Quest Playing With Fire (Kreig)

[Gossamer]

The ‘thug’ was obviously human, about six-foot-tall, perhaps a hundred and fifty pounds heavy, and utterly disinterested in Kreig. He’d lazily watched Kreigs approach, noting him and studying his almost cheerful manner. That had elicited a raised eyebrow as a response. “I wouldn’t think that would be any of your business, stranger. No… wait… I know your face. You are that fighter from Tall Johnnys. Kreig right? The crowds cheer for you sometimes as you prance around in that fancy cage throwing fists right and left as if you have some divine right to prove every man and woman in Sunberth is weak. No… you have no place here. Go back to your gilded cage, Gladiator. We don’t give two shits about what you want to know about. It isn’t your business.” The man said, moving closer to Kreig and drawing his long sword.

A second man peered out from within the tent.

Two breaths later he joined the first one, sword drawn and looking rather too interested in the conversations that was taking place with Kreig. This man was just as tough as the first, though slightly shorter. His weapons were a pair of hand axes and he had them drawn. They both looked like they’d enjoy making Kreig take a step back or two, despite how friendly Kreig had been in his approach.

“Famous you say? From Tall Johnnys? That the one that …. Oh yea… that’s him.” The second man said, recognizing Kreig right away. The first man gave the second man a closed look and they seemed to come to some agreement together.

“Leave.” They both said in unison.

[Kreig Messer]

The thug was obviously taller than Kreig, and Kreig didn’t know why that irked him exactly… he wasn’t short after all. Perhaps it was because he’d run far too often into people who were taller than him these past few years? It had to be if he was developing a slight complex over it. Of course that really didn’t matter in this moment. The man took offense at Kreig’s presence once he recognized him, and Kreig supposed that was troubling. His brows furrowed as the word ‘prance’ was used in regards to Kreig’s fights in the Caged Pit. It made him sound like he was some fanciful horse rather than a proper fighter. And a divine right? Really? Was that the impression he gave? Honestly he thought he gave the impression that he was out of his mind and got beat up far too often for his liking…. Honestly it sounded like the gent was simply jealous of Kreig’s rather painful success. And now he had a longsword out! Honestly if he’d pulled it out before his little triad Kreig would have believed he was just doing his job, but Kreig now simply believed the man was acting out of jelousy! His compatriot who popped out a few ticks later certainly didn’t help with the impression, hand axes in hand and seemingly taking offence to Kreig’s fame as well. And they had the audacity to tell him to leave! As if he would knowing what they likely intended for this place… not that they knew he knew, but they’d soon know that he knew. Kreig sighed, let out a nod and said “Fine… fine, I’ll leave. Guess I’ll jus’ have to suffer with curiosity an’ all that” He began, closing his eyes and balancing back and forth on his heels before simply turning about “I’ll go then, far be it from me to be the feller who disturbed yer dastardly deeds of burnin’ down the tents” Kreig dropped not too subtly, hoping that would elicit a shock of surprise them. Honestly it was a low chance they’d be stunned enough, but as he turned around again suddenly, shoulder raised and arm pulled back, he launched a sucker punch with his gauntlet-clad fist at the one with the longsword, aiming for that bit of cartilage that decorated the center of his face. About time for something to go crunch after all.

[Gossamer]

The man with the pair of hand axes was slow. There was no doubt about that. He hadn’t expected Kreig to whirl around and attack, but then again he hadn’t figured anyone would bother them here in their guard duty either. Sword guy must have seen more fights in Tall Johnnys, specifically with Krieg coming out on top. He was ready when Krieg whirled back around and knocked his gauntleted hand out of the way with the flat of his sword. He was fast, and it was obvious he was very deadly with his weapon once he decided there was a reason to use it.

“Don’t want any trouble, Mercenary. I respect you too much to cut off your hand accidently. You are a good fighter and I’ve made some serious coin betting both against you and for you.” The guy with the sword said as he came back on guard and took a defensive stance against Kreig. He looked serious and respectful, but he was not going to let Kreig pass or answer his questions.

The man with the two axes moved closer and it was then that Kreig could smell the alcohol on him. If he wasn’t drunk then someone had probably upended an entire keg on him the way he smelled. It was on his breath and on his tongue as it loosely waggled. “What are you doing… askin’ questions here anyhow. You know nothing here is any of your business. And what makes you think we’re burning anything down? Why would we burn our own tents down? Dumbass….” The man barked, twirling one of his axes awkwardly while the other he kept in a firm grip.

The man with the sword scowled at the first, as if disgusted by his behavior but kept his eyes trained on Kreig. “He’s right. Nothing here is your business… move on before we make it your business.” He added, gesturing with his sword for Kreig to ‘go away’.

[Kreig Messer]

Kreig tsked mentally, stepping back and putting his fists in a boxing stance. It seemed at least one of them was competent at the guard thing, Kreig would have certainly went awol the first thirty chimes of the task before he wandered off to parts unknown. He also appreciated the compliments, though there was one thing that bugged him.

Quirking his brow and looking slightly affronted “Wait, you earned money both for betting for AND against me? Really? An’ why the heck ya bet against me, I’ve been winnin’ since day one” He was going to add a tall petcher, but thought better against. It helped that he wasn’t too far from the drunkard and Kreig couldn’t help but scrunch up his nose at the ungodly stench.

Truly, it was an achievement in Tent City to smell that much of alcohol and be noticeable. And now they’re wondering why he made such a thing his business, his brows furrowing. He grunted as he lowered his left fist, reaching into his pocket to pull out a certain map with words on it. Flicking it out he flipped it over on one side “lessee ‘ere, right, this peculiar lil’ map has these words… Now I ain’t sure you fellows can read” He doubted the drunk would be in a state to read or understand clearly “So I’m jus’ gonna read it out to you”

He coughed lightly, harrumphed, opene his mouth and said “Clear out this area. What we seek is below it. Its far easier to burn it down than search through all that filth” He then raised it to point at the map, a peculiar part that said burn in a red circle an’ a three flowered symbol.

“ So yeah, I reckon’ as a Son of Sunberth an’ this being here the most burnable part of Sunberth” Which Kreig felt was also saying something “I reckon it is my goddamn business if you lot are stupid enough ta be part of it?” He pocketed the letter once more.

“So less you lot are right dumb ‘nough to be part of this, I reckon I ought ta beat ya down. If ya aren’t, I reckon I could use an extra blade” Emphasise on the blade, he felt. Because Kreig really wanted didn’t want to be near a drunkard if a fire broke out…he might go up with it.

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[Gossamer]

The man grinned… “I bet against you knocking someone out in the first round or the first five chimes… you know there’s all kind of stages of betting, right? Lots bet against you. Especially if you decide to toy with them or just take them out so you can walk away. That’s how we do it these days, don’t you know? We don’t bet on if you win or lose, we bet on how long it takes you to win. I’ve lost bets betting against you having a short or long bought.” The man with the axes said, grinning and showing his fetid teeth.

And if that wasn’t enough of a dig, the man kept talking. “Everyone knows Tall Johnny pays off your opponents to throw the fight anyhow. Wouldn’t do a man any good to actually bet against you completely. We all know the scales are tipped.” He said within another grin, swinging his axes and just baiting Kreig as much as he could. The man obviously wanted a fight, was drunk enough not to care that it was against a prize fighter, and was willing to make it happen.

The man with a sword looked interested when that map came out of Kreig’s pocket. His eyes narrowed as Kreigs words reached him and he took in their meaning. At the same moment, the tent flap parted and a soft almost aristocratic voice called out from inside. “Just kill him. We have to get this done today and he’s breaking my concentration.” A shadowy form said before letting the tent flap fall back in on itself.

“Glady, Octavis!” The man with the axes said, bringing them up into position and starting to swing at Kreig. The second man, with the sword, attacked as well, both of them attacking at once. They both hit him at once, both axes swinging out, one catching him across the shoulder and the other catching him under the arm where his body was lean muscle at his waist. The shoulder would felt like a light graze whereas the axe striking below his arm caught only on his shirt, biting into the fabric and most likely ruining it.

The man with the sword fared no better. And now that Kreig was as close as he was, he could see the man’s pupils were abnormally large. Drugs, most likely, or something else was in his system. He went to run Kreig through, which any sort of accomplished swordsman could have done with the fighter occupied with the axeman.

But instead he was eight inches off where he should have been straight through the Prize Fighter’s heart. Kreig actually felt the blade pass through the empty air of his armpit. It was then and then alone he understood that impaired and not particularly skilled, the Prize Fighter could walk straight through these two men to get to whomever was on the other side. Between them they didn’t have an ounce of clean living or sobriety. And half their skill was feigned bravo.

It was obvious he could take them down before they even reset their stances and attacked again.

[Kreig Messer]

Kreig wanted to object to that, the first part anyway ‘ Well I suppose bettin’ on what happens in the fight or how it goes ain’t bettin’ on me losin’…I guess. Feller’s gotta bet on somethin’ I suppose’ Kreig reasoned to himself. The drunken thug’s tone didn’t help settle Kreig ire though, but at least had one less thing to be angry about.

Then his left eye twitched at the rest of the man’s words, oh while a lot of his fights were easy Kreig dared not say they were fake… and the fights where he spilt literal blood where hardly the staged victories the drunk man. ‘ Oh I’m so knockin’ yer arses ta next season’ Silently vowed.

Then the flapping of the tent caught his eyes, the voice from within speaking out from the gap was definitely not from around here Kreig assumed. It was a voice one could assume to be fancy, probably someone with a lot of coin. Was that gent, Octavis was it, the ringleader then?He’d have to ponder upon that later as within ticks the axeman and the swordsman leaped at him from that bastards command.

Kreig moved back, but Kreig was slow and for a tick Kreig thought himself gone from this mortal shell, his efforts a waist and Tent City would be burn to cinders….. he blinked, other than a graze on his waist and him needing a new shirt, Kreig was none worse for wear.

By all that is divine he should have been skewered by that sword ‘Is that swordsman ain’t what I cracked ‘im to be in my head?’ Wrapping his armpit around the flat of the blade tightly, Kreig’s foot reached out to kick the axeman’s feet from under him. When he fell to his knees, Kreig extended his knee to catch him in his drunk face.

Twisting his waist, he pried the longsword of the swordsman’s hand, raising that same knee and burying it into his side. Kreig watched him fall with almost passionless eyes “Ya know, ya two are lucky I’m such a softy” He said, now holding the longsword in his right. He leaned down to the both them, and with a couple of hard punches knocked the light out of their eyes “ Attemptin’ to murder hundreds of folk, much less my own, deserves a heck of a lot more”

Standing up, he straightened his shoulders, then looked at his shirt and the nice new gaps in it “…an’ I hate buyin’ new clothes” He murmered, slipping it off and tossing it aside, he didn’t folks grabbing onto it afterall.

Steeling himself, he approached the tent’s flap and lifted it, letting out a loud voice “Anyone named Octavis ‘ere? I got a fist or two to deliver ta the face”

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[Gossamer]

While the tent looked ‘newer’ and camouflaged on the outside to look older, the inside told a different story. There was a small anti-chamber that was made up of what a discerning eye could see was usable but not expensive hand-me-downs.

Shabby Sheek ruled the décor, as if each and every piece was chosen for their appearance of age and signs of wear and tear or were new items that someone had trashed to look old. It was going for a look of worn comfort but fell hugely short. There was an inner curtain that was pulled back revealing a bigger living quarters beyond with what looked like a mini camp.

The appearance of the tent wasn’t what hit Kreig first. What hit him first was the stench. It smelled like vomit within the tent. And not as though someone had freshly brought up their stomach’s contents. No, it was a long lingering permeating stench of stomach biles and acids long gone rank. It burned Kreig’s eyes and nose, making it hard for him to breathe.

A figure stood startled in the space beyond the anti-chamber. The figure looked like the half-living remains of a man – a once elegant man – who had been somehow eaten, half digested, and spit out by whatever disease or affliction accosted him. His once elegant clothing was in tatters and his flesh had burns and was melted away down to the bone in several places.

His face was truly horrible, with his nose missing, and only the muscles left completely intact on his cheeks. He was bent over what appeared to be one of the street kids, feasting on an arm that had been freshly torn off. In fact, there were bodies draped all over the inside of the tent, with liquor spilled and drugs still scattered about. Most of the children were passed out possibly dead, with some even showing signs of having been already snacked upon.

The figure hissed at Kreig, threw the arm it was eating at him, and staggered backwards as if startled he’d made it inside the tent. He twisted, reached for what appeared to be a whip that was draped over the jolly outstretched hands of a twisted bloated figure – a deity statue – that seemed to represent gluttony.

While Kreig was dealing with small arm flung his way, the figure uncoiled the whip and let it fly towards him, its tip catching his arm and biting into his flesh with a sting that burned far deeper than any whip ever should. His flesh turned red and blistered immediately as if acid had splashed across it.

The figure laughed and advanced.

[Kreig Messer]

Kreig had not been prepared. He’d always thought he’d seen the best and worse of his fellow man in this world of theirs. He’d seen it here in Sunberth, he’d seen it in Kenash, and even in Syliras. He’d encountered a being that could have torn here, Fallon, and Sera Natasha in a blink of an eye had not Fallon managed to convince it away.

To this day he could not think of that incident without shuddering. The fear he felt that day was that of single ant nearly getting stomped out of existence. Here however…. It was overwhelming disgust that forever be associated with this… this… unholy scene before him.

He didn’t know if it was because of the tent’s enclosed space… but the stench within was a force that dwarfed the entirety of Tent City in its intensity. The man within, if he could be described as such anymore, looked as if a giant beast had eaten him only regurgitate him out in disgust.

But it wasn’t that which disturbed him most… it was the bodies of children. Dead, unconscious, Kreig didn’t know at this moment… all he saw was the harm that was done to them. The small limb in the hand of the monster who was feasting upon it. What manner of being with conscious mind would do this? The inhumanity of it was too much for Kreig who found that this shock to his senses… to his soul… was enough to spur him to hurl out the content of his stomach.

Looking up Kreig found the feasted upon arm coming his way and out of pure reflex left arm knocked it aside. Only for the sharp sting of the whip to catch his arm just beneath the elbow… Kreig gasped in from the burning sensation it left behind, eyes widening at the redness of his skin and the blisters upon it.

His eyes darted back to the figure, the abomination in clothes once fine now as rancid as its wearer. The bodies searing themselves again into his memory along with the stature from which the figure, Octavis for there seemed to be only he, fetched the whip from.

“You think this ‘ere lil’ love bite’ll enough ta stop me” Kreig let out as he looked at him, his shocked gaze turning cold quickly but Kreig wasn’t looking directly at him only for them to be then locked firmly on Octavis “ I’m right guessin’ yer anglin’ for a bigger bite but” Kreig stepped forward with his left hand reaching for the closest bit of furniture.

His arm screamed at him for doing this while it was so wounded, but his mind nad heart where in concert as his fingers wrapped around the body of a vase and shoved it forward at the abomination. Himself following as he leaned low to gather dirt, grasping it tight as he dashed closer in attempt to fling it at his face in effort blind it even momentarily before he’d follow with a good, solid, punc to its face.

At this point, all Kreig could think of was ‘KILL’.
x

[Gossamer]

Octavis laughed when the whip bit into Kreig’s flesh. After a demi-god had swallowed one and spit one back out, there was very little that frightened a person. He simply gave the whip a saucy flick and hurled it back at Kreig about at the same time the vase went slamming into the man’s horrid form. It exploded as it struck, shattering against flesh and bones in a soft sucking sound of impact.

The stench redoubled as Octavis’ whip wrapped around Kreig’s waist simultaneously. It bit into his clothing and the hiss of acid could be heard burning through the fabric. It gripped him like a snake, yanking him slightly off balance as Octavis was shoved back by the impact of the vase causing the whip to yank.

Kreig was flexible and already on his way down. So grasping for dirt at the floor of the cave was something he could easily do. However, the floors were covered with throw rugs of all shapes and sizes, mostly worn and some patchy. His thick fingers grabbed up a thick one, fringed, with tiny happy flowers all over it. The flowers were red and the overall effect looked like blood droplets.

And while Kreig’s arm was screaming at him for abusing it with the acid still on it burning and his waist also joining in the chorus still entwined by the whip, his brain didn’t register that he had a throw rug instead of a bit of dirt and he hurled it anyhow. The impact hit Octavis square in the face, much like the dirt would have.

The rug – having seen many years of use – was flexible and thin, with worn spots through it enough that it wrapped around Octavis’ grotesque head. He immediately dropped the whip which caused the coil around Kreig’s waste to drop at the same time Kreig smashed him in the face.

Octavis crumpled, his hands pinwheeling as he tried to pull the rug off. The devotee of Glorg just hadn’t expected that kind of rage or action. Rarely before had he ever had issues controlling the situation with the help of his whip. He fell down flat on his ass then sprawled to his back, rolled, still thrashing, as he pulled the rug off his battered face.

One whole side of his face was just caved in where Kreig’s fist had connected even though the rug was a shield. With the rug free, he hissed, bared his teeth – of which several were gone – and spat out blood.

“Petchin’ nosy ass of a dog… get the petch out of here. None of this… none of it is your concern. And if you linger, you’ll burn!” He hissed, trying to climb to his feet. “I already sent them out.. out to burn it all down. You don’t realize what’s below. But I do… and I’ll have it in my hands by sundown.” He said, rolling to his hands and knees to climb back up. As he did so, he took something from his pocket and tossed it at Kreig where he loomed over the fallen wreck of a man.

The powder was odorless, colorless, but could be seen as some translucent powders did. It choked at Kreig’s eyes, making it hard for him to see. They watered almost immediately…

[Kreig Messer]

Kreig hissed from the pain, eyes watering as his vision was obscured. His arm hurt, his waist hurt. They screamed at him to stop yet Kreig could bring himself to care as his heat raged. This man had the gall to say none of it was his business? This shell of a being who dared killed doznes of children and would kill hundreds more of all ages simply to satiate his greed?

His right hand raised instinctively as if to try and wipe out the powerder from his vision. His left hand darted out as it attempted to grab Octavis’s shoulder and hold him in place and attempt to knee the fellow hard.

He pulled away his right and tried to stare directly at Octavis, yet with his blurred that was difficult to discern completely “As a son of Sunberth, this ‘ere’s entirely my business ye rottin’ puss of man” He announced “An’ if I ain’t doin’ what I ought to be doin’ so as its son than I ain’t deserving to be a man”

But still… the fact he’d sent out his followers already, Yahal and Dhira both grant him strength he hoped the childred were doing there duty an’ wiping off those symbols. A small comfort it would be if Octavis’s thugs don’t decide to just burn the tents anyway “An’ if I turn my back on a rat such as ye then I’d be might foolish ta think ya ain’t gonna gut me the moment.”

And there was that, if he rushed out what gurantee would he have Octavis won’t just kill him with his back turned? He certainly couldn’t see clearly at the moment, and if he returned to see Octavis not here, even if he presumably could stop his subordinates from burning the city would he not be inviting further danger to the City? But there was the children to worry about and damn it if he wasn’t worried they were monsters like this bastard.

If he had him in his grasp then Kreig would punch the fellow hard in the face again, failure or success he would then use the window of opportunity to escape the tent. Whatever he desired it was the people first, justice later.

x