Reason Not The Need (Azmere)

by **Konrad Venger** on March 27th, 2017, 12:04 am

Ticks before he'd been ready to kill the bastard, now they were ready to parlay. Konrad was hardly a stranger to such circumstances. It was just that usually it was the other way around.

But the red storm around them passed; the storm that promised ruin to one and, maybe, life to the other. Konrad watched in stony silence as the Drykas gave orders and worked his will, sometimes with words and flits of his hand, sometimes with just a stare. The sheer weight of his authority. And everything just... flowed, around him.

He'd been born and raised a scrapper, a brawler, a thief and a killer, true, but Konrad still knew soldiers when he saw them. Not just the raw skill and brutal joy of a warrior, but discipline and obedience tempering them, focusing them into a unit, not just a gang. He was reminded for a tick of the Sun's Birth back home, those haughty sods who played at being knights with armor and horses and ranks and a whole district training their minions. The sentiment, he supposed, was similar, but the result...

A new image replaced it. One much more fitting. Konrad felt more like he was watching a pack of wolves, and he was definitely being addressed by the alpha.

"Hey-una?" He managed in halting Pavi, then repeated the word in Common, warming his tongue to it. "Huh. New one on me, mate. But I'l take yer compliment, aye."

And nothing else, he added privately, still watching the steady whirl of movement. Weapons were retrieved, the dog became a gooey mess of enjoyment, tongue lolling, sides heaving with breathy pants. He blinked when the man threw back his head and the sound of a raptor burst out of it, but maintained his ground... and his weapon... even more so when Azmere approached, almost like a man would a cornered animal, hand out and words careful.

Konrad thought it over, or tried to, before a minor stampede crashed through the grass and suddenly, Striders. A whole rank of them. Intuitive as they were, they merely stood and waited, like Azmere's underlings, and Konrad swept a wary glance over the lot. Hunting together. Not a bad proposition. He knew he was out of his depth, hunting a beast born by Caiyha to slaughter and molded by Drykas to do it even better. Having a throng of hard-arsed Drykas would definitely be to his advantage.

He held up his blade, for all to see... and then with a rasp of metal on leather, it vanished into its sheath, and he took the proffered hand. As he took measure of the man, felt the callused palm that spoke of a hard life beaten and tamed, Konrad spoke, looking the man in the eye.

"Split the reward, aye? Me an' youse... an' yer lads..." He jutted a chin at Azmere and then the stone-faced crew beyond him. He didn't even distinguish between the "lads" and the comely lass with them. As far as he'd seen, male or female, Drykas were Drykas. "Yes. We hunt. Reward to all."

It was Sunberth rules, he knew, so the other man had no clue what they were. Terms made during the handshake were terms agreed upon by both, unless they weren't, in which case... well, you still had another hand, didn't you? Konrad kept his flexed and half-curled into a leopard punch, should he need it. A quick jerk with his other hand would off-balance the sod, and he could smash his knuckles into the side of his neck, or his nose, and be off into the grass and running while he was tottering back and-

If you need to, he reminded himself, breathing out slowly and forcing the storm back from his eyes, where he was sure the man would be. This is the smarter play. You're outnumbered and they're horsed. You're one bow and sword against five, at the least.

"So," he said as he lessened his grip, waiting for the man to do the same. "Where'd y'want me?"

by **Azmere** on April 9th, 2017, 3:16 am

Azmere listened to the man’s peculiar dialect. It was an interesting turn from the Common he normally encountered from traders and knights which always seemed to have a sort of air about it. This particular brand of the common tongue made the ankal feel like he was the one who was elevated instead of always getting the impression that someone was talking down at him. The man spoke of a reward which caught the watchman off guard. As they shook hands, Azmere gave his new partner a wrap on the shoulder with as firm of a slap as he could muster without making it look malicious. Then, in good faith, the archer spoke Common with his heavy Pavi accent.

“Reward is for you. Watch no take reward.” He offer the man a smile that only revealed itself on the right side of his face while the left remained stoic, still and scarred. Azmere broke the grip and turned as the stomp of hooves that announced his strider had arrived. Skylla was not patient and in her youth she came directly to her rider without regard for the man next to him. The big body almost shoved Konrad aside if it weren’t for the corrective actions of the Drykas. Azmere put a hand on her nose and the other against her chest which stifled the advance. The mare blew through her nostrils in response then shook out her mane. The rider switched back to Pavi and made a sequence of signs for the animal to process. Rude. Hold. The ankal pointed to the man next to him then made another sign. Respect. The exercise was one that Azmere had been working on for some time since the impetuous creature refused to acknowledge anyone but Azmere and other horses. She’d already gotten into trouble several times for walking into other people.

Horse troubles aside, Azmere adjusted his gear and mounted up into his yvas. He marked his crew by given them each a hand sign before turning his gaze –a stern show of all business- back to the walahk. The Drykas had plenty of skills and gifts among them but there was something that was more important than promptly finishing a task and that was learning more about the players in your arena. The description of this man was known to many in the moving city. Azmere knew of his association with the Pridesuns hence the earlier scrap. The man with the contrasting gaze shifted a bit in his yvas, a side effect of having one’s groin pummeled a few times.
Aiyena moved up next to her Troha and gave a very subtle set of Pavi that Azmere nodded to and then looked skyward as he gauged the weather. The blue and gold gaze fell one more time on the wide-brimmed hat and the man that hung from beneath it. He made the sign for tracker then spoke in Common to support it. “You track? Find trail.” Azmere leaned over in his yvas and pulled his eyelid down to reveal the stars centered in his gaze. “I find cat. We kill.” The man easily righted himself and ran his fingers over the fletchings of the arrows that sat in the quiver attached to his yvas. “You take reward. We take meat, fur.”

It was at this time when Sparrow and Lodai came in and flanked their comrades but at an angle that was perpendicular. It was not so much a show of force as it was habit. The horses always stayed in a certain proximity to each other so the riders grew accustomed to closing ranks. Grey also inserted himself into the formation between Skylla and Atavan whom had both grown accustomed to the canine’s presence. The ankal looked far away as he continued to speak in Konrad’s general direction. Something cold and unwelcomed had passed into his mind but rather than reject the wayward thought, the reluctant leader decided to make use of it. He spoke in Common but continued to sign associated words in hopes to further emphasize his point. “These my family.” After signing the words, he indicated those around him. “Drykas ways leave dead for Sea of Grass to claim.” He turned his intense focus to the man. “Hurt them. I show you meaning.”

There was nothing else to say. Azmere repeated the sign for tracking then rolled his head around until his neck popped. “Find trail. We help you get reward.”

by **Konrad Venger** on April 11th, 2017, 5:58 pm

As threats went, Konrad had heard worse; hells, he'd made worse, and probably within recent memory. But whatever fear or scorn he may have felt at Azmere's choppy Common, he didn't show it on his face. Instead he just gave a stoic nod, lips pouting slightly as if to agree that yes, it seemed like a fair deal.

Which it was, as far as his amoral mind was concerned. You didn't get the gears turning well without some intimidation to lubricate them. Thus had the streets of Sunberth taught him, and he'd been expecting something like that from the Drykas leader.

Clearly not a man unused to the rough end of life, either.

Then he got his job, as the rest of the Drykas' crew spread out and vanished back into the grass with their animals. Konrad marveled briefly at just how swift and whole that disappearance was. Within a few ticks there were no sign of them, neither sight nor sound, aside from the shoe-less imprints from their-

Tracks. Get to your job.

Konrad blinked at Azmere's flying hands, and saw the same sign twice. Tracking. Something worth remembering, he thought. He turned from the Drykas, lifting his hat a little higher on his brow and bending down... wincing as he did. Gods, the sod knew how to hit, that was for bloody sure. But whatever damage was done or ego bruised, Konrad was willing to sweep it away and get busy.

If they wanted to focus just on the meat and fur, that was fine by him. He could get that from his usual hunting and tracking sprees, and besides which, while his larder was usually well-stoked, his purse was not.

Chimes passed, and Konrad forced himself not to wonder if the stoic horsemen were watching him with growing impatience. He was hardly a veteran tracker, born and raised following hoofs and claws through the grasslands like these men had likely been. He was a city boy, and his tracking was of men across cobbles... but all could be learned, and he had been. With enough time.

"Ah, there we go..."

He'd been walking in circles, curling out from where he'd been standing like the shape of a nautilus. As the Drykas and him had rolled and stomped and pounded across the dirt, he'd completely lost his place and, most likely, the tracks. So he had to find them again, eyes cast down, squinting and moving slowly... until he got down on one knee, hand outstretched... and ran his fingers across the dent in the ground, with a wide, padded rear and four deeper, almost shadowy gouges from curled claws.

Konrad looked around and saw a pair of eyes watching him. Whom it was, he couldn't tell... but either way he jutted his chin up a little, and pointed where the tracks led. Then he reclaimed his bow, notched an arrow, and started stalking through the grass again. His feet sought mud or wet ground, hiding each footfall, and his eyes were constantly swiveling and sweeping under the brim of his hat.

He knew what he was in this plan. He knew where the Drykas were. Behind him and flanking him, most likely, watching and waiting for his signal... or his scream. Because that's what bait was for, after all.

Petch it, Konrad thought, ghost of a smile twitching at the corner of his lips. Only fair, since I'm getting the reward... and meaner bastards have tried to kill me than a big bloody cat.

by **Azmere** on May 3rd, 2017, 1:57 am

Azmere gave unspoken signs to his team on where they should go. The truth was that Azmere could find almost anything between using the web and the djed-driven stars. This was about something different. He could have easily taken the beating and left the man to his business then led his patrol wide and around then usurped the hunt but that was not the archer’s way. Plenty of people in Endrykas were selfish and deceitful but the Stormblood had been raised to be different.

By the time Konrad got around to scouring the mud and grass for signs of the violent pet, he would find no trace of the horsemen. All of the horsemen except for Azmere, that is, for the ankal had his own goals in mind and they had shifted since the start of the adventure. The blue and gold eyes closed for several moments while the Drykas drew the djed from his being up into his chest then to his face and focused it upon his gaze. When the tanned eyelids -thin and crisp like leather- opened, the very clear trail of the brawler was before Azmere. The color was something like mud mixed with yellow grass; a smear of two colors. It was interesting and new for no path that he had seen thus far was more than a single color. The ankal pondered on this then clicked his teeth at the big grey canine that was standing next to the strider. The dog began to walk forward with a bristled back and pointed ears but he did not leave the side of his master.

Azmere squeezed his thigh so that his knees dug in against Skylla’s withers until she started in a steady walk after the tracker. The young mare wanted to run. She wanted to fly but her experienced rider shifted his weight back at the right moments to remind her that he was in charge. Only once, did he have to pull on her mane as a corrective measure. In the meantime, the archer casually drew an arrow, knocked it then held it slack in the same hand as his bow. Intermittent lateral checks revealed the locations of his fellow watchmen but for the most part, Azmere kept his eyes forward. He was growing more curious about the scarred man. Was it just the connection of some kind of physical trauma or was there more? The Drykas couldn’t be sure.

Nothing seemed to be happening so the ankal stopped actively pursuing trails though he allowed the magic to linger. Azmere shifted his attention to drawing more of the djed from his body but wiling it to form over the marching companion next to him. Grey’s pointed ears were easy enough to see despite the waving stalks of grains and weeds. With his unoccupied hand, Azmere pretended to mold the shape of the dog’s triangular lobe in the air. His starburst stare watched as the color of the animal’s djed changed in the spot where the novice shielder was starting to apply his gift. It took almost five chimes just to coat one of Grey’s ears and the exertion of keeping up two magics was starting to make Azmere dizzy. He quickly committed the shield to protection from physical harm then turned his mind to reabsorbing the djed that dangled from his fingertips.

by **Konrad Venger** on July 21st, 2017, 6:30 pm

Konrad didn't realize that being bait would be so boring, but after half a bell he supposed that was the nature of the beast. What did bait do, after all, besides hang out there and wait?

He thought of worms on hooks and goats staked to jungle trees, but the big difference here, was that the bait was wandering around, and armed, and knew what he was.

And he's still bored out of his sodding mind.

Time dragged and the humidity rose and Konrad was glad he'd shed all but the essentials for this hunt. His shirt was stripped off, tucked into the back of his breeches, and now he stalked bare-chested save for the quiver strap across it. Eyes pointed down, tracking footfall after footfall across the mud. He'd had to pause several times, where the big cat had leaped or shirked off the expected path, found where it landed, gone on again... and on... and on...

For the fiftieth time he wiped the sweat streaming down his face and cursed the unseen Drykas and his merry band. They were out there, oh, of that he was sure. Waiting and watching for their worthless walahk bait to catch something feline. Gods, it was so tempting to just... relax. Let the tension in his legs and shoulders loosen. But he knew what would be his end if that happened. So he kept his legs braced for a leap even as he stalked, and his arms ready to pull back and fast-fire the arrow already notched.

Can't be much longer now. Been after this for-

He smelled it before he saw it. Thick, coppery, fresh... blood. In any species, Konrad would know the stench of blood spilled by another. A few ticks later he saw the chaotic swirl of broken stems and churned earth, and the splashes and pools of red burning to rust in Syna.

No clothes. No weapons. Not a human, apparently, but something had been taken down. Konrad crouched and looked around, feeling for fur or feathers, but... still nothing... until he looked up, and saw the trail through the grass. Something being dragged through the landscape to somewhere more fitting, the predator not wanting to risk feasting in the open.

Easier to follow, at least. And he's not likely to stray from his food. And...

Konrad wiped his brow. The sweat was coming faster now, and not just because of the heat. He was closer, he could feel it, and the blood down at his feet was fresh. It hadn't congealed, hardened into that black mess he'd seen before, days after a brawl back home. It was still slick, dripping, running.

Not much further.

He was bait, to be sure, but not the usual kind. He was... the first into the breach, as it were. The thing their prey would focus on, first seen, first engaged. While it was, the other would encircle and end it, hopefully before Konrad got too torn up by a big cat made huge and vicious and cunning, thanks to those same souls that sought it.

He planted the hat back on his head, readied his bow, and continued along the path of pressed-down grass where the corpse had been dragged. Somewhere, he knew, was the scarred Drykas and his men. He spared a thought for them, just the one, and then put them from his mind. He would need all of it for what followed.

by **Konrad Venger** on August 13th, 2017, 10:29 am

Looking back on it, Konrad had to admit, it was impressive. Considered the right way - their prey, the setting, even their weapons - one would almost be awe-struck. Konrad wouldn't go that far (last time he got struck with awe, he was a few dozen feet from a pair of literal, living deities), but he had to admit...

Takes some doing: ambushing an ambush.

Konrad couldn't tell what the creature was. He thought he saw a hoof, then a claw, fur that could have been three different colors... or was that just because of all the blood? Either way, it had been scattered all around the little clearing created by something big and angry tramping around the grass. When he broke cover and stepped over to it, all he saw was... death. And rage. And hunger.

But nothing else. Bugger.

The man cursed softly and got down on one knee, lowering how bow, sliding into a familiar routine: picking up the trail. Somewhere there would be claw marks and tracks leading from this mess, and once he found them he would-

Something moved, shifted in the grass to his right. Big and long and low, and when movement rippled through its muscles, it seemed to undulate through the grasses, making them quiver. What was a boring patch of grass now became just a thin screen, and Konrad could see the stripes and fur and tensed, patient muscle beyond it.

He barely trusted himself to move. Just the merest incline of his head... and that was enough to find those gimlets staring at him. Still hungry and blazing above a bloody maw. Tongue licking at a snout dripping with gore. He calculated. To turn, draw, loose... a tick. Maybe more, maybe less, and definitely, assuredly too slow.

He'll be on me before the arrow's in the air.

The sellsword knew he was going to die. Another thing he realized looking back... the world did not seem brighter, or sharper, or clearer. There was no yearning, even in what he assumed was his last moment. There was just... emptiness. That same desire to like that he'd clung to since he'd staggered from that shack in the Tent City, holding his face to his skull, determined not to die. Gods, it had seen him through so much. Pain and wounds that would have killed other men. He felt it still, when all else had fallen away and he was but prey to be struck down in the Sea of Grass.

Felt it, but little else. He sighed, a man outmaneuvered and defeated... and something close to an amused snort huffed gently from his nose.

Petch it, his mind whispered, hands tightening on the nigh-useless bow and arrow. I'm ready.

He tensed like a runner on the blocks, and a tick before the flag wenrt down and he made his final, fatal move, bird calls struck out from the grasses. A feline head as big as his own twitched upward, confused, and a moment later-

Whistling. But not from pursed lips. Arrows in flight and the low whump of a javelin.

An enraged, stunned bellow that seemed impossible from what was essentially a giant cat. Konrad turned all the way, momentarily forgotten-

-and his jaw dropped.

Petch me. Talk about timing.

Don't Make Me Repeat Myself.

by **Konrad Venger** on August 14th, 2017, 1:08 am

It was over quickly. A mad scramble of seconds, not even a chime's worth. But caught in the whirl of what followed, after the whistles and roar, it seemed to Konrad like bells.

The Drykas chose their moment perfectly, like the seasoned hunters they were. Ruthless and precise, their missiles rained down on the startled big cat and punched through fur and muscle.

It howled. All pain, rage extinguished, primal agony overriding any urge it felt to fight back. It writhed and danced madly through the grass, crashing through cover, tail twitching and swinging high like a call for help.

"Oi?!"

Konrad wouldn't be denied his role in this, for that meant losing out on his prize. He hadn't skulked through the mud and grass for bells just to have the horse petchers steal away his reason. He barked out the word as he raised the bow, aimed down the arrow shaft and the animal turned briefly to him, long enough for yellow slit-eyes to meet green orbs and-

TWANG

Hardly a heroic moment: skewering an already-doomed creature with an arrow through the neck. But Konrad was not picky, when it came to killing. A single, perfect stroke or a dozen slow, bleeding wounds that wore an enemy down... as long as it had the desired result, he would employ any means.

He tossed the bow and drew his sword before it had even settled in the grass. Stalked forward with the weapon up, the Drykas on their Striders surging from cover and surrounding the creature. The big one - something beginning with L, wasn't it? - dismounted, pulling a short dagger with an iron glint in his eye.

Regret, too. Konrad would know that look anywhere, so common was it in these people when it came to their prey on the hunt. They respected their meat, at least. Konrad would have snorted or sneered, but there was no time. Instead he circled, waited for the beast to face away from him and-

"Shyke!"

-not ready for death yet, apparently. It whirled and snapped and swung a claw at him, four shards of razor-bone swiping through the air where his chest had been. He jerked back hard, and when it landed-

-it didn't-

-it collapsed, wounds robbing it of life and energy, panting, mewling, pitiful and-

Lodai snarled something in Pavi, a lilting language made ugly by his venom. Konrad ignored him. Gods, this was wearing on. He had eyes only for the cat, tongue lolling into the dust now, chest almost vibrating with constant, shalow breaths, trying to haul itself up one more time-

Not again, mate.

THUNK

It was a definite sound. Fatal. Like the period at the end of a sentence, of a life, given form and dropped just where it was needed. There was silence following it, and even Konrad felt a shiver of awkwardness that he had to break it... but pulling the kopis out of the cat's neck. Slow, sucking, slurping... and blood came with the shining metal... bone scraped against the blade... and then it was free again.

The Drykas stared down stonily. One of them was muttering aloud, others' lips were moving but without sound. Saying goodbye, he supposed. Giving their reluctant enemy respect, even in death. Ever the outsider, he did not join them. He stooped down, duh a handful of earth and cleaned his blade with the dirt. Wiping it clean on his breeches, he sheathed it, collected his bow and turned to Azmere.

"Remember deal, when tell other Drykas of this." He squinted up even with the hat on; Azmere was mounted, he was not, and Syna rode behind the burned Drykas' shoulder like a mage's familiar. "You, meat and fur. Me, reward. Find to give."

Was there more to say? Any flowery goodbyes? Solemn words of respect? Konrad wouldn't insult the man needlessly by pretending such. He'd walked away from countless other hard men with bloody weapons, commission fulfilled and bonds thus severed. That was Sunberth, of course, and this was Endrykas, but still...

He felt no kinship for them. Just a shred of gratitude, which he expressed with a tug of his hat at the front. A silent farewell, and then he walked back into the grass. Endrykas called to him from beyond the vale of stalks and leaves. He trudged through the dust to get there, his task done, his reward secured.

by **Rufio** on September 18th, 2017, 10:05 pm

G R A D E

K O N R A D

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Closed Reason Not The Need (Azmere)