Solo That Voodoo That You Do [Job Thread]

[Konrad Venger]

18th Bell - 71st Day of Winter, 515AV - Two Days East of Zeltiva

As the terrain started to close in on them, Konrad felt his mood do pretty much the same. Forests and hills had been their scenery for most of a season, trundling along with the endless lapping sea to their left. Periodic excitement and even a few hunts had broken the tedium but not nearly enough for Konrad.

Tormenting and disciplining the odd slave wasn't doing it for him anymore. Brawling with drunken caravan guards was no fun with a nice, wet conclusion to it, and Fangor was adamant that he'd not be under-protected just because the help wanted to scrap.

"So here I am again," he muttered, taking a chunk out of the ham-filled roll he'd prepared the previous night. "Staring at the sea..."

But the sea was not where he was fixing his attention. The trees had gone, the hills had grown to cliffs and now they were hemming them in tight on their right side. Zeltiva was a barely visible smudge on the far horizon, at the end of Mathew's Bay, but they were still far in the Wilderness.

Konrad stared up and up until he had to crane his neck to see the top of the ridge. The sea to his left, the road they were rolling on, and the ridge to the right... leaving them with nowhere to run, and little cover if there was an attack.

Which is where I'd do it, he thought to himself, Stash the cart-driver not bothering to try and stoke a conversation out of his previous muttering. Got us all penned in, narrow and tight. Like hitting us in an... alley with high walls, instead of a street.

He chuckled at the urban analogy. Yep, he was still hardly a man of the world, and adapting to fighting in the shrubs and forest was... well, he hadn't really done much of it. The local wildlife was hardly the same as crossing swords, though he did smile a little ruefully at the big beastly bastard he had taken down since venturing out of the city.

Something clattered and echoed around the rocks and Konrad's escaped his reverie to peer over and see... a rock tumbling down from above. No bigger than a fist, bouncing and cracking against its bigger brethren until it was resting in the shale at bottom of the ridge. Huge boulders, carried by the gods and the elements, were scattered on that side of the road, some brought by ancient tides, others chunks of the ridge that lightning and the simple march of Tanroa had pried loose.

Konrad kept his stare fixed on those. Perfect place to high. The ridge was perfect cover, but far even for the aim of an experienced bowman. But those boulders...

He steadied the crossbow on his knees, checked that the string was caught and the bolt in place for maybe the tenth time that afternoon. Syna was starting to dip low over the horizon, like a tossed ball finally coming to rest in the mountains and cliffs on the western side of the Bay.

"Probably be stoppin' soon," Stash said, eyeing Konrad's morsel. "Be good to get some food in me."

"Yeah," Konrad said, finishing his snack with undisguised relish. "Beddit would."

"Whooooooooooa!"

The cry went up from the front cart and soon every driver had taken it up, yanking back on their reins and willing their oxen and horses to rear back and cease their plodding. Konrad steadied himself as several tons of cart and ox and alcohol came to a shuddering halt. The horsemen that flanked them came to a halt also, some of them trotting back and forth, including-

Konrad and Tonar exchanged a quick look of mutual, seething hatred. They'd only spoken a handful of times but already Konrad had him mugged and numbered and filed away for future "handling". Ever since the prick had first refused to help when a handful of slaves escaped, Konrad had made that silent, irreversible descision.

It wasn't the sloth, or the arrogance. It was his tone. His manner, towards him, Konrad Petching Venger, that he would even-

"Don't like this," Stash said at his side, looking up at the ridge and the boulders and fingering that little bone talisman around his neck. "No place t'make camp. That's usually a few miles down. This is too narrow, feels like-"

"Somethin' else," Konrad finished for him, jumping down to the sea-side of the road, deciding that he'd like to keep the cart between him and the ridge and... whatever. "Might be right... Oi?! Eyes?!"

A few carts down, Konrad's Sunberth comrade showed he wasn't quite as focused on survival by standing up on his own cart, crossbow cradled in his arms.

"Fuck's goin' on?!"

"Dunno! Some kinda blockage on the road, I think!"

Three Eyes looked back and the two real eyes flanking the hideously fake one tattooed across his nose squinted at the front of the caravan. About two hundred yards up, he could see ant-like figures bustling back and forth, yelling and gesticulating around something long and heavy apparently laying across the road. Fangor was there, beard like a dead beaver nailed to his face giving him away, bellowing like a bear with an arrow up its arse. He was pointing at the... thing, as well, then up at the ridge...

His neck tingled. He knew Konrad's was doing the same.

Maybe he shouldn't be standing on top of the cart?

"Looks like..." he peered closer, as if leaning forward two feet would somehow telescope his vision. "Some... rocks? Big rocks, I think! Maybe-"

A hundred birds were twittering in his ear. A dozen whistles split the steady crash of the waves to their right, the neighing of horses and snorts of oxen became-

-screams-

-yells-

-as a whole volley of arrows and bolts raked the caravan and men fell from cart or horses. Three Eyes jerked back and backpedaled with nowhere to go, feet stumbling over themselves, falling-

-snatching the sight of Cedric, his driver, trying to stand and getting an arrow through the neck for his trouble. He gurgled and coughed and another slammed into his side-

-then Three Eyes was tumbling down to the dirt, barely hanging onto his crossbow.

"Fuck's sake, Eyes..."

By the time he saw Three Eyes crash down to the ground, Konrad was already crouching behind the cart, low enough that he could see more under the thing than above it. Between the wheel spokes he could see Stash yelp and throw himself down, quickly rolling under the wide cart and into cover. He looked at Konrad and actually managed something of a shaky grin, jerking a thumb towards the boulders.

"We-Well... this is where you come in, r-right?"

Konrad spat to his side and snorted. The weight of the crossbow was a burden before; now it was confidence, a mechanism designed to hurl his will across scores of feet and straight through some cunt's chest. He checked it, one last time... and let a grin pull his deformed lips up until Stash gulped.

"Aye."

Some moron screamed "Ambush!" just before another started yelling for men to get to cover, find their attackers, start shooting back. Like everyone needed that fucking spelled out for them. Konrad silently cursed them both and started to peek over the lip of the cart, crossbow at his shoulder.

[Konrad Venger]

The bastards had surprise, and cover, but the former was spent by the first volley. The caravan guards weren't just merchants with swords or slavers used to abuse and torture but not actual combat. They were Sunberth Scum, mean buggers with callused hearts who'd survived decades in a city that killed hard men before breakfast. Konrad felt some ember of local pride when he saw the gutter-merks find cover and pull their weapons, those with bows starting to find targets.

City or wilds, an ambush is an ambush, he thought, remembering how many he'd survived in his thirty-plus years. You weather the first blast, mount your defense and then-

You break the ambush.

He kept his knees limber and straightened them enough to jut his head and aim over the top of the cart. He could see a dozen figures at least, bobbing and flitting from cover, most with tangled blond and brown braids trailing down their heads. They took a moment to find a target then let loose with their bows, sending arrows zipping towards them.

Another cry from his left as someone wasn't so quick to find cover. Konrad didn't know how many casualties they'd taken, but he saw riderless horses running pell-mell and the slaves were wailing in their box-carts, trapped between their captors and the arrows of an enemy who'd likely not care if they were hit instead.

"C'mon, c'mon... give me somethin'..."

He focused on the nearest archer, sliding out of cover time and again to take a potshot with a longbow. Stupid sod was firing from the same position, confusing solid cover with safety. Konrad knew it better to fire and move, relocate, keep the enemy guessing. Not so this man.

He aimed down the crossbow and saw the man fire again. Remembered what little he'd learned from his practice on the road from Sunberth with the crossbow. Steadied his aim by resting it on the edge of the cart... waited...

Until the dread-locked bandit popped out of cover again, arm drawing back him bow-

TWANG!

The crossbow shook hard in his hands as he fired, bolt a wooden blur that-

-whined off the rock next to him, blasting chipped rock over the man's face as he jumped back to cover, bolt spinning off into the air.

"Shyke!"

"Kon?!"

Someone thumped into the ground next to him, diving from the open ground to cover, jerking his legs out of the firing line just before an arrow dug deep into the mud where they'd been. Konrad looked down and saw Three Eyes there, breathing heavy after running cover-to-cover until they were-

"Why are you here?!"

"W-Well, figured I'd be safer-"

"Shoot back!" But just as Three Eyes brought up his crossbow, Konrad snatched it away. "No, here-" he shoved his spent bow into the man's arms "-get a fresh one in there!"

Three Eyes knew better than to argue. He grabbed up a crossbow the first day they'd set off from Sunberth, but hadn't had much call to use it... largely because he had no clue how to. There wasn't much call for them in the narrow street brawls of The Berth, save for when the private armies of the syndicates went to war. Which wasn't often. But Konrad? He'd been practicing, and beside that?

Not a good idea to argue with that man when his blood's up.

"Right, right, I-I'll handle it."

Konrad didn't bother nodding, or listening, for that matter. Instead he got the fresh bow to his shoulder and crouch-waddled to the other side of the cart. He peeked around and sought a fresh target, seeing another bowman almost oblique to him. He knelt down, steadied the bow... lined up his shot with the empty air where his target should be-

Then that air was filled as the archer appeared, drawing back-

Now!

He fired and the bolt caught the archer in the stomach with more force than an arrow every could, especially at short range. Konrad wasn't about to waste his bolts over a distance. He lowered the bow and his smile returned, growing inch by scarred inch as the man rolled from cover, shortbow falling from hands now more concerned with the blood spurting from the ragged hole in his guts, screaming in a language Konrad didn't recognize.

Plenty more to go.

He held the empty bow out and turned to Three Eyes, manhandling the string into the catch with his boot in the stirrup, sliding a fresh bolt in. "Hurry!"

Around them, by sound alone, he knew the scene was being repeated. The screams and cries for help were coming from the rocks now, in that same willowy, flowing language made guttural through pain. Crossbows twanged and thudded through the air down the line of the caravan. He could even hear the ugly clang of metal on metal, telling him the ranged part of this was nearly over-

But not yet.

Three Eyes took the empty and handed him the full. He jerked his head up and-

-his hat was suddenly gone, speared clean through, felt the tip of the arrow crease the top of his skull-

"Fuck me?!"

-and he jerked down nearly onto his belly in surprise. His hat wobbled a dozen yards away, stuck down to the ground by the arrow. Konrad stared at it. Wondered. Thought if he'd been just a little faster, legs a little longer.

Focus, f'fuck's sake! Got a job to do!

Instead he snarled and crawled under the cart, elbowing a trembling Stash out the way, aiming the crossbow while on his belly. The angle wasn't ideal and he wasn't used to this... stance, but he was covered and he could see-

That same arsehole he first fired at, now firing from the other side of his boulder, as if that made some kind of difference. Konrad bore his teeth like he was going to personally rip his throat out, knowing it was probably him who came a literal hair away from making his head a fucking target dummy.

Konrad took his time. He lined up his shot. And, much as it galled him and grated his nature, he waited... he blocked out Three Eyes panting and Stash mumbling and the screaming and-

-there he was-

TWANG!

-put the bolt through the bastard's leg when he came out of cover again. The archer's next shot went wild as he fell, wounded leg collapsing under him as he pawed at the bolt piercing it just above his knee. Hands from an unseen comrade grabbed his shoulders and tried to drag his writhing form to cover and then-

Konrad didn't know the language, not a syllable, but he knew a war-cry when he heard it. Deep and deeper again through echoes, trembling off the stone and the waves, ending in a long, vicious, wordless yell.

Something had broken in them. Not courage, but discipline. Patience. Too many casualties skulking behind the rocks to no great effect. Konrad could see them emerging now, boiling up from the boulders with spears and axes and sword and-

-a final, ragged smattering of arrows heralded their wild charge-

-a couple smacking into the oxen pulling the cart-

-that Stash and he were laying under.

"Ruros' Balls-!"

Tons of creaking wood and sloshing liquid starts moving above them and Konrad rolls like a tossed rug-ball to get out from under it. Stash goes the other way, the seaward-side. Konrad comes up in the bright, crisp Winter sunlight, leaving the crossbow behind-

-drawing his kopis as he scrambles to his feet. Down most of the line of the caravan, men were jumping and running down to meet them, determined to settle this scrap at spitting distance, not down an arrow's shaft. The sellswords yelled back their defiance and surged forwards, some on horseback, even that bastard Tonar, who'd survived a squall of arrows and still managed to stay on his horse.

"Ain't gonna have all the fun," Konrad growled to himself, one side of his face twisted up in a savage smirk as he strode forward. "'bout fucking time-!"

That last words comes out as a yell, mingling with a clash of wood and metal as the nearest attacker reaches him, stabbing at him with a shortspear-

-and Konrad sweeps his kopis down and to the side, parrying the lunge, knocking the spear to his right-

-as his foot lashes out, an old and practiced move-

-aiming for the spearman's crotch but crashing into his stomach instead, doubling him over.

Buying Konrad a moment to raise his sword, grip it with both hands and-

-bring it hacking down diagonally and shattering the man's collarbone like it was a twig, tearing through ligaments and the muscle then down into his chest cavity, hammering him down to his knees.

The spearmen coughed and gripped the blade, anger and misery warring in his eyes even as Konrad nearly spit him in two-

-until he braced his foot on the man's chest and pushed him off his dripped blade, ready for the next.

Grin only growing. Heart pounding from his chest to his ears to his balls. About fucking time.

[Konrad Venger]

Konrad had no gods.

He wore no talismans nor tattoos proclaiming his loyalties. No gnosis marks glowed on his skin nor writhed in his veins. He made no offerings and professed no faith. His wits and his steel and his will were what he believed in, what had given him everything he had. He owed nothing. Those few times, scattered and half-forgotten, that he'd cried out and cast his soul into the darkness, hoping for solace, no-one had answered.

But if he was ever to give thanks, it would be to the one who made that day possible.

Gods, I've needed this.

Everywhere Konrad looked, there was another rabid soul eager to die. Long-haired bandits were mixing it up with the sellswords, making bloody music with steel and iron all around him. And there he stood, right in the middle.

Loving every tick.

"RAAAAAAARRRRHHH!"

A lithe man with a full beard slashed at him with a short ax, and he swayed to the side to avoid it, returning the favor with a horizontal blow from his kopis-

-forcing the man to back up a few steps, swinging out again with the ax, higher-

-Konrad ducked under it, letting it fly over his head-

-backhanding at the ax-man's legs with his kopis and laying open his thighs, making him stagger, totter, bellow of furious pain splitting the air between them-

-cut off by a clang as Konrad batted away his ax then lunged forward with a stab when the man's guard was open-

-thrusting the kopis through his throat, bursting veins and severing arteries, twisting the razor-honed metal as he puled it out-

A waterfall of blood burst from the hole he made, the ax falling from senseless hands as he fell to his knees, trying to stem the flow by choking himself even as he fell. Konrad stepped past him, flicking a crimson arc of the man's own blood over him as he went, adding that dram to the deluge.

Another flew at him, jabbing with a thin sword, making him parry-

-a feint-

-drawing his sword low and to the side, but the blades never connected. The swordsman withdrew with smooth speed, pulling his weapon close to his side and thrusting at Konrad's arm-

"Fucker!"

He slashed wildly, backhanded, just barely knocking the blade off-course from spearing his bicep. The swordsman kept going, momentum carrying him forwards-

-and Konrad stepped to meet him-

-left fist jabbing out to smack into his face, something wet and hard snapping under his knuckles-

-and he hacked down again, close enough for the two of them to breath each other's air-

For him to smell the man's breakfast as he screamed, Konrad's kopis biting through the meat of his sword arm, nearly severing it. At least until Konrad jutting his head forward and slammed his crown into his already-ruined nose, snapping his head back and giving him room to-

-jerk his kopis up horizontally between them, press it against the man's throat-

-see his eyes pop open in sudden, sickening realization-

Long enough for Konrad to savor the look, right before he slashed his throat open. A fresh spew of coppery effluence exploded over him and he grabbed the man's shaggy mane with his free hand, yanking him to the side and out of his petching way.

"Kon!"

He risked a quick look and saw Three Eyes steaming towards him. Little bastard could be a demon with those knives, once he got his few ounces of courage in the right place. Some green boy swung at him with an ax more suited for wood than flesh, far too wide, missing cleanly, weight of it pulling him to the side-

More than enough time for Three Eyes' blades to blur, punching through his side, sliding between rips, ripping gashes and holes in a blink and then bounding on, closing the gap between them.

Another yell drew Konrad's attention. Fucking amateurs. Delusions of warriors instead of killers. Killers wouldn't draw a man's attention when he had his back turned, like the brute Konrad saw when he turned back, missing teeth and tattooed about his neck and cheek, round shield in one hand, gladius in another-

-thrusting towards him and his kopis batted it away, retaliating with a chop-

-that gnawed at the metal rim of the shield without biting into it, bouncing off-

Warrior he may not have been, but he had some experience. The man yelled again as he used the shield to shove Konrad's arm and weapon away from him, opening up his chest, thrusting forward again-

-forcing Konrad to twist to the side to avoid it-

Not fast enough.

"Shyke!"

As the bandit pulled back his gladius, he drew the edge against Konrad's stomach, slashing it open. A shallow cut but it hurt like a bastard, bleeding all over his white shirt and black coat. Konrad's hand went to it out of instinct, cold hand instantly warm and wet-

-backing away again as the man lashed out with his shield like some flat, round club trying to stove his head in-

-and Konrad drew back to slash open his chest-

TWANG!

A bolt slammed into the man's chest, out of the blue, out of nowhere, and he looked down in sheer incredulity at the feathered projectile embedded there. Not one to waste a chance, Konrad snatched the stunned, frozen moment-

-and lunged forward, burying his kopis into the man's stomach up to the hilt, until half-a-foot of steel was sticking out the man's back.

Bringing them close enough for the man's battle-rage to melt away into fading surprise, and Konrad spat in that blue-inked face.

"Fucking... prick-!"

He tried to pull his kopis free but it was stuck, on bone or muscle he didn't know. The man fell back, still grasping sword and shield, taking Konrad's weapon with it, pulling it out of his hand, leaving them empty-

"Fuck...!"

Three Eyes crouched and strained to pull the string from his crossbow, praying to whoever would listen from a bastard like him that no-one would notice him in the chaos. Maybe helping Konrad would aid him in that regard, huh? Some... battle courage, or something? Yeah. There's be a god for that, there was for every other fucking thing.

Alas, no-one was listening.

Another screaming devil, a man after his own heart, jumped at the unarmed man. Aren't those the best type to fight, after all? Especially when you are armed. Three Eyes felt the crossbow click as the string was caught, but the bolt was not in place and he fell back with a yell as the devil swung a mace at him, standing over him again as he prepared to-

Then an arm swaddled in black and stained red appeared from behind the devil's head, gripped a curved kukri and slammed it into the side of his neck as far as it could go. Another arm gripped his shoulder and held him steady as Three Eyes saw Konrad's bloody, sweating face loom over the struggling man's shoulder-

-and push the kukri forwards, its exit out of the neck taking everything inside with it.

The man toppled, barely missed Three Eyes, staring without seeing, and Konrad snatched up the crossbow.

"Bolt?!"

[Konrad Venger]

Three Eyes handed it over and Konrad notched it, eyes flickering around wildly. But the fray was dying down. Their ambushers should have stayed to the rocks; they might not have won, but they could have gotten away, maybe. Instead Fangor's sellsword contingent had waded into them with a vengeance, hacking and slashing and stabbing with all the merciless, underhanded efficiency of true Sunberth covies. The caravan's Drykas were picking off men with their curved bows from behind a cart; Fangor himself was laying about with a bronze-tipped warhammer, and Tonar-

Tonar. He was stil one his horse, galloping down the line like he was a petching Knight, laying about with his bastard sword.

Coming closer to them. Barely forty feet away. Konrad blinked. Moved his plans forward.

"Eyes?" He yelled as he threw up the crossbow. "On yer right!"

Three Eyes looked away, and who knows, maybe there was someone there after his blood. But either way, it gave Konrad a private tick or two to line up his shot, and take the safer option. He let fly the bolt at Tonar's stallion when he was barely twenty feet away, and at that distance-

"Regis?!"

The horseman yelled out in something that was most definitely anguish as his horse wailed under him, crossbow bolt through it's throat. He tried to steady him, his faithful companion for years, but the pain was beyond orders, beyond sense, and Regis toppled with him on top.

Konrad smirked as the man went down, screaming out sharply as he did. He tossed the bow to one side and-

"'ere, wadid you see-"

"My mistake," he growled, gripping his kukri tighter. "C'mon."

[Konrad Venger]

The important thing was... not to pass out. Yes. He had to... just... focus on that.

Which wasn't easy, when there was half a ton of dead horse crushing your broken leg into the rocky ground and every breath you took felt like breaking yet another rib. But Tonar hadn't lived forty years by being soft, or stupid, or wiling to just let over and die.

He could hear the battle was over. Less of a battle once the first few bodies had been slashed open, he'd wager. He'd been cleaning up the last few bandits that hadn't the brains to break and flee when one of them - still hidden, he assumed - had put a bolt through-

"Regis... damnit, Regis..."

Usually his name would be enough for a snuffle or a waggle of those black ears. But then there was nothing. The body was warm but nothing moved, or pulsed, or beat within that massive form. A river of blood was oozing from the ragged hole in the horse's neck and Tonar had to jerk to get away from it but when he did-

He screamed again, his shattered leg jamming a thousand daggers into his nerves with the slightest movement. But... that was fine. He would be fine. The battle was over, that was certain. No more clashing weapons or war cries, flights of arrows and bolts. But muted begging, pleading, groaning... cut off, one by one, and the sellswords put the finishing touches to their work.

Through sweat and pain and the blackness swimming at his eyelids, he heard someone crunch closer. He swallowed what felt like gravel and tried to speak, get their attention, raise the one arm he had that wasn't pinned, but it was just so hard-

No... I will... not... die on this... fucking road...

"M... My leg..." he murmured as the shadowy figure crouched down, face hidden as Syna's glare spilled around him from behind. "Think it's f... petching... broken..."

"Yeah... Yeah, looks like..."

The shadow reached out. Something in Tonar raged, screamed, tried to shake his skull and warn him. Something about that voice, the accent, the way it lingered around certain syllables. A memory tried to force its way to the surface...

"I... Please... hel-"

First there was pressure. Then there was pain, bright as the blinding Synalight, and the feeling like he was drowning. He tried to swallow but that just sent more of it into his lungs, tried to shake and move but his hand was pinned down by his head. And the shadow moved. And spoke. And chuckled, low and by his ear.

"What was it you called me?" It said, and Tonar was vaguely aware of roving hands searching his pockets, relieving him of a purse he knew he'd never need again. "'Cart scum'? Funny. Real funny."

Tonar fought. He struggled. But it was all in his addled mind and failed body and all he could do, at the end, was listen to that rasping voice as he fell, and fell, and fell...

"Fare thee well, an' burn in hell..."

"Hey? Kon? He alive?"

Konrad straightened up and cursed Three Eyes for being so determined to be stuck to his godsdamned hip all the time. He would have liked to savor it a little more. Watch the final flecks of life drain out of the bastard's eyes. What was the point, otherwise? Beating him, sure. Killing him, well, yeah, it went without saying. But it was all for nothing if he didn't know why.

He did. In those last, precious moments, Tonar knew.

Would have liked to not rush it, though.

"Naw," he said, cleaning his kukri on the front of his coat as best he could, where Three Eyes couldn't quite see. "He's gone. But hey-" he held up the liberated purse and jingled it, trying to force something approaching human camaraderie into his smile "-he ain't gonna need this, right?"

Three Eyes wasn't a scholar, but he wasn't stupid. You didn't survive Sunberth by being such. He had little learning but he could read the streets, and those it spawned. Some whisper of suspicion, of conspiracy murmured to him... but he shrugged it off and would probably never think of it again.

After all, gold is gold.

"Ain't gonna argue with that."

The two of them wandered the thin battlefield that spread down the length of the road, into the rocks, the shale, even a few bodies on the beach. For every man they'd lost, it looked like three or more of their attackers had fallen. Now the sellswords went from twitcher to twitcher and finished the job.

"Gotta get that seen to," Three Eyes said, jutting his chin at the gash across Konrad's chest. "Little bugger but it could go bad."

"Yeah, yeah," Konrad said back, in the tones of a henpecked husband. "Ah will. Soon as we finish up here."

Konrad came over to Fangor, joining him as he stood over one of dying bandits. He studied the dreadlocks and the suntanned face. The tattoos and the functional, simple clothing. The boy was bleeding out through the hand clasped to his chest, but not fast enough. It'd be nightfall before he finally died, and long before then the scavengers would come sniffing.

Honestly. They were doing him a favor.

"Who were they, anyway?" Konrad decided to voice the idle question that had taken root the first time he'd heard that flowing, lilting language. Something about it needled him. "From Zeltiva?"

"Yes and No," the caravan leader said, cleaning the bulbous head of his warhammer with a rag. "Denvali. From some island that got wiped out inna' Storm o' 512. Few thousand of 'em survived, on boats, came into Zel and set up a new home there. Guessin' these boys thought they'd make some real money rather'n beggin onna' streets."

The bearded bear spat to the side and sneered down.

"Thought wrong."

Konrad followed his gaze and pursed his lips thoughtfully. Denvali. Huh.

"Den-val-ee." He tasted the new word and nodded to himself. "Well. Okay."

Then he crouched down, drawing the dagger from his boot in the same motion.. and ran it across the boy's throat. His eyes popped out for a tick and there was some pathetic excuse for a gasp. But most of it was just air escaping the thin, bubbling red line Konrad made, and then he got back to his feet.

Still had a job to do, after all. And he'd forgotten his hat again.

LootX amount of mizas from Tonar's purse

[Hwyn]

You've gotten a grade from the marvelous grading rapscallion, I know, I'm great! feel free to remind me whenever!!

XP Award!

Name:Konrad XP Award:

• Endurance 2
• Weapon: Khopesh 4
• Weapon: Crossbow 4
• Tactics 1
• Observation 4

Lore:

• Khopesh: Not the best for stabbing attacks
• Khopesh: Parrying a blade and countering.
• Dead men tell no tales, And give me money!

Rewards: 23 Gold mizas, 9 Silver mizas, 3 copper Mizas
Penalties Nice gash across the stomach. Heal time two weeks, Might get infected. Certainly going to leave a nice scar.
-5 Crossbow bolts
Notes: You continue to scare me in all the right ways my dear sir. Anyways remember to edit your grade requests and have a nice day

Also you are certainly getting better with your weapons, But don't over do it Okay. You came close to being a higher skill level than you are.