• Mature • Up Your Sleeve (Graded)

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Kasoria
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Posts: 1643
Joined: Sun Apr 24, 2016 3:34 am
Race: Human
Renown: 1075
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Up Your Sleeve (Graded)

42nd Trial, Ymiden, Arc 718
Citizen's Market, Outer Perimeter
11th Bell


He didn't remember the sale. Not after a season or two passed. There was no foreboding tingle that burrowed into his mind for arcs after; no fright or shock that scarred it in like depth. It wasn't as if the face was familiar, or afterwards people gasped and whispered about who it was that graced his stall.

If Evan remembered the man at all, it was that there was little to remember. If he remembered anymore, connected what few dots his recollection may have shaken loose, he might have realized that was very much the point.

"How much fer these?"

He turned to the voice, finishing up with a buyer for a quite lovely and recently sharpened short sword (one careful owner), and immediately looked down. The man was short and Evan supposed he might have been slim, if the masses of hair vomited out from his head didn't spoil the idea. He seemed more like a monkey that had learned to talk and walk and almost shave, then given up on the idea. He was holding up a pair of braces and the weapons merchant had to frown for a trill before he remembered what they were.

Just a trill, though. Even prided himself on know all of his goods. How best were you supposed to flog 'em, after all?

"Ah... yeah, couple of arm sheaths for throwing knives." His tone wasn't quite the patter he used with Mister Short Sword, but it was amenable enough. The little man was turning over the sheaths in small, hard hands. He rolled back his shirt and tried one on experimentally. "Yeah, like that. First strap goes around the wrist, other one-"

"Here?"

The man held up his forearm and Evan nodded, a little deflated at being cut off in mid-explanation. The length of woven leather and cord was snugly attached to the underside of the man's forearm, covering maybe two-thirds of it. Not to be outdone, he rummaged around for an example the man could slide into the harness, just so he'd know how to-

Then he turned back, and the man already had a blade in there. Resting in its new sheath as he twisted and flexed his arm, moving it up and down, judging how solid the weapon stayed. Evan was left a bystander in his own stall, grimacing gently while Know-It-All did just fine without him, thank you very much. After a moment the man made a satisfied little "hmm" sound and withdrew the knife. It vanished as if by magic into the folds under his coat, and Evan didn't evne think to ask why he was walking around with a throwing blade hidden on her person.

First Rule of Selling in the Oh'Pee, he reminded himself, fixing a genial smile on his face as the man turned back to him. Don't ask questions. Don't inquire. Just do your business and let them on their way.

"Give yeh three gold nels for 'em."

"Three?! More like three for each!"

The little man smiled, as if enjoying how Even betrayed his own less-than-noble lineage when his accept snapped back into place. The lanky arms merchant flicked a glance to his side and hurumphed, deep in his throat. Then he crossed his arms, like a barrier against the march of barbarism.

"Five. That's quality leather, sir, I think you'll agree."

"Scuffed in places, too. Three an' a half."

"Four even."

The little sod even spat on his hand, or made the noise to indicate as such. When Evan shook it - one pump, up and down, just like everyone in this city seemed to do - he didn't feel any moisture. The gold was produced from a purse that looked... healthy, if not excessive, and Evan wondered just how much more he could have got from him. But before he got the chance to up-sell, the man tossed him a quick salute and a half-smile, so fast it was barely visible under the beard, and then he'd turned into the crowd beyond the stall-

"Sir-"

-which swallowed him like a pike would a minnow. Evan's jaw dropped and in the space of a blink, the diminutive little figure was broken up and hidden in his eyes, vanishing into the swarm of humanity. Evan sighed to himself and shook his head. A sale was nice, but repeat customers? They were the real motherlode.

"Um, sir? Vendor? Could I trouble you for a moment?"

A woman? Oh, splendid...

"Yes, madam!" He said, spinning on the balls of his feet and facing a fresh sale with a winning smile that could eclipse the suns. "Pleasure to assist you!"
► Show Spoiler
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Last edited by Kasoria on Thu Sep 13, 2018 10:27 am, edited 1 time in total. word count: 825

Appearance

  • Habitually dressed in boots, breeches, tunic, and cloak.
  • Long hair down to the shoulders, usually swept back or in a rough ponytail
  • Prefers a trimmed beard and mustache

Mutations

  • Star-shaped scar on each palm.
  • Air around him seems to thicken and become more turbulent the closer a person gets to him.
  • Pitch black eyes, from tear ducts to the pupils.
  • Arms from shoulder to palms appear as if heavy chains are wrapped around them.
  • Wisps of black smoke constantly drifts around his body, forming the rough outline of a cloak. The more agitated he becomes, the thicker the layers get.
    Note: the torch-motif medallion Kasoria wears negates the visible effects of this mutation.
  • Roughly circular pattern across breastbone, constantly transforming, and resettling
  • Sunken, closed eyes in the back of hands; they open when stared at
  • Skin takes on the tone and quality of whatever material he's just Transmuted
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Kasoria
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Posts: 1643
Joined: Sun Apr 24, 2016 3:34 am
Race: Human
Renown: 1075
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Wealth Tier: Tier 5

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Re: Up Your Sleeve

He waited until he was home before he starting testing, of course. Away from the prying eyes and ears. Somewhere open where he could make proper use of his new sheaths, experiment with form and movement... as well as simply having blades in them at all. He wasn't about to load them up without knowing how best to use them, after all.

That was what the training was for. Arduous bells of it, and that was just the first trial. A new weapon, a new breed of training to incorporate into his routine. What use was a weapon if it wasn't practiced with? What expertise or familiarity could one expect, without the grinding, grueling routine of a regimen to hammer movement into your muscles?

Kasoria knew that better than most in his profession, for he pursued his training with the same single-minded dedication he did when he was being molded to be an enforcer of the law, not the underworld. But he couldn't help the thrill of excitement when he strapped the sheaths onto his arm. The sheer... possibilities, they represented.

Now these are gonna be a surprise.

He was stripped down to his breeches in the back of his house, sun drenching his bare torso, watched with indulgent boredom by the cats on the walls. The sheaths were strapped to his forearms and the blades... yes, they would rest on the underside. Easier for them to be pulled, like-

this

-and with a snap of metal on leather, one of them was up in the air by his ear. Held by the short handle, ready for a toss-

THWACK

-smack into the target a dozen or so paces away. The whole process took a handful of trills, but even as he stared at the wobbling blade in a wooden spleen, Kasoria frowned. He still had to pause, bringing his arm up and then aiming. That gap, that step, from drawing to throwing... it could be the difference in a fight. He flexed his fingers and rested his arms by his sides. Tried to imagine his cloak and tunic on his back. Imagined his target ahead of him, and he reached up as if to scratch his chest-

-using the motion to bring his left forearm up and level with his right hand, which snapped the blade out of the sheath-

-up by his ear-

A broken trill, that's all you'll have.

-before hurling the blade, letting go as metal and hand lined up with wood and-

THUNK

Another solid hit, but that was no surprise to him now. He'd been practicing with the weapons, and getting his blades pointy-side in was no longer an issue for him. Not on a target as big as his training dummies, anyway. But specific organs, limbs, the soft and sweet spots like the eyes and throat and those delightful gaps between the ribs...

So keep practicing. Like everything else.

In that spirit, Kasoria reclaimed the two blades and returned them to the sheath. Then he started to... pace. Waling side to side, in front of the target. Then, as his right side was facing the dummy, his left forearm reached up again, and his right hand-

No aiming, just draw and throw!

-snatched the blade out and a hiss of red pain snapped out of his mouth as his right arm-

-straightened out with a crack of bone and ligaments, hurling the blade to his side without even a trill to aim-

CRACK

Burying itself in the shoulder of his target, instead of the neck. Kasoria didn't need an instructor to tell him that speed equaled less accuracy, when it came to these things. But practice, with all things... and besides, that wasn't what worried him in that moment. He looked under his arm and found the thin dribble of blood seeping out, right next to the sheath. He'd been in such a rush he's scratched himself on his quick draw.

The assasin smiled at his foolishness, and then a recollection crushed the amused gesture like a brick.

... you poison these blades, don't you?

"Right," he muttered to himself, as a ragged-tail tabby hopped down for a better sunbathing spot. "Gonna be very careful with how I carry these things from now on..."

Continued here
Image
word count: 734

Appearance

  • Habitually dressed in boots, breeches, tunic, and cloak.
  • Long hair down to the shoulders, usually swept back or in a rough ponytail
  • Prefers a trimmed beard and mustache

Mutations

  • Star-shaped scar on each palm.
  • Air around him seems to thicken and become more turbulent the closer a person gets to him.
  • Pitch black eyes, from tear ducts to the pupils.
  • Arms from shoulder to palms appear as if heavy chains are wrapped around them.
  • Wisps of black smoke constantly drifts around his body, forming the rough outline of a cloak. The more agitated he becomes, the thicker the layers get.
    Note: the torch-motif medallion Kasoria wears negates the visible effects of this mutation.
  • Roughly circular pattern across breastbone, constantly transforming, and resettling
  • Sunken, closed eyes in the back of hands; they open when stared at
  • Skin takes on the tone and quality of whatever material he's just Transmuted
User avatar
Hikaru
Posts: 199
Joined: Sun Jul 22, 2018 3:04 am
Race: Human
Renown: 0
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Wealth Tier: Tier 1

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Re: Up Your Sleeve



Kasoria makes for one strange customer! I liked the interaction with the shopkeeper and the clever terms such as 'broken trill' that I've never seen used before. You did a good job of realistically depicting what happens when you're not careful with blades. I hope he doesn't lose anything important!

Rewards:
XP: 10
Loot: Two forearm sheaths
Injuries: Minor cut - will scab within the hour
Renown: 0

Knowledge:
Negotiation: Basic Haggling
Throwing (Knives): Hidden in Forearm Sheaths
Throwing (Knives): Drawing Quickly From Forearms
Throwing (Knives): Draw-And-Throw (No Aiming)
Throwing (Knives): Be VERY Careful Poisoned Blades are Properly Sheathed

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