Closed The Meat and Greed (Konrad +)

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This lazy agricultural settlement rests on the swampy shores of the Middle Suvan at the delta of The Kenash River. The River's slow moving bayou waters have bred a different sort of people - rugged, cultured, and somewhat violent. Sprawling plantations of tobacco and cotton grow on the outskirts of the swamp in the rich Cyphrus soils, while the city itself curls around the bayou and spawns decadence and sins of all sorts. Life is slower in Kenash, but the lack of pace is made up for in the excesses of food and flesh in a city where drinking, debauchery, gambling, slavery, and overbearing plantation families dominate the landscape.

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The Meat and Greed (Konrad +)

Postby Wikus on March 5th, 2016, 4:56 pm

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41st – Spring – 516 AV
17th Bell
Border of Morealis – Askara plantations.


It was a pleasant day to walk the old stone road through the swamps. The tall trees loomed over the uneven road, threatening to fall once and for all and cut out this forsaken scar in the land and trap everyone within. Such thought scared the ousted Drykas. The humidity, the constant sounds that came from everywhere, and especially the water brought a fear within him that urged him to hurry forth. Last fall he had passed through the great open plains of the Sea of Grass just to avoid the black spot in the road that was Kenash’ swamp, even if it meant not stopping to resupply. This spring was a whole new challenge, not only because he was forcing himself to follow the road, but because the company of the kid he carried along wouldn’t allow him to stop for supplies either. Taking the donkey’s mane with his hand, he’d force the animal to keep dragging the wagon no matter how hard it was, the roots of the trees having displaced many of the stones and turning the sojourn into a challenge. Once the immediate rough patch was passed, Wikus let go and continued salvaging supplies.

The swamp was certainly a place of life. Beside the hordes of insects and the insane amount of reptiles that live within, the flora was also quite astonishing. Sometimes under the sight of a pretty flower past a pond of water, Wikus had to hold his desire of catching that flower and instead remain in the road. Thankfully, the road was as plagued of it all as the swamp itself, apparently. Quickly moving from one side of the road to the other, Wikus found a flower here and there, immediately adding it to the already extensive collection in his basket. Most were easily forgettable, yet once in a while he came across one that truly mesmerized him. Those premium flowers always ended on his beard. As he was picking a daisy, his eyes caught a glimpse of a fast movement nearby. Without a doubt, Wikus tossed himself over the small figure in attempts of trapping the small lizard beneath his body. Landing on the ground, he quickly looked around to see if he was successful, the answer being a clear no as the lizard attempted to escape in a zigzag motion in front of his head. The palms of his hands coming forward like stones raining from the sky, trying to catch the fast lizard to eventually
successfully capture it.

Standing up now as he looked at the small reptile, a thumb was all he needed to press the lizard’s head back and effectively breaking the small gecko’s neck. His size wasn’t anything impressive, yet it would still be a good meal once man, donkey and child escaped the swamp. Moving back to the wagon, he’d drop the dead reptile in the pile. The blue eyes gazed at Timothy, the frown returning to his ashen features as it usually did when looking at the child. The child’s health had been degrading more and more each day they spent together, and seeing that was devastating for Wikus. The wagon still being pulled by the lazy mule, Wikus walked beside it as he shamelessly stared at the child. Squinting his eyes, Wikus’ hands would reach towards the small pouch that sat near the boy after letting his basket rest on the uncovered wagon. “I told you eat. You become better.” Pouring some of the pouch’s contents in his hand, the bugs quickly fell upon his open palm and began crawling each their own way in attempts of escaping. Ants, beetles, worms… They all ended in Wikus’ mouth, chewing them loudly for the boy to understand they were completely edible. Closing the pouch once again, he’d return it by the boy’s side.

“Come.” He’d say, reaching for the boy’s arm and pulling him closer. As harsh as expected, he’d take the boy by the jaw as his other hand fiddled with yet another pouch. Retrieving a small amount of ash, he’d harshly coat the boy’s face with it. Not only was the ash useful against the sun, but also effective to block the mosquitoes’ evil intentions. He applied a new coat of it over his shoulders, too, especially since the humidity of this environment was causing his ash coat to leak through his wet skin. “We reach green soon then camp, understand? Eat.” Staying for a moment to see if the boy obeyed, he took his basket back and returned to the front line. He needed to get rid of this boy before it was too late. Carrying a child’s death on his back was something he couldn’t do twice, yet there wasn’t really a way for him to dispose of the unwanted company without condemning one of them to certain death. This once, he saw something in the distance, traveling the same road they did. Another wagon, and a few figures roaming around it. Coming across a fellow traveler was never good news, because just like him, they were usually filled with wrong intentions. Few traveled, and those who did cared not to take a life if it meant another day on the road.

Taking a hold of the donkey and dragging him forward through the difficult road, Wikus slowly began preparing himself for the worst. No matter how close they were to the city, a road was still a road. “Now silence.” He’d say, directed obviously to Timothy as the donkey spoke a different language. The closer the travelers got, the closer they stuck together, Wikus already fearing they were conspiring against them. The next chimes were somewhat tense, both groups observing themselves from the distance, the details of each individual being revealed as the distance between them waned. Wikus’ hand went to his improvised belt, the 9’ whip being fairly easy to unroll should a conflict arise. It would also cause his pants to drop, which would allow him the extra freedom to perform better. It was until they were about to pass each other that the opposite wagon halted, one of the men raising an arm and offering a loud ‘Greetings!’ towards Wikus. Forced to interact with them, the man would glance back towards Timothy before facing the group, halting the donkey and inspecting each of the individuals. Two of them were clearly slaves, the manacles and overall inferior hygiene. The five others were not really clean themselves, but they had weapons.

“Kenash ‘round, ye?” Asked one of them, an individual with a beard of much inferior quality than Wikus’. Furthermore, the stranger stepped closer to Wikus, who in exchange approached the edge of the shabby road and the waters that waited just below. The individual glanced at the wagon. “Ye’lone ‘ere?” The voice was annoying, the sound similar to a mock voice due to its bizarre tone and intonation. It was like hearing a cat speak. The individual himself was rather thin, not as much as Wikus, yet still below the average. The sweat fell from his face, the acne scars having cursed him in his youth, and his mouth moved as if chewing on something he couldn’t quite swallow. Both standing on the edge of the road, two of the other individuals were slowly making his way around the back of Wikus’ wagon, while the two remaining were approaching Wikus. Tick after tick, he felt the situation was growing more and more out of control, so Wikus mentally prepared himself for the inevitable. Better safe than sorry. Just then and there, the speaker for the opposing group attempted to tap Wikus’ shoulder.

Wikus’ paranoia in the wilderness made itself visible once again, as quickly he’d take a hold of the arm as he stepped forward, pulling it as he spun on his heels and ducked. Using his hip as leverage, the hard yank would serve to effectively and almost effortlessly send the male flying into the waters below with Wikus’ arm throw. The intention was nothing more than to warn the individual that he shouldn’t touch a stranger in the wild, and punish his action with a bath. However, be it out of fortune or misfortune, just as the male’s body landed in the water a creature made his presence known. The gigantic jaws opened and immediately closed on the man’s leg before a violent jerk began tearing the flesh of the male as much as his throat tore from screaming. The gigantic reptile, an alligator, surprised Wikus beyond words, now him being the murderer of the man despite his ignorance about the creature’s presence by the road. Quickly reaching to retrieve his improvised belt, he’d quickly turn to the direction the slavers came from and yell out to the boy he came with.



“RUN!”




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The Meet and Greed (Konrad +)

Postby Konrad Venger on March 5th, 2016, 7:10 pm

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Things were moving quickly, but Konrad was keeping his head above the water. The previous morning, he was another sellsword-slaver rolling into Kenash with a cargo of misery chained up in the wagons. But when everyone was paid and the cartloads of chattel were hauled away to the Auction House, he'd gone exploring.

Kenash didn't appreciate visitors wandering, he'd learned. So his left palm was itching and burning from the brand pressed into the ball of his thumb. A simple thing, but essential. Him and Three Eyes they were all "freeborn" and thus could roam as they liked.

"So wadid this Jay-Nuz bloke say, then?"

Konrad ceased trying to bat a battalion of insatiable buzzing things of various sizes out of his vision. Gods, what he'd give for Trevin's power. He'd set the petching air on fire and... he sighed... and then fresh hordes would arrive. It was a swamp, after all. Full of biting, sucking, gnawing, slithering, spiny things. Better to distract yourself.

"More than youse need t'hear, Eyes," he said as he cantered along on Horse. "Bottom line? He needs muscle. Lads he can trust that're good with steel an' dun'ask questions."

"Heh. Sounds like the Daggers."

"Sounds like every rich sod who wants to get richer but still 'ave the blokes onna' street think he's a sodding saint,"
Konrad said, playing off Three Eyes' instinctive cynicism. But as he thought back to that afternoon, the words Mica Radacke had spoken, he realized they weren't all-the-way accurate. "Then again... this place? Yuz need a rep jus' like The Berth."

Three Eyes guffawed around a chicken leg that he'd bought for his lunch, managing to stay perched on his horse without falling off. He'd only had the nag for a couple of days and yet he'd apparently mastered the art of eating a riding.

Aye, long as it isn't more than a trot. Then his arse is in the mud.

Which is what the Kabrin was when they turned into the swamp: and endless morass of mud. Konrad was amazed they'd gotten as far as they did when the limitless plains and grasslands finally died and shrunk down to an environment shorter, wetter but just as dangerous. Sellsword and slave alike had come down with coughs, sweats, liquid shit and swollen piss, all thanks to fetid water and legions of biting creatures.

Konrad stayed in his tent at night and under cover during the day. At the Drykas' suggestions, he pasted ash over himself, mixed with horse urine and too bloody right he made sure they weren't just tugging him around about that.

They weren't. It worked. A sellsword and three slaves weren't so lucky.

Konrad glanced idly at the side of the road, between the trees that curled and reached like dancers poised in mid-leap, and wondered if they were close to where they dumped the bodies. He remembered with maybe the lightest skip of his heart how there'd been breaking vegetation that night, then splashing... then more splashing. Great gnashing crunches and bellows and the sellswords had dared not go to the edge of the road again.

Thank buggery we didn't have to stop for camp again.

Looking around the grand, stinking, sucking landscape, Konrad couldn't see a spot suitable for anything more than a wagon. The land was a mixture of treacherous sand and mud, watery bogs, fallen trees and those rare, rare patched of solid ground... but even they changed almost every day, he was told, flooded and then revealed again mere bells later.

Things sloped and skittered between the trees. In the water. Floating along like logs until you saw a flash of yellow or orange eye, looking your way and hoping you tripped, just a little closer...

Konrad inhaled deep and shook his head. Shyke. Getting ahead of himself.

"Anyway," he said aloud, as much for his own benefit as the Three Eyes'. "Radacke's are a Dynasty, see? Like... a big gang, back in Sunberth. In fact, they came from Sunberth, way back when, put down their roots 'ere. They're man Mica, he's Magistrate. They've got a plantation, like a big fuck-off farm, on this road. Gotta keep goin' this way-" he pointed down the road heading east, like there was somewhere petching else they'd be taking the horses " -"'til we get to the Arse-Kah-Ruh plantation, an' the gate they 'ave. Then we turn right-" his hand flipped sideways "-and through their land 'til we get to somewhere called 'Whiplash'. That's their mansion."

"'Whiplash'? Heh. Sounds like that place in Riverside, where the girls would-"

"Yeah, pretty petchin' positive it ain't that kinda place, Eyes, petch's sake..."


He shook his head and huffed and Three Eyes took it as a joke, chortling around a mouthful of chicken. Konrad kept his eyes forward, on the road ahead and his thought hidden under the brim of his black hat. It was only halfway humorous.

A scream from ahead of them. Through the choking air starting to cool, Syna's burning attentions fading as she dipped lower to the ground. Agonized and raw in a way only a dying man's could be, if one was taking the hard way out of the world. Konrad's hand went down to his saddle and snatched up the already-strung crossbow from its strapping before the first wail had died in the afternoon air. A bolt was slid into the grove a tick later, just before-

Konrad frowned. Yelling. Cursing. Shouting. Bellowing, human and otherwise, and as they cantered onward along the road, they could see shadows dancing... until they were not shadows.

"Eyes?"

Three Eyes answered with a sigh of steel on leather as he filled his hand, then with a curt, "Ready."

Then he turned back to the action.

Good word for it.

The closer it got, the nastier the sight, the more Konrad felt his mood improve. A pair of wagons were unattended as a clutch of men circled another like wolves around some roaring beast. Konrad had loved the bear baitings back in Sunberth. Bloody good fun to be had, and it was always a laugh watching the big hairy cunt get taken down by a pack of Sunberth mongrels. He thought of that now as he watched the massive man covered in ink and hair, mouth a yawning, roaring chasm set in a huge beard...

He watched. He liked what he saw.

Outnumbered and armed only with some kind of rope, he was holding them off. Knives were out, among other things, but already there was thrashing in the waters and some monstrous hissing that told Konrad the slavers (must be) had already lost one of their number. As he cantered closer and saw more of the man, it was he that drew his eye, not the others.

Not the two slaves in chains by the other, which is where his glare would have gravitated to. His eye was drawn and he was impressed, the strength and the power and-

What a waste.

"Kon, look-"

Three Eyes' words broke the spell and in the time it took to blink Konrad could see a figure fleeting and pattering across the mud, pelting away from the melee behind him. A scrawny thing, ribs like a xylophone under his threadbare shirt, nearly grin with sickness, seeking to flee-

And when he looked up, he'd see Konrad Venger level his crossbow at him from atop his horse. If he stopped, he'd hear the slaver ask in his guttural Sunberth tones, "Why all the fun, little man?"

If he didn't, he'd never hear anything again.

Sick as shyke, Konrad thought with nothing but his "right" mind, which was about as compassionate as an abacus with a taste for blood. Wouldn't get anything for him, anyway.
Last edited by Konrad Venger on April 4th, 2016, 5:46 pm, edited 3 times in total.

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The Meat and Greed (Konrad +)

Postby Timothy Mered on March 5th, 2016, 11:44 pm

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41st Spring 516AV


The wetlands surrounding Kenash were all too familiar to Timothy. He’d been dragged through the swamp once before, in a sad little procession of slaves. But back then he hadn’t felt half as miserable as he did now. The foul odor of plants rotting in brine water mixed with Granidile shyke made him sick, or it would have if there was a healthy cell left in his body. The bobbing of the cart did little to alleviate his pounding headache, and the beetles Wikus was trying to feed him did even less to settle his boiling stomach. In fact, nothing Wikus did made him feel any better. He couldn’t stand the revolting indifference with which that flower-lovin’ loon munched on insects. Insects that came straight out of that never-ending, festering beard no doubt.

His throat was dry and sore, his ears felt as though someone had slammed ice picks into them and his eyes, by the gods, his eyes were red, swollen, moist and puffy as though they’d been sprinkled with pepper. His face contorted into an expression of utter disgust as he leaned over the edge of the cart to spit out another clump of thick, colorless slime. A wheezing coughing fit followed suit before he wiped his mouth with his blue-and-white striped sleeve, adding to the layer of dried-up snot thereupon.

When Wikus spoke, or mumbled rather, Timothy shot an almost artful scowl at the bear-sized Drykas. Even the man’s broken common made it abundantly clear what was expected of him, regardless of the demonstration that followed. He shook his head vigorously in reply. All he wanted for breakfast was silence, blessed silence. Not squashed bug paste mixed with worm salad. How did the buffoon not understand? He wasn’t given time to meditate on the question as Wikus yanked at his arm with force, grabbed his chin and squeezed his cheeks together, rendering him unable to speak. Probably for the better too as Timothy unleashed a shykestorm of incomprehensible curses when Wikus started caking his face with ash. Again, the mad Drykas commanded him to eat, and knowing all too well that Wikus wouldn’t rest until he did, Timothy reluctantly picked up a beetle and bit down on the squirming creature. As soon as Wikus looked away however, he spat it out again. The acidic taste made him gag, but he just about managed to keep his belly’s contents down.

But more sickening than the man’s crude diet, more frustrating than the Dykas’ damn-near inaudible mumbling speech, and more tiresome even than the hot-then-cold shivers that shot up his spine a dozen times every chime; worse than all of these combined was the sting of betrayal. He had stupidly trusted the ink-covered wildling. He’d trusted the maniac to guide him out of the Sea of Grass and back towards Riverfall. He couldn’t kick himself hard enough for ever believing even for a second that the man had any good intentions. That cold-hearted swine wanted to be rid of him, yet somehow lacked to courage to just strangle him in his sleep. Perhaps that was their only common ground. He hadn’t yet dared to sneak up on the man in his sleep to suffocate him, no matter how badly he wanted to. The simple truth was that Wikus was the only thing keeping him remotely safe from the many dangers on the road, and it would be suicide to eliminate that shred of security.

Shivering involuntarily, Timothy laid down in the back of the cart and closed his eyes. The clopping of the donkey’s hooves was like a rhythmic jab at his glowing-hot forehead, yet he was thankful for the donkey. The animal had carried him and all of cray-cray’s belongings for two days now, without ever complaining. And unlike Wikus, the donkey’s behavior was predictable.

As if on cue, Wikus demonstrated his paranoid insanity once more. He demanded silence. Not that Timothy had said anything except for a dictionary full of quietly muttered curses over the course of the day. Though perhaps, just this once, Wikus’s senses were onto something. Curiosity overpowered the urge to cough and Timothy followed the Dykas’ gaze into the distance. There, upon the road a band of strangers emerged. Slavers, Timothy thought bitterly. He could tell by the defeated slouch with which those at the end of the procession shuffled forward.

Eventually, both groups halted and Timothy could see clearly that they were vastly outnumbered. Wikus was a terrible foe, but no amount of waving his whip around could possibly beat five well-armed and fierce looking slavers. Behind the dirty Freeborns, Timothy spotted only two dour looking slaves. Their features were hidden as their eyes were downcast, but both were clearly female. One blonde, and quite tall, the other brown and much shorter. Neither looked very happy.

Even in his sickly state, Timothy could tell that the slaver’s greetings was as insincere as it sounded. He was all too aware that the lanky man’s goons were trying to get behind the wagon, and he almost wished they would succeed. If his past experiences with slavers were anything to go by, they were like saints in comparison to Wikus. They, at least, tried to keep their stock alive and proper looking whereas Wikus seemed hellbent on making Timothy look as miserable as possible. In that regard, the Drykas’ was greatly succeeding. Timothy’s chestnut hair was scattered to one side, his face gaunt, his nails dirty, and his sailor’s blouse stained with mud and every bodily fluid imaginable. The only thing separating him from a resurrected corpse were his eyes. There was still fire in them, despite the maltreatment bestowed upon him.

Inevitably, it came to violence. When it did, and when Wikus turned to bark his next command at Timothy, he’d already fled. He cast a wild look over his shoulder, wishing to see the Drykas overrun by his enemies. Instead he witnessed how one of the slavers was caught by a hungry Granidile. Bones snapped and blood spurted into the sickly green of the swamp as the monstrous reptile devoured its meal.

When he pivoted his head around to look where he was running, he was met by an even more monstrous sight. He reeled.

Mounted on a horse sat a man that possessed all the qualities of a scarecrow. A wicked grin greeted him from underneath an old hat, along with the sight of a crossbow aimed squarely at his chest. Timothy’s hands shot up into the air immediately. The man’s undeniable accent made his skin crawl. It was so obviously Sunberthian, which meant the fellow was at least three times more dangerous than he already appeared to be.

Forcing down the urge to cough, Timothy wrecked his mind for an answer, no small feat all things considered. The stranger’s question was rather revealing. Obviously this creature and his ugly-as-hell companion considered the loss of life to be fun. They could’ve been Dynasts if they weren’t so obviously equally rotten on the outside as they were on the inside. After three long ticks, the shock had subsided from Timothy’s eyes and Konrad’s question was answered.

“Why?” he breathed. “Cause Wikus over there has lost it, the one with the whip,” he added quickly.

Shooting a dull glance at the crossbow, Timothy resorted to his street smarts and had the nerve to add one more comment. “I’m not a threat,” he said as confidently as he could. “They are,” he nudged his head towards the fight. He hoped his answer would be enough, for if he had to do any more talking, he was sure he’d have to throw up halfway through.
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The Meat and Greed (Konrad +)

Postby Firenze on March 8th, 2016, 10:48 pm

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A boot caught, stumbling she tried to get her legs to catch up with the momentum of her top half. Once her balance was back she sighed heavily and righted herself. Sweat trickled down her brow and matted fine hairs around her face. It wasn’t that it was hot out, there was a breeze to stir the air, it was that she had been walking for hours. Her body was tired and it had been morning since the last they ate.

She almost stumbled again as the man with the pitted face pulled on the chain in his hand, the collar dug into the skin on the back of her neck. It really ticked her off when he did that. Golden eyes flashed and glared as she picked up her pace. Hands had been bound a few days prior after her second attempt at escape. Scratches were still red and swollen on the balding man to the left of her. Every time she looked at him it gave her pleasure to know that the sweat running on his face stung the marks.

That was the only thing she enjoyed while trekking to Gods only knew where. They’d mentioned Kenash. She’d heard of it briefly before but knew little to nothing about it. The only thing that they’d told her was that they were going to get good money for her and the brunette trudging along next to her.

Eyes shifted to the other woman. She almost felt sorry for her. They hadn’t gotten to speak much but the demeanor that Fire had seen was a passive one and she rarely spoke. Over thirty days on the road and they’d only exchanged a few words. Fire had continually wondered what had landed the girl in the situation that she was in.

It had been her own fault that she’d ended up in the position she was suffering through and was not only angry at the idiots leading the wagon, and trek, but at herself as well. She’d become too comfortable in Syliras and it had landed her with the bumbling fools that surrounded them. One of them she could clearly tell as the leader, the other four just followed the orders of the first. An older man with greasy greying hair and sun dried features. Everytime he opened his mouth was when her heart would pick up a little speed, wondering what bright idea he was about to spew forth.

The landscape had shifted a few days back and it was becoming more increasingly wild the further they moved south. A large sprawling manor could be seen past fields of crop and just past that a faint hint of water. They’d been following the main road the entire way. It was probably for the better as Fire watched animals she’d never seen before slither and crawl through the underbrush at the edges. She wondered if the unusual dwelling was part of the city they were being led to or if it was someone who was brave enough to live in the wilds.

After a about a half bell they’d reached a bend in the road, another plantation could be seen on the same side of the road as the first. It was the sign that they were indeed reaching some semblance of civilization. It made her nervous and wonder if the idiots that she was with were the lesser of two evils. Would it be worse once they reached the city? What was in store for her and the other woman?

It had been clear that they were planning on selling the two. Another reason she was ticked was that she wasn’t going to even see a simple copper from the profit and that it would be going into the hands of the men surrounding her. I hope you drink yourself to death or get eaten by the things in the wild. The thought tumbled through her mind as her feet trudged along. Tired wasn’t even half of how she was feeling but the hatred toward the men and the anger at herself kept her moving; planning a way that she might be able to get out.

As they rounded the corner another wagon came into view and her head perked up. Could it be a better situation or worse? the question flitted across her mind, watching as they slowly progressed closer. Her eyes trained on the others in the distance and her ears picked up the conversation around her.

“Gods dammit.” Carl, the grey haired man, spoke as he spotted the wagon, “Fen, grab yer gear outta the wagon, we might be encounterin’ trouble.”

“Carl, ain’t nutin’, looks ta be a vagabon’ en his dumb donkey,” the pit faced man with yellowed jaundiced eyes and disgustingly patchy beard tried to dismiss his boss, waving in the direction of the others.

Fire watched Carl whip around quickly and knock his hand hard into the back of Fen’s head. She had to hold back a chuckle, lips curling in, teeth biting down. The man stumbled and the chain leading to Fire’s collar pulled her along with as he tried to keep his balance. “A’right, a’right,” Fen rubbed the spot where he’d been smacked as he moped to the back of the wagon.

The other two goons moved up to Carl from the back and along the far side of the wagon. “What do yeh need fer us te do boss?” it was the short chubby one that had spoken.

“Just keep yer eyes peeled and guard the girls, they’re yer next pay day,” Carl spat a muddy muck of tobacco onto the ground with a sickening splat. Fire shifted her feet so she wouldn’t have to walk through it and tried not to look at it as her stomach turned.

After that things had picked up quite a pace, the air between the men had gone to high alert and the tension was as thick as the humid air infested with insects. The opposing wagon approached and their own had come to a stop as Fen began to run his big mouth. Firenze’s eyes moved from Fen to the rather large dirty man. His beard covered part of his features but he had a soft look to his eyes. Golden orbs roved over the rather dirty body. Strangely a whip was wrapped around his waist… was he using it as a belt? Feet were bare and almost black, she wrinkled her nose and wondered if he ever got sick from it.

Hank and James stood next to Fire and the other girl, their bodies blocking some of the view, she tried to peek around them to get a better look at what was happening. A movement behind the bearded man caught her eye as he’d reached out and flung Fen. Her head swiveled to see a young boy take off and stop in front of a rather interesting looking man set on horse back.

Things were becoming a lot more heated, James had stepped forward after his partner in crime was mutilated by a rather vicious looking beast that had snatched him into the waters. Bound hands came up to her face, covering her mouth to keep from retching.

Swallowing the bile she glanced to the other girl, her eyes were downcast. Striking an elbow out she nudged into the woman. Brown eyes turned up with very apparent fear. Fire nodded to Hank and she flicked eyes between the two of them and the weapon the fool had yet to grab from his belt. The other woman’s hands weren’t bound and she could grab the dagger easily. Instead of gaining the courage to just get it and stab the idiot she started to sob and shake her head.

Huffing Fire rolled her eyes and nodded harder at her, eyes giving her daggers that screamed ’Grab the weapon or I’m going to choke you myself.’ Tentatively she began to snake her fingers out, Fire’s heart picked up speed, hoping that she could get free before Hank caught on. Just as she was about to grab the handle he shifted, his hand coming back to grab it as the fight had begun to really pick up.

His grubby fat fingers wrapped around hers and his other hand grabbed her wrist as he turned, “I’ll remember dat. I’ll deal with ye’ after dis fool.” He ripped his dagger from her grasp as she sobbed and stepped back. Fire growled low in her throat her brow furrowed in frustration. Mumbling under her breath she pulled on the binds on her wrists as they bit into her skin.

Once he turned and put his focus back onto the bearded dirty man she lifted a foot up and shoved as hard as she could on his fat arse. He fell face first into the dirt and rocks with a grunt. Carl had already moved off to deal with others and Hank was one of two left behind. The chain that Fen had held onto earlier hung in front of her, part of it trapped under his flabby leg. Stepping forward she jumped and sat on his back, legs straddling either side of him to keep him from getting up.
She was stuck due to the chain and couldn’t take off so the next best option was to get to the knife in chubby’s hand. Her hands reached out and tried to pin down the one waving the knife at her, nicking her calf. “Claudia get over here and get the petching knife already!” The call came out with a grunt as she wrestled with the man who had quite a lot more weight to work with than she did.

“G’eroff ye bitch,” his free hand came up and grabbed roughly onto her hip. Crying out, teeth clenched as she leaned forward hoping the entirety of her weight could hold him down long enough for the brunette to stop crying and get to the knife.

NoteIf you catch something I missed let me know and I can adjust (there's a lot going on). If I need to adjust something, let me know on that too.

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The Meat and Greed (Konrad +)

Postby Wikus on March 15th, 2016, 2:36 am

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Using the surprise that was shaking the nearby individuals, Wikus jumped back as his hand pulled on his improvised belt, the carefully plaited whip unrolling as the man’s loose pants fell to the uneven stone ground. Wikus knew he only had a moment to establish a safe zone between him and the slavers, for close range would be the doom of the whip as its power would be neglected. A lot of time had passed since he had faced multiple individuals, and just like this occasion his response would be the same – to run away. Heroes and brave men didn’t live long, and Wikus had more winters on his back than most Drykas could ever dream of. So if he had to leave his scouting party, the women and the children to avoid being eaten by the Glassbeaks, then he would. He had done it before, and he would do it again if it meant his own survival. Hopping backwards in quick lunges, the slavers’ reaction came too late as Wikus was already at an relatively safe distance, his right hand coming from below as the end of the whip was carried forth with both the motion of the commanding hand and the momentum to deliver a harsh crack in the damp swamp air. The motion was usually not advised, as despite the power the leather always flew back and hit the striker into the face, Wikus closing his eyes as the end of the whip stroked his features.


However, the sound was presented and the slavers already feared the whip. Unconventional weapon for battle, yes, yet certainly the one that intimidated the most. Wikus’ hand came forth once again, delivering a few cattlemen cracks as a warning, the length of the whip providing a louder sound that reverbed through the aquatic scenario around them. Men and animals alike feared that sound, nobody daring to step closer and witness the damage that length of woven leather could do to flesh. The length of the whip also made the whip itself harder to control, yet exchanging that increased difficulty with an accuracy Wikus couldn’t quite use to its full potential with his current skillset. It also made the whipping itself harder and more exhausting, which in the humidity of the swamp was easily felt by Wikus’ harsh breathing. The slavers began spreading across the road and approaching, weapons drawn and teeth clenched as their thoughts were obviously related to pain and murder. Wikus saw this, and continued backing away. His breathing lost depth and gained speed, feeling a panic attack slowly taking a hold of him.


They were killing him. They were slowly driving him away from his donkey, from his wagon, from his tent and from his bedroll. His money was in the wagon, and the only thing he could find behind him would be the endless grasslands. He wouldn’t survive without supplies. They were murdering him with every step forward they took, with every step he retreated, with every warning crack he sent their way to keep them at bay. He waved the whip around through the air, the tip whizzing through the air and gaining humidity before a crack released it all in small puffs of condensed water – like rain. He was barely able to breathe, his breathing being shallow enough to feel his body trembling, losing its strength. So big was his fear that his own body began acting on its own, the tattoos that dotted his bare body starting to flicker, visible even if his upper body was partially covered in damp ash. It is as if they were sinking into his flesh only to appear moments later, the ink reflecting partially his breathing and slowly extinguishing themselves until his body held no more tattoos. It is then when he started retching, and vomiting the black substance in small dosages that smeared down his beard and torso.


He wasn’t going to allow them to murder him. Coward or not, fighter or not, right now the man was nothing but a cornered animal that had to choose between fighting or dying, and the answer was pretty clear to him. Powered by his fear, Wikus took a hold of the whip with both hands and began carelessly swinging it around as if he was fighting a swarm of bees with a sword. Whizzes and accidental cracks came forth as he advanced, the man struggling between breathing and vomiting the black ink, his knees weak yet his hands strongly waving the whip around. The slavers, although somewhat confused by the strange scene before them, slowly changed their direction as they were driven backwards. Nonetheless, the men at the borders of the road were eager to find a distraction in their objective, eager to dig into his flesh with a dagger or a sword. Once the incoming wave of black vomit cleared his mouth, Wikus took a deep breath and jumped forward, his hands going back only to slingshot forth again, the whip’s tip landing on one of the slavers, his face immediately torn and his scream coming afloat just as the crack was finished.


Falling back and holding his face with two hands, the slaver was soon met with a second crack, Wikus’ whip coming forth once again to strike at the legs of the man. The cloth stood no chance, opening widely just like the flesh below, the wound being brutally painful to both witness and feel. It wasn’t the sound of the fauna that gave the swamp its soundtrack, but it was the agonic screams of the individual what was heard on these moments. “Get the crossbow!” Shouted one of the slavers to another, one of them leaving towards their wagon, eyes laying on the slaves’ little rebellion and thus gaining some haste in their run. The shouter was left alone with the screamer, one of them was running towards the wagon, a rarely fat one was struggling with the slaves, and the last and fifth one was slowly being devoured by one of the beasts of the swamps. Wikus kept attacking the screaming man, whom had now turned on his back and attempted to crawl away, foolishly having exposed his back and receiving all the punishment from the harsh whip. Wikus’ attacks were becoming clumsier, the air not nearly enough to support his harsh motions.


Struggling between vomit and panting, Wikus had to halt. His whole body’s ink had moved into his digestive system and he was already paying the consequences of it. Combined with the panic attack, it wouldn’t be long before he was completely exhausted, which may end up in passing out if he wasn’t cautious with how he used his last strengths. His stomach felt full of the acidic liquid, his body disposing of it quickly as it was suffering under the domain of the ink. He flailed his whip forward, with his last strengths, but nothing but a whizzing sound came from the whip. There was no crack, and the slaver witnessed this while his comrade laid on the floor crying his lungs out in pain. He didn’t even try to move anymore, as every tiny movement ached beyond repair. A whip wouldn’t kill him as fast a sword, but it would instead torture him to such degree that a sword would be nothing but a blessing. Hyperventilating already, the careful slaver saw his chance and quickly crouched down, instead of pulling his gravely wounded comrade away he’d take a loose rock from the ground and toss it towards Wikus, hitting him plainly on the forehead. While its size wasn’t going to kill him, the force was enough to knock the weak Wikus down, the slaver using his chance to lunge forth in attempts of finish it.


InfoSince Coyrn hasn't posted yet and it's been a while, we've decided to move on and continue the thread. There is indeed a lot going on, so I've tried to leave it as free for you guys to explore every possibility you want. Reach out to me if I've missed something.

WIKUS

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The Meat and Greed (Konrad +)

Postby Konrad Venger on March 17th, 2016, 3:26 am

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"Petch me."

"Maybe somethin' he ate?"


There was chaos a-plenty to choose from in the frantic, frenetic brawl unfolding before Konrad, but the sight of a man built like a bearded outhouse vomiting black slime in mid-fight had to top the "likely to hold your interest" list. Konrad cantered onward, digging his heels into the horse's side to get it to move forward, watching, wondering...

Deciding.

The larger group was, unexpectedly, doing better, but only by a fraction. One was already granidile-shyke, another was wailing with half his face flayed off, another was being half-strangled by a wild-looking redhead who had taken swift umbridge to remaining a slave, and the other two-

Ah. That's the truth of it.

Konrad had seen enough fights, brawls, scraps, and contests on a scale that "battles" would be accurate. Anyone thinking otherwise had never seen the Dragoons and Daggers go at it in battalions over the cobbles in Riverside. He wasn't much for strategy, but from the outside looking in, he could tell which way a fight would go, especially when-

THUNK

That had to hurt.

The shaggy man with blotched skin - wait, didn't he have tats? - went down from a rock to the skull, head snapping back and eyes crossing as he toppled like a tree. The slaver that felled him whooped with sadistic victory and Konrad saw the other bolting for the wagon, pulling something long, wooden, stringed and primed to-

Konrad breathed, and in the space of that breath, made his decision. If you were to ask, he'd not be able to tell you why. But something told him the dirty, scruffy, hairy monster without pants or coin or prospects was worth keeping alive.

Well, best get to it.

"Petching shyke sacka' petching-"

Carl wasn't going for eloquence so much as sheer vitriol as he filled his hands with the crossbow, killing weight swinging around to put a bolt through that big bastard who'd forever scarred his cousin. If he was lucky, it's be low. The groin. The gut. So they could roll him still living down to the monster that had eaten Fen and he could be alive to-

"Oi?"

A fresh voice bought his head snapping around even as he aimed. A tall man on a pale horse, with a black hat and a crossbow leveled with both hands. No more words followed. None were needed. The man didn't wink or smile or shrug, he just-

TWANG

Konrad was hardly a marksman, but against an unwitting enemy at short range, the gods were less likely to be their usual bastardly selves. The crossbow bucked against his should and a bolt that could punch through plate slammed through Hank's chest like it was made of clay, knocking him back and pinning him to the wagon-

-where Hank still spitting curses and rolling in the mud with the fiery-headed wench, her gutless partner apparently still wavering between fighting and fleeing. Konrad ignored them for now and slid off his nag, tossing the crossbow to the mud with a familiar grudge.

Good weapon, but takes forever to petching reload.

Luckily, it wasn't his only one.

"Eyes?" He barked without looking around, trusting his voice to cary across the stagnant, desolate marsh. "Mind the boy."

"Aye!"


If the boy looked back up, he'd see a gruesome movement stretch Three Eyes' lips so that the eye splattered across his nose would seem to contort and dimple like a mouth. He scraped his dagger against his chin and shook his head, smile widening as he studied the scrawny slave.

"Wouldn't run, boy. Wun' take me long t'run ya down, an' Ill make y'sorry ya petchin' did..."

Konrad barely heard the words of warning. He was more focused on the two men still clawing and punching and kicking at each other through the bloody quagmire their churning bodies were creating. Bearded and Slaver, in at the death, and as he watched... something was disturbing him.

"Muh... Muh face... petsch... muh..."

He looked over and blinked at the man on his knees, one eye pressed shut as blood poured into it, out of it, strips of fleshed gouged from his young features. The young slaver was so engrossed in his future as a grotesque that he noticed too late the shadow fall over him, the gleam of Syna too close to the ground.

He looked up in time to see Konrad swing his kopis down in a diagonal arc-

-slicing through meat and veins and flesh and muscle-

-crunching through segments of spine-

James didn't see his partner's head whirl from it's rightful perch and squelch without ceremony into the mud a few feet away. Didn't hear his body flop backwards, his fears of being maligned as a cripple gratefully not to be realized. He was too focused on the task at hand, throttling the life from this bastard petching shyke that had so pointlessly waged war on them.

Konrad didn't intervene. When Wikus finally caught sight of him, he'd see a man at ease among carnage, especially when he'd contributed to it. He wiped the boy's blood from his blade and thought on the corpse no longer. It was in his way. It was a loose end, and he didn't like those.

Through mud and grime and blood and panting exhaustion, Wikus would see Konrad gesture at him with one hand, a light but slightly impatient movement... but with mirth dancing in eyes as merciful as the thing chomping on Fen in the reeds.

Well? Not going to to everything for you...

OOCLemme know if this was too much or I need to change anything!

||Common||Thoughts||Pavi||Fratava||Myrian||Other's Speaking||
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Note: As of Fall 517AV, Konrad is known only as "Hansel" in Endrykas
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The Meat and Greed (Konrad +)

Postby Wymez on November 29th, 2017, 5:29 am

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ImageWikus
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Skills
● Driving: Cart - 1XP
● Observation - 2XP
● Botany - 1XP
● Leadership - 1XP
● Floristry - 1XP
● Acrobatics - 2XP

● Hunting - 1XP
● Planning - 1XP
● Unarmed Combat - 1XP
● Weapon: Whip - 1XP
● Intimidation - 1XP
● Endurance - 1XP

Lores
● Kenash: Flowers aplenty
● Timothy: Blight-affected
● Wikus: Doesn't want another child's death on his conscience
● Planning: Mentally preparing for the worst
● Surprise! Granidile!
● Intimidation: The crack of a whip can strike fear into foes

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Please remember to update your ledger if/when you return. Cheers.

ImageKonrad Venger
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Skills
● Riding: Horse - 2XP
● Tactics - 1XP

● Weapon: Crossbow, Heavy - 1XP

Lores
● Kenash: No peace from buzzing inspects
● Kenash: Dynasties are similar to the ruling gangs of Sunberth
● Ash & Piss Mixture: Questionable insect repellent -- but works
● Crossbows: Too cumbersome in the chaos of a melee
● Konrad: At home in a fight

Misc
Sorry I couldn't award you much - short thread and most of your skills are too advanced. I tried to give you what I could!

ImageTimothy Mered
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Skills
● Endurance - 1XP
● Observation - 1XP

● Running - 1XP
● Persuasion - 1XP

Lores
● Wikus: Loathed but necessary for survival
● Enduring the effects of the Blight

Misc
Please remember to update your ledger if/when you return. Cheers.

ImageFirenze
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Skills
● Endurance - 1XP
● Tactics - 1XP

● Wrestling - 1XP
● Leadership - 1XP

Lores
● Endurance: Suffering under the weight of chains and fog of hunger
● Firenze: Motivated by hate and anger
● Tactics: Using non-verbal cues to plan an attack

Misc
Potential for faint scarring from prolonged time spent in manacles.

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So much going on in this thread! Pity it never got legs, it would have been interesting to see how it would have all played out.

Thanks for the read! Do let me know if you have any questions or concerns regarding your grade and don't forget to delete/edit your request in the grading queue.
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