Closed The Opportune Moment (Coryn)

[Konrad Venger]

20th Bell - 17th Day of Spring, 516AV - Twenty-Three Days East of Kenash

"Stop yer fuckin' mewlin' an' take 'em."

He'd barely got the last word out before the armful of blankets was snatched clear out of his grip and the cartload of scrambling, spitting figures was ripping them apart to get them. Which Hastus thought was pretty stupid, really. After all, with the snow still flecking the air like paint and ice shards flying along with the wind, you'd think they'd take better care of their protection.

Slaves, he thought with a sneer. No fucking sense. But if they had any of that...

He chuckled as he finished the old slaver adage, content to watch the ragged fragments of humanity fighting over the blankets. The other carts watched jealously by the firelight, trembling from behind the sacks and tarpaulin covering their wagons, some even under their own blankets. Normally they would be enough but tonight...

"Fuckin' Winter ain't done yet, is he?"

Konrad chose not to dignify that. He just watched the show along with Three Eyes, huddled over their fire, bodies bent so close that they were practically hugging the flames licking pitifully low in the pit. There was no carousing that night from the sellswords or the carters; the three-dozen or so men that they called "comrade" on this journey.

There was only the cold, the wind, and the darkness beyond their fires.

He's right. Not done yet.

"Got any a' that meat left?"

Konrad couldn't stop the smug little smile grace his mutilated lips as he dug around in his backpack for a few strips of the rabbit he'd trapped a few days before. The Drykas' lessons were paying off: every time they stopped, he set his snares, and as the days went on, he caught more. He knew that was likely because animals - or "game", as he was told they were called - was more plentiful here, but preferred to think he was just that good.

Either way, it's feeding you.

Three Eyes nodded his thanks as he snatched one of the strips, nearly ripping his own brown teeth out as he struggled with the tough, stiff meat. Konrad took his time, learning his lesson from a few days ago. He gnawed and nibbled until a decent chunk came off and then savored it, soaking it in his mouth, until it was saturated enough to properly chew.

Judging by the sounds he was making, Three Eyes was not so patient.

"S'not bad, this. Rabbit, aye?"

"Aye, fuckin' field rat. C-Woman cooked it up."

He didn't look up to see if Three Eyes saw his slip. Didn't need to. There was a slight pause in the chewing and that told Konrad enough. He reminded himself for the fiftieth time that she was a slave, she was property, she was petching chattel. At best, she was an asset to be used, not someone to be lauded. Thinking otherwise was just...

Well. He knew Three Eyes. Little bastard was loyal to the biggest noise in his vicinity. Konrad was only still alive because he'd consistently been that. And the nastiest.

"C'mon, c'mon, hurry the fuck up before we lose more of 'em!"

Both men peered out from under the blankets draped over their heads and saw Fangor striding through the icy wind like a giant come to life. His boots tramped and stomped through the frozen ground, beefy arms swinging out like his torso was flailing with tree trunks at all and sundry. Crayden and a couple of other sellswords were practically throwing blankets at the slaves, forests of eager hands reaching out to snag them and drag them back into the gloom of the wagons.

Konrad chewed contemplatively. The same thoughts and quandary that had been occupying his mind for days. He gnawed away at his jerked rabbit and watched the caravan boss march around and asked himself, yet again:

How the fuck am I going to kill this bastard?

Well, the literal "how" wasn't the problem; he'd always had a talent for that. It was the "getting away with it" that was vexing him. Konrad couldn't just walk up to Fangor and put his sword through his back then cut his throat. He could count on two, maybe three men to back him up if that happened. That left fourteen other sellswords. Bad odds, no matter who you were.

Has to be an accident. Something that won't lead back to me. Petch it, I was never good at making things look-

"Youse gonna go feed 'er, then?"

Instantly Konrad snapped to attention and he cursed himself again; gods, was he really so trans-bloody-parent? He didn't even need a name, that time. Just "her". So he shrugged it off and rooted around until he had some more rabbit jerky in his hand, along with a loaf you could have pounded nails with. He handed them over to Konrad and jerked his chin at the one-(wo)man tent next to theirs... the one with the chain snaking out from under the tarp, attached to the back of the nearest wagon.

The other end was attached to a rather shapely ankle, and staying there. She was better treated, because she would fetch what six, seven of the wretches in those wagons would put together. But that didn't mean she was trusted.

"Nah. Youse handle 'er. 'm goin' t'bed 'til watch."

"Three bells."

"Aye, aye..."

Three Eyes bobbed his head and seemed satisfied. Konrad watched him go and silently hated him all over again, even if he was the one that set him to waddling over to the girl.

Why? Because he gets to see her? Give her food? Be her friend? Grow the fuck up, you child. That mage cunt is getting to you again.

Mage. Yes. Fifty times and fifty times again, until he understood: she had wyrd in her bones. Konrad didn't understand it yet, but he took some solace from the fact that whatever she was stirring in the muddy bottom of his soul, it was all just... trickery. Illusion. Lies.

He didn't sleep. He listened carefully to the wind and the bedded-down animals; his own horse by the wagon, huddling almost under the thing. He wiped down his face for the tenth time in as many chimes, feeling every crag and crevice as he did. He listened to Fangor and watched him move, thinking and plotting and every one fell apart. He chewed his rabbit and he didn't think about the girl.

The wind screeched and Konrad frowned minutely.

Wind howls. It doesn't screech.

[Coryn]

All things considered, Coryn’s life had not been altered too dramatically since the events that had taken place in the last breath of winter. She still cooked meals for thankless men -- and in fact now there were even more of them than before. But these men, despite their numbers, did appear to be more successful in hunting game than her last travelling party. There were even leftovers on occasion, food that Coryn would stifle away and hide, to share with Michael.

Ah, the boy.

The mere thought of him made Coryn wince and flex her left hand. The skin was twisted and blistered, but significantly more healed than it had been fifteen days ago, when she had submerged her entire hand and the lower half of her forearm into boiling oily water. The pain had taken her breath away, but thankfully she had remained conscious just long enough to knock over the entire pot and scream.

The men guarding her tent had flooded in, eyes hard and smirks cruel. Had she finally given into their flirtations and offers? We’ll keep it a secret, love. Kon don’t hafta to know, I promise.

But once they’d seen her twisted flesh and skin, their hope had died away. She was a precious jewel to be polished and kept clean. And, on their watch, she had been damaged and sullied. Consequences and punishments flickered before their eyes, and Coryn, making the most of their panic, had bartered that she needed aid in the tent to prepare food for so many men. Aid, she had offered, that took the form of a young lad called Michael. His safety, at least in the evening when he acted as a cooking aid, had been swapped for her secrecy that the accident had been her own fault, and not in part thanks to their neglect.

When they had taken him from his cage, Michael’s mother had pleaded with the men that they take her instead. She had once been a cook, she’d promised, and was more than happy to do work on the side, if they knew what she meant. They’d ignored her. Men like them had once had mothers as lecherous as her. Didn’t stop them fucking her that night, though, as Michael and Coryn quietly washed away pots and pans in the relative safety of her tent.

“Is this finished now, Cory?”

His voice had changed since the attack, from spritely and excited to dull and dry. His spirit had been quashed, flattened and left for dead. He was no longer a boy, but a simple boy-shaped vestal. What weight he had lost in those first few days the lad had almost put back on, mainly thanks to Coryn practically force-feeding him whatever food she felt they could spare. In her night time form, she felt no need to eat – but Konrad and the others didn’t know that, not yet. They were happy for her to keep a portion aside for herself (the jewel needing feeding, after all). What matter did it make if it wasn’t her that ate it?

“Almost, Michael.” She said sagely, her silver gaze concentrating on the pristinely cleaned pot that she continued to scrub. There had been no meat today, and instead Coryn had been left with making watery soup to accompany whatever Rabbit jerky and bread they had left. The men had complained, loudly and ignorantly until one particularly thick-skulled moron had knocked over the pot that contained the soup, guffawing and elbowing his friends. Whilst the herby-scented soup trickled into the mud and snow, Coryn had imagined holding the sellsword’s head under a boiling vat of water. How blistered and water-logged and dead he would look.

And so the soup had been wasted.

The folds that served as the doorway to her tent flapped open. Michael winced and scurried away, but Coryn stood poised at her station, scrubbing away with her unburnt hand. Her expression relaxed minutely when she saw that ridiculous tattooed nose. “Three Eyes.” She said courteously. The relationship – could it be called that? – she had with Konrad’s second-hand man was somewhat awkward, but significantly less macabre than that she had with the hatted man himself. Coryn had the impression that Three Eyes was far from the brains behind whatever he and Konrad found themselves doing, but his sheer size was nevertheless intimidating. But then, it was far easier to get on his good side. “I managed to save you some soup. Before that idiot knocked it over.” Of course the meagre portion of soup left over had not been saved for Three Eyes at all, but pilfered away in hopes that Michael might be able to have it. But, kind gestures and extra food had helped her this far in life. “I’m afraid it’s nothing special, but I remember that you enjoyed that hog soup I made a few days ago.”

She managed to pull her lips into a smile. Thin and unconvincing, her grimace could well be attributed to the apparent agony of her arm rather than her dislike of her company. As she moved around the tent, the chain attached to her right ankle tinkled and clunked. It was her own personal soundtrack.

The trick with Three Eyes, Coryn was starting to learn, was to keep talking. Fill his mind with useless, stupid-sounding comments so he felt like the smartest one in the tent. It would inflate his ego and, if twinned with the right kind of shy little smiles, might give him something to think about later in the night.

“How is it out there? Cold?” She asked, glancing up to his face from under her lashes as she held out the wooden bowl to him, half-filled with brown liquid. Of course it was cold. It was cold everywhere, and Coryn longed to kick herself for such a stupid comment. But it was the type of thing that Coryn the Slave, the idiot woman who constantly stated the obvious, would say. And then, grazing her bottom lip shyly with her teeth, she added: “How do you… keep warm all on your own?”

The façade of flirtatious idiocy was broken only when a bizarre sound crashed through the otherwise quiet night. Coryn’s head snapped up to gaze behind the hulking male, her eyes not wide in alarm but narrow in suspicion. “What was that?” She demanded, her tone suddenly sharp.

[Konrad Venger]

The question had barely touched the air before the flap was ripped open again, and Konrad was there. His blanket was gone, shrugged off as he'd jerked to his feet, crossbow already snatched up with the string taut.

Green eyes like rotting moss swept over the pair, noted the hiding little head of hair at the back of the tent, and finally rested very pointedly on Three Eyes.

If there was to be blame, at least openly, it would certainly fall on the being who wasn't worth over two thousand mizas.

"Get yer arse out there an' get ready," he growled, barely pausing as Eyes started to vomit excused before shifting his glance to Coryn. "You? Don't leave the tent."

Three Eyes was flustered. Coryn was almost stoic. Konrad could taste the sheer wrongness in the close air of the tent, but didn't have time to dig any deeper into it. All he knew was that this slave didn't just have wyrd on her side: she had a brain. His eyes flickered down to the red-raw snake scales covered half of her arm. Healing nicely but still enough to make him want to grab her up by the throat until she fell to Nysel.

Stupid girl. Damaging herself, lowering her value... all for scraps at the bottom of a cauldron.

"Eyes? Y'deaf? Fuckin' move!"

He stepped aside and the pudgy ganger nearly leaped out into the camp feet first. Konrad spared Coryn one more withering look, just as that boy... whatever his name was, began to crawl out from behind her, tiny mitt finding her claw-like hand. She winced. It must have hurt. Stupid boy, too.

By the time he stepped back out into the night, the camp was alive and Konrad could taste other things in the air. Shouted orders and wailing slaves, then sellswords hammering at bars for them to shut up, stay down! Fangor was gesturing with his warhammer, positioning what few men he had left, archers staying close to the wagons, along with-

"Hey?!"

The Elder and the Younger did not wish to be separated, and so they were not. Both Drykas mercenaries frowned from their position, leaning against a tall wagon of sobbing slaves, as Konrad and Eyes smacked into the side of the one behind them.

Screeching again. Not human. Not even close.

"What the fuck is-"

"Torches?! Why am I not seein' more fuckin' torches?! You, and you, fuckin' move, light 'em up!"

A couple of older sellswords ran to it without complaint, old hands under Fangor and the Kabrin. They knew what it was, and the best way to keep them away. The mist was resting over the camp like a disease, a pall of wet, close air that killed Konrad's sight more than thirty feet from his eyes. The night didn't help. Paired with the weather, it shrunk their world down to a mere couple of dozen paces, out and above, and beyond it-

Screeching. Closer.

Higher.

"What in the fuck...?"

Konrad wished he had an answer. He wished he had a light. But as it was, he settled for sliding a crossbow bolt into position and settling the stock of his weapon into his shoulder. He'd had plenty of practice last season. Hardly a marksman, but let some bastard come close to him and-

Then he saw it. Almost.

The sky fell with wings cut from pitch, and swooped down on a sellsword frantically trying to get more torches blazing. Konrad's jaw clicked open as a bird impossibly large tore from the mist, wings like a bat's, blacker than a starless sky, and snatch at the man with-

Hands. It has hands. And feet.

Konrad's second blink confirmed it. An instant. A fragment of a tick before with a great whoosh of those wings it rocketed back up, swallowed by the mist and the darkness, leaving nothing but a trailing scream and a faggot burning down to nothing where the man had once stood.

"That was a man," Konrad said, disbelief choking his voice more than fear. "That... it had arms! And legs. The wings, they were... were-"

"Came out of back," the Elder finished for him, and Konrad could see the taciturn, immobile features of the Drykas glisten. He was sweating. Out there. "Zith. Monsters from the grass. Daemons. Like men, with wings. Hunt and kill anything."

"Make sure you know you have a dead shot," the Younger said, already drawing back his first arrow, a second held in his drawing hand. He was holding it together but Konrad had seen the man shoot enough to se the tiny tremble in his hands. Scared as the old man. "Fucker's are fast like you wouldn't believe."

Konrad snorted and remembered the last few ticks. "Oh, I sodding beli-"

Screeching. Then answered by a higher pitch. Both from above, and even as Konrad craned his neck it was joined, multiplied, reverberated and echoed back until Konrad couldn't kid himself anymore. It wasn't an echo. They were in the plains, not a cave. There was more than one up there... far more.

"Trevin?! Where's Trevin?!"

Konrad turned to Fangor, crouching between a pair of tents, Crayden and Vex nearby, and almost gaped. There they were, in the middle of the Sea, days from anything even resembling help, besieged by monstrous... bat-people, and Fangor was shouting for-

"Who?!"

"Carter! Black beard, scar on his hands! Seen 'im?"

"How can that possibly fuckin' mat-"

"Have you?!"

Gods, he was serious. Every vein on the caravan master's face stood stark and out, pumping blood almost straining to escape his skin. Konrad wanted to question, with and without a hammer in his hand, but the screeching was still going on, and-

"NononoNO-!"

The second sellsword served his purpose; Fangor had that to say about him, at least. A decent half of the camp ground was now aglow with a dozen large, high torches, the man running from post to post with his faggot until each one was blazing. But he'd been out too long, and as soon as he was apart from the reddish glow-

Fangor winced as the sky fell again, only not all the way. The sky dove, it swooped on leathery wings, silken fur rustling in his ears until-

THUNK

-a spear of bone grasped in clawed hands impaled the running man like some demented jouster, screeching in victory as the wings tipped and the skewed, struggling bastard begged and puked blood and was carried aloft to bled out in the darkness-

CRUNCH

"Fuck!"

The first sellsword snatched smacked down to earth like a tomato in chainmail. A silver streak, a mighty clamor of denting metal and ripping flesh and then Konrad was staring at a heap of pulped meat with eyes. He couldn't... no, he couldn't see any stab wounds, aside from four red lines raked across the man's face. Probably those claws. Did they all have them? They probably-

TWANG

The Elder's bow thrummed just once, a definitive sound, as Konrad was learning. Usually it was accompanied by a scream or a slumping body, but now-

The night roared in sheer, indignant fury. Shadows that fluttered without shape and form suddenly had edges, closing on them from above. As Konrad blinked and stared and the Elder cursed his aim and notched and drew, the skin boiled. It heaved. The mist parted and above them was-

"Konrad?! Look at me, damnit!"

Konrad forced his gaze from the monstrous menagerie above their heads and focused on Fangor. In that moment, he had forgotten his promise to himself. His plans and his plot. He clung to that man's stoic, sturdy glare and listened.

"Find Trevin! Go! He can help!"

"How-"

"Do it, man!"

The Sunberth sellsword looked for support (he didn't bother looking at Three Eyes; he wanted likely support) and found the Drykas nodding firmly, arrows notched and pointed upward, searching, waiting...

He swallowed and wished he had a nip of something more than water in his guts. Gods, a dose of Slammer would have been a petching treat back then. Instead he trusted to the heavy, deadly machine in his hands, bent his knees...

Fuck it. You were never going to get old.

And started running from wagon to wagon, a black-clad flicker in a nice hat, forgetting about Coryn and the boy and Three Eyes, racing from cover to cover until he found the carter's tent, men inside them quivering and praying for-

"SCREEEEEEEE!"

He whirled and brought the crossbow up with him.

Saw a vision of hells. Coming attraction, knowing his life. A face that seemed warped and twisted by hands that hated it. Teeth like needles and red eyes like dripping blood. Claws extending towards him and behind it all, above it all, wings flapping like a great eagle's, until the thing was close enough to-

TWANG

Konrad's finger smacked hard on the trigger a broken tick before the Zith crashed into him.

[Coryn]

The Ethaefal’s posture sharpened significantly as soon as Konrad’s form appeared at the mouth of her tent. She had been treading a fine line just ticks before, speaking to his partner in such a casual and flirtatious way. Mentally chastising herself for such cocky stupidity, Coryn said nothing as Konrad barked orders to both herself and Three Eyes.

He was tense, in a rush. Night usually bought with it a sense of relaxation to the travelling party. Tired bones were rested on camp beds and bellies were filled one way other another. But tonight, there was an air of… suspense. Something was wrong, and for the briefest of ticks Coryn considered that word had been sent, or the bodies of all those knights been discovered, and a nameless someone had come to liberate herself and the others.

But the hope died as immediately as she thought it: assume the worse. You won’t be disappointed then, when it happens.

She watched the scarred male evenly, her lips tight and expression almost blank. Almost. The minutest trace of apprehension flickered across her eyes as she noticed him glance to her gnarled arm. He had been furious, she knew, when that happened. But what he could do? To punish her, as he no doubt would have done with any other slave, would merely damage her further. Damaged goods meant less income. She was worth far more than the others, which was the whole reason she was treated so much better. The only reason she’d not been flailed or whipped was her value. Her expected value. She could not afford that price to drop any further.

The two men turned to leave, and Coryn finally exhaled. She felt Michael shifting from behind her, his tiny hand touching her red raw arm. She winced, gasped, and then tightened her lips again as Konrad spun to glare at her one final time.

Suddenly, like jigsaw pieces falling into their needed position to make a picture, she relaxed herself and, with her good hand, brushed her ebony hair from her shoulder. She demeanour transformed from guilty and scared to confident and challenging. Act like nothing is wrong, and you and everyone else might start believing it.

As soon as the two men left, Coryn followed, striding to the entrance of the tent. “Stay there.” She warned Michael in low growl. He winced, pained, but nodded nonetheless. As much as she disliked talking to him in such a manner – all the boy heard from the slavers and even his mother was abuse, abuse, abuse – Coryn now understood that something of momentous importance was occurring outside. She could make decision of her own – it was the only trace of freedom she had left – but Michael was still too young to know better.

She loitered by the entrance to their tent, not lifting the flap to see outside, but merely listening. There was that sound again, a screech that made her recoil. It was like no sound she had ever heard before, but had the faintest shadows of a human wail. This almost humanity was most distressing of all.

Coryn dropped to her knees, using the smallest of gaps at the bottom of the tent to observe the world outside. Men were frantically running around, grabbing their weapons and fire torches. They looked terrified. To the left, the rest of the slaves bundled and sobbed. “You’re going to stay here, tonight.” Coryn decided vaguely, not glancing up to Michael but knowing he was still there, lingering anxiously behind her.

Her silver gaze darted desperately to locate Konrad, or Three Eyes at least. But the scene outside was panicked chaos, and in the poor lighting it took her a while to recognise the familiar outline of her owner. In a daring move, she lifted the flap of the tent a few inches higher, to give her more of a view without, she hoped, being seen by slaver or mystery creature alike.

So this was not a rescue mission. In fact, the very sense of wrongness about what was happening outside promised nothing but more blood and injury. Her gaze remained trained on Konrad. He had his crossbow now; further evidence that whatever was happening promised danger. He too was darting left and right, in a fashion that made no sense to Coryn. Unexpectedly, she longed for Konrad to be by her side, in the relative safety of the tent. Without him, there was no protection.

Without him, she would be used, abused, and maybe even killed.

She needed him to live through this.

Something fell from the sky, inches above Konrad and, for a tick that lasted forever, Coryn saw the face of a man, the hands of a man, and the wings of a…

A bat?

But this was no ordinary winged man, if such a thing ever existed. This creature was a monster, a danger far greater than anything Coryn knew to exist until now. Her blood turned cold and, unable to control any fibre of her being, she screamed out a single name:

”Konrad!”

Was he dead? That thing had been dreadfully close to him, those claws almost inches from his already scarred face…

“Zith.”

The boy, having moved from behind Coryn to kneeling at her side, was unexpectedly calm, his tone and expression both knowingly shrewd. “I met a man once whose arm had been chewed off by one. Almost died. But he didn’t.”

For a tick Coryn merely stared, aghast at the lad’s calmness. But then the reality of this situation dawned on her when the twisted, bloody corpse of what used to be a man thudded to the earth just outside her tent. Coryn inhaled sharply, clamping her mouth shut just as a scream rolled onto her tongue. But there was no sign of the creature that had dropped the body, just the headless form of a mutilated man.

And his shortbow.

And his quiver

“Michael,” She said in a low, strained voice. “Michael, can you reach that bow and those arrows?” The body itself was less than four feet from the tent, but with her chained ankle, Coryn would not be able to get to it. The weight of asking Michael – a mere child – to step into that world of danger pressed upon Coryn’s mind. It was wrong, she knew, and no doubt he was terrified… “I know this is scary but—”

“No problem.” He replied tersely, again barely showing any trace of worry or fear. And then, in that moment, Coryn realised that Michael had already accepted his death. Whether it would happen tonight, or tomorrow, was an unknown, but it would happen soon. Sooner than he had ever expected until he became the property of someone else.

He snaked under the tent, yanked the weaponry unceremoniously from the headless body and crawled backwards, returning to Coryn’s side. The whole mission had taken less than a chime, but the Ethaefal found herself short of breath all the same. “Thank you.” She murmured.

“Didn’t know you could shoot an arrow.”

“Oh, I can’t. Not really.” She said gently, holding the bow in her hands as if it were a precious baby. Despite the world around her and the growing terror in the pit of her stomach, Coryn smiled sadly. “But Briar tried to teach me.”

[Konrad Venger]

He must have really cracked his skull when he went down. He was damn well hearing things. A woman screaming his name like she cared, like he'd heard a dozen times before when it was his blade poised over their lovers. It hadn't stopped him, of course, and after enough time, he wondered why they bothered.

Konrad never wondered if someone would do the same for him when his time came. He just took it as an impossibility.

Fuck... must have been a hell of a-

Jaws snapped at him, animal clack of enamel smashing together yanking him straight out of his fuzzy-headed delirium. Something huge and trembling pressed down atop him, a great, living weight that scratched and clawed feebly, but still with enough strength to want to petching end him.

-and it ain't over.

The bolt had struck true, but at that speed, the Zith didn't need to be that healthy to knock Konrad flat on his arse. Now it was writhing and hissing, fetid blood drooling from its mouth, feathered end of the crossbow bolt barely visible, so deep was it sunk into it's chest. Man and beast locked eyes and the thing roared, loud enough to make Konrad's hair blow back and it lunged-

"Cunt!"

-Konrad's left hand snapped out and seized it by the throat, arm muscles straining, stopping the lunge dead but those jaws were clacking, clenching, hammering together as they tried to get closer and fuck his arm was still pinned-

Come... on!

Finally he yanked it free from the mass of fur and wing it was trapped under... and he could add his crossbow to that, as well. But he needed his hand more than the bow right now, pushing up with a snarl that grew to a roar with his hand clutching the Zith's throat-

-other one shooting out to grab the crossbow bolt and twist it-

The Zith wailed and Konrad grinned. Monster, beast, daemon, fuck it, the bastard could still feel pain. It could still bleed and be wounded, and that meant it could-

"Die!"

He pushed the bolt in as far as his strength could allow and the Zith's wings shuddered around it, stretching out to their full length, flapping once, a pitiful effort that did naught but slap the dirt and dead grass... and then it slumped to the side. The red light died in its eyes and Konrad wriggled his legs out from under it.

"Wanker," he snarled, reclaiming his bow and getting his arse moving again. "Not so fuckin'-"

The night was alive, and it was angry. All around the shadows were swooping, plunging from the sky to try and snatch up a sellsword, or fall forever with arrows piercing them. Fangor's men were hunkered down as best they could be, finding cover, not staying in the open, the Drykas and a couple of others sending arrows and bolts whistling up into the sky.

But as many as they brought down to earth, there were more. Konrad couldn't distinguish one from the other. It was just a swirling mass of wings and claws and screams, all circling then like a living storm.

And we're the eye. Petching wonderful.

Trevin. He had to get Trevin. He yanked back the drawstring of the bow as he leaned against the nearest wagon, staying on the unlit side, hearing the catch click... and then loading the next bolt in his quiver.

There. Now he felt at least a little safer.

"Petch it-"

He ran. Men screamed around him and he ignored them all. A carter ran shouting across his path, only to leave the ground entirely when something huge and hungry snatched him up into the air. Konrad kept running. Kept looking for a that tent, the one with the blue-

"Patches!"

"SCREEEEEEEE!"

The light around him died. His shadow was swallowed by another one even as he ran, the roar behind him, the whoosh of air as wings three times his height flapped so close-

Down!

-he threw himself flat on the ground and felt sharp, cruel claws scrape his back. Considering they should have impaled him and yanked him up to be dropped like a rotten egg, Konrad considered himself lucky. The Zith growled in fury as it overshot its target, wheeling around like a hawk as Konrad scrambled back to his feet.

He raised his crossbow, still move. Shyke, he wasn't ready for this. Wasn't good enough. Not enough practice. But hells, it wasn't like he had much of a choice... and it wasn't exactly a small target.

"C'mon," he whispered under his breath, moving sideways to the tent with splotchy blue rags sewn into it. "C'mon, come get me, ya ugly fuckin' sod."

If the Zith was worried, it didn't show it. Just flapped the air harder and came in with its wings tucked in to the side, a hellish arrow that had a dagger raised in one hand. Konrad tightened his grip on the crossbow. He remembered putting bolts into that slave. Into the Denvali. The wolf. Deer and small game.

The ZIth became everything. His whole world. A blink and it was nearly on him, huge and-

TWANG

"Shyke!"

Bastard faked him out, but was too cocky for its own good. The Zith jerked away at the last moment... or the second-to-last, as it turned out. Konrad's bolt slammed into it's shoulder, tearing through muscle and tendons and one wing suddenly went dead, inert by its side-

"Shyke!"

-Konrad flung himself to the side as the out-of-control monster barrel-rolled through the air and crashed through the space he'd just been standing in. A tent vanished under it, the man inside shrieking like a woman as the wounded Zith thrashed madly at anything it could reach.

Konrad tossed the crossbow to the side and his sword sprang into the torchlight. He wasn't much good with a bow... but this, he did know.

The Zith turned and found the ugly human bearing down on it with one of their precious swords. It lunged with a bellow, dagger stabbing for the center of Konrad's chest-

-only for him to twist to the side and the dagger whooshed through the air, missing him-

-Zith whirling and trying to backhand the human with it's still-functioning, still-obedient left wing-

SHRRK

Another scream, and Konrad was starting to petching enjoy himself. Wonderful things to have, he'd think... but so very delicate. The kopis cleaved through the membranous flesh like it was cloth, splitting thin tendons and stretched, stinking flesh like paper and string. The Zith sank down to its knees as its birthright was taken from it, obliterated by a mere human-

-that finished the job by yanking the blade out the ruined wing, drawing it back high-

-and slamming the blade halfway through the monster's throat. The spine crunched, arteries were severed, blood gushed and Konrad planted his boot in the creature's back, pushing hard as he yanked-

The Zith toppled forward, nearly decapitated, and barely had it settled before-

"SCREEEEEEEE!"

Oh, come on-!

Konrad whirled and there was another, fresh to the fight, spear already leveled and he raised his kopis to-

It was impossible, but it happened. A torch lit to his side, the veyr edge of his vision.. but then it exploded. Larger and fuller than any torch could be, until Konrad glanced at it and-

-saw the ball of flame rocketing from-

-a man. Trevin. His face stony with concentration, thrusting out his hand and-

-burning the ZIth from the air like he was swatting a fat fly, animal roar turning into a dying wail as its fur went up like kindling, wings scorched and curled inwards, smoking as the fireball ate it alive. Konrad stared, barely remembering his own name as he watched the beast smack down in front of him... and die in a smoking ruin.

"T... Trevin."

"I know," the carter said, sounding like a man due for a visit to a doctor's clinic. His hands were glowing. Konrad gulped. "I'm needed."

The carter... no, the mage, started to flit from wagon to wagon, and Konrad followed him... until he remembered his crossbow... scuttled back to claim it, and settled in behind the man who could hurl fire, heading back to Fangor and the Drykas and-

"Shyke!"

[Konrad Venger]

OOCSince Coryn has been gone for quite some time, I'mma wrap this up solo.

He was the man who drove oxen, resting his arse in a wooden seat for ten hours a day and moving only to eat his supper and piss off the side. Sometimes Konrad saw him make stew for the other carters. Other than that, he was another faceless figure in the caravan. Not a sellsword, or a leader, or a passenger, or a slave, so one of the grand miscellany that Konrad had lumped the rest of the world into.

Now he knew that he'd never see Trevin again... and, by extension, all others of his humble ilk.

Petch it. That's gonna make like for complicated.

He didn't have much time to think about it, scampering from wagon to wagon like a rat running from circling hawks. The sellsword and the monsters were going at it like bloody bastards, exchanging dives and bolts over and over. But Trevin wasn't running for cover. He was running, sure, but whenever something got close to him, Konrad would need to squint because-

His hands seemed to glow. Bright green like fresh paint, and then exploding into fire to hot and white that it was like Syna coming down to earth. Every monster around him shrieked in purest agony, covering their eyes, wings shuddering and jerking uselessly. Some even fell and would not rise again, shuffling in the dirt like the one in Konrad's path-

"Well?!" He looked up and saw a sweating Trevin staring his way, pointing at the mewling monster. "What're you waiting for?!"

Konrad's gaze snapped to the blinded, wailing figure on all four between them. The Zith's wings were flapping without any real purpose, just instinct. It was clawing at its eyes, torn between ripping them out and rubbing them clear. Konrad knew he'd never have a better-

TWANG

The bolt caught it in the neck and it dropped. Spasmed a handful of times as the brain tried to keep sending messages to the body, but kept running into a shattered spine. Then Konrad threw the crossbow away for good and took up his sword. He'd been lucky before, managing to reload the crossbow on the run, hiding between carts... but one look upward told him that wouldn't happen twice.

"Trevin?! About petchin' time!"

Fangor wasn't about to go trembling and messing himself like some juvie just because there were a few abominable creatures after his hide. Standing in the middle of his sellswords, all of them crouched or leaning against a pair of wagons, the big man was laying about the sky with his hammer whenever someone swooped too close. Three Eyes, the Drykas, Hastur, all the faces Konrad knew seemed to be there as he skidded into cover.

"Hardly a quick jaunt over here, boss."

"Aye, well, yer here now, and just in petching time!"

Konrad could see what he meant. The sky wasn't just boiling or screeching, it was lowering. The Zith were getting closer to them with every circling swoop, claws snatching, weapons stabbing, spears thudding into the ground or the wagons or unlucky men. Soon they'd be too close, even with the dozen or so that arrows and bolts and steel had brought down. Close enough to overwhelm them.

"Y'know what to do?"

"Course I do," Trevin said as he stood next to Fangor, air between his hands starts to glow like mist, distorted and imperfect. "Just tell them what to do."

"Al'right, you bastards! When you hear the man here say "Eyes!", you close 'em tight and keep 'em closed until you hear "Open!". Then we'll finish these petching monsters an' get back to our sodding beds!"

"Wh-What?!" Konrad couldn't help the stunned words bursting out of his throat, even as he watched the cloud start to glow green, gaining strength, thickness, power between Trevin's hands. "You want us to fight these things blind-"

"Do as you're damn-well told, Venger!"

There's wasn't time for anymore chatter, and they both knew it. Claws and teeth and bone-handled weapons were striking so low and close now that Konrad could hear them part the air just above his head. No discussion, no banter, just a handful of desperate men flailing at the air as it tried to carry them away.

The Drykas were stabbing up with their swords now, too close even for their short bows. Other sellswords were jabbing with spears, until one man lunged too high and gripped too tight and a quick-thinking Zith grabbed the shaft and lift man and spear both into the night-

They heard him die by inches. Begging and screaming above the ripping of flesh and the oily, sloshing sounds of muscle and organs flooding onto the ground. Konrad felt his bowels tighten and shoved himself closer to the wagon. Any closer and he would roll under it and leave the bastards to their fate, he wasn't getting-

The girl.

All thoughts of fight, fleeing or shyking himself vanished. The girl. She was still in his tent and that... mattered? Why would it matter? Konrad started to rise and-

"Ready, boys?!"

He looked around and Trevin was letting go of a great big balloon that wasn't. An orb of green liquid easily as wide as his shoulders was ascending into the sky, arms spread out and seeming to guide it. Konrad stopped and stared, unsure of how or why but there were still orders to be-

"Shyke!"

-a claw laid into his shoulder, barely missing his neck, and he went down to his knes. Screeching, screaming, hungry roars above him and he gripped his kopis and resolved to die running for that tent if he had to. But why, he didn't-

"EYES!"

Konrad saw a lot in that last tick of sanity. He saw the green balloon suddenly burst into flames. They roared and flickered but didn't last, because they burned too hot, too bright. He'd seen white flames before, at a blacksmith's forge. So hot that they could burn a man through his bones so fast his body would not even feel it. That was what the ball became, and Trevin's own eyes closed as his arms exploded outward-

-and the white-hot inferno did the same.

Konrad' clenched his eyes shut and buried his face in the ground as a vast whomp! of power and displaced air crashed through the air and the sight of all who beheld it. Even through his closed eyes he could feel the scorching light burn at his retinas, making him screw them shut even tighter. The glow seemed to spread over the whole sky, blanketing blackened night and shadowy creatures in light before-

-the darkness returned, fast as it had been banished. Someone slumped down with a groan, probably Trevin, that sly mage bastard. Konrad opened his eyes, and then it started to rain Zith.

[Konrad Venger]

"OPEN!"

Too later fer that...

Konrad was almost too stunned to hear his own sarcastic thought as he gazed around him. The Zith were tumbling from the skies like their wings were suddenly useless. Shrieking that had been predatory, sadistic, brutal, was now musical with every kind of pain imaginable. They were crashing into carts and wagons, bouncing off the sides of the slave cages, even hitting horses and sending them bolting out into the night.

"Shyke!"

Konrad rolled to the side as a wailing mass of flailing claws and wings fell straight down at him like a comet-

-smashing down hard into the ground and writhing, looking around with eyes that bled hideously, snuffing the air, trying to find-

You, so do it!

He swung his kopis as he lay there, like an executioner's sword. The curved blade was made for slashing, hacking, dismembering, and it sliced deep through tendons and flesh and fur. Konrad noted even in the chaos of the moment how brittle the creature seemed, once the horror of it had worn off. They were short, too. Some were more than a foot smaller than him, but those wings...

Aye, they'd make everything bigger.

He yanked the kopis free and the Zith was struggling in far less of a frenzy. The first blow had cleaved into its lung, air and blood pouring from the wound, but still it clawed, trying toi take something, anything with it to Dira-

Konrad didn't give it the chance. Twice, and a third time the sword fell, and by the third he was on his feet and the skull of the Zith was split in two... and still, they were falling, and still, they were being butchered.

Trevin's wyrd had turned battle into a massacre. Without their eyes, the Zith were either bumbling uselessly higher and away, or were falling onto the speaks, arrows, bolts, sword, daggers, clubs and even bare fists of the caravan's guards. Everywhere Konrad looked, bloody murder and sweet vengeance was being done.

One Zith was back onto the wheel of a wagon, one hand slashing madly, no match in its sightless state for a pair of sellswords who cursed like mad dogs as they skewered it over and over with their spears.

Another was screeching atop one of the slave carts, trying to get a foothold on the top made up of metal bars and little else. Under it the screaming slaves pressed themselves to the dirty, filth-strewn floor as its legs get falling through it, until the Drykas peppered it with arrows, four of them, so fast they were almost a blur, and it toppled... but not all the way, caught leg letting it hang down the side of the wagon, arrow shafts swaying with its wings.

Fangor was splitting head with his hammer like a crazed abattoir employee. He strode from helpless beast to blind monster, wasting little time with any of them. He'd been sorely tested that night, lost too many men. Three Eyes was even joining in the fray, always willing to lend a hand when his enemies were helpless. Konrad saw him cut the throat of one monster from behind, then leap at another and land daggers-first.

"Screeee...!"

It's wasn't even close to as frightening as before. Not when the thing in front of him was staring with eyes that were sightless, nocturnal organs woefully ill-prepared for such brightness. Hells, Konrad knew he would have been blinded by the light, and he wasn't no damn knock-turn-ill.

The Zith hacked at him blindly and Konrad twisted to the side, letting the ancient-looking sword go wide-

-returning the favor with a slash to the Zith's leg, heavy kopis crunching through bone and bringing it down, limb nearly severed. Again it slashed and Konrad parried the blow, dashing away the sword and backhanding the thing-

-across the throat, scraping spine on the way out. The Zith coughed and fell, blood spewing from it's neck. Still Konrad went on, dispatching helpless monsters once or twice, but making a beeline for the tent, the woman, the prize-

"They're onna' run, chief!"

He heard Hastur's shout and the blood-thirsting cries of victory from the sellsword, but his eyes were only for the slaves. Or slave, more accurately. She held a bow in steady hands and for a moment he feared she might shoot... but she didn't. He backed his head out of the tent, leaving the Ethaefal and the trembling child behind her to the darkness inside.

Victory was loud, and already flowing. Konrad saw the camp reveling, surviving sellswords laughing like maniacs, drunk on their own survival. Already stories were being exchanged and trophies hacked from the corpses of the Zith... and pockets rifled through from the honored dead, of course. Mercenaries, after all, were not overly-sentimental when it came to burial rites.

"Bastard creatures," Fangor spat as Konrad sidled up to him, nodding back the way he came. "The Eth all right?"

"Aye, safe as before. Stayed in her tent."

"Smart one, that."

"The petch was that with Trevin, chief?"

Fangor favored him with a look that was neither trusting nor overly-critical. Konrad was a sharp one. He asked questions, and those answers he got bred more. He watched, and he listened, unlike many a Sunberth scally he'd hired on with his crew. From what he'd heard, Konrad had proved whatever the streets needed proving years ago; now he was a man out to survive and prosper, not just have his name crowed like some puffed-up ganger.

Which was why he decided to keep his secrets, for now. He snorted and nodded at the campsite.

"Worry about this, first, Venger. Then y'can ask yer questions."

The scarred mercenary fumed for a tick or two but saw the man had a point: fires were spreading, horses were running, slaves were wounded and tents were flattened. Gods, they could be cleaning the mess up until morning. But the wing'd screeching was receding, the handful of Zith that could still see fleeing into the night, their easy pickings bearing unexpected fire.

The thought set him looking at Trevin again. An unremarkable man with a paunch and a scraggly beard, hunched over a camp fire and chugging water like he had a kiln in his stomach. He felt the eyes of the sellsword on him and raised the 'skin with a smile.

"You should try my stew."

Konrad snorted with mirth even despite himself, then set about following his chief's orders. The camp needed to be put right, and he wandered to the nearest tent and started to set it right again.

But his eyes roved back and back to the mage. Replayed in his own mind the sheer, stunning, godlike power the man had wielded. No-one saw it coming, no-one expected it. This faceless man with no swagger or designs... and yet, the power of Syna. Power to burn the sky and cast down demons like sparrows.

Konrad brooded long on what he'd seen. That was power he wanted. All he had to work out was how...

[Jasmine Stormblood]

Let me know if anything is missing guys!

 

Konrad Venger

XP

• Socialization: 4 XP
• Weapon- Crossbow: 3 XP
• Weapon- Kopis: 2 XP
• Unarmed Combat: 1 XP

Lores

• Konrad: doesn't care for authority much
• Trevin: a mage
• Zith: human like creatures with bat wings
• Zith: short in stature with large wings
• Zith: useless blind

 

Coryn

XP

• Sociliazation: 3 XP
• Cooking: 1 XP
• Negotiation: 1 XP
• Acting: 1 XP

Lores

• Acting: useful to get what you want
• Micheal: not the same as he was
• Zith: human like creatures with bat wings