Brat Management I

[Alric Lysane]

14th Winter 521 AV – Temple of the Unknown If someone had asked Alric if he would be hunting for Brats in his prime years he’d have told them it would’ve been better off to put a knife to his throat. Not because it was too dangerous or dirty as a job, but because he would’ve thought that if he had been doing that as a main occupation he’d have made a royal shyke of his life indeed. As it was, he was doing much better than that, but gold was gold and a single gold per tail was easy miza, not to be turned down. Besides which, as he made his way towards the only place he had reliably seen Brats so far, a few new purchases stashed about his person, he also felt the call of the unknown, of things hidden worth revealing and learning of. “The Temple of the Unknown,” he whispered to himself as he entered, noting that the bodies he had left there last had been removed, though there were stains upon the stone floor in places still, “tunnels beneath, not of the temple necessarily but the same stone…some at least…could go anywhere in the city” he mused to himself. Finding the hole he had crawled out of on his last trip, he crouched over the shallow drop and cocked his head, listening for the tell-tale skittering, or the shrieking sounds that Brats made. He fancied he could hear some, in the distance perhaps, and smiled to himself. The coast was clear to descend, but first he made sure he had everything he needed. Dressed in his usual clothing, broadsword and dagger ready for the journey, backpack empty apart from a bundle of torches that poked out from the top, a flask of oil, waterskins, flint and steel and a good amount of basic foods – bread and meats mostly. He had a rope curled around his torso, left shoulder to right hip, just in case. He nodded to himself, levered himself over the gap, searched for the holds for his toes and then shifted his hands down to find their grips. He went that way, toes then hands, until he jumped down the last foot or so to land in the half-gloom. Crouching, he listened as he slowly drew his broadsword and readied himself just in case. After a few chimes nothing came, his vision growing slightly better in the darkness as his night vision kicked in, and he stood, rolling his shoulders and taking off his pack. From it he pulled one torch, opened the flask of oil and doused the end with it, struck flint and steel until it sparked hot enough for it to catch and the torch as then alight. Night vision was useful, but he remembered the last time he had been there and the way the damned beasts surged from the dark so quickly. He’d rather be lit up a bit and not surprised. Besides, he remembered what his father used to say about caves and underground places – the dark could kill you quicker than a beast could. Misstep and fall into a hole, trigger a pressure plate trap and a dozen or more other gruesome tales he could now remember hearing. Strange how it’s always just snippets, as if cutting out a part of a much longer memory that I still can’t fully recall he missed to himself as he hefted his back, linking it up the same way as the rope was, and with torch in his left hand and broadsword in his right, set off into the darkness for the day’s spelunking. Secret : 7 x Torches - 7cm 50ft Hemp Rope - 1gm 1 x Flask Oil - 1sm 2 x Chalk Stick - 2cm Total - 1gm 1sm 9cm

[Alric Lysane]

He set a slow, purposeful pace, keeping his footfalls soft and upon the balls of his toes so as to reduce the noise. The light of the torch and the smell of the oil burning would attract the Brats, that much he was certain of, but that didn’t mean there weren’t other, more terrible things, down in the tunnels that he wished to avoid. He had brough with him some chalk, kept in a pouch at his belt, so that he could mark the intersections he came across – another titbit of underground exploration that he had picked up through fragmented memory. It was a good thing too because even with his ability to navigate by his head he would still likely get turned around underground, with no sky or stars to help orientate himself. He slowly made his way down the tunnel, coming to a corner which went nowhere but right, leaning around it carefully first, listening and hearing nothing before rounding it and moving on. Within a few chimes he heard the skittering and chittering, sounding like several at once and closer by than before. He stopped, listened and heard it once more, closer still and he settled himself into a stance ready for the inevitable swarm encounter. After a while he could hear the paws, and claws, scratching upon stone, closer and closer until they were upon him. He was ready this time, unlike last time, and the torch went first – brandishing it at them in a sweep that blunted their frenzied charge. The temporary pause was all he needed, jumping forwards and bringing his broadsword down upon one of the Brats, chopping it and pulling the edge back in a half-dragging motion. He remembered how his blade got stuck and had thought about ways to stop that, he had settled upon no direct stabbing and trying to keep the blade moving to limit sticking. It didn’t stick and the Brat’s neck started gushing dark blood. One of the three darted in and tried to bite his ankle but his boots blunted the teeth and he hacked at it the same as the first and it darted back, a leg mutilated. The last Brat ran away into the darkness with a shrill shriek and Alric hacked a few times at the one who’ leg was gone but wasn’t dead before settling and listening for a while…hearing nothing but distant echoes. Nodding to himself he pushed the Brats to the edge of the tunnel so they weren’t in the way if he had to make a quick getaway towards the exit and opted to leave them there. He had brought the rope to tie proof of kills to but he reasoned that the return journey would be better for such things, it would leave him less tired for the forging into the darkness and killing the beasts. He pressed onwards, came to a crossroads and peered around, padding out to listen above the crackling of the torch at each tunnel for noise. Investigating each in turn he found one tunnel louder with the skittering and nodded to himself. Taking out the chalk he scraped large white crosses on both sides of the corner he was about to round to show which way he had gone and which way he had come from. That done, he pressed onwards into the darkness.

[Alric Lysane]

Rounding the corner to his right, eyeing the marks with a sense of paranoia just to make sure they were there, he pressed onwards. He wasn’t equipped for that long a spell in the little network of tunnels he had discovered and didn’t want to get caught down there unexpectedly. Still, he had to start somewhere and this was the only part of the city he knew was both underground and had Brats in it. As the torchlight flickered and he eyed it, guessing it was perhaps almost half finished now, he peered into the gloom and strained his hearing. The noises he had come to associate with Brats were definitely getting louder, and seemed to have more of a depth to them than before. That wasn’t something that he was looking forward to discovering the ‘why’ behind but he had his weapons and what armour he had – and the torch fire – so he felt he could deal with a half dozen, perhaps, at once. A few paces later the light illuminated th hunched form of five Brats, scrabbling around, and in, what turned out to be the corpse of another unlucky denizen of Sunberth. The stench wafted and then slammed into his nostrils and he gagged, supressing the vomit just in time to see the Brats turn their attention from their feast and onto him. He swallowed, tried to close his nostrils as best he could and eyed them carefully, trying to predict which one would come first. It didn’t matter in the end, three came at once and the other two screeched and ran past him in the chaos of the melee. He tried to torch trick once more but it was less effective, though he wasn’t sure why. Still it gave one pause, if not the other two, and as the two close in on his legs his broadsword flicked out, around and down – trying for the attacks Itzel had shown him and genuinely surprised that he got the timing right and hit one, thugh it wasn’t properly aligned and instead of killing them instead deflected them away, stunned. The second he kicked out at and sent it sprawling, turning just with enough time to try again with his broadsword upon the first, this time sinking into flesh and the gurgling yowl that accompanied it. Turning he manage to get his blade up as the second shrieked and jumped at him, impaling itself upon his blade and tearing it from his grip as he staggered backwards…into the third, the one that had hung back from the torch, finally sensing its moment and barrelling into him to send the torch clattering into the wall and from his grip also. He rolled with the damned thing, shoulders hitting the ground hard and tucking himself, knees under the beast at least, to go legs over head and send the Brat flying a few feet away and ending in a hunched, awkward kneeling position. He was unable to get up quick enough, that much was sure, and so he snarled his owned fiancé at the Brat as it jumped at him once more, pulling the dagger from its sheath in his boot and slashing out awkwardly. It cut the Brat slightly, but his timing was off, largely leaving him to punch the hilt of it into the thing’s face. He seized the opportunity of stunning it and shifted forwards upon his knees, stabbing down several times until it stopped moving and he felt the dampness trickle down his fingers. Pushing himself up and making disgusted noises as he wiped the blood off od both his hands and his blades he retrieved them, sheathed them and then picked up the torch, using its light to find the backpack that had been thrown off in the melee. Once he had everything together, he took a few moments to rest against the wall, counting his aches and thankful that he had only bruises and scratches – so far at least. He closed his eyes and leaned the back of his head upon the cold stone for a while, listening and hearing nothing, before kicking the corpses to the side of the tunnel, finding little of interest upon the putrid corpse, and once more pressing onwards. Right into a dead end. “Shyke”

[Alric Lysane]

He looked around at the dead end he had found, though it had clearly not always been so given the fact that it was packed with rubble, dirt and fallen pieces of stone. At some point what was above had come crashing down, no longer supported by the construction beneath, though he had no idea why that part had come down and the rest had not. Eyeing the stone walls and ceiling near the collapsed section didn’t seem to turn up anything unstable to his eyes, though he was no builder if he were honest with himself. Turning to see nothing coming towards hm from behind, and hearing nothing when he paused for a chime or two, he pulled off his backpack and pulled out the other torch, dousing it with oil from the flask and then lighting it. He left the one that was slowly dying resting against the wall some six feet back from the collapse as an advance warming of shadows returning for him – for as long as it lasted at any rate. He hummed to himself and traced his fingers over the stone, enjoying the opportunity to take a slight breather after the couple of scuffles he had already experienced. He wasn’t sure yet if this was what his parents had done alongside their long flight and hiding spell with him, or even before he had arrived, and they had even met. But he could understand the appeal of delving into the depths, seeking things now lost but once known, or possessed. He smiled to himself as he felt the stone, fancying that he could somehow feel the age of the inanimate objects. The things he would ask if it were alive, the questions the shadows of the depths would get thrown at them if they could speak…he sighed. “This is the Sunberth I like,” he whispered into the gloom as the torch lit up the droplets of damp with so many colours of the rainbow, “the quiet, deep and meaningful bits. There must’ve been some things in the past so much better, more wondrous, than now. I mean look at us, we live in wooden hovels and knife each other for gold but this…” he turned to take in the stone, looking back to see more of it lit u by the light of the dying torch further away. To be able to have made this, and it goes even further, perhaps under the whole city…whatever it was sued for, purpose now lost to time…this is mighty he thought to himself as he picked up his backpack and decided a few more moments pause and then to move on. As he made his way back to the crossroads he took out the chalk, using it to override the marking on the corner of the tunnel he had come from, scrubbing a sideways T to show it was a dead end – to him at least. He put it upon the other corner too and then tucked it back into his pouch, pulling out his broadsword to be ready once more. He had retrieved the front paws of the Brats from the dead end that he had killed, sawing them off with his dagger before cleaning it upon their hides, sheathing it and then tying them to the rope he had brought with him as a form of macabre spectacle. It had been the only way he had thought that would work whilst not involving taking heads in massive bags. The Establishment hadn’t been specific upon proof of kill and everyone knew Brats well enough to identify their paws. “Besides I’d rather be ten gold down and mobile enough not to be dead than the other way around” he snorted to himself. He investigated the other two tunnels that branched off of the crossroads, listening and sniffing for the dank and damp, not to mention the droppings. There were sounds from both but one seemed to have a fouler smell and so h took a few more moments to rest his broadsword against the stone wall and chalk up the corner of this one to round in case of flight and then set onwards once more. He felt as if he had a decent amount of energy still, the scuffles hadn’t been too tiring and since he had started training his endurance levels seemed to have improved. As he watched the light of the torch flicker upon the damp walls he had to supress a laugh at himself, and the things he enjoyed doing. “Alric Lysane…underground patrol” he snorted with amusement as he forged onwards, slowly pacing and keeping both the torch and broadsword up in case of sudden attack.

[Alric Lysane]

It wasn’t long before he started to come across the signs of Brat presence that he was learning, through bitter and disgusted experience, were the tell tale signs of their existence. Dung piles were scattered almost everywhere, curiously also towards the side of the path for some reason, and there was the occasional half-eaten corpse of something or other – smaller rats it looked like to Alric but he wasn’t about to take a closer look. The air seemed to grow slightly less oppressive and damp as he progressed, hearing the sounds get louder but seeing nothing. Eventually he came across a wider area, what looked like it could have been a room but as the light from his torch didn’t penetrate that far into the darkness, he wasn’t quite sure how large it was. He felt the air change though, and the corridor he had bene walking down slanted slight outwards before the ‘room’ manifested itself. That, however, wasn’t the thing that was his main concern – tantalisingly interesting as that was. No, his major and immediate concern was that as soon as he stepped a pace into the area the light from his torch illuminated what he thought were the eyes of a dozen Brats. There was a moment where he looked at them, eyes shining back his light at him darkly, and they looked at him – sizing each other up. The moment dragged on, and on….and on. And then Alric promptly sheathed his sword, turned tail and ran, a few seconds later hearing the scratching upon the stone of close pursuit. Shykeshykeshykeshkye was all he thought as he retreated, knowing that his only salvations were either escape or a better, more confined, place to fight. He managed to get to the crossroads, fumbling for another torch from his backpack, lighting the rag with the small amount of oil it had been pre-soaked in and turning as he was about the round the corner, eyes darting to check for the spelunking direction marks he had placed. He saw, just before he threw the torch at the first few and causing them to scatter a bit, that there were nine that had followed him. Drawing his sword once more and throwing the second lit torch down into the face of another Brat he lashed out at the first that came at him, cutting their face and kicking them back with a yowl. The second he got a more sold hit on, sinking into the neck and again kicking it away. The third he simply stamped as it darted for his feet, stamped again and kicked it back. By the end there was a rudimentary wall, albeit crude and not entirely intentionally built – Brat corpses and torch fires giving a stay of execution by swarm. He shouted at them and a couple more, skittish ones and at the back, turned and scampered off, yowling their hatred for a meal lost as they went. That, by the light of the torches and his grim, desperation fuelled mathematics, left four. It was better odds than nine, but he still didn’t feel much better. Stepping back a pace or two now, sword and free hand ready, he managed to put a few feet distance between him and the swarm before they started to jump over their own dead with what he thought were growls but he hadn’t heard them growl before. “Shyke”

[Alric Lysane]

Thankfully they came roughly one at a time, jumping over the corpses instead of the flames of the torches, so he wasn’t overwhelmed immediately. He remembered his last encounter and didn’t want to lose his weapon again and so he switched tactics to kicking out with his feet. He was reasonably good at fighting unarmed and so his kicks were powerful enough to give the first two pause. Not lethal blows but a couple of good side kicks – one to the face of the first and the second to the flank of the second – sent them sideways and towards the wall. The fact that it also numbed his foot with the force of the impact was something he’d deal with later. The third jumped at him and he jumped sideways, letting it hit empty space as he darted forwards to deal with the fourth instead of waiting for it, sword coming down in a chopping motion as Itzel had taught him, edge and knuckles aligned to ring the tip of the blade down, around and into the side if its neck. He kicked it towards to impromptu wall, turned and managed to get his sword up in time to block the jump of another, its legs and jaws snapping at him as the only thing between him and it slowly tilted towards him. He heaved it away, bringing his hand down in a slicing motion to a yowl and a splat as it hit the floor – he wasn’t sure if it was dead but he had not time to wonder as another Brat barrelled into his legs, sending him tumbling and flailing, sword cutting at random, simply trying to keep them away. He hacked and hacked at random, hitting something with some but not sure what, until he managed to right himself, only in time for another Brat to barrel into him and knock his sword from his grasp. Rolling now, trying to hear them instead of seeing them, he kept rolling sideways until he felt safe enough to try pushing himself up. As he tried a Brat cam darting in and he all but threw himself up in the air in desperation, the Brat flying through underneath him, turning and trying to change direction but instead running into the wall with a yelp. When he had landed, he punched and kicked at it until it stopped moving. Then finally able to begin pushing himself up he looked upon the detritus of the battle, eyes darting around for any more threats. He saw nothing and relaxed. Just in time for a pressure t slam into his back and send him forwards and to his knees. Turning he got his arm up in time for its jaws to close over the leather gauntlets he was wearing instead of anything vital. Curling his leg up, pulling the dagger free and slamming it into its side he shoved it away and then stared at the ceiling for a moment, shaking off stars, before heaving himself to his feet and waiting for any other survivors he had missed. Nothing came and so he set about retrieving all of his belongings. The sword and agger were first as they were most important, wiping them clean in the hides of his enemies before sheathing them, followed by his discarded backpack and the front paws of the fallen, attached to the rope like the rest.

[Alric Lysane]

“Sometimes I wonder why I do the things I do,” he muttered to himself as he oriented himself, seeing the torches still on the floor off to his right, and so set off to his left with a determined slogging pace, “and then I realize that it’s because I’m stupid” he sighed to himself. The rest of the trip went in silence, making his way back to the initial confrontation site retrieving their paws to add to the rest – making fifteen in total. It was enough to get some food or another piece of kit he thought he might need, or further exploration provisions perhaps. He was satisfied that the Establishment would pay up the miza and he’d decide what to do with it afterwards. He’d also seen something very interesting, that tugged at his curiosity terribly, and so he knew he’d be back despite his dislike of his decision making at present. The call of whatever might be in the room was strong, though he thought he’d only try for it when he was better prepared and more skilled. Something about it screamed at him, deep down, but he also wasn’t suicidal. He had been lucky, only nine had pursued him but he had seen far more eyes than that. Too many for one person to deal with and live, no matter how good they were. Numbers, after all, did count for something. No, he’d have to find someone to take that journey with at some point. Still, plenty of other tunnel area to explore for more coin…and who knows, might find something more interesting too. That’s why you came, and you know it, bastard he thought to himself, pausing for a moment and chuckling to himself. It was true enough, and if he were going to survive the future that seemed to have been carved out for him then it wouldn’t just be about becoming stronger – whether that meant physically, as a fighter or whatever else. No, he also had to be honest with himself. Having seen the horror of Florentin he knew, deep down in his bones, that the monster would look into his soul, see everything that could be used against him and then spend days delightedly doing just that. No, he had to know himself better, master himself so far that the man would never be able to do that. His conscience was right, even down to the deserved name calling, and so he resolved to not lie to himself about such simple things as he made his way toward the light filtering from the hole he had entered from. “Start small, build from there….and then you’ll be invincible” he said to himself, not sure he liked that idea as it smacked too much of what he thought of his terrible ancestors but it was the best he had in that moment. Tiredly he found the handholds and footholds, heaving himself up the wall, heavier this time with the added weight – small though it may be – and he continued in that fashion, grunting with the effort, until he was near the top. Remembering last time, he paused as long as his fingers allowed, listening and peeking above briefly, before seeing nothing and heaving himself over the top ledge, crawling a foot or so to get his legs over and then pushing himself up to his feet. The trudge to The Establishment didn’t take too long and as expected they paid up after some prompting and Alric walked away 15 gold richer, towards his shack of a home, wondering what he would do with his ‘winnings’.

[Alric Lysane]

Your Grades Alric Lysane Skills Acrobatics – 2 Brawling - 2 Climbing – 2 Hunting - 3 Investigation – 2 Observation – 1 Running - 1 Spelunking – 3 Weapon: Broadsword – 4 Weapon: Dagger - 2 Weapon: Unarmed - 2 Lores Alric: Know Thy Self, Be Invincible Brats: Bolder In Packs Brats: Don’t Like Fire Brats: Fear Shouting Brats: Signs & Sounds Of Presence Death: The Stench Of Spelunking: Darkness Kills Quicker Than Beasts Spelunking: Marking Your Way For Return Journey Spelunking: Night Vision Has Its Uses Temple of the Unknown: Tunnel Network Beneath Items Gained 7 x Torches - 7cm 50ft Hemp Rope - 1gm 1 x Flask Oil - 1sm 2 x Chalk Stick - 2cm +15 gm to be added to Ledger Items Lost 1gm 1sm 9cm – already deducted from your Ledger 2 x Torches lost in thread 1 x Chalk Piece lost in thread