• Memory • Explain Yourself (Graded)

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Explain Yourself (Graded)

90th Trial, Zi'Da, 711AV

Continued from here


"Why the fuck can't you find him?"

Rian was sure there was a way to answer that which wouldn't result in him getting punched. Some clever assemblage of words that would soothe an angry, unimpressed old man and grant him a window to scuttle off. Jumping out a window, that was another option. Probably preferable at this point. But Rian, like so many other frozen by hesitation and fear, pondered too long to actually bother finding the words and so after a few trills-

"Youse fuckin' deaf, boy?"

"N-No, Mister Vorund, it's just..." Come on, think. Think! "We've got feelers out, y'know? Alla' scum onna' street're listenin', watchin', soon as he pokes his head up-"

Hell's Fuck, these are the sort of cunts I have defending me.

Bangun Vorund rubbed his face and seemed to feel every one of the lined age had carved into it. Along with a couple that came from a razor blade. Matter of fact, he needed to find one of those. It had been two solid trials since he'd been out of the warehouse and his face was starting to resemble a map of Etzos, only with a spiky forest growing out of it. Two trial of eating and drinking and pissing and sleeping among these broad, muscled, clueless bastards. A dozen of them, sleeping and guarding him in shifts. Monitoring everyone that walked near the building, let alone inside. Not to mention dozens, scores of others, out there from the Underground to the Com'See, scoruing the city for one man.

The lord of the South Side sighed. That was the problem, though. Finding a mob or an army was easy. Tracking down a single soul amidst millions? Even with magic working for you, that was difficult. Doubly so when you were after a man who'd been hunting down single souls for going on twenty years, and thus knew all the tricks. He shook his head and pinched the bridge of his nose, letting Rian waffle on. Fates, what he'd give to have Ilos back. But his lieutenant was needed elsewhere, keeping shop, as it were, until he could show his face again.

He won't come for anyone but me, he told himself. I gave the order, and he knows it.

"Makin' it a right cunt t'have a chat with you, Kas."

"S-Sir?"

The old man didn't even answer him; he just started rapping off orders. More guards, more people looking, more money offered... no like he couldn't afford it, but Rian was starting to think it was a bit much. He scratched his red hair as he nodded, never stopping, head bobbing as obsequiously as he could. There were two big lads outside the door and he had no desire to have Mister Vorund snap his fingers and order them to twist his arms and legs off. But still, with all that self-preservation clamoring in his ears, the young hoodlum still said-

"Sir... um... why ain't the order t'kill him?"

He didn't need to repeat the question. Nor did Vorund need to ask why he was querying him. The old man scowling from behind the carved desk was as sharp as the blades he carried, unseen and honed every day. Since he was in short pants and wiping his arse with gutter trash, Rian had known the man in front of him to be shrewd, ruthless, and most importantly, patient. He nurtured talent and let it grow. He allowed enemies he couldn't directly defeat to become complacent, cocky, and fall into his lap or die off to another's hand. He'd heard the stories about Kasoria, the Raggedy Man, Bangun Vorund's prized and secret slayer. Known by his name and deeds and legend... but never his face.

If he'd turned, why let him live?

"Because," Vorund said eventually, accent flattening as his words came out slow, and venomous. "I don't throw something away until I know I can't use it anymore. Now fuck off and find him."

The boy left and Vorund walked over to the cabinet. A double, a triple... yeah, he'd earned that. Wasn't like he was sitting in here, smoking and boozing and getting sozzled in his paranoia. He was just being cautious. Kasoria would be found, and brought to heel. But until then, he had to be... practical. The man was wounded and bloodied and angry. He was a smart one, despite what everyone thought, even himself. He could read those ugly, callused faces of the underworld like a book. See the patterns of blood and betrayal and know the fingers pulling their strings. He'd know who those men were, the chaff he'd tossed a few coins to and those pair of real, seasoned scratchers who were hired to make sure things stuck. Both of them now dead. One with his head run through twice - although, knowing Sven as he did, Vorund thought that was likely necessary - and the other barely human anymore, once they put the pieces back together.

But no Kasoria. No Raggedy Man. Just stories and rumors and silence. Silence most of all, for five - fucking - trials.

He cursed into his glass, admonishing him for that silly speech to the girl. He should have gutted her without a world, let her be another maimed casualty of that riot Kasoria had unleashed. But no, he had to make his point, he had to make-

There was a dull thud beyond the door that shook him from his reverie. Fates, he'd almost nodded off. He shook his head and put down the glass, straightening himself a little behind the desk. Wouldn't do, being slovenly in front of the boys. By the time it was opening he'd "hem-hemed" some life back into his voice and-

"Tell 'em not now, Noel-"

-it wasn''t Noel. Noel was slumped over, half-hidden next to the door, and very still. The one that had made him that way closed the door behind him. Then he locked it.

"... been lookn' for yeh, Kas."
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Re: Explain Yourself




He knew what they would do. Trouble was, Vorund knew that. Oh, his men might, too, but they couldn't think in that abstract, twisty-minded way that Old Man Vorund possessed. If they could, it would be them behind that fancy table. But he knew they would sent out, deployed, directed by his knowledge. Like pawns across the board, Vorund would position his men around the king. It had been five trials, and while two of them he'd spent more or less immobile in his deep, dank hovel, the other three, he'd been listening. Watching. Asking his own questions, to those who either knew him not, or feared him more than they did Bangun.

It was a very short list. But it was telling. They whispered of money offered not for his head, but just for where he was. Where he could be found, or where he was likely to be. Memorably, one man said he was offered coin for where they could talk to him.

Talk. Not kill. That's... useful.


Not good, thought the gargoyle, but useful. The Old Man would still prefer him weighted in iron or rope when they "talked", he was sure. But Kasoria knew what it meant: he wanted to explain himself, talk Kasoria around. The Raggedy Man's face hardened in the shadows. His hands gripped the parapet tighter... and he watched a peacock walk out the warehouse.

Ilos. That was his name. Another one of Vorund's likely lads, picked from the gutter and given purpose. He stood outside the front gates with his back straight and head high, but there was a furtiveness to his movements that screamed out to Kasoria. Not even the two slabs of muscle escorting him could make it go away completely. As if he feared the very shadows would come alive with daggers to hand. He watched the man go... and he kept watching. Like he'd done when it was still light. Like he'd been doing these breaks of darkness. When another face emerged, red hair and a worried expression, like a clerk burdened with a merciless master, and Kasoria knew it was time.

He walked to the other end of the roof.

Everyone was searching the low and filthy places of the South Side. That's what he'd do. The catacombs and the alleys, the sewers and the dodgy healers, the streets buried under the pavements that still held crevices for fugitives, and the no-questions-asked room-letters across the city.

He turned and tested his legs. Lucky he hadn't broken that, instead of his arm. Two trials of tedious, helpless rest while the bone had set (or thereabouts). Three trials more until his body was rested and his muscles were strong enough again for this... lunacy.

They were all looking there. Vorund's unseen army, made of naught but eyes and ears and questioning lips...

The Raggedy Man cracked his head from side to side. It was a narrow street, and the warehouse roof was lower than this one.

... nobody was looking up.

Kasoria cursed under his breath and bolted, feet pounding hard and fast across the wooden roof, and he remembered thinking if a foot went through a rotten beam now and that's what killed him, he'd never live it down-

-the thought was still in his head when he hurled himself off the parapet, a beast of shadow and flying, flapping folds against the moonless night sky-

-landing hard, rolling instinctively, trying for grace but settling for not breaking his legs. Once he'd stopped, crouching on one knee, he just... listened. He wasn't a fat man, but someone landing on a roof above your head was no quiet thing. He closed his eyes, and listened... hand finding something hard and cold that fitted around his fingers... as he heard what he'd been expecting. Coming from just below him.

"... 'ey, did'jew 'ear dat?"

Here we go.
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Re: Explain Yourself

"Kill any of 'em on the way here?"

"Mebbe."

Vorund snorted out something that was between a laugh and a sigh. Oddly enough, Kasoria had been expecting it. He'd seen it before. The pragmatic concerns of a businessman, grousing vaguely over assets and the wastefulness caused by a troublesome employee. Like more coal burned than needed, glasses smashed by foolishness, furniture burned and food consumed... men laying out in the darkness, crippled and weeping and alone, roused nothing but the same, icy annoyance in Bangun Vorund. Regardless of their loyalty or time under his wings.

We're all just things to him. You've known that since you met him.

Kasoria's mouth twitched. He'd hoped Vound would wear this face. It would make what followed far easier.

"Quite the mess you've caused, Kas."

"Youse mean dat fuckin' riot outside the yards? Or those cunts I chopped up after?"

"I only care about the last bit."

Another twitch. "Course yeh do. You paid fer 'um, after all."

"Aye." Vorund sat down. Slowly. Carefully. Kasoria watched his hands, not his eyes or his face. Stupid habit, that. Thinking you could read a man by his eyes. Bollocks. Eyes stared; hands killed. Unless you were a mage, of course. "I did. An' youse did the first bit fer free."

Kasoria couldn't argue with that. Didn't matter it was a Morty-loving cunt he'd killed. Didn't matter if shutting him up for good was worth the sacrifice. Didn't matter... and he knew it. Some vestige of the man he'd been, the boy who believed in justice, knew it wasn't sacrifice when someone made it for you. It was just pain and murder, and he could not count how much of both he'd unleashed when he put the girl to work that day. He took a breath and exhaled slowly. He'd made her part of that. Stained her soul as much as it would have been if she'd shanked Quaros like he'd demanded. Another sin to add to the list...

Enough.

"Aye," he said, and took a few steps forward. Some brassy and crimson glittered across the fist of one hand. The other held a dagger. "I did."

He stopped walking. A swift lunge and he could do it. The old man would fight, of course. He had a blade up his sleeve and a pistol crossbow in the desk, plus whatever surprises he'd kept from Kasoria Which was likely, after all. Kasoria liked his odds, though. He'd bleed. He'd get sliced. But he'd kill the old cunt. The bastard who set animals like Beast and Garrote on a little girl. Who'd shrugged his shoulders and said he'd let i slide, that he trusted Kasoria's judgement... then turned around and decided to top her anyway. The old man spared a look for the weapons. A slow one. Like a cat might give. Patient and unhurried and without fear.

"Gonna kill me, Kas?"

"S'what I'm 'ere fer."

The older man sipped his drink, resting an elbow on the table. "Then why'my still enjoyin' me brandy?"

Which was a fair enough question. Kasoria was never one for speeches, save for those rare, rare times the job was more personal than most, or an "explanation" had been explicitly asked for. Most people wanted to know why their enemy was about to die; most of those people also preferred someone else to get bloody in the doing. But Kasoria hadn't cared about explanations. His enemy died and he lived. That wasn't just enough; that was everything. Why wax poetical and draw it out, like some mummer's villain?

"Why'd yeh do it?"

"That what yeh wanna know?" The snort was a laugh, now. Coming with a shake of his head as he took another sip. "Hidin' in the dark, invisible t'hundreds a' folk lookin' for yeh, topped or battered a half-dozen blokes t'get in here, jus' t-"

THUNK

The dagger smacked into the wood of the table. Maybe an inch or two from where Vorund's elbow was resting. The crime lord scowled at it, then at Kasoria.

"S'fuckin' mahogany, Kas. Shite ain't cheap."

Kasoria's hand flexed around the brass knuckles, and Vorund felt an old, unfamiliar thrill gnaw at his guts for a moment. Bad way to die, that. Painful. Bloody. Hideous. His wife wouldn't even recognize him after, and Kasoria had no problem with closed casket jobs. But that wasn't as frightening as the look on the bearded man's face. The freezing fury that seemed to have bled out what little humor and humanity he had left. He took another step forward, and Vorund struggled not to rip the drawer open with his free hand and go for-

"Go fer dat 'bow, an' yeh'll be dead for yeh can fire it. Now tell me why."

Vorund didn't doubt him. But still, before he started talking, he managed to smile again. Because he was still alive. Because his prized killer had hesitated. From that small and silent window alone, a mind like Bangun Vorund's had all it needed. He emptied the glass and smacked his lips appreciatively. Carefully putting the crystal upside down on the table... and pushing it with two fingers towards the Raggedy Man.

"Fine."
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Re: Explain Yourself

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The first one was the easiest, because he didn't know. He suspected, of course. He knew there was... something. But even a fearful mind conjured things to sooth the soul. An intruder? No, surely not. Maybe a cat. A vagrant. A rat. A bird, since they were up so high. So when the trapdoor opened and a head poked out, followed by a hand holding a lantern, Kasoria knew the one holding it wasn't entirely... in the right mind, shall we say.

"See anythin'?"

From the shadows, Kasoria frowned. Working in pairs. Good idea. You'd have to take both at once, or an alarm would be raised. Then the rest would come running. But if you separated them somehow...

"Nah, I can't-Hey?! Y'hear dat?"

"No, I-Jel, wait!"

Jel wasn't listening. He'd heard it, even if Harry hadn't. Something shifted around the chimney, scrambling as if on claws. Lantern held high, the young ganger drew his blade and started to approach. Behind him, cursing and sweating, Harry started to heave his ample bulk up through the trapdoor. Fucking kid. Always rushing ahead, always diving straight in. Not everyone was so well eager! He was still cursing the boy when a shadow fell across him, and when he looked behind at it-

Where are you?

Jel knew this was where it was. Behind that wall. He'd put the lantern down a dozen paces ago. Letting whoever or whatever think he'd stopped, then crept forward... and then he jumped around the corner-

-to see nothing but damp tiles and sturdy brickwork. At once his tense posture slumped. Shit. Bloody typical. "Fuckin' forget it," he said, sheathing the blade and turning back. "Nothin' to... see?"

Harry wasn't there. Not on the roof, not in the trapdoor. Not giving him shit or struggling for air, like steps were liable to make him do. Something curdled in Jel's guts when he approached the opening and saw something bright and liquid splattered in the edge of it. Then he peered over the edge... and saw Harry at the bottom of the ladder. Trying to breathe through the wreckage of his face. Looking up at him through a red and white mask of blood and shattered bone, trying to raise one hand to point, to warn-

-just as he heard the whoosh of air being parted, and the brass-wrapped fist caught him in the side of the head. There was pain. Pain that seemed to be made of noise and light as well as screaming, surging, burning agony. He staggered, feet already going numb, nerves dying all over his body and before he could even fully fall-

-he felt hard, sturdy fingers grab him by the hair. Hold his head steady as he slumped to his knees and then-

-a deafening crack. Like an explosion in the back of his head. One of pain that never had a chance to follow devour him. For the moment after it began, the black explosion swept all feeling, all consciousness away from him.

++++++++++

"I'm gettin' hungry."

"There's a fuckin' shock."

Noel didn't even turn to see The Scowl. Everyone had it, in their line of work. The heavy-brow'd, fierce-eyed, granite faced look you used to freeze the piss of any debtor, junkie, scummer or civvie in your path. The look that said "hurting you wouldn't keep me up at night, and you're pushing it". Using it on your own was different, though... unless you were Krags. Who was tall and broad enough to make even triplets exchange nervous looks and rethink their odds. Someone like Krags was a one-man brute squad, the last threat to be made and sword unsheathed. After him was just a whirlwind of hammy fists and iron-clad boots.

Unless you were Noel. Beasts of the same nature and size and temperament. Unless...

Always someone better. Always an "unless". That's why you're here, after all.

"Purse's a purse."

"Fuck wuzzat?"

"Barely been three breaks since dinner," Noel said, rolling his sore, stiff shoulders but not even shifting his feet. "Chew yer cheeks're summin'."

Krags crossed his arms and sulked for a while before the silence was broken again. As it would inevitably be. You didn't get to be his size unless your stomach was forever growling at you, after all. Noel could hear it from the other side of the doorway they were flanking; hissing and popping and gassing like a cauldron. It could have been a half break or less, but eventually-

"Need t'drop a turd."

"Oh, for fuck's-"

"What?" The big man barked before casting a wary look at the office door. Then he lowered his voice to a murmur. "Y'want me t'shit me kecks?"

"Jus'... hurry the fuck up, yeah?"

Too fucking right I will, Krags thought but had the sense not to say. He swaggered off around the corner to find his shitter, or maybe that was just how a man that size walked. The waddle was just a few excess hundredweight of fat and muscle finding somewhere to be. Of course, he wasn't just going to the toilet, which could have explained the strut. He tossed a jaunty, sausage-finger wave to Roger in the empty office.

"Fuck's Theo?"

"Shitter."

"Fuck me, I'm headin'."

"Good. Scare the last 'uv it outta him a'ready."

Krags snorted and decided to do just that. Old boy was making a fresh pot of tea and Fates, that would go down a treat right now. A fresh cup, a warm pasty, and a bowel-lightening dump to precede both. He grinned as he raised his hand in front of the toilet door. Enjoying the mental image of Little Theo shooting up straight up off that seat, only it never did-

-because the door opened, and he saw...

Everything. Theo still sitting on the privy, with his eyes closed and his white shirt turned red. His throat was a second mouth, slashed open from side to side. In front of the huge man was a little one. He looked up for just an instant and as Krag's lips pursed into the sound of an f-

-there was a flash of steel, shooting up from the man's side-

CRUNCH

-gladius spearing through his blubbery head, under the jaw and through the brain. Kasoria let the gladius go as Krags toppled back, smacking into the hallway wall and he snatched the dagger from his belt before the big man had even started to slide down-

"The fuck was-"

Turning his attention from the Doomed to the Living. Roger stepped out into the hallway and into eight inches of steel flying through the air. Kasoria got him through the throat at fifteen feet. The copper tea pot went clanging and splashing all over the floorboards, but no cry was made, no scream or bellow or challenge of alarm. Kasoria reclaimed his sword first, from dead Krags with his marble eyes, brain giving up the moment two-feet of steel went crashing through it. Roger, though...

He was still alive when Kasoria walked over. Fighting every inch of the way, clinging to every dram of life draining out of his brown eyes. He even held onto the dagger hilt, trying to pull it from his throat... until Kasoria reached down, two-handed, gripped the blade tight and twisted and pushed-

CRACK

Spine bones snapped. The eyes went blank. The struggles ceased. Kasoria's face barely shifted, look of mild disgust and general annoyance stamped on it like his features would never loosen or lighten ever again. He sheathed the sword and slipped his knuckles back on. Good sword, but not ideal for hallways. Especially when speed was to be favored over swordsmanship.

One more, most likely, he told himself as he walked the way he knew Krags would have come. Roof guards. Two more on his floor. Two more outside the door. Four or si more downstairs. But they weren't alerted. No alarm raised. So now...

One more, or so he assumed. In truth, he'd never asked, not even when he had Theo alive and at his mercy. He'd just killed the man instead. He didn't need to ask anything; he had all he needed. Vorund was here. Who he had protecting and how many... what did it matter?

Noel remembered a blur. At first. He'd turned his head to the right, as much to stretch his neck as check that end of the hallway, and heard footsteps. Coming fast. Faster than Krags, he was sure. He was already frowning as he turned to face the noise and had to look down sharply. Because lumbering Krags was not there. It was someone far shorter, far slighter, coming at him on feet moving so quick they barely touched the boards-

He remembered the eyes. The hair. The clothes. The stink of blood and terror that wafted off the man like the memory of a nightmare. He'd seen those eyes before; in the skull of a panther, when he'd been very small. Inhuman and unblinking, focused beyond sanity on the butchery to come. He opened his mouth to shout as he swung out his big arm-

-Kasoria ducking under it, dagger lashing out once it was over his head, impaling his arm through the elbow, pinning it to the wall-

-brass-bound hand crashing into Noel's chest and robbing him of the air to screech in pain or bellow an alarm. A moment later, his nose broke. His jaw followed. There was no artistry or style in the Raggedy Man's blows. Just speed, accuracy, and pitiless brutality. Punch after punch until he slumped down to one knee and his mind realized it should go to sleep and spare him the pain. Noel was still on his knees when the final curtain of darkness took him. Held up as much by the dagger through his arm and the wall as by his own innate bloodymindedness.

He heard Mister Vorund say his name. Mistaking the tiny visitor for him. Then he heard the door click closed... and the bolt lock it. He let the darkness claim him with a wet, slimy sigh. Cursing Krags and his stomach all the way down into the dark water.
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He shoulder have killed him without a word. Without explanation. Maybe thrust in the blade a little too low, punched a few hundred pounds of pressure softer. Long enough for the agony to clear long enough for the old man to listen, and understand, but still be helpless to prevent his end. Hundreds of times, he hadn't bothered with a speech. Now he was breaking his own rules. Because this was Bangun Vorund, who had made his child vanish and conjured another in his place, along with a mother to raise him. As sure and real and infallible as if he were a mage, though his discipline was one of coin and contacts.

Kasoria had pledged the man him sword. To serve him and only him, if he could do him this one thing, and do it perfectly. For that, he would be forever loyal.

Now he stood in covered in blood and dust and sewage. Tired from trials without sleep and muscles aching from new exertions and old scars. He'd waded through more than just the men he'd left in his wake. He'd left more bodies than just those littering the roof and halls and rooms. Hardly the stature of a loyal and grateful man.

So he had done the worst thing he could have done. And Vorund knew he would.

"Yeh've always been a loner, Kas. Always operated wiv'out anyone backin' yeh up. That's what makes yeh so... valuable." The old man reclined in his chair. Hands clearly and carefully flat on the table. "Most scratchers, fer the tough job, they need back up. They need help. Assistants, partners, whatever yeh wanna call it. They need people t'talk to, help set it up. But you? I gave you a name, and that was enough."

Vorund leaned his head forwards a little.

"She was fuckin' that up, mate. An' no way was I fuckin' lettin' that happen."

"I vouched for 'er. You asked, I answered, that shoulda' been enough."

"Aye, well, I thought differently."

"An' who the fuck're you to-"

"Your fuckin' boss, that's who!"

He was smart enough not to jerk to his feet, at least. Kasoria would probably have cut him down if he did. But he wasn't about to let this... fucking idiot talk back to him like that. Fates, what was it with some men? A few arcs of solid service and they thought they had the right to start making decisions? Vorund's voice roared across the table at his underling, hands snapping into fists as he did.

"I say, Kas. Not you. Not Ilos. Not anyone else. Me. I decided she was bad for yeh. I took her out the equation. An' if things'd gone smooth, you'd a' never fuckin' known it. But then she came barelin' outta the tunnels bawlin', you fast on her heels... fuckin' plan went t'shite and now I'm out a half-dozen gangers and a couple a scratchers."

He waved away the objection before it could even leave Kasoria's mouth.

"Oh, I don't care 'bout the coin. Fuck's sake, ain't like there ain't more a' them out there. Just kick over enough rocks."

Vorund sighed. Selling it. The weariness of command. The way it aged a man, all this responsibility of leadership weighing him down. He shook his head and stared up at the ceiling. He didn't speak. The image was enough. Time to wait for a response, so he could build off it...

"Wasn't about t'let you kill her."

"Aye, well, now she's fucked off, hasn't she? Neither hide nor hair."

Silence again. Vorund's gaze flickered down, only to see bare, indifferent, impenetrable granite looking back at him. Kasoria's face didn't even quiver, not a muscle twitch nor a blink. Whatever trail the girl had left, Kasoria had downed it in so much blood and chaos that it was harder to pick up that his own. Vorund's people had been out searching for her, too. But there was nothing. If she was as smart as Kasoria hinted at, she was probably out of the city by nightfall that trial. Headed to Hiladrith, or Foster's Landing, or Rhakros, if she was feeling particularly brave. Either way... it was out of reach. Once she was past the borders of the republic, Vorund's knew it would take serious money and plenty of patience to scratch that little chit.

For Kas? For what he might do if he came back? Worth it. For some whelp he'd barely trained, who didn't even know my name? Well...

But maybe, he'd thought, some of his lads had got lucky. Found her and scragged her only got scragged in turn by Kasoria. But... no. No look on the little man's face gave that away. Not only that, but if that had been how it went, Vorund's gut told him there would have been no words at all. Just Kasoria's brass knuckles hammering into his face until his skull was in bits and his brains were pounded into the wood.

So... she's alive. We both suspect it, he hopes it. Doesn't want to give anything away... just like me.

Bangun Vorund licked his lips. Two ways to ensure things stayed that way. One was to lie, or selectively omit, and carry on as they were. The other was to kill him, just to be on the safe side. Make sure that even if the bounty was posted, there'd be no-one to pay it if she could be found. But that... was forgetting something. Something that both men knew, and Kas, twisted lunatic that he was in his own mundane was, was not going to ignore.

"You owe me, Kas." Vorund said eventually, standing up very slowly. "I ain't had t'say that since youse put that sword on this table years ago an' gave me yer word. But now? Now I gotta remind yeh." He managed a dry snort, face twisting into a smirk under his mustache. "Swear, mate... most a' the lads I got workin' fer me, wouldn't give a cat's cunt if they were called oathbreakers. Wouldn't even know what the fuck was the issue. But youse? Youse take it seriously Youse give yer word, and it's good. An' that man, that one man outta scores, he's the one that end up paintin' my walls wiv' blood."

The Raggedy Man blinked, very slowly. Thinking it over. Wondering if he'd come too far. Vorund leaned forwards, resting his hands on the table... trying to subtly shift his grip so they were braced on the edge of it. Maybe if he heaved hard enough, he could force Kasoria back. Give himself a trill or two to fill his hands before the final charge. Kasoria cocked his head to one side, just a little bit. His eyes flared into life... and he cocked an eyebrow.

Vorund sighed. Fucking good worker, was Kas. Fucking shame...

"... youse gonna stand there all night Or yeh gonna fuckin' do it?"

Kasoria took in seven breaths before he spoke. "No."

"... an' yeh trust me not to-"

"You sent a pack a' dogs after the girl, not me, an' even then I tore 'em apart. Last buncha' cunts came fer me where I slept, I sent them all out in bags. Which ain't t'say I trust yeh not to. Jus' lettin' yeh know what the odds are."

"Then why not take me fuckin' head off?"

Kasoria was still for the longest time. Then he slipped the knuckles off, and dropped them into his pocket. His hands gripped the handle of his sword and his thumb tapped on the end of it. Fast, senseless little beats without rhyme or reason.

"Cuz yer right. It does matter t'me. Cuz youse what it meant t'me. An' cuz she ain't comin' back."

Vorund suspected the little shit wasn't trying to play on his sentiment. Fat fucking chance of that, after all. But after a few trills of squinty appraisal... he could find no other rationale. Whatever else he was, the Raggedy Man was grateful. He'd just needed to let his ire and outrage run itself out. Granted, that meant inflicted a good deal of agony and, yes, death, but... well, as long as it wasn't him. So the crime lord let out a breath he'd been holding in since first Ilos told him the Raggedy Man was in the wind and not happy.

"Kas... this doesn't happen again, y'ken?"

Kasoria nodded deep enough that it was almost a bow. "Aye."

"No 'aye', mate. Gonna spend most a' the next ten-trial cleaning up blood an' bone from the floors, thanks t'youse." Now he dared to walk around the table and stand before his servant. "I know yeh remember what yeh swore t'me. Yer sword, an' yer loyalty. That means when I decide summin', youse accept it."

Another nod. That same calm, flat look in his eyes. Kasoria had what he wanted. Namely, an explanation. Not the one he'd wanted, or expected, but he'd got his words. For a moment, just before he left, Vorund frowned to himself and wondered... wondered if the Raggedy Man had come here, cut through his men, spouted that malarky, just so he could listen to Vorund talk and gauge whether or not the girl still lived. If he could reckon by some magick or wyrd from his master's words, that his other hounds had failed to find her and, knowing this, he would feign contrition.

"... Kas?"

The little man in the doorway stopped, and looked over his shoulder. Eyes black and alive with more than just malice peered at him now. "Aye."

"... nothin'."

"Y'know where t'find me. Come the next job..."

Bangun Vorund listened to the sounds of boots disappearing down the hallway. Then the stairs. Until even the echoes were just memories. Then he sighed and reached for the brandy bottle. Fuck the glasses, he needed a decent-

Something between a retch and a cough issued from the body of Noel outside the door. Vorund let the liquor burn its way down his throat, enjoying the expensive agony before he deigned to notice it. Yet another issue to be set right that night. Probably needed to go downstairs and wake up a few healers. The old man set down the bottle and felt every break of his age. But there was a weight off his shoulders when he started moving again. The specter of the Raggedy Man, put to rest for good. Beaten back with no weapon or agent, just words and an opening.

He'd listened, Vorund thought with a smirk. Worst thing you can do, when you've got a man at the end of your blade.

"Hang on, Noel," he said, sounding more irritated than concerned. "Dun' die yet..."
word count: 1857
Common Speech | Thoughts | Ith'ession Speech | Speech of Others
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Doran
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Posts: 3567
Joined: Sat Sep 03, 2016 3:43 am
Race: Mortal Born
Profession: Alchemist
Renown: 1162
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Wealth Tier: Tier 10

Re: Explain Yourself

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Kasoria:

Knowledge:
Skill Knowledge:
Acrobatics: Leaping from Roof to Roof
Blades (Dagger): Pinning a Limb to the Wall
Discipline: Knowing When Revenge has gone Far Enough
Psychology: Reading a Face's Reaction to New Information
Stealth: Hiding Amidst the Shadows and Chimneys of Roofs
Tactics: If You Can Sneak Attack, Then Do So

Non-Skill Knowledge:
NPC Bangun Vorund: No Remorse
NPC Bangun Vorund: Still Kasoria's Master
PC Maxine: Vanished From Etzos

Loot: -.
Wealth: -
Injuries: -
Renown: 15, Kasoria killed those men on the way to Vorund, and Vorund will definitely remember this trial.
Magic XP: -
Skill Review: Appropriate to level.
Points: 10
- - -
Comments: I don’t think I’ve read a single bad thread from you yet. I’ve already told you so before, but I like that you often write a post (or two) from the perspective of an NPC. That’s an interesting technique in my opinion. I especially enjoyed the comparison of Bangun Vorund’s face to a map of Etzos (only with a spiky forest growing out of it).

The dialogue was great. I’m quite fond of Kasoria’s accent. It really adds something to your threads in my opinion. In the beginning, I was sure that Kasoria would kill Bagun Vorund. I like that this story took a different turn. I’m also impressed with the way you write violence.

Enjoy your rewards!
word count: 230

Mutations

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Blessings

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Worn Items

Ring of Reversal
Ring of Immunity
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