Solo Shadows

[Konrad Venger]

17th Bell- 34th Day of Summer, 517AV - Pridesun Pavilion

Wherever he went, he took the shadows with him. He always needed them, after all. Whether or not it was simple training, honing his skills, or a means to kill time... even a way to impress an employer, he could always rely on the shadows to give him a decent show. A real opponent was better, of course. Someone to test his flesh and steel against, someone that he couldn't predict or magick away with a thought.

But he was a solitary man. Regular partners were rare, and those that were... well... he remembered what happened to Three Eyes.

Should have aimed better, you little shyke.

He blinked and the nameless dead man he'd been sparing with became that pudgy little bastard, with his ill-chosen tattoo from long ago. Grinning in that fawning-yet-mocking way he used to, holding a pair of those wicked blades he enjoyed so much. One of which he put in Konrad's back, and now the man carried in his boot.

Konrad smirked at the empty air, or so it looked to anyone watching. He gripped his kukri tighter and lunged forward, bent arm straightening into a stab at Eyes' guts-

He'd see that coming.

-only for Eyes to sway to the side, one blade knocking his own away while the other made a backhand slash at Konrad's throat-

-and it was his turn to jerk away, snapping his torso back so the blade sailed through empty air, using the backward momentum of his upper body to swing a kick towards Eyes' groin-

That, too, probably. Petcher was nothing if not a brawler.

-and then stagger back a few steps, both men collecting their breath. Konrad circled, imagining Eyes doing the same. Blade high but close, ready to attack or defend... then whipping diagonally down with a slash, then a backhand, stepping forward with each strike, getting closer-

-drawing a counter from Eyes, one of his daggers stabbing for his guts-

-forcing him to twist to the side, just like Eyes had before, slamming his free arm down and trapping Eyes' wrist at his side-

Never did expect anyone to copy him, though.

-slashing vertically down with the kukri at Eyes' elbow, and he could almost hear his scream as the joint was broken, knife tumbling from numb fingers, yanking the blade free-

Not so good up close, either.

-slamming a knee up between the man's legs, doubling him over, knocking his wind out as he crushed his balls, finishing the fight with a straight, simple sweep of his kukri into the back of his neck.

It wouldn't have decapitated the man, like his kopis might have, but the job would be done. He wouldn't be getting back up again. Konrad stepped away and Eyes became a shadow, and then even less. Fitting, since that's most likely what the man was by that point. Not even bones or a carcass, if Konrad had learned anything about the Sea of Grass. Scavengers, insects, rain, Syna, all the creeping, inexorable destroyers that Caiyha possessed, matched with the even more relentless march of Tanroa...

No, there was nothing of Three Eyes, now. Just the knife Konrad carried and the memory of the man in his head, conjured up only as a target in his sparring sessions.

Konrad's eyebrow quirked as some fresh thought occurred to him. Speaking of that knife...

[Konrad Venger]

Soppy Willis. That was his name. Konrad smirked whenever he matched the words to the memories, because buggeration, it was night and day.

He never found out how Willis came by his name, but he knew how he moved in a fight. He was good with a dagger, fair with a sword, and his brawling was passable for the gutters... but he was a straight daemon with anything he could chuck.

A brace of neat little throwing knives were always strapped to his chest, and in the middle of a brawl, he'd be whirling and stabbing and whenever he got a moment, another sliver of sharpened steel would go flying. Throats, eyes, lungs, thighs, hearts... if Soppy wanted one in any of the above, then by the gods it went there.

Konrad saw him in a street battle, the Daggerhands against some upstart alliance, fending off three men and whipping out blades every few ticks. Around him, men dropped, dead or dying or crippled, and a tick later, it was sword or dirk he was wielding. Then back to the knives. Then back, and back, until everything around him was gone.

Konrad never found out what happened to him, either. Which was a shame, since he'd have liked to learn a thing or three.

THUNK

"Wanker..."

He told himself it was still early days. He'd barely had Three Eyes' throwing knife for two seasons, and he'd little time to practice with it. But now, after the fourth time stomping past the hitching post and reclaiming the dagger that whacked harmlessly into the thing hilt-first, he realized just how much he needed it.

Just remember what Eyes did, he told himself, getting back into position, well-balanced blade in his fingers. Arm straight when you let go. Line up with your hand, not the blade. Few times to get your measure-

His body did as his mind advised. His arm went up and back, over his head, then went forward... until the hilt of the blade was aimed at the post. A few scratches. That was the sum total of his effort, the last half a bloody-

Concentrate!

Konrad exhaled. Up... down... up... down... up... then his arm moved fast, slamming down forward but smoothly, and when his arm was straight and leveled at the post he let go-

THUCK

The distinction was, he thought, important. It just sounded... stupid, he guessed, when the dagger banged uselessly into the target and went spinning away into the grass. Not so that time.

That time, Konrad was left grinning at the wobbling handle of the knife, blade sunk a good few inches into the wood. Had it been a man, it would have been even further... and at that height, probably in something important.

Ten feet. Not bad. But...

"Aye, aye, aye," he muttered under his breath, walking instead of stomping, but face falling back to a scowl regardless. "Keep adit..."

[Konrad Venger]

THUCK

Better and better, but he was still an age away from Soppy's superlative skill with a blade. Konrad wasn't even going to try to do anything more than quickly turn from his back to the post, to facing it, to a quick throw a few ticks later.

Still need them to line up your shot. Can't risk trying it in the middle of a fight.

It was still progress. He faced the pavilion, a mass of tents and posts and humans and animals and smoke and fires and chores unfolding, breathed in a few times, knife in his hand... then turned-

-arm coming up at the same time-

-until he faced the post behind him, and now it was a man, raising a sword-

Don't let go until it's straight-

-threw forward his arm, and when it was straight and the post - the man - was at the end of his extended arm, he let go-

THUCK

Better. But not by much.

Konrad scowled at the dagger shuddering off-center and below where he aimed. Shyke it. That might have gone between the bastard's legs. Granted, it might also have struck him in the groin (and petch knew that would take the fight out of a man), but it wasn't where he'd aimed. Accuracy had to be first, then he could worry about being fancy.

That only comes from practice.

He sighed and reclaimed the dagger, shrugging off his coat as he went. Syna was still hours away from setting, and while the later afternoon was cooler, that was like saying that an ebbing fire was less hot. The shyke would still burn you. Konrad heard every clink and grind of his weapons now, unencumbered by his duster... and yanked the dagger free.

The white, livid mark in the wood struck him. Planted a memory that stirred an idea... no, the other way around. It scratched at his mind as he walked back to where he was before, blade idly twirling between his fingers. He'd still yet to give it form even as he got into a rough stance, blade now still, ready to turn...

Now.

Turning, raising, shadow returned and opening it's mouth to scream. He aimed higher, for the torso, and flung out his arm-

THUNK

Gods, I hate that bloody sound.

Off to the side, Yeh Bugger whinnied as if it was all most amusing. Konrad shot a stream of barely-intelligible Myrian at the unfazed horse. Most of it was profanity, anyway. The dagger glanced off the target, though at least it had been blade first. On a man, not a thin post? Maybe it would have got him in the shoulder. Nicked his ribs. An arm, perhaps?

Still not good enough, he groused mentally as he bent down, sweat on his back sticking to his shirt. Still need to practice.

He did, but that idea was still there. Niggling and whispering and clawing-

That's it.

A fresh idea came to Honrad, who was now more a hunter than sellsword, more a mage than he of the past would have ever dreamed possible. The white gouges on the brown wood, reminding him of animal marks across it. His fingers twitched and his absently flicked a glance at his coat, bending down again to paw through the pockets until he found...

Something old, curved, and sharp. Yellowed with age but still mostly white. Well-preserved and bereft of fur or muscle. Just hard, lethal bone. Konrad smiled down at it, then sank into the dirt in front of the pole.

He had plenty of time for his weapons... or at least the ones he had to strap on every day. But now he had a means to become a weapon. Or at least part of him.

More so, anyway.

[Konrad Venger]

It came, but slowly, and Konrad expected nothing else. Squatting in the dust and the dead grass, sounds of Endrykas muting little by little the more he meditated, he knew patience was aessential for this wyrd.

Reimancy was drawing djed from inside himself, then projecting it outside to be manipulated. That was one level of difficulty. But Morphing? That kept everything under his skin. In his bones. Infusing his wyrd with his very substance to shift and stretch and transform.

Even Konrad Venger, who'd not seen a day's book-learning in his life and didn't learn to read until he was in his twenties, knew there was a world of difference.

Patience. Calm. Draw the picture first. Then change it.

That's what he did, at least in his mind. Focused on himself and hos body, every scrap of it, from the soles of his feet to the top of his head. Saw himself in intimate detail, sitting there, legs folded, arms out... right hand palm up, fingers splayed, left hand holding the wolf's claw that odd little soothsayer had given him.

Her face and voice invaded his mind for a tick, and he pushed her aay. No, that would not do. He needed to concentrate. Because he could feel it. Feel that energy inside him seep from that nameless vessel it lay in, beneath heart and lungs and guts and mind, and seep into his bones, traveling up his limbs.

Almost at his fingers. He breathed in... and he smudged away the fingers on his right hand. At once his hand started to tingle and twitch. The skin... it was shuddering around the muscle clinging to his bones. Konrad closed his eyes and focused, brow crushing his eyes, forcing that strange feeling up, up-

Into his fingers. His nails. Then he felt them start to swell, and stretch... and sharpen.

Slow. Slow. Just like what you're holding.

There was another picture. That trophy, that artifact, taken from some long-dead creature and made into a weird little mage's token. Now passed on to him, and put to a different use. He had a similar one in his tent, from a coyote, but this one seemed a shark to the coyote's river pike. Longer, sharper, thicker... not a scavenger's claw, did that make up. No, it was that of a hunter. Caiyha's own murderer.

Fits.

He opened his eyes as the sizzling sensation started to buzz and tickle his fingers. Opened his eyes and found a waking dream, hairs away from a nightmare: the nails on his right hand elongating, curling, thickening as if swollen from within... and become four claws like the one he held.

Four. Not five. No point doing the thumb, too. Just get in the way.

That last thought made him smile. Softly, slowly, as if the gesture along could break the spell. He had to concentrate even though the work was complete, getting up carefully and not moving his gaze from his hand. He pocketed the claw and then felt his new look with his left hand.

They were solid. Not the clay they resembled ticks before. He could test their sharpness on his thumb like he would a blade, push the points... and he hissed gently. Hmm. His hand wasn't quite made for this. The bones, he guessed, were the problem. With his hands straight, there wasn't enough... damn, he didn't know the words, but he knew that keeping them clawed might help.

Might, he repeated mentally, gulping and wondering if Sedon could fix broken nails. But it's time to find out.

The post was a tough target. If he had to use these claws in battle (or circumstances less martial), it would be against flesh and cloth, not hard wood. But like the weighted weapons he'd trained with years ago, making it harder for yourself in the sparring circle made it much easier for the real thing. If he could make a dent in this post, well... flesh and muscle and veins and ligaments would be paper by comparison.

Konrad flexed his hand, then curled his fingers into a claw befitting the four miniature daggers attached to it. He blinked and the post was a shadow, turning to face him, hand on his sword, and he swiped up and across-

-hoping desperately even as his arm swung-

KRRRKT

It hurt. It twinged and yanked at the inside of his hand... but nothing broke. He looked down at his hand and felt around his new claws... saw them red at the base, but not loose. Flexed and felt sore, but not fractured. He swallowed again. He needed to know more. Do more. Change more. But for the moment-

He looked up, and smiled at the four white marks hacked perpendicular into the dull brown wood of the hitching post. He reached out and touched them, shaking away sweat making his hair lank and limp. He grinned wider: half and inch, easily. And against wood. Against flesh?

At that height? Would have torn the cunny's throat out.

"Heh. Nuh bad."

But he wasn't finished. He stepped back and gingerly used both hands to strip his soaking tunic from his back. Clad simply in his breeches and leather harness across himself, Konrad faced the post again... with his kukri filling his other hand.

"A'right. Now we'll see..."

Don't Make Me Repeat Myself.

[Konrad Venger]

He went too far. Should have seen it coming, really, but that's looking back for you.

And it could have been worse.

By Syna's fading rays and the curious eyes of distant watchers, Konrad danced and hacked and clawed and dueled with shadows. His kukri was in his left, as it usually was: he was better with his sword, but today he had a fresh, more intimate weapon. That would be his primary, the kukri was for-

-parrying, like how he swung it out and down, knocking aside an invisible enemy's lunge for his stomach-

-sidestepping to his left, using that twisting momentum to slash with his bent-fingered hand-

KRRRKT

-grunting in satisfaction as his claws gouged into the post again, laying open would and what would have been the side of the attacker's neck. Again he felt a twinge through him, bones of his hand unused to such large additions, but he forced through it.

The duel had become a dance to him, the only one he'd ever known the steps to. The post vanished and became a brawler, a ganger, a Birth enforcer, a Daggerhand soldier, sellsword, Zith, Yukman, all changing with every blink he took as he circled, weapons out and ready in (and on) his hands.

Until he attacked with his kukri, stabbing down low and then backing up, swaying away from the counter blow-

Don't bother trying to parry with your sodding hand, you fool. They're bone, not steel.

-swiping out again with his kukri, forcing his enemy to back up, bracing himself for the next strike-

-a diagonal blow looking to cut his torso in half, and his kukri shot up to stop the blow-

-clawed hand swiping low and horizontal below it as he did-

KRRRKT

-ripping four nasty gashes at stomach level, deep and vicious enough to gut the man in question and send them spilling out across the floor-

-letting his arm come back up to head height, kukri pushing the sword up and away-

Won't be thinking about that with his innards coming out.

KRRRKT

-finished the job with a diagonal swipe at the man's face, deep and brutal, feeling that twinge again, that tiny creak in his hand that he ignored, lost as he was.

That would have done it. Laid his open from forehead to chin, taken at least one eye, mashed his lips, left him gutted and screaming and blind and bleeding... but he was lost, as he often got in the thick of things. Drunk on his new power, his new weapon, and with his kukri forgotten, he twisted his arm and delivered a backhanded blow that would have torn the man's throat out-

KRRRKT-SHUP!

"SHYKE!"

Agony lanced up his arm and only reflex kept his kukri in his other. Then another ripped through him and he dropped it, gripping his right wrist with his left hand and looking down... mouth dropping open.

It was his ring finger. Or the end of it, rather. The nail, the claw, it seemed unchanged by the base of it, where it met his finger... it was just... loose. Pouring blood and whenever he moved his hand, the claw on that finger swayed and flapped like a loose door.

"P-Petch me..."

Don't panic. Not gonna help. Put it all back.

He closed his eyes. Didn't sit so much as make a controlled fall into the grass. The heat was very real to him now, the sweat redoubling across his bare torso and his tanned face. He had to focus. Had to think past the lancing, sparking pain that was already so fierce his arm felt numb. He breathed. Breathing... it didn't hurt. He focused on that instead.

In... Out... In... Out... Now draw it back.

Destruction was always easier than creation; a natural, immutable law that even Konrad understood. He had to paint a picture, make a model, before he could use Morphing. But to reverse it, all he had to do was reduce his new constructs to that shimmering claw. See it in his mind, feel it in his-

He grunted, hissed, ground his teeth and screwed his eyes shut. No, he didn't want to see the reality. Wouldn't help his efforts.

Go back. As you were.

He felt the claws shrink. Felt the bone turn to djed and worm its way back into his body, restoring his nails to their natural size and shape as they went, as he remembered. But his ring finger... the pain did not go away. It throbbed and stung, and he could feel that hot stickiness drip down his hand.

Konrad opened his eyes. The fingernail was broken across the middle. Lucky him: it could have been torn off by the root, as he'd feared. Instead half of it was hanging, loose, and as he gripped it he cursed in a manner that would have made a longshoreman blanch-

-and ripped it free from his hand. There was a muted crunch and he tossed it away into the grass, still cursing, still bleeding. He hunted around in his coat with his good hand, for a cloth, some scrap, anything, and wrapped his finger with it.

Need to find Sedon. Use some of that unholy sodding hooch to kill the... whatever it is that makes a wound go bad.

But it was no quick exit. He reclaimed his kukri. His shirt. His coat. His hat, of course, squared back on his head, all with one hand gripped tight, finger bound. He flexed it, and he hissed.

Too ambitious. Remember this.

"Too sodding right."

Konrad turned and left the mauled, brutalized post to weather in the dying light of the day.

Don't Make Me Repeat Myself.

[Jasmine Stormblood]

Let me know if I missed anything

 

Konrad Venger

XP

• Weapon-Kukri: 3 XP
• Weapon-Throwing Knife: 2 XP
• Morphing: 3 XP
• Meditation: 3 XP
• Endurance: 5 XP
• Socialization: 5 XP

Lores

• Meditation: clear the mind of everything
• Morphing: clearly picture the model
• Morphing: easier not to change thumb
• Endurance: claws hurt against wood
• Endurance: getting greedy causes injury
• Kukri: used better for parrying
• Morphing: claws do not parry well
• Endurance: lucky the whole nail didn't come off
• Throwing Knife: do not release till the arm is straight
• Throwing Knife: practice, practice, practice
• Endurance: a few scratches for a lot of work

Miscellaneous

• Nail will take 4 weeks to heal with proper medical treatment/8 weeks to heal without proper medical treatment