, just before it vanished again, and Kasoria was among the dead men.

Thanks for Jade for the template

[Noth]

The twilight hybrid had always been a methodical person. He had always preferred to think out whatever he was going to do before he did it. The reason for that was two-fold, partially because he was afraid that if he rushed into any situation and performed poorly then he would be judged for it, and the consequences of his actions would legitimately be quite dire. Simultaneously, he preferred to ensure that he performed as efficiently and effectively as possible whenever he desired to accomplish a goal, and setting out a well-planned list of steps was beneficial in that regard.

Unfortunately, it was becoming increasingly evident that there were times to plan, and there were times when taking any action at all would guarantee a higher chance of success than taking the time to work out the perfect solution. There was little doubt that the hybrid leaping down towards the assassin who had clearly displayed his martial prowess was more of the latter than the former, and yet, it had paid off. It was uncomfortable feeling the man’s blood leak between the talons that adorned his feet, but such thoughts were trivial when compared to the danger of the event.

Briefly, whilst the hybrid had fallen towards the assassin, he had taken notice of his facial features. There was a great deal of movement, and were the man to change his clothes, the hybrid doubted sincerely that he’d be able to pick him out of a crowd, but perhaps the one thing that did register in his mind was the surprise, the shock that flushed through his eyes like the crackle of lightning, dissipating bravery in an instant and showcasing…

Fear?

Noth was not a dangerous person. He barely understood how to operate a longbow well enough to hunt rodents, and even then it was a stretch since he typically lost his quarry. In fact, the entire reason he had shown up was to scrounge for loose scraps of food because he was starving to death. Not accounting for the abominations of the world, what sort of entity was frightening when it was on the verge of intense hunger? He possessed no martial qualities, nor had he been trained to be a particularly effective hunter though he was aware of at least a few of their tricks.

Why was the assassin afraid? Oh, it could have been that he was simply shocked at having suddenly been jumped on from above, but did that truly encompass what he had seen? Was that all that it was?

The hybrid leapt off of the assassin the instant that he felt his footing was stable enough to warrant it, and with a mighty flap of his wing he shot off towards the nearest building. He barely made the landing, and his knee banged roughly into the side of the roof, forcing him to instinctively clutch at the leg and drag himself wholly onto it. After that, it was a simplicity to glance backwards and notice the murderer still struggling with the after-effects of his sudden movement. He might have stayed and pondered, questioning whether or not the fellow might fall and seriously wound himself in the process, but that seemed like taking a risk that he was not willing to allow, and so instead he simply turned upon his heel and climbed down the opposite side of the structure, disappearing into the dark and shoddy streets of the slums, and heading directly towards the gate of the city, unwilling to stay much longer when he was clearly wanted for being a witness to something dreadful.

He’d learned a great deal, he considered as he finally managed to escape from the confines of the city. First and foremost, he’d learned that it was not his place to wander around in the slums, because it would spell disaster and death for him if he wasn’t careful. There were far too many criminals and insane persons present for it to ever be considered. Second, he’d learned that the Black Guard were not doing a good work down in the slums, but were instead concentrating their efforts elsewhere. Perhaps they had even been paid off so as not to interfere. Finally, he’d learned something insightful. He… was scary. He possessed none of the talents for it, and yet, perhaps he could use his appearance as a defense. Maybe he could keep away the monsters…

…if he became one

[Kasoria]

"OI?! You ain't dead!"

"Fuck... youse sure?"

By the smell of the world around him, it was a statement false and barefacedly so. Rot and blood, disease and decay, all those putrescent aromas that rose from bodies that had left life a long way behind. He groped blindly for a few moments, finding nothing but stiff limbs at his fingers, sores and wounds and yes, he did think for a single fraction of a trill, that he'd finally gone and got himself killed.

Fucking stupidly, too.

Then he heard the voice, old and stunned and clogged with phlegm and chewing tobacco. He opened his eyes and after a moment's inspection, concluded that this was not the afterlife. He'd been alive long enough to have heard a hundred different theories and beliefs. Rolling, gentle fields stretching to infinity; pits of tortures and terrors, all neatly ordered dependent on sins; bloody fields of eternal war, followed by feasting and reveling once the battling was done; even the idea that the soul was simply shoved into a fresh, squealing body, taken from an old corpse and placed in a new infant.

Kasoria looked around, and into a pair of slack-jawed faces. No. He'd never heard of this one.

"You... You musta' fell from that roof!"

Herbert watched as the ragged little man half-rolled, half-crawled from the back of the corpse wagon, staggering across the cobbles as his mind tried to remember how his feet worked. There was a hiss and a flash of white teeth as the man hobbled on a twisted ankle, cursing venomously in a tongue the corpse-man couldn't quite follow. He exchanged and look with Ol' Pete and wondered what the procedure was for this.

"You, ah... I mean, what happen-"

"M'sword."

"What?"

"My sword! Youse fuckin' deaf or... ah."

He was handling not being dead pretty well, Herbert had to admit. Limping heavily but not moaning or complaining, like a good lad. He stumped over to where a straight, short sword was sitting on the cobbles and scooped it up... then dropped it... then finally got it up again. With a little fiddling it vanished under his cloak and Herbert frowned. There was blood on him, but... it looked fresh. The bodies they'd been collecting that night, most of them were old. So where was-

"Oi! You can't just go!" Petey was wobbling after him, numerous bellies jiggling furiously as he went. He reached out to grab the man's shoulder as he spoke. "Where the bloody hell diARCK-!"

The little man broke his stride just long enough slam his right elbow straight back into Petey's stomach. Herbert flinched as he heard something small, hard, and fast-moving smash straight into Pete's guts, doubling him over-

-and with a feral snarl the man twisted on his hips, turning halfway back around and swinging his left elbow backwards, but higher-

-cracking Petey's grimacing face smack around the jaw, sending him sprawling. Herbert fumbled with his dagger, curses spilling from his lips that turned to mute, quivering silence as the little man drew his gladius a few inches out of its sheath... and slowly shook his head. The younger collector got the point, and put up his hands. They were frozen there for a moment, until Pete groaned, and Kasoria realized just how much his ankle hurt.

Fucking unbelievable.

He left the boy to get the old man back to his feet, sore elbows the least of his fucking worries. His ankle screamed at him with every step but on he went, a wide, swinging gait that sent shivers of white, angry pain up his body the further we went. But soon he was around the corner, making a meandering way back to his master and he wasn't thinking about the pain anymore. He was aware of it, and aware from experience how the body's natural drugs could numb a man, but it wasn't his body, or his mind, or the fact he was just a tough little cunt who was hard to kill.

It was those eyes. Red and raging yet curious and... inhuman. Whatever it was that had came at him, it wasn't a man. Kasoria had met fish people, tree people, even a few lizards that walked on two feet and were quite literally twice his size... but never bird folk. He frowned and tried to remember their name, but the word escaped him. He kept moving, kept walking, staying to covered alleys and sliding into a sewer as soon as he found an open grate.

He didn't want to risk being in the open. Not that night. Not with blood still seeping from where those claws had bit into him.

Then he was aware of the gladius smacking against his leg as he walked. He remembered those two likely lads, dead and stiff and probably in that cart, in point of fact. The chase after and the babbling drunk. The slow, silent search and a last gamble that ended with something he'd never seen coming.

Kasoria snorted to himself, and let his limp become part of the disguise. Just another old cripple with a begging bowl, meandering back to the wherever his sort went.

Under his hood, the killer smiled ruefully. Vorund was going to fucking love hearing about this...

[Alistair]

Kasoria

Knowledge
Skill
Deception: Playing Dumb and Deaf to Lure an Enemy Close
Discipline: Don't Drag Out a Murder (Unless Ordered To)
Discipline: Keeping Witnesses to a Minimum
Endurance: Pushing On Through Exhaustion
Endurance: Swallowing the Pain of a Twisted Ankle
Intimidation: Using a Sword as a Pointer
Intimidation: Just a Hint of Steel, Promising Pain
Running: Proper Breathing
Tactics: Spotting Weaknesses In Your Enemy's Grip
Tactics: Letting Yourself Be Seen to Flush Out a Hidden Watcher
Unarmed Combat (Ki'Enaq): Reverse Elbow Strike
Unarmed Combat (Ki'Enaq): Reversing a Dagger Back Into The Person Holding It

Non-Skill
NPC Vorund: "Protection" Is Not Just a Euphemism
PC Noth: The Nameless, Nosy, Terrifying Bird-Daemon

Loot: N/A
Injuries: N/A - Memory
Renown: Small (+10)

Points 15

Noth

Knowledge
Skill
Endurance: Running for a Prolonged Period
Endurance: Uneven Terrain
Endurance: Using a Wing Multiple Times
Endurance: Taking a Breather
Strength: Using a Fulcrum to Move a Person
Strength: Pulling Yourself Up a Building
Physics: Fulcrums
Physics: Gravity Amplifies Downward Blows

Non-Skill


Loot: N/A
Injuries: N/A - Memory
Renown: 0

Points 15

Comments: I really liked both the dialogue, descriptiveness and all of the physical/combative sequences. You two write tense scenes very well and I honestly think you should write another in the present!