Open Crossroads

[Konrad Venger]

11th Bell - 35th Day of Winter, 516AV - Topaz Quarter, Endrykas

If you wanted to eat in Endrykas, you worked for it, or you went out and found it for yourself. Konrad had learned that very quickly, and was surprised that he'd taken to the latter with equal speed.

He'd placed the traps the night before, as best his meager skills could allow. It was a bell of pacing, circling, finding scratches in the dirt and claw prints in the mud, broken stems and droppings. That was what told him roughly where to place them. He'd had to go beyond where the city was sprawled out against the steppe, for even desperate and starving the animals of the Sea of Grass were not demented enough to venture to close to humans in equal straits.

Konrad had accepted a... less than impressive ratio for success. He was a novice, after all. Six traps he'd set down, snares for rabbits, squirrels, fowl, even mice and rats. Precisely one of those had borne fruit. A skinny little rabbit that was about as long as his forearm, and half as thick.

But food was food, and with the world sparse and shriveling under Syna's unrelenting glare, he wasn't about to be picky.

The Pridesun's cook was whistling away over his precious cooking pot as Konrad worked silently outside his tent. More of a cauldron, really. Big and brass and ever-bubbling, accepting all morsels to make a stew that fed the pavilion. Meat, nuts, oats, vegetables, anything was tossed inside. Konrad glanced up now and then as the man worked, reached over his belly to sprinkle some hint of whatever inside.

Never trust a skinny cook. His mother used to say that. Even with the Drykas, apparently, that rang true.

He looked down at the limp, glassy-eyed rabbit and got to work. This, at least, was simpler than a fowl. He gathered up the fur on the rabbits back, fingers kneading and grasping more and more, until he felt its belly with his other hand and it was so tight. He took a hunting knife and cut into it under the chin and then ripped down-

-fur splitting open easily under the tension, parting like a coat pulling from the sides, exposing yellow fat and red muscle.

He'd be getting filthy no matter what he did, but bloody hands were never something he shirked from. His face was set and stony as he pulled the fur from the fatty muscle under it, inch by inch, peeling it away until he came to the feet.

CRUNCH

He placed each leg on the flat stone in front of him and pressed down hard with the knife, chopping off each foot with a muted crackling of bone each time. Then he came to the head and had to put some serious weight behind it, bracing the blade with two hands as he-

CRUNCH

-took its head off at the neck. It flopped off into the grass and Konrad looked at it for a tick. Still staring. He sniffed and made a note to dump it somewhere. Then he turned the red, limbless, headless carcass over and nodded in satisfaction to himself.

"I said you would get better," the cook said, his Common improving after a season surrounded by the wahlak outcasts Jonas had taken in. "Good. Good. But still need to get guts, hmm?"

Damnit. He knew there was something. Konrad ground his teeth but his his frustration under his hat, taking up the knife again. The cook watched for a moment as the knife went in, sawing up the belly of the rabbit.

The Drykas smiled. Rabbit stew. A fine way to start a day.

[Prophet]

Jonas had been discussing some things with his family and closest advisors when the heat inside the tent just got to be too much. Even though he had spent many years oin the grasslands of Cyphrus, Jonas was never a fan of the sickening heat. It left the body feeling like it was wasting away because food didn’t sound good and water didn’t provide energy so the inevitable bout of the lazies was sure to follow. The ankal was not a slave driver but he did strike a hard bargain with those whom he sheltered. The man needed a break and explained as much to his council then dismissed himself.

Jonas stepped out of the tent and began to walk amongst the many pavilions, tents and makeshift shelters that composed his group. Some of those who followed him had little more than the clothes on their backs while many were well-equipped. There were old people, young folk, the strong and the sickly, the wise and the naïve. Jonas loved them all and embraced them as his own. Most of the collection had been born through wandering as the weak attach themselves to the strong for survival. Sometimes, this was a matter of mercy but then there were times when it was a matter of fortune. Jonas had a task and needed the aid of some of his more skilled associates.

The smell of soup caused the ankal to turn his head and the site made him smile. Jonas lifted his eyes up to the heavens and he thanked the Dual God for his gift. The Drykas now moved with a purpose as he had a feeling that his task was blessed by the One God. The cook saw him coming and signed a greeting in Pavi then made a motion towards Konrad before speaking in Common. “He gets better!” Jonas looked at the rabbit and smiled then opened his arms and gave Konrad a heavy slap on the shoulder. The ankal was not fluent in Common but he was close though his words bore a heavy accent.

“Let Sedon finish cleaning the rabbit, Konrad. Walk with me.” Jonas did not wait for an answer but simply kept moving at his languid but steady pace. More accustomed to riding, the stride the large man took was one that could easily be spotted as uncomfortable. There was an underlying reason for it but no one ever asked and Jonas would never tell. The ankal led his man away from the rest of the camp and when they had made it beyond earshot, he stopped and turned to face the horizon. Half-baked grasses blew in the heavy breeze, stalks cracking and waves of heat distorted the land’s rugged beauty. When Konrad would come to stop beside the man, Jonas would talk in a low voice with a serious tone.

“You’ve grown a bit under our wing, Konrad but you were always strong, weren’t you?” The man chuckled to himself. “I never asked you to tell me about yourself but I know a worn blade when I see one.” Jonas snatched his hand out like a whip and clenched a fist. After a tick or two, he dropped a large fly to the ground. “I also noticed you have a knack for the red element and that, my good man, is something I have a need for.” The wise old eyes turned to face the man of scars and there was a twinkle deep down inside the pupils.

It was akin to a moonbeam bouncing off of a razor just before it slits a throat.

[Konrad Venger]

He almost flinched when he heard his real name. Just hearing the two syllables was enough for his mind to fashion nets and chains and brawny men pinning him down, dragging him back to Kenash for the bounty he was worth. For most of a season he'd been going by the name of his cousin, long dead and a far better man than he could ever be. That had changed after his deal with Jonas.

He got his horse, and his time... but returned with a different prey than he'd intended. Not that it mattered to Pridesun, of course: a deal was a deal and Konrad had held up his end. His real name, his real reason for being found in the Sea of Grass, pierced four times by blades and dying next to the corpse of the man who'd been holding them.

Still... doesn't need to sodding shout it.

Irritable as he was, he heeded the man when spoken to by him. He gave Sedon a curt nod and the cook gave one back with a wry smile, wondering idly what the outcast and the ankal would speak of. They wound and wandered through the tens and pavilions, camp fires and clutches of Drykas and wahlak. Eager eyes and grateful smiled blossomed everywhere the ankal walked, but they didn't seem to touch the man. He just nodded or smiled back, signed in Pavi and kept up his pace, Konrad trailing behind him most of the way.

The Sunberth man preferred it that way, if he was honest. Made it easier to see some bitter Drykas emerge from the camp and try to kill Jonas. "Try" being the operative word. Because then Konrad could kill him instead, and his damn debt would be over with.

Jonas didn't start speaking again until they were alone, words floating on the warm breeze, vanishing with it into the hazy horizon. None of it was false, to his mind, but none of it required him to respond. He was careful with this man, this ankal, this prophet, who saved men like a shepherd would lambs and yet had power, had influence. Konrad knew where those things led. One did not gain it by being weak, or stupid.

A worn hand snapped into a fist and there was a muted buzzing that quickly died. Konrad blinked. Well. Clearly not by being slow, either.

Then Jonas spoke again and Konrad turned to hear the words, surprise flitting across his wary, mutilated features. He didn't need fluency in Pavi to understand his meaning: he was fairly certain he'd heard someone use the old "red element" line back in Sunberth. Probably a toff, granted, but still... but still...

Something Konrad could not name but was achingly familiar grew and settled into the surprise he felt. A hundred repetitions of this moment dulled his shock and replaced it with a single word. Nearly that number of times he'd spoken it, to men powerful and loved, or gnarled and hated, but all with coin and intent.

There was another thing. Difficult. More... recent. It was that which caused the tiny hiss of air out his nostrils, a sound that could have been a sinus infection or the ghost of a a bitter, jaded snort. He turned from the ankal and studied the horizon. The breadth of it. Wild wheat and brush and heather. Clouds like mountains migrating across the sky and the smudge of smoke from plain fires over the ridge.

If he tried hard, he could almost smell the ash. The blood. Konrad sighed, and his gaze slid back to that man he saw anew. Powerful and loved. A living example that even weary of the world and stepped in treacheries as he was, even Konrad Venger could be so very wrong about a person.

"Who?"

[Prophet]

There was a whispering wind that seemed to stretch the time between when the drifter spoke and the ankal answered. The waving blades of grass slowed and the distant clouds ground to a halt in their journey from one horizon to the next. Jonas was not only a strong and capable leader but he had a knack for seeing down the Run and that was the main reason why he was still a force upon the grassy plains.

When his son, Tiberius, was trampled, the man nearly lost his mind and he left to avoid an open conflict with the rest of Endrykas. The Pridesun and many from the Topaz clan might have put up a decent fight but the rest of the clans and the Watch would have ultimately won. Jonas was a Drykas and thus not one to make wasteful decisions so he left. The patient man spent the next season rallying support and convincing his doubters of the proper course of action. During that time, an almost constant stream of escaped slaves wandered into his camp and bolstered his numbers. Jonas had a difficult time getting his people to open up to the walahk but he eventually won them over as he always did.

The man before Jonas was a different sort. He had loyalties to himself but he also had a code. The ankal had learned that very early on as Konrad –or Hansel as he like to be called – felt begrudged to pay back any debts including those of honor. Such a man could be easily controlled since the typical mindset was one that placed the honor-bound man’s life and rules above those of everyone else. It seems like a contradiction but Jonas had known the type before. In fact, every time he looked at his reflection in an idle pool of water, he saw such a creature. A smile spilled upon his features for a moment but Jonas removed it before the broad-brimmed hat turned back to ask a simple question; who?

Jonas put his hand on the sturdy kopis arm of his soldier and gave a firm squeeze. His eyes, always nondescript in color, seemed to only reflect what they saw and not the secrets they held. The ankal waited until his partner in conversation met his gaze before he spoke. “Hansel.” The word was uttered with a smile. “Are you sure you understand me?” There was a pause for acknowledgement. “The day the priests came there was a woman who was very loud in her argument. She has a condition that leaves her cold…always cold.” Jonas released the grip and moved about in a languid pace but never strayed far as he continued his narrative. “With the weather being so –strange, it would be ashame if she had an accident while trying to stay warm, wouldn’t it now?"

[Konrad Venger]

Konrad didn't have much patience for speeches, explanation or men stretching out their moment in the spotlight of whatever attention others gave them. Especially when it came to work such as this. The very fact that Jonas was contracting him peeled away a layer of grudging respect that Konrad had developed for him.

There were not many to peel.

He heard a dead man's name and looked into Jonas' eyes when he did. Something was... they were not just changed, they were somehow lesser. The vitality, the faith, the compassion... Konrad searched for them now and saw only the twin pits he himself bore, sunk into his own sockets. Nothing but avarice and ambition, and the latter only because he knew that this "prophet" sought a man like him to do what he did best.

Konrad was no theologian, but he knew enough to know that if a man was truly spoken for by the gods (or God, in this case), he rarely needed assassins to handle his enemies. That was kind of the point of being a god's champion. He also knew that he didn't like the people who employed him treating him like an idiot.

He quirked one eyebrow, on his good side, expression radiating a wry sarcasm. His face - complicated as it was by his scars - seemed to scream "do you think I need this spelled out for me?". Jonas seemed to get the point, and continued talking. Konrad listened, frowning and casting his mind back to that days nearly a season ago. The assembly place. The crowd. Jonas smoothly hijacking an announcement by those three priests, turning it to his own ends. Questions, outcry, angry murmurs and simmering resentment... and him, in the crowd, wary and watchful, doing his part to keep the man alive.

"I wasn't exactly feelin' 'em up while I was watchin' youse, mate," Konrad said, directing his words at the man still walking, studying the ground, the horizon, hands clasped lightly behind his back, sure and calm as his tone of voice. "I need a name. Need t'know where t'find her. As fer the rest..."

Now, that he didn't need spelled out for him. In Sunberth, it wouldn't matter if a man did, depending on what the name was. Konrad felt his lips twitch at one corner when he heard "a shame if" quickly followed by "an accident". Ah, old words. Tired expressions. Every Sunberth gutter rat knew what they meant, but hearing them from such a holy and respected man...

Konrad smiled. Mayhap Jonas would know the reason, or guess it, but he doubted it. Who was Konrad Venger to criticize a man of ambition and cold blood? How many scores of souls had he shoved into Dira's embrace, with a the shrift and consideration of a man swatting a fly? How little had he charged for the blood on his blades? Fifty? Thirty? Ten?

A voice nameless and fragile and so faint whispered something he couldn't make out. It did not sound like him, and he tried but once to hear it. Then it was forgotten.

"Somethin' does 'appen to her," he continued, after giving Jonas time to answer his questions. But with those next words, he strode forwards, until the ankal turned to face him. When he did, Konrad would be close enough for both men to be breathing the same patch of air. "We're even, that clear? You did fer me, an' this does fer you. Life fer life."

Konrad knew that technically wasn't true, since saving a man's life would naturally only be truly repaid by saving your savior in return... but his was a Sunberth morality, warped and narrow as it was. A life for a life. Dira was robbed on the day Jonas found him; Konrad would balance that debt, now. The scarred man waited for an answer, and Jonas would notice a shift in the wahlak's expression.

Something was gone on that horrid face, too. Some part of the expression he'd worn whenever he'd spoken with Jonas. Some reverence, if that was even possible for a man like Konrad. Something that tugged his eyes wider, as if some unclaimed and unfamiliar part of him was being fed by his words.

Konrad didn't wear that look anymore. Not for the man he knew Jonas to be.

[Prophet]

Jonas listened while Konrad spoke. Jonas had learned a good deal of the Common language in his recent dealings with the many walahk. The biggest lesson? There was no set dialect on the plains. It had come to the ankal’s mind that many who ended up on the Sea of Grass had fallen down on their luck; slaves, escaped slaves, renegades, wanderers and the like. He always laughed at this since the Drykas not only chose to live among the tall grass but they thrived in it. The deadly environment had bred a strong and hearty people who had a great deal of pride and knowledge derived from the land.

The other reason why Pridesun listened was because people always revealed more of themselves in their words than they realized. Jonas knew when he found ‘Hansel’ half-dead that the he was too stubborn to die. He knew that the kopis wasn’t used for trimming firewood or hay. Bone and blood have a signature in the way they mark a piece of steel. It’s clean and hollow in the finish –not dull- but the shine disappears. When Konrad made his demands, the Drykas opened his eyes a little wider to give the impression that he was slightly intimidated by the big man in the black hat. When all the words had been said, Jonas folded his arms over his chest while he exhaled a large breath; his face as serious as a glassbeak attack.

“You’ve seemed to figure it all out, haven’t you?” Jonas tilted his head to watch Konrad’s face carefully. “You think it’s that simple?” Jonas laughed and let the ruse fall away, the famous shyke-eating grin coming into full view. “No. No. Your figures are wrong Hansel.” The man stressed the word to remind his partner in conversation that he knew the truth. “Your life is worth far more than one measly nag!” Jonas mad a face that was some kind of sarcastic pout. “Surely, you think better of yourself than that, my friend.” The ankal of the Pridesuns began to pace about in ovals around Konrad. “I’d say your life is worth ten…maybe twenty just like her.”

Jonas came to stand a few feet away from the drifter’s jacket as it blew in the wind. He leveled his gaze –this time without humor. “You don’t know much about the Drykas, do you, boy?” The entire tone of the conversation suddenly became very dark. “The watchmen fly about in a shadowed realm and can see everything that you and I see but they can do it faster than lightning can strike. They have witches who can talk to the grasses and learn what the blades have seen. They even have folk who can have conversations with storms! So how do you intend to just take care of things?” Jonas now regarded Konrad very seriously. “You’ll do this for me because you owe me but it won’t be the last. The truth is…you need me more than I need you in this endeavor.” The ankal leaned forward a bit as he squared with Konrad. “If I let you take your chances, we’ll both be dead. Understand?” To emphasis his point, Jonas signed the question in Pavi.

[Konrad Venger]

Konrad suppressed the urge to sigh. He'd rather preferred it when he assumed that Pridesun was some messiah, or at least eccentric enough to believe he was. His attitude was far removed from the usual scum that Konrad dealt with, and oddly enough, he had enjoyed a break from wallowing through the shit spewed by powerful men who talked too much.

That wasn't the case, apparently. Now there was yet another one, clothed in false righteousness and a mask of piety, not only pushing him to murder and lording his control over him.

The Wardens. Aye, he'd heard plenty about them. Not just the law and the army for Endrykas, but some strange class of mages that watched and monitored the whole city. They were the reason there was no real underworld, Konrad had discovered. When the very ground and air could hold memory of your crimes and inform against you.

Konrad bowed his head a touch and pinched the bridge of his nose. The man was giving him a headache. All his big talk and yet here he was, telling him it was impossible to commit such an act. No matter how he disguised it, the Wardens would know.

"Youse talk too much." He paused, long enough for the shock of insult to settle in Jonas' face. Then he plowed on. "I don't take jobs I'm not gonna survive. Tell me who, tell me how, or use summun else. Summun who dun't care 'bout dyin' fer ya."

He waited for the ankal's words, and hoped Jonas was smart. Hoped he could see the opening Konrad had given him in his words. Murder, killing, survival, employment, all four were one and the same to Konrad, and faint voice aside, he held no qualms about it. But he was not about to throw his life away on an impossible task, not without being told how.

But that wasn't why Jonas was going to die. Not for trying to foist upon him a suicidal mission, not even for the implied threat of his false name.

Konrad was not about to be bound to a man who clearly had no intention of ever letting him go. But he still shuffled from foot to foot, miming awkwardness without words, and answered with the hand signal he'd seen among the Drykas before, which essentially meant "I understand your sign". He wasn't about to walk away and become a vagabond, a vagrant, an outcast yet again. Where would he go, after all? He still needed Jonas, and clearly the man reveled in the power he had over others. Letting him think Konrad was squirming under his boot was the best way to keep him in line. Keep him comfortable. Right until Konrad cut his throat, one quiet night.

You should have just lied to me, old man. Lied to me or agreed my debt was paid. As soon as we're even, you're a dead man.

[Prophet]

Jonas smiled at the man and his words. For quite some time, Konrad –Hansel- had been quiet and complacent. It almost seemed to the ankal that the Drykas way of life had worked some kind of rebirth into the life of the killer. The elder Pridesun had spent some time debating whether or not the old scarred face would ever stand over a corpse again. Thankfully, this conversation revealed to the leader that his eye for “talent” was still as sharp as ever. This was good news.

“Good news, indeed.” Jonas muttered out loud. He startled himself with this and wondered for a moment if any of his other thoughts had been spoken. Obviously not since the two men were still just talking and not fighting. “Hansel, I would never ask you to do something without making sure it was a safe move.” The glittering eyes were looking far away now as the orb of Syna flickered in a strange light above them. It was ridiculously hot once more but the ankal didn’t seem to mind. If anyone ever watched Jonas closely, he could almost see the pieces being moved around on the board inside his head. The Drykas closed his eyes and drew in a deep breath of the warm air. When he exhaled, he turned back around to face his disfigured game piece.

“Fire is of great danger out here in the Sea of Grass.” Jonas made a broad sweep with his arm. “When this happens, it needs to be clear who the target was and why.” The tanned skin of the man wrinkled as he grinned. He knew Hansel understood. He simply couldn’t resist the chance to explain. There was a much larger plan at work and the drifter was just a small part in one corner of that masterpiece. “I have a distraction prepared. I also have a few people working on an escape route for you.” Jonas started tracing invisible lines along the fields. “There are ways to disrupt the Web but it’s dangerous because you never know who is around. I’ll send for you when the time is right.”

The man turned his shoulders to square up with Konrad. The two were very similar in stance and size. “Do your research in the meantime. I know you have no desire to die for this.” Jonas let a wide smirk mount on his face. “Neither do I.” With that, Jonas left his soldier to contemplate what was said before returning to the delicious-smelling stew that was wafting its aroma all over the camp.

NoteFeel free to post once more or not as you see fit. When you elect to undertake the second part of this, let me know and we'll discuss some things. I had fun with this thread!

[Konrad Venger]

Konrad was silent as the Prophet of the Pridesun spoke. He was silent when he waxed lyrical with his vagaries and hints and half-hidden schemes. Fire. That was how he would do it. An escape route. That was what he had planned... or so he'd said. But Konrad didn't reply, didn't goad, didn't mock or question. He was naught but an obelisk in Syna rising to her peak, planted in the steppe as if Endrykas had simply settled around him.

And he was silent when Jonas walked away, leaving him alone.

Endrykas droned and bleated and neighed and shouted and rolled on around him. This was the prize, he understood. Jonas had the ambition to become more than just master of his own pavilion: he wanted the whole moving city. The woman, whoever she was... she was an obstacle to that. His charm nor coin couldn't move her, so what did that leave?

He frowned into the distance, studying it and reliving the last chimes in his head. He hadn't told him whom that woman was. No name, no description. That meant no trust. Which usually Konrad would say was the mark of a smart man dealing with him, but this time just made him scowl even deeper. No time given, no name, the barest of descriptions... this wasn't the way you did things.

You give a name and if there is a time for things to be done, you let it be known. Then you let the man do his work. Not this... scheming.

An escape route. Konrad almost smirked at that one. Escape to where, exactly? As far as he'd been told, they were a score days ride from the nearest civilized place. What would he be expected to do? Ride through the grasslands like it was a morning jaunt, safe from glassbeaks and wolves and storms and Zith, living on air and the blessings of this Dual God? Or mayhap it was an escape from the fire Jonas had planned, not from Endrykas proper? A means to keep him free from the flames after he'd done his bloody business?

Too many questions. Too much unknown.

But what he did know, was that he was not alone in this. A distraction prepared. "A few people", that's what he'd said. So this was not just the business of two men, but the conspiracy of many. Well... that was not too surprising. Ambition drew the like-minded in normal straits, and when religion was in the mix? Konrad snorted. Oh, he was sure there were a solid few acolytes Jonas could rely on, starry-eyed and loyal and willing to butcher their own kin for their messiah.

Did he count himself in their number?

Konrad blinked, and sighed. It was the only question that mattered. Not all the details and particulars; not if he was still "that man", because he always would be, no matter how long his blade remained free of blood; not even if there was coin for wanting. All that mattered was if he could throw in his lot with Jonas and his band, a dozen men, maybe two, against all of Endrykas.

The Sunberth man sighed again, taking off his hat with the gesture. He picked at the brim. Straw and grass and hair and lint. An old ritual. Comforting. Especially when coming to a hard decision.

All your life, you've only had this one rule when it comes to others. One thing you will bend your ambition and greed for. Now you're trapped by it.

"No..."

One word to answer many questions. Whispered into the air, then gone like an unheeded confession. Konrad fixed the hat back on his head and straightened his back, squared his shoulders, faced the horizon with all the quiet defiance he'd faced life in general.

Then he turned and walked away. He had thinking to do, and people to see.

Don't Make Me Repeat Myself.