Etzos, ‘The City of Stones’ is a fortress against the encroachment of Immortal domination of Idalos. Founded on the backs of mortals driven to seek their own destiny independent of the Immortals, the city has carved itself out of the very rock of the land. Scourged by terrible wars of extermination, they've begun to grow again, and with an eye toward expansion, optimism is on the rise.
21st trial, Vhalar, 719
The Underground, Eastern Commercial Circle
17th break
"Come-come, now... psh-psh... coooooome on..."
The cat was not quick to trust. Unsurprising, considering where it lived, and what it had survived. It was not even a full arc old (though such a passing of time would have meant nothing to it), yet it had seen madness beyond its comprehension in its short span. The endless land of stone and shadows and brick and tunnels and towers had almost crumbled. Diseases, thicker and more horrifying to her kind than human senses could credit, had forced her deep, deep into the darkness. Her sires had both died. Her siblings. All gone. Gone to pox or starvation or eaten by the desperate humans.
So it was easy to see why she was... cautious, when the human in the tunnel tried to tempt it closer.
But it was holding meat. A flap of pink, nourishing flesh. Its belly growled beneath dirty white fur. It was so hungry. It had been so long since it had eaten well, not just the rotten detritus that floated down here. The two humans smiled at it, or bared their teeth. It was hard to tell which with their kind. The meat smelled so good. So tempting. It padded forwards, body tense, tail held high.
Almost there. It was almost drooling, like some damnable dog. But almost-
A flash of movement broke the spell. Not the glint of metal nor any realization of what was being raised. Just the sudden, jerking motion was enough to send the cat skittering away-
CLANG
"Fuck!"
"I told you."
"Shut up, Krell."
Gorst didn't take it any further than that, of course. He knew his place. He just glared at the patch of shadow the cat had vanished mewling into; listening to claws on stone for but a handful of trills before it was gone entirely. Cursing quite creatively in his native tongue, he marched over to where his throwing knife had landed. Immediately, a fresh chorus of profanities was expressed. A taller, bulkier form sidled next to him and sighed.
"Blunted it, eh?"
"What does it look like, Krell?"
"Blunted," Krell said without any trace of sympathy. He patted the younger man lightly on the back, mocking and careless. "Good luck sharpening it again."
"I could have got it. Just... bad luck."
"You moved too soon, and too fast." The older man's tone shifted, from mocking to chiding. Educational, even. He took the knife and held it in front of Gorst. "We lure them close, and strike when they cannot get away, not might get away. That puts us at danger, yes. It allows our enemies to get close... but if we have done our job right, deceived with enough skill, they'll not expect the killing blow at all."
He handed back the weapon and let the younger, unmarked killer sheath it. The boy was promising, but still impatient. Ah, well. All of them had that fault, once upon a time. Training and application had exorcised it from Krell; the same would be true for Gorst. The bald-headed assassin patted the kid on the shoulder... and the tattoo on his shoulder started to move. Krell's eyes widened for a trill as the venomous spider inked on there bloomed up and out, as if Krell's flesh was becoming tumorous. But then the "tumor" detached itself entirely, and a spider squatted on the man's shoulder.
"This will be yours some day," Krell said, as if intoning the future. "I know this place, this assignment, bores you to tears. It does all of us. But the Mistress demands it, and if she demands-"
"-we obey. Yes, sir."
Gorst smiled a little broader, and the spider went skittering down his body and onto the floor. It hurried away into the darkness, back from where they'd walked from. There were a myriad of tunnels and sewers down here, lit only by occasional lamps. Having a spider running about with eight eyes that could pierce the shadows was definitely a plus. Gorst gave it some mental commands and then turned away.
"Keep on guard here, for a break or two. I'll come to relieve you, then you can fetch supper for us."
"Yes, sir."
The older human walked away. The one that smelled... wrong. Like tainted meat. The other, younger human was still there. This one just smelled of meanness. Like those alley cats who'd become so mad and paranoid that anything coming close was rent by them. Clawed insensible as they mewled and yowled incessantly. The cat glared at the shaved ape from the shadows. If only it was bigger, if only-
Something moved in the deeper shadows behind her. She turned around... and walked over four stick-like fingers splayed on the ground. The cat jumped back as it realized there was a person there. Smaller than both of the others, squatting in the dark, watching them, not her. This one... smelled absolutely foul. There was more unnatural stink about him than the other two. He had black eyes with no whites, no center. In this darkness it looked as if they'd been hollowed out. The wind seemed to flicker around him, and scraps of black cloth followed the flow. But he did not turn his gaze on her.
He had other prey.
A querying warble came from the cat's throat, and the human turned down to look at her. He held out a dirty hand. No meat, no treat, no weapon, no promises or lies. Just an open hand... and when her sandpaper tongue scratched against it, a rumble like a distant rockfall came from him.
"Go."
Barely a whisper. Barely any breath or breeze to the words. The cat padded away, and Kasoria turned his eyes back down the tunnel. One gone, one left, but he would return. Two, then. Two of six. Such he had learned, watching from six trials. As if each one of the assassins had taken a full trial to mark and codify within his mind. Not so, but the symmetry was amusing to him. Yet no more would he just watch, and wait, and bide his time, make his plans. His tools were ready and his body was tired of inactivity.
He waited until the sentry was alone, then stood up without a sound. When the cat looked back over its shoulder, the human was gone.
word count: 1083
Common Speech | Thoughts | Ith'ession Speech | Speech of Others
The boy never saw it coming. Well... he did, but by the time he did, it was too late.
After all, Kasoria was cut from similar cloth, at least in attitude. Fighting and warring and the rush of combat, framed by noble ritual, was not why they did what they did. For most of them, coin had been the reason. After their conversion, their salvation, loyalty and love for the Spider Mistress had been their goal. They would do anything to please her, and accomplish all tasks they gave her.
Anything to win. Anything to kill. That didn't leave much room for chivalry. That was what Krell had hammered into Gorst's skull for well over an arc, until his mentor was satisfied the junior assassin was worthy of his mark. Mayhap had it been the older man in the tunnel, things would have been different. But it wasn't, and fresh memories colored the boy's reactions.
Never assume you're safe, Kasoria thought afterwards. Never assume you're not being watched and studied. Never think the blade isn't coming, either from a foot or a country away.
Gorst was picking his nails with his one un-venomed dagger when he heard the noise. A scraping across the stones. Clear and sentient above the dripping, gurgling of the sewage duct taking up one half of the tunnel. Krell had trained him well, in that regard. Some sounds were natural, caused by gravity or mindless physical movements of debris and matter. Dripping water. Creaking, soaking boards. Whistling wind. But some were so sharp, so sudden, an intelligence had to be behind them. That was what Krell heard.
His ears cocked as he heard it again. The dagger was flipped around in his hand in an eye blink. Ready to be throw at any who approached. He moved along the wall, slowly, patiently. Listening again for it. He got closer to that shaft of light from above, where once there was a metal ladder up to the hatch set into the road above. That had long since vanished, or fallen, or been stolen, or whatever the hells else. All Krell knew was, it let in light, and now it was the bright glare of setting suns. Striving for a few more bits of brilliance before night swallowed them.
Come a wee bit closer, Gorst thought, squinting at the shapeless shadows. Lemme see you.
Something meowed. Gorst blinked, then snorted as he heard it again. Sounded like a fat one, too. Deeper, almost baritone, but unmistakably feline. That same, mrrrrrow-ing noise that he'd heard from the poxy wankers for the last half an arc. He stepped out of the shadows and licked his lips. Fatter... slower, then... this might be a chance to redeem himself. He stepped closer to the light and rifled around for some more food. A crumb, a scrap, something he could tempt it with. He wasn't in the light, but close enough to be a silhouette.
"C'mon, meow-meow," he said, not even trying to hide his sickly smirk. "Come an' get-"
FWIP-SHUNK
He saw it coming. Which was a way to say, he saw in the space of a broken blink what was coming to kill him. What could anyone do with such a tiny window of opportunity? Especially when shock and disbelief were already freezing muscles, making the brain stutter, stilling the limbs? He saw a flash, a glimmer of flying metal come out of the shadows. Fast as light. Quick as an arrow. Even in that broken trill, he could see the soot smeared on the edge of the blade. Not giving him the chance to see it in the darkness from whence it came. Only when it was moving, thrown, flying, and of course, by then...
"Sh... Shit..."
The blade struck him in the stomach. Part of him wondered why. The thrower was no more than twenty feet away. If he could sneak down here, sneak up on him, and make his play from so close, he was surely skilled enough to go for the throat, or heart, or face. But no. He played it safe, and went for his belly. Then Gorst opened his mouth to scream for aid-
-but his mouth wouldn't open. His legs wouldn't stand. The dagger fell from his fingers and they, then his hands, then his arms, then everything else was taken away from him in one, shuddering wrench of horror. He fell and didn't even feel the pain of his head and back crunching onto the cold stone. His body was numb, senseless, stolen from his mind and he was left alone inside it. Screaming inside, unable to make the sound. All he could do was breathe, painfully and shallowly. Eyes darting up and down... until the shadow fell over him.
He saw the man that did this to him. But not his face. Just the eyes. Except there were no eyes when the man bent down. Just holes. Holes that were empty and icy and yet still seemed to burn with hate and life. The man seemed to study him for a moment, then nodded.
"Thraybone," he muttered, pulling the dagger out of Gorst's belly and wiping it clean on the paralyzed boy's breeches. "Worked like a charm. Mouthy wee bitch was right."
Gorst's lips were moving. A miracle of determination, if ever there was one. He knew about Thraybone. Distilled from a scorpion, it would render even a mighty warrior a senseless mas of limbs and flesh within a few trills. Now it was happening to him. Now he was the one left trapped and helpless in his own body, instead of slitting the poor cunt's throat without a chance of them fighting back. He tried to beg. He tried to plead, though he knew any deal he made would be an outright lie. He was loyal. He was true to the heart of his Mistress. But he knew unless he survived, he was useless. So he tried, and tried, and-
"Wouldn' bovva, mate," Kasoria said with a sigh, dragging the lifeless-looking boy into the shaft of light. Pinning him down under it, tears running from Gorst's eyes as sunlight speared into them without him able to blink fast enough to stop it. Within a few trills, everything was blurred and blotchy, either painfully bright or terrifyingly dark. "Y'know the score, duntcha? This' how the game ends."
Krell. He could hear Krell! Gorst managed to make some sort of strangled nose, deep in his throat, so buried it was almost spat from his very lungs. His killer did not seem worried. He simply nodded, as if it was expected, and looked up into the light.
Gorst watched with scarred, unblinking eyes, as just before Krell came around the corner, the little man reached up towards the sunlight... and vanished into it.
word count: 1163
Common Speech | Thoughts | Ith'ession Speech | Speech of Others
He didn't know who or why, but he knew what. Something had broken his Thread. That was enough for Krell to be on his guard.
Gorst didn't reply. Not after the third shout from his mentor, one who punished sloth with poisons and scars, if he felt malicious. So if he were alive, or conscious, he would reply... but he did not.
That was enough for Krell to stop shouting, and draw his weapons.
He heard some sort of scrabbling, in the tunnel ahead, and quickened his pace. Images of the past besieged him, recent and vivid. All the efforts and pains taken in choosing, training, motivating the young pup. He'd had speed and cunning, true, but it took more than thee base gifts to be among the Lethroda. The Cult of Sintra. The secret machinators of the world. Their own cell had a singular, mortal task, but Gorst had been privy to... well... enough to let him know they were no mere murder-happy gang of fanatics.
The Mistress was working a long and grandiose game in Etzos. They were her hidden hand in that. Agents of her will, removing obstacles too stubborn to see the light of her way. And Krell had vouched for that young man to become one of them.
So where is he?
"Boy, you better... Gorst?!"
There was a body in the light. Splayed out and with unmistakable crimson pooling over its stomach. Short, dark hair. Lean muscle covering bare arms.Tattoos covering them and there, glinting in a neat row, a brace of throwing knives across a prone chest. Krell's eyes widened and he moved forwards. Daggers were in each hand before he was aware of it. As he approached he slowed his pace. Think, think! What had he told the boy? Don't rush. Be patient. So he practiced what he preached and called his familiar back to him. The fat, skittering creature joined him and he sent it down the hallway ahead. A blotch of black and hair, scuttling across the stones, scouting the way. The thing peered over the edge of the path and into the stream of sewage. It looked about the shadows... and the whole time, Krell stood with his eyes closed... and his gaze peering out through eight unblinking eyes.
Nothing. They've fled.
"Gorst...?"
He couldn't hide the twang of pain in his voice. The boy himself was almost stunned by the sound, or would have been, if he'd still been able to see. His eyes were bloodshot and dripping water. His skin trembled to Gorst's touch as he bent over him. Words that never quite articulated were pushed out of a throat that couldn't, wouldn't obey him. Gorst looked up and into the face of his master, his mentor, and for a moment, the tears were real.
"What happened, boy?"
Because he knew what would happen next. Because he knew he had failed.
"Who? Boy, speak to me, who-"
Krell saw the boy's gaze move past him, unfocused as it was, and look over his shoulder. Straight up, into the entrance that had been abandoned for uncounted arcs. Eight feet off the ground and barred by a grille of rusted iron, it spilled light in a thick, almost solid shaft. Apart from when a cart passed over it, breaking up the effect with shards of shadow and darkness, or-
-like now, when something seemed to detach itself from where it had been pressed against the chimney-like vertical tunnel. Eight feet up. Quite a jump. But if you had the arms to grasp, and lift yourself upright. If you had the patience and grit to brace your arms and legs against either side. If you had the sheer, burning will to hold that position, in silence, until you could look down and see your prey under you...
Krell would have admitted, were he given the chance, it was quite a gambit. And he never saw it coming.
The older assassin never got a chance to see his killer. Kasoria dropped on him almost straight down, gladius held in both hands. Face grim and shining with sweat, he plunged the blade through the white-haired back of the old man's head-
SHUNK
-thrusting tip impaling his skull, bursting out his face-
-and hammering on down through sheer gravity and force to do much the same to Gorst.
There was a low, keening sound as the fat little spider familiar shuddered and wailed over in one corner. Straddling Krell's back, blade still held tight as it skewered both men, Kasoria watched with mild fascination as the thing withered into itself. Like those spiders he'd seen that had died of age or starvation; legs curled up under themselves as if for warmth. But then, when it was still, the thing started to fade. Break apart as if it was sand, not flesh... and finally blow away like smoke.
The little man straightened up and yanked the gladius out of the two men. Leaving them both laying there, one atop the other, matching wounds through their heads. He wouldn't need to move them. He had little to fear of them being discovered. No-one would be coming down this deep, and this far, save those he planned to murder before the break was out.
The gladius hissed through the air, left to right, and twin ribbons of blood splatted against the walls. Then it was sheathed again, and Kasoria looked down where Krell had come from. There was more to be done. Four more, to be exact. He reached down and pulled the Silk Strand from his boot. He'd felt the minute pressure against it when he'd come stalking down the tunnel towards Gorst. Thicker than any web he'd seen, and so... purposeful in its placing. Like a tripwire for an intruder, rather than a trap for a meal.
He'd hypothesized. Took an educated guess. He'd been proved right.
This time. Don't get cocky. Cunts have probably got tricks you can't imagine.
The Raggedy Man grunted his assent, but felt a slow smile crawl over his bearded face as he ventured deeper into the tunnels.
Skill Knowledge:
Acrobatics: Agility and Flexibility Enough to Make a Vertical Jump
Blades (Gladius): Capable of Thrusting Straight Through a Skull
Deception: Mimicking the Sound of an Alley Cat
Intelligence: Gathering Information and Monitoring Targets Before Launching an Operation
Strength: Bracing Yourself into a Narrow, Vertical Opening
Strength: Lifting Yourself Straight Up into a Narrow Opening
Non-Skill Knowledge:
The Lethroda: Mark of Sintra
The Lethroda: Gives the Marked a Spider Familiar
The Lethroda: Allows the Marked to use a Warning Strand of Silk
Reading things from the perspective of a cat was really interesting. I loved that part! I had no idea that people in Etzos were desperate enough to eat cats!
The thread was exciting, and you are quite good at writing action scenes!
Great job, and enjoy your rewards!
P.S.: You forgot to mention which skills you used. Please do that the next time you post a review request!
