• Solo • I. Sandman (Graded)

[Kasoria]

10th Trial, Vhalar, 719
Commercial Circle
2nd break

She didn't know what roused her from sleep. A sound, most likely. Something unexpected and out of place, ringing through the Waking and into the Dreaming. Alerting her to danger. Only the echo of it was left when her eyes opened and her head moved up. Only the ghost of a feeling, a sensation, a wordless instinct shaking her shoulder and slapping her face and saying "threat, danger, up, awake, alert".

Moira did her best to do the last two, but it wasn't easy when one was edging towards their seventieth arc. She could feel her bones creak and groan with every step, now. She pissed either like a horse or not at all, same for making stool. Her appetite waned, her energy flagged. Her eyes, her ears, even her sense of smell... all failing her. And when she caught herself lamenting these things, she never missed a chance to scoff at a foolish old woman. Was her life really so painful? So utterly without joy?

She awoke in a beautiful bedroom, in a warm and quilted bed, hearing noise a floor below her in the house she owned. A house with a pantry and kitchen and servants and thick walls and good locks. The end of the arc was coming, and hideous cold with it. But she would weather it, like she had done before, because she had coin to her name. So what right did an old widow of sufficient means have to complain?

"Bugger..."

She got out of bed after a few bits, wriggling and swinging her lower parts in equal measure. With thin but strong hands, she opened up the counter by her bed and pulled something out that her husband had given her. Between a dagger and a sword, and capable of being both, in a pinch. The curve of the blade said it was more designed for hacking and slashing, but the straight, sharp tip had a thrusting purpose. Moira's husband had bought it for her, arcs and arcs ago. Insisted she train with it at least every other day. He never knew if, by some calamity, his... business dealings, would come and invade his house, his home, threaten his wife and son.

Only twice, as it turned out. The first, she had weathered. The second... well... there was nothing either could have done about the second.

Moira sighed and let out the thoughts from her head. She needed a clear mind. Bangun would have expected no less from her, and she had no wish to dishonor his memory or trust in her by falling apart now. She rose up with a fresh breath and started walking through the darkened hallways. She knew every floorboard and foot of distance; she made almost no noise as she went, parang held tight in her right hand. Her left felt along the wall. Came to a corner... and she stopped.

Allowed herself to listen in the pause.

When she started moving again, a dark shape at the bottom of the stairs cocked its head to one side, then glided off to one side-

-just as she turned to come down them. Fates, she must have just been hearing things. Getting old and conjuring up daemons from an addled mind. But Moira kept moving, kept walking, and looking. Never let her alertness fade. A hundred times an alarm could be false, or flawed, but that wasn't to say the one after them wouldn't be a mortal enemy com to end you. So she kept moving, peering into each room as she left.

Then she stopped. Cold air on her back. As if from a draft... or an open window... or an open-

Door.

"Hello, Mrs. Vorund."

She reacted fast. He was impressed. But she was still old, and the fire in her could not drag her frame to obedience. She swung about with her left hand up on guard and wobbled, and wobbled some more-

"Damn it!"

-until she had to steady herself on the door frame instead of keeping it up. But the parang didn't waver... well, not much. The man at the table watched all this without a word. Blinking slowly. Refreshing his memory with the sight of her, feeling for once like a young man in comparison to another. Or at least younger, anyway.

"Not here t'hurt yeh, ma'am."

She knew that voice. That accent. Guttural and harsh as Bangun's had been, only without the sheen of erudition to it that her husband had cultivated. Bangun had wanted to climb the ladder, so to speak. Walking and dressing and talking nicely had been part of that. But behind closed doors, he was still the Oh'Pee scrote she'd married decades before. This man sounded like that boy she'd known. Yet it was't just the accent. It was the voice. The frame... and she squinted against the darkness that wrapped itself around the intruder.

"Who... Who are you? No, no, I don't care. G-Get out of my house!"

"I'll leave once I have what I came fer, ma'am."

Insolence. Arrogance. A complete lack of fear. All three swelled the fear in Moira's breast until it broke its form and became anger. She advanced on him. Guard up, now. Step measured, legs bent, weight proportioned. The little man cocked his head to one side. Soon she would see.

"You'll not take anything from this... place..."

She was close enough to swing that blade at his head, and yet she didn't. She looked closer and couldn't believe what she saw. She knew that face. The features caught by a shard of moonlight, crossing them from forehead to chin as he craned his neck to look in her eyes. Moira gasped as she saw black marble looking back at her. Eyes not blind or gone, but... changed. Definitely some sort of magic. But she still knew that face. Mutation and deformity and time was no bar to her memory. She backed up a few paces, more out of shock that fear. The parang started to lower, but not all the way. He was, after all-

"K... Kasoria?"

[Kasoria]

He'd always worked in the shadows, but not been confined to them. That was where the Raggedy Man had come from. His disguise and favored dress at the same time. Filthy and poverty-stricken and pathetic, from boots held together by straps of cloth to his cloak torn to shreds in a dozen places. The masquerade allowed him to squat on a street corner for breaks at a time, stalk his prey for trials, and pass away unnoticed once the deed was done. No-one suspected a beggar, stooped and stunted, waddling away with mad slurs on his drooling lips and smelling of ale and dung.

That was before the magic. The mutations that he had no control over, and simply had to adapt to. Not just in his private life - and bathing was certainly more of a challenge, when trying to scrub nether regions perpetually wreathed in black smoke - but in his professional. If he could still call it that. But regardless, he couldn't just wander the streets in rags, below notice and suspicion. His mutations marked him, in a way no-one could fail to notice. Stealth was now more an issue of avoiding being seen completely, and going from there.

Fortunately for Kasoria, Etzos had plenty of hidden ways and crevices for those wishing to avoid all light, all scrutiny. And Kasoria had been making use of them since before he knew how to tug his cock.

Here we are.

He ducked through the mouth of the sewer and saw the iron door set into one wall. Even in the filthy darkness, he could see that it was newer and sturdier than the ancient stones surrounding it. He navigated by the glow from his palms, just enough etheral light to illuminate a dozen or so yards in front of him. That may have not been enough for many, but Kasoria had arcs of experience in using the tunnels under Etzos. They had their own geography and landmarks, just like the city above. Walk them long enough, familiarize yourself, map them out in your mind over and over, and they were always there for you. Kasoria had made slow progress, for passing between the circles wasn't easy, but it was hardly his first time.

Now he was in the Commercial Circle. He could tell, by the smells and the noises and the feel of the stones under his fingers. The sewage flowed faster away from him, since they Comm'See was built higher uphill. The noises were those of revelry, celebration, debauchery tinged by disbelief. They had beaten Lissira. They had vanquished an Immortal. The entirety of Etzos was celebrating as if each and every one had dealt the final blow. They were the Founders reborn, and for trials, the victory parties had consumed the city.

Kasoria had raised a glass or two. But that was all. The war was over; long live the next.

And it's coming. Which is why you're here.

He knew what he was looking for, which helped. He'd used this door before, a handful of times. When Bangun Vorund couldn't be seen on the surface, when he needed to come and go (mostly go) without anyone knowing, he'd come down here. Etzos had been built and rebuilt and torn down and then raised back up so many times that many buildings had these entrances to the tunnels. Once upon a time, they'd been doorways to basements, cellars, even streets. But time had ground on, and the city had risen higher. The lower levels had been crushed under the new generation and forgotten... mostly. Truly venerable structures like the Citadel had a multitude of secret passages, but not even Kasoria knew more than a couple.

The powers that ruled knew them, too. Didn't do well, for an Oh'Pee ganger like him to go poking that bear.

But that's not who you are anymore.

The assassin ran his hands over the door. Solid as ever. Cast iron, ribbed with steel. Reinforced hinges, too. If Bangun had just sealed off the door completely, there'd be no way in. Not without causing a truly mad amount of noise that would bring everyone upstairs running. Not what he wanted. Not tonight. But it had been for escape, as well as entry. So there was a keyhole set on one side... and that's all the Raggedy Man needed.

He crouched in the darkness, and felt for his tools. A little bag of them, recently purchased, under his cloak. Working slowly and carefully, entirely by touch, he opened the pouch and selected the pin, and the tension bar. He put the latter between his teeth, and inserted the former into the lock. He touched the end up, against the pins in the tumbler lock. Each dip and click, he knew meant there was another lever to be moved. He felt from back to front three times until... yes... yes, he was sure.

Five. Of course. As secure as a home could be.

Five levers. Good. He switched the pick for the tension bar. Stuck it in the lower part of the keyhole and got it good and snug, twisting until it couldn't go anymore. Now he had to keep it there, keep the tension, while his other hand carefully, carefully moved each lever into position. One out of place, an ounce of pressure too much or little, and he'd have to start all over again.

There was a sigh in the darkness. It would be tedious work. Tedious just thinking about it. Far more tedious knowing it would be slow, and time-consuming. But this was the price Kasoria was paying. For neglecting his mundane skills while he grew his magic until the Spark within him bloated into something as much akin to a tumor as a furnace of power. He supposed that his Abrogation could seep between the door and the door jamb, and he could harden his ether around it. His Shackles could grip the door, or the hinges, and with a truly brutal exertion, he could crush the metal and rip the door from its hinges. Probably.

And wake up everyone on the street. Not all solutions call for magic-

Click.

The Raggedy Man felt the first level click into place, pushed gently, inexorably, patiently upwards by the pick.

Four to go.

Receipt

Lockpicking Kit: -1WP

[Kasoria]

"You used that damned door in the cellar, didn't you?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"I should have bricked that fucking thing up arcs ago."

Kasoria couldn't keep the smile from his face, nor the soft, surprised snort. Hardscrabble though his upbringing had been, it was still odd to hear a woman curse so casually. The poor had their manners, too. Even the Outer Perimeter families shined their children's shoes and combed their hair and tried to shield them from profanity. Up until the age of manhood, anyway, at which point most mothers and fathers spoke as they wished. Moira Vorund had been born in the same circle as Kasoria, as Vorund, as most of the lackeys she saw surrounding her husband. She had bettered herself, though. She had the time and money to do so, after all. But now, here, she still fell back on old habits, betraying her origins.

"Something funny?"

"No, ma'am."

Irritation slid to concern on her face, tinged with panic. She seemed so very old in that instant. Fear of morality, if not for herself, drawing in the lines of her face.

"Stavos, Devane, they-"

"They're not dead. I dint come 'ere t'kill anyone."

That drew exactly the kind of disbelief he'd expected it would. The assassin spread his hands in submission, letting her see they were empty.

"See? No weapons. Jus' here t'talk."

"You don't need weapons, Kasoria. You forget you're speaking to someone who knows you." She frowned a little as she ran back what she'd just said. The correction made him smile a little broader. Even to a man breaking into her home in the middle of the night, she felt the need for honesty... or at least accuracy. "Or knows of you, at any rate."

The smile remained, but there was less mirth in it. As far as she could tell. The creature in front of her was just that; not truly a man anymore, despite his attempts at personality and persuasion. The voice was much the same, the face, but so much was different. Moira caught herself staring at the dark swirls that circled him, like clouds around a malicious planet. He seemed not to notice them, focused solely on her. He stood and she heard the clank of metal from under his cloak. The flash of a pommel at his hip, another opposite it it. Sword and dagger, never far away from a man who made his living from them. Kasoria gestured to the chair and Moira stiffened.

"Bidding me to sit in my own house?"

"Tryin' t'be peacable, Moir-"

"Moira, ma'am, Missus Vorund?" The lady of the house folded her arms and lo, the arcs sloughed off her like mud. Kasoria remembered why he liked the old bird. "Pick one, if you please."

"As you wish, ma'am."

He stayed standing. Stayed gesturing. Moira knew he'd be standing there all night, if that's what it took. So she gathered her nightie around her skinny frame and took the seat. The parang stayed at her elbow, pointing towards Kasoria. Just in case. The little man flicked a glance at it, once, then he sat back down and acted as if it wasn't even there. If did little to comfort Moira. She wasn't joking about him not needing weapons. She'd heard enough snippets from her husband over the last ten arcs and more, about his favored executioner. She didn't believe half of them, until she ran into story after story, each proving the last correct.

All of which was before this night, and she learned he'd apparently added magic to his arsenal.

He could kill you in a blink. Everyone in this house. But he didn't. Because he wants to talk. So let him.

"I take it," she said as he reached across the table and lit the candle in the middle of it with a match from a little wooden box. "You're not here just to see how the widow of your old master is getting on."

"No," the man said, and Moira's jaw tightened as the shadows were chased away, and she saw every inch of what his Spark had done to him. "I'm not. Though I gotta admit, I'm glad yeh survived the siege an' all."

"How warmhearted of you."

Kasoria smiled lopsidedly. He really did enjoy Missus Vorund. Heart of iron, balls of stone. But he would not be dissuaded. At the very bottom of his list was using force to get what he wanted from her. He liked to think he had the wit and brains to use the dozen or so other alternatives before he considered that one. He sat back in his chair and the flecks of darkness circled him like buzzards. He allowed her a few moments to... adjust. Most people needed that. He truly was the Raggedy Man now, the myth in flesh, and people reacted badly when monsters from stories walked into their lives.

"So... what do you want?"

"What yer husband knew," Kasoria said, not wasting time with pretense. "Namely, the people he knew, who had connections inna Citadel. They know things, an' they told 'em t'him. I need 'em t'tell me, now."

"Why? Why now?"

The Raggedy Man was silent for a long time. Moira guessed what could have prompted his reappearance. One didn't inhabit the world of Bangun Vorund for going on forty arcs without learning how his world worked, and how his mind worked to master it. The celebrations that had roiled across Etzos had been sprinkled here and there with a word she'd never expected to hear cried in joy: Sintra. The Spider Immortal. The Arch-Schemer.

"This is about... her, isn't it?"

Kasoria nodded and Moira gave a snort. "We lose half our people killing one of those things, and you think we should lose the other half killing-"

"No," Kasoria said smoothly, calm enough that his next words convinced her the man was no longer entirely sane. "Not them. Jus' me."

The candle sputtered. The revelers distant beyond the window continued to drink and sing and Stomp and copulate. All inside the house was silent. Stony or stunned, depending on whom was experiencing it. Moira searched the ravaged, mutated features to find some hint of a jest. She failed. After a few moments, she rose slowly to her feet. Creak. Groan. Fates, but she hated being old.

"Would you like tea?"

Kasoria blinked a few times, then stood up to join her. "Aye. Wouldn' mind a cuppa."

"Well, put the kettle on," the lady of the house said, snatching up her parang and walking stiffly to the kitchen. "I need something stronger..."

Continued here

[Abra]

Kasoria

Rewards

Knowledges:

Skill Knowledge: 
Detection: Navigating by Touch 
Intelligence: Knowing Who has Answers, and Thus Whom to Question
Lock Picking: Keeping the Bolt Tight with the Tension Bar
Lock Picking: Setting Each Lever While Keeping the Bolt Tense
Lock Picking: Touch and Sound is More Valuable than Sight
Persuasion: Appearing Non-Threatening (as much as possible)

Non-Skill Knowledge: 
Etzos: Many Buildings Have Entrances to the Underground
Etzos, Vhalar 719: Whole City Celebrating for Trials After the Sacking of Rhakros
NPC Moira Vorund: Widow to Bangun Vorund
NPC Moira Vorund: Tough and Shrewd
NPC Moira Vorund: Knew Her Husband's World
NPC Moira Vorund: Knew Kasoria, and What He Does

Loot:
Injuries:
Wealth:
Renown:

EXP: 10

Feedback

I was impressed with how much detail you went into with the old lady and the dagger towards the beginning of the thread. I liked the abrupt stop when she recognized Kasoria then the explanation as to how he arrived in her home. Your descriptions of how he’d navigated there were very in depth and made me feel like I was reading novel quality work! Good to see that Kasoria had some legitimate reason to go through all this trouble and I hope he gets what he came for. Enjoy the rewards.