• Mature • Duel/Dual (Graded)

[Kasoria]

46th Trial, Vhalar, 718a
Outskirts of Etzos, Southwood River
23rd break

Continued from here





"He is mine."

There wasn't much of the hiss that Kasoria had been expecting. Something looking like that, all scales and claws and fangs and slit-eyes, you expected a tongue to flicker out as well. A snake grown bloated and tall, sprouted arms and legs but still just a reptile. This one, though... he sounded just... foreign. Like many visitors to Etzos Kasoria had heard over the arcs: no shortcuts or grammatical tics, no slang or colloquialisms, just Common as was taught in schools across the world. Each word seemed to echo across the courtyard like slabs of stone vomited up from the Ithecal's stomach. The sheer size and density of the beast seemed to answer the question as to why.

Nothing high or reedy could some from something so overgrown with muscle. But even from this distance, Kasoria could see the lizardman was beefier on his arms and legs, with less on his trunk. His torso almost looked... not slender, but toned. Like an athlete. Then you panned out, and saw his arms, brawny as a dockworker and his big brother put together. Capped with claws eerily reminiscent of the karambit he held in his left hand, only a little shorter, and thicker.

Won't matter much when they cut into you. Not with arms like that behind them.

"No fuckin' argument from me, boy." Tatum chuckled and stepped away, dismissing his boys with a wave of his hand. Without a word, the tense, crouching alertness of the Reaver-Cleavers was gone. Replaced by a dozen or more armed men backing up, lowering their weapons... and smiling. Ready to enjoy the show. "Bring me his head, and I'll give you double fer this season."

Jorg made a noise somewhere between a growl and a snort. Whatever it was, it wasn't any language a bunch of Etzori gangers knew... if it even was language. Truth be told, the Ithecal wasn't interested in the gold. Well, no, he was, but not in that moment. The terms of his contract were generous, and he was worth every nel of it, but in the man who approached him now, who seemed feared and hated by all these others even though they vastly outnumbered him...

The lizardman's snout twitched and quivered. He knew a worthy challenge when he smelled it. As worthy as a human could be, anyway.

He's eight foot tall and that fucking club as nearly as big as you. The club he's holding with one hand.

Kasoria was far less assured, but he'd be damned if the trash and targets would see that. He clamped down hard on his muscles, from his limbs to his cheeks, not letting a twitch or a tremor reveal his feelings. The thing was huge and heavy and he could tell by the way it walked from the river that it was more graceful than any beast that big had any right to be. The club was simple and wooden, without any metal spikes or bronze tip... and Kasoria knew right away it wouldn't matter. It was big and thick enough to shatter his skull like a melon. Swung by a creature topping him by two feet and more, not even counting the hundred or so pounds he was packing on, didn't make the math any easier.

Still had face was immobile. Still his eyes were calm. His only reply to the racketeer and the mercenary from overseas, was to reach under his coat... and fill his other hand with metal-

-and then chuckle.

That buggered things up a little. Especially when it went on and on and his shoulders bobbed and his cheeks started to hurt and it finally ended with a wheeze, like the old man he looked like. Long enough for the Reavers to exchange looks and Jorg to look back at Tatum... who just shrugged and raised his palms with equal confusion. The lizardman snorted jets of air from his nose and Kasoria was still shaking his head with mirth, chin almost tucked into his chest.

"Scallies." He muttered the word to himself, and no-one else. Not even when the Ithecal snorted again and readied his club. "Fuckin' idiot. Scaly. That's what he meant. Just didn't know how t'spell it."

Funny fuckin' world, ain't it?

There was silence again. He breathed in and the rush of air seemed to square his shoulders, carry up his head and the gaze it bore. Travel down his limbs and raise the gladius until he was leveled at the poised Ithecal. He wasn't smiling anymore, but the life hadn't left his eyes. A darker, stained and twisted breed of amusement shone from them now. Something he didn't often let out. A thing indulgent and unprofessional, yet undeniable when it surfaced. Like it had been for the last season or two, scratching under his skin like claws from some buried monster. Demanding attention and satisfaction.

Finally. A foe worth fighting.

The monster roared and the killer screamed and then all was rushing feet and shining steel, a reckoning to be wrought in pain and blood.

[Kasoria]

Even in the rush and the roar, there was thought. Not the slow, steady, conscious mental matriculation others may have been familiar with, though. Kasoria's mind didn't tick; it whirred. It sprinted like the man himself did, observing a dozen factors in the time it took for the two charging bodies to meet across the mud. It was a skill he'd honed over decades, and one of many wagers he was making that night, was that he'd had more practice at it than the beast he was charging towards.

And was charging towards him, club swinging-

High, looking to take your head off.

-over Kasoria's head as his charge ended with him dropping down to one knee, club sailing over him-

-carving a gash into the Ithecal's leg as he slid past, drawing blood and a bellow of pain that seemed to rattle the bones in his head. He ground his teeth and focused on getting back on both feet, rather than on just how hard it had been to pierce the hide of the creature. The short sword had nearly been yanked from his hand by the impact, scaly skin acting like armor against his weapons.

So don't fight the armor, he reminded himself as he whirled to face the beast. Go for the weaknesses. The joints. The gaps. The soft parts. Don't fight armor. That's what it wants.

He was right about Jorg: the bastard wasn't nearly as slow as one would expect. Even cut and bleeding and denied his first titanic blow, the Ithecal weathered everything and set its mind to retaliating, backhanding at Kasoria with the club-

-forcing him to sway back, spine creaking as his body leaned away from the huge, knobbly-ended weapon-

Opening. Take it. You can't afford not to.

-karambit snapping up to savage the muscle-packed arm holding the club, forcing Kasoria forward a step just to reach past the length of the club and dig deep into... well, not flesh, per se. Thick scales and thicker muscle, corded and packed and drawing another roar of anger as the claw-like weapon gouged into the monster's forearm. Kasoria grunted as he ripped the blade free-

-pulling it along said forearm as he did, tearing open a raged, gushing rent in those dusty-brown scales from elbow to wrist, weapon pulling hard at his thumb-ring, until it snagged-

-and he could get back fast enough-

-before a furious fist lashed out from his right.

WHACK

-and back Kasoria flew like he'd been punched by a hurricane. His feet left the ground, his body was hurled backward, doubled over as he was catapulted away from his opponent. Even as his body became a creature of air and pain, the assassin tried his best to land somewhat-

-properly-

-feet touching the ground for but a moment before he fell back-

Roll!

Somehow managing to fall backwards, knees coming up to his screaming, creaking chest, savage momentum of the blow keeping his lower body moving as he tucked inward... and his feet smacked into the mud behind his head. He raised his gladius before he even raised his eyes, and was about to do the same with his karambit... when he realized it wasn't there anymore.

And his thumb was hanging at a very odd angle.

Pain struck him, assaulted him, converged from many directions and with a dozen names. His breathing. His chest. His lungs. His back. His neck. His hand. His wrist. All of them hurt, shards of agony clamoring his mind for attention all at once. Everything was white and pulsing in his eyes, or black and trying to drown the edges of them. But he breathed... he breathed deep, even as doing so nearly cracked his ribs a second time... and he exhaled.

He was alive, and so was the Ithecal. He didn't have the luxury of collapsing with that fucking thing in front of him.

Could have been worse, an unwanted voice chimed in, as he braced his limp, waggling thumb against his thigh. That was a fist. He could have used his claws. Then you would have been-

CRUNCH

Even the Reaver onlookers winced at that sound. A fresh, red flurry of bitterness soaked Kasoria's nerves as he snapped his thumb back into place. Hardly the first time that had happened, after all. The Ithecal made some hooting, choking sound and Kasoria soon realized it was laughing at him. So he spat to one side and showed it just how amusing he thought the situation was-

-hawking deep and loud and crude as any gutter drunk, and spitting a gob of bloody plhegm to the side.

"Is that it?"

The reptilian parody of laughter stopped. The many-toothed smile faded. A snarl straight from a mammal's nightmares replaced it and, as intended, the thing started to charge without thinking, wobbling a touch with his cut leg, bleeding free and fast and crimson from his torn -up arm. Kasoria didn't wait for him to get too close. He was angry, and that was enough. He waited for as long as it took for his aching left hand to reach for his right wrist, as if he was bracing his gladius with both hands-

-only they grabbed something from inside his sleeve instead-

-and with a snap and muted whistle of flying steel, the throwing knives hiss through the air between them. With his hand buggered up, his aim wasn't great... but with something that broad and tall looming fast and close, he didn't have to be a circus performer with those things. Especially these particular items, stashed up his sleeves for a specific purpose.

THU-THUNK

The Ithecal stopped dead as the little blades thudded into his body. One in the shoulder, another in the chest... and it just blinked at them. For a moment Kasoria thought he'd been lucky. That he'd pierced its heart, or whatever the fuck these things had, and it would keel over in the next moment. Then he realized it was more shock. Sheer, incredulous surprise that this monkey would try to kill him with things so small and useless. The Ithecal snorted and that hooting started again, wet and wriggling from his mouth as he yanked first one dagger out, then the other-

-only Jorg didn't, because he couldn't grip it... and tried again... and blinked...

"Scarf Rot."

The lizardman made a sound like a boulder being dropped into an underground lake. Bass and hidden and questioning. Kasoria half-smiled as it's long snout quivered at the end, no doubt finally detecting the hint of what was smeared on those two blades. He liked to think he was enjoying the show, the slow, outraged realization that this mere human had poisoned him. More than that, like all poisons, Scarf Rot took time to work. Had to circulate the blood stream, passing through organs and arteries, finally reaching the brain... or so he assumed. You had to wait for that.

But the truth? Kasoria was trying to remind his lungs that they could hold more air than a thimble's worth.

Remember, you've got an audience.

As the Ithecal blinked and shook his head and let a rattling, venomous snarl escape his teeth, Kasoria flexed his shoulders. It seemed every rib in the cage crackled at the gesture, but it allowed him to take a deep breath, at least. Gladius still in hand, he flourished the bloody weapon with the one hand that still worked properly, and with his other... drew a new weapon. Similar to the first, which was now lost somewhere in the shadowy mud after Jorg's punch had snapped it straight from Kasoria's grip and sent it flying. Only this one was something special.

He felt the heat of it as he curled each finger around the hilt. A warmth that was unlike any fire or candle or brazier or inferno you'd find in the mundane world. Traitor's Claw had quite a different history, and Kasoria could feel that borrowed power crackle through his body... as well as his body begin to pay attention to him again.

Just remember: don't let go. And remember, you've got an-

"Is this it?"

Those he spoke to Tatum, to Exley, to Edmond, to all the other silent watchers. A bit of fighting an this old, small, filthy man was still alive. That did not reflect well on the eight-foot-tall Ithecal standing across from him. The question rattled some of them. They looked away, eyes darting around, unsure and questioning, even if it was only in their own heads. Tatum's face flushed, his nephews grimaced, and Jorg-

Swear to Fuck, the gecko just changed color.

"You will have pain for that!"

Again it came, with a roar that rattled the window panes and seemed to scare the lapping waters away from them for a moment. Louder this time, deeper, as if pulled from the history of a species utterly devoid of anything resembling the sounds a Man could make. It was primal and furious and agonized and insulted. It was a hawk's screech and a dog's snarl and a shark's silent, rushing, gaping roar all at once. Kasoria winced, but did not look away. The lizardman charged again, club cocked and ready but not as firm as before. Half the Ithefcal's arm was ripped to shreds, and his grip was fading. Not to mention the poison.

So go make something of it.


Continued here

[Arlo Creede]

Kasoria

Knowledge:
Blades (Gladius): Primary Weapon in Dual Wield
Blades (Karambit): Secondary Weapon in Dual Wield
Blades (Karambit - Traitor Claw): Only Works When HELD
Endurance: Resetting a Dislocated Digit
Endurance: Breathing Through (Likely) Cracked Ribs
Poisons: Takes Time for Poisons to Spread Through the Body

Non-Skill Knowledge:
Ithecals: Gigantic Lizard People
Ithecals: Faster Than Their Size Suggests

Loot: N/A

Injuries: TBD

Renown: N/A

Points: 10

Comments: Nice, action packed solo and great descriptives. The combat scene flows very nicely. I struggle myself with writing combat scenarios in a way that doesn't feel awkward and distracting, at least to my own worst critic. In contrast you've done an admirable job of it here and I enjoyed reading it. Well done.


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