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This lazy agricultural settlement rests on the swampy shores of the Middle Suvan at the delta of The Kenash River. The River's slow moving bayou waters have bred a different sort of people - rugged, cultured, and somewhat violent. Sprawling plantations of tobacco and cotton grow on the outskirts of the swamp in the rich Cyphrus soils, while the city itself curls around the bayou and spawns decadence and sins of all sorts. Life is slower in Kenash, but the lack of pace is made up for in the excesses of food and flesh in a city where drinking, debauchery, gambling, slavery, and overbearing plantation families dominate the landscape.
Rachel Sorhond didn't frighten easily, and the man in front of her desk was not about to change that. She'd seen most of what the world had to offer in her career as Magistrate Secretary, from scaled Dhani to vast Akalaks to even a lumbering Jamoura on occasion. Hard men from all corners flooded to or through Kenash; more than one woman, too, in fact. They saw a pretty girl with blonde hair and assumed they could work their charm, their menace... their will, basically on her.
Rachel dealt with them all the same. Professionally.
But even she paused between her words when she looked up and saw the face of the man that had walked in. At first she thought he was there to complain about a granidile attack, but... no, those scars were decades old. Sunken into his jaw and cheek, no longer livid and alive. Live gouges in rock, blending in with the landscape. One corner of his mouth was permanently tugged to the side a touch, making it look like he was always sneering slightly at the world.
"Konrad Venger," the man said in a Sunberth accent, somewhere between a drawn and a growl. He touched the brim of his hat. "Lookin' t'speak to the Magde-ee-strait."
"Do you have an appointment, Mister Venger?"
"'fraid not."
"Then I'm afraid you will have to wait."
Konrad leaned forward and Rachel sighed a little like she was dealing with an unruly child. He studied her, waiting her out... until she peered around him with a single, stiff movement, looked... and then came back into focus.
"We have other visitors, sir. If you're not going to apply for Freeborn status or wait for Magistrate Radacke to have some free time, please come back another day."
The gargoyle smiled. Or was that his scar tissue twitching? She couldn't tell, but in any event, the man in the black jacket leaned back and got out of her face. He touched the brim of his hat again and said, "I'll wait."
Not the inflection of a question; the tone of an order that demanded obedience. Konrad wasn't going to go all weak over his property, gorgeous as she was. Three Eyes was lounging outside, probably leering at any pretty gash that sauntered by, and rubbing his sore arse from his new horse. They'd both got one, skinny nags from a horse dealer just across from the Traveler's Complex, which was no great surprise. As far as Konrad could tell, the West Bank was about all things "traveler", and that included the hooved variety.
"Oh," he turned back around and pressed a hand to the table, very close to a nice, neat stack of forms. "You'll probably be gettin' contracts an' papers an' such fer new slaves. Let yer boss that that I was on that caravan. Just another Sunberth boy, like him, who heard he was the man t'deal with around these parts."
He smiled again. Sort of.
"Good deal for us both, I'd wager."
"I will relay the message."
Rachel watched him walk over to one of the benches in the office and begin his waiting. She rang a bell when they were seated and a well-dressed house slave appeared mere ticks later. She wrote a short message, folded it and handed it to the man.
"For the Magistrate. When he has the time."
Konrad watched the man disappear and stretched out his legs across the shining floor. Might as well be comfy while he waited. After all, his arse was killing him, too.
Ten gold for a riding saddle, and all. Lot of bloody good it does me...
It was more than a bell before anything happened. It seemed longer to Konrad.
He watched men and women of a dozen races walk in out of Syna, some proud and entitled, others unsure, their feet slapping out a hurried beat on the marble floor. None of them managed to make the icy blonde at the desk so much as raise her voice, though. Konrad liked that. He wasn't a man who liked or respected much, but courage... as long as it didn't cost him anything... had to be on that very, very short list.
After a while, though, people watching was no longer an adequate distraction. Even with the weather at it's most forgiving, Konrad can feel the arms of his jacket, the leather of his breeches, constrict and pinch at him as he waits. He hasn't got a problem with doing nothing; he's spent half of his life lounging in grog shops and whore houses and filthy rooms, mug of booze or a smoldering wrap of narcotics in his hands... but the other half? He was making it to he could afford to do those things.
And this is neither one of those. Just a waste of petching time.
He rubbed a hand over his craggy face and exhaled a noisy breath through his fingers. The gold-haired, stone-faced woman flicked a glance to him and then went back to her scribbling, as indifferent to his discomfort as she was his presence. Konrad smacked his lips, tried to swallow... and dust seemed to go down with it. He wanted a drink. He wanted three drinks.
"Been waiting long, eh?"
A man a few years younger than him and a good deal shorter sat on the other side of the bench. Black shirt, black breeches... a mirror of Konrad, apart from his flawless alabaster face. Grey eyes like Fall mist flickered over him in half a greeting; the rest of it was a slight jut of him chin, ending with a brusque nod at Rachel.
"Always busy here. Might be here for a while."
"I know you, mate?"
"No," the stranger said, word coming out on the back of a shuddering laugh, as if the very idea of them being associated was hilarious. He smoothed out his black shirt and flipped his jaw-length hair to the side, parting the curtain falling over his face. "I don't think so, anyway. Have we met?"
Konrad clenched his jaw and decided having some toff play games with him wasn't how he wanted to spend his afternoon. He grabbed his hat and started to rise-
"Sit down, Mister Venger," the man said, and Konrad had to look around to make sure it was the same one. That bouncy, careless tone had vanished, replaced by one of steel and stone, more befit of Sunberth than Kenash. "We're not done yet."
Konrad believed him. Mainly because he knew his name, and looked rich enough to be able to afford his time. So he did, and the younger man waited a couple of moment, eyes on the entrance and the trickle of new arrivals, not on Konrad.
"I am an agent of the Radacke Dynasty. I assume you know the name?"
"S'why I'm here."
Another laugh, this time a snort, tinged with just a hint of bitterness. It was old, though. Not truly regretful or spiteful, just accepting of how things were.
"No great surprise. Then again, that often works in his favor. Suffice to say, myhis most lucrative concerns are those best done in darkness. Have you heard of the Midnight Market?"
Konrad nodded, remembering the sellswords' eager chattering on the trail to Kenash, jabbering about how a man could find pleasures and powders that could make him feel like Cheva herself had her hand around his pintle. But put a foot wrong, and Dira was behind every cart and curtain, too.
The Agent turned to him. Just long enough for the two to lock eyes. They'd changed, too. Grey mist became granite, impenetrable and bloodless.
"The Radacke are the Midnight Market."
"Pretty mouthy for a marketplace."
Another chuckle. A small and rolling one, pattering out from perfect lips and up into the ceiling as the man tipped his head back.
"Very good. I'll remember that. My point being, Venger, is that while his older brother operates under the bright glare of the public, he does not have that limitation. So if a man such as you - and believe me, you are hardly the first man this season seeking an audience, or patronage - come looking for him for the reasons I imagine you are, he talks to me."
"And why'm I here, mate?" Konrad tried not to allow any edge into his voice. There was a sparkle in the Agent's eyes, but it was gone in a moment. "Since you seem to know."
"Of course I do. You're a man in need of a contract. A purse. But unlike most, you've come right to the source of power in this city, and you're a Sunberth Boy to boot. That means something to us." The man leaned forward a fraction and winked. "Bastards have to stick together, do they not?"
Konrad returned the smirk with one of his own, ruined side of his face twitching slightly as his lips tried to push through battered scar tissue.
"Somethin' like that."
"Yes, I imagine so. But like I say, direct association with a sellsword would be... a little much for the Magistrate. Especially with the duties he might have to accomplish."
"An' what might those be?"
The Agent's eyes swiveled to him again and he got up with a slap of his knees, all the sprightly spring. He was already walking as Konrad lurched upright, hat on his head.
"That's best discussed away from these hallowed walls," he said with a mocking smile, jerking his head in the direction he walked. The back door. "This way."
With no better option presenting itself, Konrad followed.
Last edited by Konrad Venger on April 5th, 2016, 12:12 am, edited 2 times in total.
The Agent shrugged as they took a leisurely walk away from The Magistrate's Office, flipping his straight black hair again to make sure all of his pale face could bask in Syna. Around them the street life of Kenash walked and jabbered and brayed around them. Animals hauling wagons and carriages, slaves clanking along in lines or off on errands, brands always obvious to any casual onlooker. Konrad saw more than one set of eyes turn their way, take in the Agent... and then him... or sometimes the reverse.
Regardless, the unspoken question was always the same.
What the hell is he doing with him?
"I does, when I need to. Right now, we're just two people talking and taking a stroll. Nothing so sinister about that, is there?"
Konrad didn't ask the obvious question, for the same reason that the Agent apparently had no qualms about taking a jaunt through the streets with someone looking like Konrad. A man who looked like bad news and sudden death no matter what he wore or how he tried to hide it... if he ever tried to hide it.
Maybe that's the point, he wondered as they turned another corner. He wants you to be seen with him. Have the association known... but nothing too telling.
"Not like Sunberth, is it?"
Konrad snorted softly. The Agent was looking at the street life unfolding all around them, not pondering on the nature of Konrad's place in the order of things... but the answer was still the same. Almost down to the letter.
"Yeah. Lot more... I dunno. Back 'ome, people want the streets t'know it was you behind a body or two. None a' this..."
"Deception?"
That got a bark out of Konrad, a flash of white flecked with brown and yellow. He gestured around them, at the looks and the whispers he knew would ripple out from the street and shudder through ears around the city.
"What deception?"
"Now you're getting it, Mister Venger. Part of it, anyway..."
They were further down the street when he spoke again, and for all his talk of transparency, Konrad noticed the traffic was a lot thinner. They weren't constantly bumping shoulders with passing folk, or sidestepping out the path of carts and wagons.
"The Radacke have associates who deal with problems. Usually some mizas in the right palms, or a few words in the appropriate ear, maybe even just a good right hook or a missing hand..." The Agent shrugged like the last one was no different from the rest. Konrad knew it wasn't; he knew the type. He was the type. "These solve the problem. But sometimes it needs to be permanent, and most often, quiet. The kind of problems I'm sure you were hired plenty of times to solve back home. That's the normal run of things, but this season, with Mica in The Big Chair-"
"-the family has a lot more problems t'deal with. So they might need people to help deal with the... extras?"
The Agent nodded again, and Konrad kept the smile glued to his face. They hadn't mentioned money or names yet, and that made him a little antsy. But he was fast finding that things in Kenash weren't as frantic as they were back home. No less urgent, true, but the way of things...
Must be the heat. Makes them take things slower.
"Want a drink?"
Konrad blinked and the Agent was already seating himself at a table. They were outside a cafe, a modest little place, brightly colored and bustling inside with figures crowding the windows and a steady buzz of drinking, laughing, talking humanity. The man had barely settled his arse properly before a pale slave with red hair scampered up and took his order, some drink Konrad didn't recognize.
"And you?"
"Ale."
"Yes, what kind?"
"The black stuff."
The Agent turned with a roll of his eyes to explain to their wench what this Sunberth savage meant by that, but she surprised them both by jabbing her charcoal stick at Konrad and-
"Rufgar's Peculiar?"
Konrad stared for longer than he knew was comfortable for the girl. Then he blinked. And kept staring.
"Y... Yeah. That'd be grand."
"Not a problem, sers."
She hustled back inside and Konrad was left staring at the swinging doors until the Agent's low chuckle bought him back to reality. He gestured to the chair on the other side of the table and Konrad took the hint.
"Kenash, my friend," the man said with a smile that charmed women and terrified men in equal measure. "All you can wish to find is within her."
"Aye... m'beginnin' to see that."
The girl returned. The glasses were produced, and Konrad's eyes widened as one was black as night in a mine and topped with a white froth, solid as a slab. He let it settle and took a sip...
Sighed.
"Aye... right Peculiar, is that."
It was only after the second gulp he realized he'd forgotten Three Eyes.
Last edited by Konrad Venger on April 5th, 2016, 12:14 am, edited 2 times in total.
"Yeah, well, don't worry 'bout him. Didn't catch yer name, by the way."
The Agent cocked an eyebrow as he watched Konrad took another long, grateful guzzle of the kind of ale that could easily clean spoons. He pondered his own class of wine before settling on one that drew a smile and wouldn't attract much attention from such a blunt instrument.
"Janus. That will do for today. No worries for your fellow sellsword?"
Konrad chuckled briefly, so low and rasping it might have been a cough instead. "Never thoughta' meself as a 'sellsword'. Fancy word, where I'm from."
Now Janus chuckled, and for all the world they might really have been two comrades enjoying a cold drink on a hot day, taking in the shade and the sights. Konrad listened as the man spoke, waxing poetical as he assumed these Dynasty types liked to do.
"A killer stays in one town, he's an assassin. A killer wanders from town to town, he's a sellsword." The Dynast chuckled darkly and into the street, Syna cooking the wet stream before it even landed. "Give a killer some armor, have him take some vows... and they call him a Knight, instead."
"What do they call him here?"
Janus flicked a glance his way and sipped his wine. "An asset. Useful and reliable. Until proven otherwise."
Konrad didn't dispute, or argue, or even take offence. Such was the way of things in his world, in Janus' world. You were useful until you weren't, and that could change on the daily. Some deal gone wrong, some attractive new offer... even the chance to hide a bigger crime by giving up a smaller face, all could lead to your head in a dripping bag and you may not even know why.
You knew that, he reminded himself, another gulp of Rufgar's almost making him feel like he was back at Erik's pub on The Bay, sitting on the roof and watching the black sea. You've known it since you stabbed that bastard in the back and saved a bigger bastard in that bar.
This is your world. And there's no such thing as halfway crooked.
"So how'd this work?"
"You'd be contacted," Janus said after a few ticks; long enough for Konrad to know he'd been awaiting the question. "Through whatever means is most applicable. There are many, believe me. A note under your door, a child pressing a letter into your hand, an unexpected visitor-"
"That last one might come to a bad end, y'know?"
"Heh, duly noted... or mayhap you can come down to the Market some night and ask at Oleg's stall for 'something fresh and pretty'. He'll know what it means, what you're asking... and for whom."
Konrad nodded slowly, digesting the information, burning the name into his mind. A canny, cagey man, was this "Janus". Always a buffer between him and the bloody blade in the corpse. Something that he could shrug his shoulders at and claim ignorance, and not just with that mocking, ludicrous edge that men like him did in Sunberth, but with a real shot at being believed.
It's harder, he thought with a mental huff, but it works for them. And it plays the long game.
"An' how much're we talkin'?"
Janus named a figure. One Konrad would earn daily, and be paid at the end of the season. Konrad scratched under his chin and made a show of mulling this over, both of them knowing damn well that he wouldn't get a better offer elsewhere. So he shrugged and nodded.
He didn't extend a hand. Neither did Janus. Not merely for the sake of appearances - drinking together? one thing. apparently sealing a deal? something else entirely... - but a pragmatic, honest assessment of their... well, dishonesty. There was enough respect among naturally unfaithful men that they wouldn't insult each other by shaking hands and making vows like petching Sylirans.
You're in it all the way, and until you're dead, Konrad remembered, draining the dregs of his mug. Petching Taz was right about that, gods rot him.
"Stay a little longer," Janus said, jovial tone Konrad first heard returning, patting his shoulder and dropping a couple of coins onto the table. "Have another mug. Can't think of any other place that sells 'the black stuff', as you call it."
"She can stick it in a skin an' I can take it-"
"Wait." Janus ordered. There was a definite difference now. Konrad studied his face and found a plan hidden in it, a reason for Konrad to be there as yet unrevealed. More than just regard for an employee and casual friendliness. "One more mug. Then you can go."
He doesn't want to be seen leaving with you. He wants you sozzled. He's making a point, that he's the boss, he's in charge.
All possibilities rattled through the sellsword's mind, but he voiced none of them. Instead he settled back into his seat and just did as he was told. Janus smiled, nodded politely and then he was gone, striding away like the dirt under his feet and the buildings at his sides were his by birth and right. For all Konrad knew, they were.
"Ser? Another?"
He blinked and the redhead was back. He actually favored her with a half-smile, appreciative of that fine brew from back home. She almost smiled back, amazingly enough, but not quite. Not at that face. Konrad's smile faltered a fraction when he saw there was a napkin under his glass. There hadn't been one for the first mug, and when she bent down to take the empty and replace it-
-he caught the snake-tongue fast dip of her eyes, landing smack on the napkin as she placed it next to the mug, then back up... and she was gone.
This is how it'll be, then. Nothing ever simple.
He took the napkin and as he grasped it, felt something else inside it. Flat as well, but harder... parchment, as it turned out. A folded piece with a little wax seal on it. Konrad peered closer and tried to make out something, anything... but there was no inscription nor carvings. Just a flat, round imprint where the wax had been pressed and the paper sealed. Konrad took a sip before he opened it.
KILL THE REDHEAD
Konrad read the three words four times before he decided that Janus wasn't kidding. He knew this place. He'd chosen it. Not just for the location, or the tables, or the ale, but because he had a problem that needed solving and hey, wasn't he hiring on a new problem-solver?
It's a test, he thought with a sigh, laying down the paper face-down and rifling through his jacket. We've spoken the words, agreed on a price, now he's making sure I'm worth the effort.
Konrad packed his pipe full of Swamp Weed and sighed into the fuggy, muggy air beyond the patio of the cafe. When the girl returned, he got a light from her and that time... that time, she reached his eyes and did smile back. Because he was a quiet enough sort, for a scarred men covered in black and naked violence.
"Anything else, ser?"
"Nah," Konrad said as he held the note over the taper she held, writing facing away from her, letting the flame first kiss and nuzzle the edge before devouring it completely. "Jus' some time for a brew an'a smoke."
"Not a problem, ser. Anything you need-"
Konrad winked. "I'll know where t'find ya."
Last edited by Konrad Venger on April 5th, 2016, 12:17 am, edited 2 times in total.
It was another half-bell and another mug before the man in black finally left. Shannon seemed to exhale for the first time since he'd arrived with Merdock when she peeked out the window and found the table deserted, save for a couple of coins and an empty mug.
They don't know, she reassured herself, forcing her hands not to shake and just go through the motions as she cleared the table. Just another hired hand for the Radackes, brought to a place he knew served Sunberth ale. Nothing more.
"Girl?" At once he head whipped around, looking over the sparse tables of customers at Mistress Erin's glaring face. The woman pointed to the kitchen. "Empty the rubbish out back when you've done here, it's starting to overflow."
"Yes, Mistress."
"I've told you before about that, haven't I?"
"Yes, Mistress. Sorry, Mistress."
"Then listen, will you? Plenty more livestock for me to choose from if you can't follow the simplest of orders."
Livestock. A Dynasty word. Erin had not so much as a drop of "noble" blood in her but the woman had airs, aspirations... pretensions, more accurately. She'd borrowed money from the Radacke to set up this place, exchanged words with them now and then when collection time was due, cast a smile their way, and she assumed that she had risen up. A Freeborn, like her, chatting with Dynasts. Shannon always knew which days those were: the woman was in a better mood, and expressed it by being a bigger heap of shyke than usual.
Yes. No. Sorry. Of course. Mistress, Mistress, Mistress. Know your lines so well you actually believe them. Be unseen, unheard. That is your power. For now.
Shannon repeated her survival mantra as she manhandled the heavy wooden bin outside, across the bar and out the backdoor. It had served her well the last three years, since she'd been sold off at the Hall like, well, livestock. Erin hadn't needed to break her, like she'd seen so many others broken. Shannon had a brain; knew to stay quiet and obey orders.
Lasher Radacke noticed that. Approached her one day, maybe a year ago. Took her to one side and pressed a gold coin into her hand.
"Just tell me what you hear, about the Sitai, the Draer, even my own family," he'd said, words smooth and convincing as the cold metal in her hand. "Any rumors, drunken talk from your customers, let me know. You'll be paid for your service. And maybe one day..."
Hope. He sold her that just like she'd sold her silent, secret service to him. So she'd been a good and smart little spy, reporting any scrap she heard, even delivering messages as she was told. Sometimes parchment, sometimes bundles she didn't dare examine.
That morning was no different: a barefoot slave boy had run up with a message, sealed with that blank wax tablet that told her with its very blankness that it was from him. Whoever he showed up with, that was whom the message was for. She didn't read it, didn't look at it, just did her job and played her role like she'd done dozens of times before.
But the seasons went by and that day, the promised day, never arrived.
Shannon had vowed she would not be a slave forever. Vowed it the morning she'd first been shackled. So now she dragged the trash outside with hands raw and callused like a brawny dockworker's, but she still hoped. Her hope gave her courage to... explore other avenues.
"He doesn't know," she whispered to herself as she hefted the bin into the small courtyard behind Erin's, row of heavier boxes already swarming with feasting flies. "Not at all. You're safe. You're-"
Clank... clank...
She turned at the metal slapping and saw the gate to the alley was swinging open. Flapping in the breeze like the wing of some iron bird. She frowned. She could have sworn she'd closed that when she took delivery this morning. But the latch was open and she didn't want Mistress Erin to have another thing to whine about, so she walked over and.
Clank... click.
The harsh, grating metal sounds of the door closing and the latch dropping back into place muffled the footsteps behind her. But she knew someone was there, in that last moment. The light behind her, cast by Syna, was somehow diminished. New smells more than rotten vegetables and stale ale assaulted her. Sweat. Smoke.
Rufgar's Peculiar.
Shannon started to turn and part of her knew who it was before the knife punched into the side of her throat. Instantly she tried to scream but there was no words, only blood, filling her mouth then spilling, dribbling down her pointed chin as her eyes popped.
"Shhhhhh..."
The man in black had been waiting for her. Those same eyes that winked at her now stared with detached interest. Those same lips that smiled in a manner almost pleasing, even with the scars, made a little circled as he shushed her dying scream. She felt the knife twist in her throat and the pain blasted through her like she was just made of it, every nerve exploding in horror, in agony, in sickening realization.
Konrad had been listening, too. Long enough to hear the name "Shannon" and attach it to the slave. He found the back gate and used the dagger in his boot to slide between the wall and the metal, lift up the latch, slide inside... and wait.
Close to the back door. Nothing back there, nothing worth looking at as a person left. The trash boxes were the only real thing of interest, and Konrad knew from experience that people didn't often check every inch of a new space when they walked into it. So he'd waited, eyes closed and listening... until he heard that old battleaxe's shrill order... the slave girl mumbling in response.
Scraping. Screeching. Strong girl, to be moving that big bin all by herself. He'd watched as the door opened and shrunk a little closer to the wall. The bin in her hands shielded him from her gaze as she waddle-walked to the trash boxes, then saw the gate... walked over...
No time like the present.
It was his oldest blade, but the one he used least, perhaps. Only in desperate moments, when his kopis or kukri weren't to hand. But it was the best for what he had planned, and he flipped it over lightly in his hand as he approached her.
Soft footfalls across softer mud. Hiding his sound. Until he was over her and-
-the double-edged dagger may have been his least favorite, but that didn't he ignored sharpening it every day, just like all the others. It punched through flesh like butter, almost to the hilt, and Konrad twisted and ripped it free.
Old movements. Familiar. Practiced. Just a different face, a different reason.
As she sunk down with her neck gaping, gasping bloody bubbles and the ghost of a scream, Konrad didn't think on the Why. That, he supposed, was the other half of the test. Not just that he could, but that he would, without cause or explanation. He mused on whether or not the test had failed before; that other men couldn't stomach the idea of staring down at this woman, this girl, lying on her back and staring up at him with those fawn eyes, ruined and doomed by their hands.
Konrad blinked, bent down... and cleaned his blade on the hem of her brown dress. Then it went back into his boot... and he stepped over her like a bag of the trash she'd been so busy getting rid of.
Click... eeeeeek.
The gate opened again and Konrad flicked a glance left to right as he made his exit. He pulled it closed until he felt the latch creep up the notch it usually rested in and finally close. Through the gap between gate and wall, he could see her lying there. Still as stone, life bleeding out in a scarlet halo around her. Spreading across the mud, mingling with it.
Okay, then.
He started walking back to the Magistrate's Office, a brand still due on his flesh and Three Eyes to bring up to speed. He didn't worry about reporting his success. He wouldn't need to. Like the man had said, Kenash was a city full of rumors and gossip. Eventually, probably within a few bells, Lasher would know his new asset was worth the mizas he was paying.
Konrad smacked his lips and the bitter aftertaste of Peculiar was still sharp on them. Would be for long after.
Enjoy your rewards and continue the good work! If you have any comments or concerns, please PM me, and don't forget to update you request in the Grade Thread!
Konrad :
Skills
Socialization - 4 XP Observation - 5 XP Dagger - 1 XP Stealth - 1 XP
Lores
Kenash: Has all you could want Kenash: A city of rumours and gossip Radacke Dynasty: Are involved in the Night Market Mica Radacke: Magistrate of Kenash Janus: Canny and cagey Janus: And agent of Radacke Shannon: Janus' first job Konrad: Radacke's new problem solver
Other n/a
Comments Ouch, this is a different Kon than the one I'm used to! I liked it though, a good, dramatic ending to the thread! I didn't see to much to give, but found what I could. If you disagree, or think I've missed something, please send me a PM
