• PM To Join • [Lake Lovalus] River Rats (Rorom)

[Kasoria]

15th Trial, Cylus, 719a
Lake Lovalus, South of Rharne
Just before midnight

He was good at waiting. So much of his life and times had been spent at it. Quiet and watchful, still and patient. Letting trills turn into bits turn into breaks. Feeling himself subtly separate from his own body as he became nothing but a pair of eyes in the shadows, letting his mind wander near and far yet always keeping his attention where it needed to be. Too many of his... profession, didn't like waiting. They rushed ahead, heedless of the odds. They craved the rush and the roar as much as the coin.

Kasoria did not. He was comfortable watching for as long as he needed to. Until that gap in security or that preordained section of an itinerary provided him the opening he needed. Large enough to slide a blade into, like a stiletto between the joints in plate.

Sometimes, it was less ominous and more mundane. Being a literal watchman, a guard, a discouraging presence. He hadn't always been thus, after all. Legitimate work wasn't entirely alien to him. He found it a queer mixture of both, as he sat hunched against the cold on the deck of the cruising sloop. They were on their way to do mortal, bloody work. No prisoners, no survivors, just proof that justice had been done. And that was the other part of it: justice. Chasing down evil men who'd been preying on the weak, up and down the Zynyx River.

The helmsman cleared his throat behind him, and Kasoria stopped sharpening the blade in his hands. His eyes flickered over his shoulder, just once... then went back to sharpening.

They. Them. Plural. Not singular. Company. Not the only one, either.

The little man with his sharp little knife kept watching the fog over the water while the bearded man did his job and guided them over the waves. It was pirates they were after, and a seafaring man was damn-near essential for such a task. Rorom had been the one to suggest it, in fact. Hesitantly, as if wary of Kasoria without even knowing him... which, honestly, told the former assassin what a shrewd judge of character the fisherman was.

The man from Etzos smiled thinly, whetstone scraping out a steady, ominous beat across the deck. There was a gladius hidden under the pile of netting off to one side. An ax behind the barrel on the other side of the boat. Both belonged to him. But the karambit, Traitor's Claw... that stayed with him. They had a history, after all. He looked out over the lake, and knew that somewhere out there, it merged into the winding river that went down to the sea. Knew there were towns and villages dotting it, a wood that they said was magical that it cut through, and a port said to be made as much of lightning and bottled crackling power as much as wood and bricks at the end of it, at the sea, where he would soon go.

Knew all of this, he did, and shunted it away in an area marked "Irrelevant". He knew that there were bandits abroad. Those greedy scum that blurred the line between reavers and raiders and pirates, because they assaulted and robbed on the land or water or wherever. But they were out there, and they were to kill them. For City and Law and Justice.

Kasoria snorted and looked back to his karambit. Oh, aye. Of course...

He waited, and let his mind wander though his gaze did not. Went back in his mind to five trials ago, when he first met the stoic, solid man behind him. Who'd led him to this job tonight, and the to jittery little bastards under the deck right now, waiting for their time to leap into action like the heroes of old. He remembered the Harpy Inn and the fruitless breaks of asking he'd wasted, trying to find a ship to take him down river and across the sea. Until he'd been approached by a man with a beard almost as long as the one he'd had. Who introduced himself not with fear, but with the hesitance of a man unused to approaching strangers.

Kasoria could understand. He didn't much like people, either. He sharpened the killing blade and remembered what Rorom had told him. The offer he'd made him, and the name he'd given instead of his own.

[Rorom]

Fishing wasn’t all about patience, contrary to the platitudes and nuggets of ‘wisdom’ some polefishers liked to tell people. Polefishers… hobbyists. For Rorom’s part, he was all about casting a net, and running ahead of it until it was full, then laying his catch out all on the deck of his ship. It was a filthy business, and not without it’s share of nasty surprises. The other trial, young Eairok had his toe nearly taken off by a barracuda that had swam upstream from the delta of the river. The large fish flopped around, much to the chagrin of the young man before he went overkill and pierced it with a harpoon. Then it’s silvery blood and viscera spilled out onto the deck. Rorom had him doing double duty cleaning up after himself, while he secured the rigging as they pulled into port.

Once there, he trusted Eairok to secure the ship with Mirq. Mirq less so, and for obvious reasons, but Rorom trusted Eairok would never leave the Bird alone while Mirq was about.

Rorom for his part had arrived to tell the proprietor of the Harpy Inn that he’d brought the catch he promised, along with a bonus of a trophy barracuda, albeit one that was not fit to display. But it’s meat was still good. While there, he settled in for a drink, and before he took his first sip, overheard a man asking around about passage over the seas. Rorom perked up, but supposed someone else would jump at the chance, and so kept his seat and had his drink. When he heard him ask again, and yet again, Rorom began to wonder who this person was to be refused by so many. He turned around, and saw the short man.

His first impression recalled to him the lawless men of Bayward. They were rough people, expressing all the courtesy that came with being amidst a well armed and willing society. Yet something about the way they moved, the way this man conducted himself… It was his clipped speech, his calculated motions that spoke to a life lived in readiness and caution. Or perhaps Rorom was overthinking it. Even so, when he could see the man was at his last rope, ready to leave, Rorom stood from his seat and went to catch him in order to offer to lend him a ride aboard his sloop. When it was clear his travels would take Rorom far out from where he intended to go, he nearly turned aside to go, but stopped himself. He remembered that there were a few people around willing to take his route, but they didn’t do so for charity. Thagoras would need a good deal of coin to secure passage as well as the discretion of the crew, and even then discretion wasn’t a sure thing. Rorom needed coin, full stop.

So there they were, driving through the waters of Lake Lovalus, to which Rorom had become so accustomed over the last arc. The glowing Isle toward the middle of the Lake served as a makeshift compass in the middle of the night, a quick reference point for Rorom to refer to as he made his way through the Cylus night. After helping them disembark from the pier, Eairok and Mirq were told to wait under the deck. They were probably glowering at each other, or else passing the time at dice beneath the deck. Probably the former.

Rorom meanwhile steered the rudder of the Bird, looking over the waters and taking note of the direction they were headed. He didn’t bug the man too much. Didn’t ask him why he required discretion of the crew that was transporting him. Rorom knew he could count on Eairok if he wanted him not to say anything. Mirq was a wild card. Thagoras looked like he could handle himself, but he was uneasy the longer the man lingered, wordless, looking out over the waters. Yes, he looked very much a Bayward man, or the type.

Once they reached a certain point on the lake, Rorom went about setting the rigging, and raising the sails. They were perhaps a few hundred yards out from the banks. Once everything was set for their slowing down, he went about lighting lanterns all around the boat. This done, he put up a few fishing poles, to pretend they were on a fishing trip of some sort.

For all his arcs of fishing, Rorom never thought he’d be using himself or even his boat as bait. Learn something about fishing everyday. The Sloop would surely provide a tempting target for those river pirates, using their skiffs, rafts, and dugouts.

He went to grab his quarterstaff, and waited apprehensively at the wheel of the ship., thinking he might be ready for whatever Chrien had in store.

[Kasoria]

"Ha! My pot!"

The raspy monotone of metal on stone paused, replaced by a slow, irritated sigh. That little outburst came from below them. From a couple of men who were meant to be staying quiet. Rorom had reassured Kasoria that while Mirq and Eairok would "occupy themselves" down below, they could be relied on to be discreet. Stay hidden. Not give anything away. Yet Kasoria heard all three words as clear as if Rorom had been standing next to him and saying them. A flush of annoyance made his scruffy features ugly, and then-

Then the scraping began again. It was an irritation, an annoyance, but nothing worth raging over. What was he to do, after all? March down there, blade drawn, kill them both and then go back to his sharpening?

Well, when you put it that way...

Mayhap Rorom would have been surprised to hear a snort of what definitely sounded like laughter come from the quiet little man he'd met trials before. Kasoria's ear twitched as he heard the familiar sound of thick, well-carved oak tapping into place on the deck. Quarterstaff. Not something you came across often in the tight confines of Etzos, but he'd seen it wielded before. Beneath, he'd seen pretty much every weapon crafted by man deployed in a scrap at one point or another. A man who was practical enough to value reach and distance, but perhaps didn't enjoy taking a life? That was a quarter-man.

Stone slid along steel one last time, and Kasoria inspected both sides of the karambit. Curved and vicious, ending in a tip fine enough to impale a fly. His lips curled a touch, a tiny grimace of satisfaction, and then he replaced it in the sheath at the small of his back. The whetstone he left on the deck: not his, after all. He'd borrowed it from Rorom. Maybe when this was over, he'd see about... helping the fisherman lose it unexpectedly.

Eyes on the job, he admonished himself. Ears, too.

Especially the second one. The fog was thick around the lake that night, around the gaping mouth of the river as Lake Lovalus narrowed and flowed towards the sea. Whole banks of it drifted to and fro, making the fluorescent glow of the distant islands deeper in the inland sea look more like mirages. Hovering over the water. Ghostly and ominous. Now and then, other lights sailed across the water. Night fishermen. Smugglers. Travelers. Pirates. They couldn't know or tell, but Kasoria was still sure his plan would work.

You know where they're hunting, you know where to hunt them. So plant yourself out there, lit up like a present begging to be unwrapped, and wait.

Rorom had asked him what he thought they could do, four men against a whole ship of cutthroats. Kasoria had to fight the urge to sneer, then reminded himself that he was not dealing with fellow sellswords like himself. Rorom had sort of... fallen into bounty hunting, and only once or twice. A means for a healthy man with a few measures of courage to make extra coin. He was no hardened killer or seasoned mercenary. Just a man with a good eye for talent when he saw it.

Or trouble. Whichever one he can turn to his advantage.

Kasoria remembered his answer. The same one that explained why there might be four of them, but they were only splitting the bounty three ways... and he was getting one of them. Of course, Rorom would get another third, since he'd come to him with the job, and Kasoria could tell the man knew how to handle that big stick of his. But why, Rorom asked, should one man get what two others would put together?

"Because I'm worth two men put t'gether," had been the little man's answer, delivered with enough quiet certainty and steely eye contact to encourage Rorom not to question that. "You'll see."

Rorom wasn't a stupid man. That was one of the reasons Kasoria didn't dislike him. What, the fisherman had asked without looking away, if you are wrong?

Kasoria smiled at the memory. Just as he'd smiled then. A fatalism dripping from it that hid the truth: he didn't want to die, and he wanted to survive to see his boy again. But this was his life, and had been since Rorom was first finding out how to tug his cock for fun. Any trial, any contract, any brawl could be it. So he shrugged and sipped his fresh mug of ale.

"Then I'll be dead, an' you'll have one less share t'worry about."

The smile vanished as something caught his eye. He squinted and leaned forward, feeling like a fool even as he did so. As if that extra half-foot closer would hake a fucking difference. But he still did, focused on the golden smudge that had appeared in the fog... and was gliding closer to them. Quickly.

Here we go.

Wave by wave, yard by yard, the thing in front of them changed. Went from a smudge to the glow of lanterns. Then grew form and angles and shape. A sail about the size of theirs, above a ship also similar. Only there were more men on the deck and less lights. Kasoria felt his jaw clench as he saw every man was armed... and most had weapons in their hands already. One of them walked to the prow of the vessel and made a gesture. The helmsman brought the new sloop swinging around until it had stopped next to... shite, he'd already forgotten the name of Rorom's boat, and Kasoria-

Bowed his head. Let his tight, primed features dissolve into a slack, witless look of a menial worker. He sat down and started rummaging through the nets, moving his fingers over them as if looking for holes to repair. This was Rorom's show now. Get them onboard. Put them at ease. Bring them closer... closer...

Metal glinted dully beneath the nets. The handle of the gladius, and the metal beyond it. Head bowed and face ibscured, Kasoria allowed himself a small smile as the talking started.

Close enough for that.

[Rorom]

The fisherman had been around Mirq long enough to figure those garden variety scoundrels they were trying to trap weren’t altogether stupid. He had no illusions of them jumping aboard a lightly manned vessels, blades flashing. That clearly would lead to complications when it came to claiming their prize. They would want to play the part of visitors from nearby villages, looking to buy some of his produce or other goods that he had to trade.

Sure enough, Rorom heard them out across the waters, pushing their rafts up along to the brightly lit sloop. The Bird was ready to receive them, and as they called out, Rorom stuck his quarterstaff out for them to latch onto with their hands, letting them aboard, one after the other.

The first man wore a glass eye, and a boarding axe tucked into his belt. He looked around as if startled by the suddenness with which the fisherman had taken him aboard. He was poor at feigning innocence. Probably the first to meet his end at Kasoria’s knife. Rorom wasn’t entirely settled on the prospect of butchering men, this would probably be his last bounty job, for good or bad. But these men had done similar or worse things to honest sailors, looking to trade with hapless villagers. Uf’rek knew if anyone deserved it, these men did.

Finally, the fourth man was on deck. And Rorom chanced to turn his back, tapping the floor of the deck as he held his staff in walking position. ”Welcome good men. We have fish for trade, and scrimshaw trinkets to delight the children of your village. If you’ll follow me over to the quarters.” He waved his hand for them to follow him over toward the bunk house.

The lead man, a tall one at six feet, wore a cutlass and a layered belt of line rope. He was a biqaj scoundrel through and through, and faked innocence far better than the man that’d served as their vanguard. He cast a look around, only falling on Kasoria for but a moment before turning back toward Rorom. ”You the only one on this ship? Who’s tha’” He said, jutting a thumb in Kasoria’s direction.

”Oh, ignore him.” Rorom said with a nervous chuckle. ”He’s my simpleton uncle… Never the same after this accident with a bowline rope and a crane crushed his skull. Took near ten men to lift the crate off his head! It’s a miracle he can even do the simple work he does. Pay him no mind, If you please.”

This seemed to satisfy their leader, as he nodded and continued to follow close behind Rorom. ”Very well. Show us your goods.”

But the first man over, the glass eye, smirked in Kasoria’s direction. He seemed to scent the chance at some mischief. He shared a look with the other two lads trailing the leader. Within a few moments, they were surrounding the ‘simpleton’. ”Hey, ijit. Yer a little squirt aren’t ye!” Glass eye laughed, lifting his head and turning to the other men. He went so far as to ruffle Kasoria’s hair, and pluck at his ear, from which he drew a shiny but worthless pebble. ”Hey! Look! A shiney for ye little wort! Want it! Do ye?!” He held it in front of Kasoria’s face for a few moments, and then threw it overboard. ”Go swim why don’tcha? Hah!”

Rorom meanwhile was showing the scrimshaw he had on hand, which was of very low quality. Plus some fishes and bivalves and prawns. He had a good selection on hand. Absently, their leader let his hand fall to the grip of his cutlass.

[Kasoria]

Timing was what mattered, and his had to be perfect. Skill and will and strategy were all fine things, essential things, but knowing when to use them was what mattered most. Whether it be an opportunity taken after trials of observation, or the fleeting trill of an opening in an enemy's guard during a brawl, it all amounted to the same thing. You watched. You waited. Until the moment was right. Which Kasoria always defined as the Fates stacking the odds most heavily in his favor.

"Oi? Yeh fuckin' deaf as well as stoopid, eh?"

Of course, that sometimes meant enduring things far more vexing than boredom.

Kasoria just nodded dumbly, smiled amiably, imitating as best he could what he remembered of Cecil, Old Evette's boy, back when he was a boy. Fell off a roof when he was not even ten arcs, the poor, dumb, wanker, and never got past that age within his own skull. Seemed to go backwards, in fact. Grew up big and strong and as simple as a toddler. Always smiling, waving, laughing, never quite understanding that he wasn't a little boy anymore. Nothing to be done, though. He was teased mercilessly, of course, by each successive generation of gutter rats that came along. But on the whole, the neighborhood pitied him more than anything else.

Because he was simple. Because he was tragic. Because he was no threat. Which was exactly what Kasoria was going for.

"Fuck me, dumb as rocks, aincha?" Glass Eye snorted and tapped Kasoria's temple with a finger, as if testing it for weaknesses. "'ello? Anyone 'ome?"

He laughed uproariously at his on joke, turning around to see if anyone else had witnessed his comic genius. Kasoria took the chance to do the same, eyes sharp and shrewd set into the slack face of an idiot. No chorus of laughter joined him. One of the other three tossed him a quick look and snorted, but they were all focused on Rorom... with their backs to him... and their hands drifting closer to their weapons.

Almost there.

"Shoulda drowned yeh at birf, shouldn't they?" Glass Eye just wouldn't give up. Not with such an amusing morsel to chew on. "Fuckin' cruelty, s'what it is. Leavin' yeh alive like this."

His hand gripped the handle of his ax. Kasoria's eyes flickered to it, then around him as he bent over the nets. He saw Cutlass nodding to Rorom, then turn to his men as the fisherman kept up his salesman babble. A short nod of command, that Kasoria had seen a thousand times before. They returned it, and both of them grasped the hilts of their swords. No more hiding. No more pretending. This was it.

Aye. It is.

"You like gettin' fucked in women's undies?"

"W... Wot?"

Really, there wasn't much you could say to that, was there? It came out of nowhere, like lightning from a blue sky. Like kindness from a Lurker. Like rain from the sand dunes. Shock and surprise were powerful things, and dangerous was he who could make them into weapons. Kasoria looked up at the man and saw the disbelief cloud his eyes, his mind... his body. The shock of but a trill or two. The mind shuddering and refusing to work, for just that span of time.

Just as he fastened his hand around the hilt of the gladius. And smiled up with the face of a killer, not the moronic mask of a brain-damaged simpleton. Glass Eye saw the change. Didn't understand it, yet, but saw it. Adding another trill to the pregnant, stunned silence.

Timing. Know it well enough, and a few trills are all you need.

Glass Eye wasn't expecting an old man to move that fast. Wasn't expecting him to move at all, considering what he'd been told he was. He gaped at the length of steel he drew from under the netting, trying to yank the ax from his belt-

-got it all the way free, and to no avail-

-as Kasoria jammed it up and under his rib cage with all the speed and precision of a maniacal surgeon. The lake pirate's eyes popped fit to burst right out of his skull, and he gave a gasp that ended wet, and salty. He didn't know his lungs were pierced or his heart was impaled, but he knew pain. He'd dealt out enough of it over the arcs. Seen that same look on the faces of men as he'd grinned down at them, ax buried in their chests. Now he knew what it felt like.

"What in the f-"

Kasoria twisted the blade and yanked it back out. A fountain of blood and offal and liquids best not described gushed from the ragged hole he'd torn in Glass Eye. He glanced over the man's shoulder and saw one of the other three marching over. Pull a short sword from his belt and already spitting questions. He wouldn't get trills, this time. Not once he saw the slopping viscera at his feet. So instead Kasoria reached up with his free hand, wrapping it around the handle of the ax Glass Eye never got to use, and surged forward, letting the dying man slump over to the side-

"Shit!"

-letting Short Sword see the idiot was gone, and the killer replaced him. Spattered and stained and with steel in each hand. Without a word Kasoria lunged high with his gladius, drawing the other weapon up in a guard. As expected. Steel smashed against steel and Kasoria didn't try for a second. Not with the gladius. He'd focused the pirate's attention up, and now he dropped low, almost faster than the man could follow-

CRUNCH

-slamming the ax straight through his sandal-clad foot, and into the deck below it. The front half of that appendage was cleaved off right away, toes still twitching on the deck as they flopped out of the ruined sandal. At once, Short Sword forgot about fighting. Instead he was screaming, hollering, sword dropping from his hand and instead trying to grab his blood-spurting foot-

-only for Kasoria to rise under his bent over form, gladius coming up as he did, leveled at Short Sword's breastbone-

"F-Fuck me."

Cutlass took one look at the tip of the gladius punch out of Short Sword's back, and made his decision. A handful of trills and two of his boys were dead. Cut down by some devilish little turd who'd fooled them all. He turned his back on the fisherman, cursing himself for being so easily lured in, and saw the little man yank the sword out of his torso. Short Sword coughed and toppled to the side, already forgotten. Midnight Eddie had drawn his daggers and was growling something under his breath about getting back to the boat. Cutlass decided there'd be another way to handle this-

-and grabbed Eddie by the shoulder.

"Sorry about this, mate."

"Wh-"

Cheeky fucking bastard.

Mr Cutlass didn't think much of his boys, apparently. Kasoria watched him hurl the stunned Eddie towards him like he was throwing meat at a tiger. The shorter, stockier man skidded and danced across the sloop's deck towards him, and Kasoria wasn't about to give him time to right himself. A man with a dagger in each hand was usually a man who knew how to use them. So before Eddie could come to a stop Kasoria lunged forwards-

-swinging his boot up as he did-

-and Eddie's yelp was strangled in his throat as his foot slammed straight into his crotch. Usually a push kick was delivered against the chest or stomach, knocking your opponent back or off balance. But Kasoria had learned to use his slight stature to devious advantage, and if that meant "stomach" became "cock and balls", well... all the better.

Eddie staggered and went down to one knee, vision exploding into painful stars and meteors and a shadow flitted by him-

-gladius slashing down as it went, short sword ripping open the side of the pirate's throat. Laying open the carotid artery, and an arc of blood like a crimson sail spewed mightily out of the man. Eddie jammed a hand to the wound and it was like trying to damn a river with a handful of straw.His hand was drenched, his arm a moment later, gasping and sputtering and dying in a pool of the stuff as he cursed his master one last time.

Leaving Cutlass and Kasoria squaring off against each other. The pirate leader buying time for a proper stance with his underling's life. The two regarded each other and then Kasoria-

BAM-BAM

-stamped hard on the deck of the sloop, sending echoes vibrating through every inch of wood.

"Get up here an' do yer fuckin' job," he shouted, voice every bit the growling, pugnacious baritone one would expect from a true-born Etzori. "Or I'll kill yeh myself!"

[Rorom]

OOC

Sorry, I'm so sloooow. I'll try and keep up from here on.

Rorom couldn’t help but throw glances over his shoulder to see how Thagoras was faring against those pirates who he’d propped up to tease him. He still had doubts about one man taking on three others at once. Even if he were a master at martial arts, what could such a small man do against a three-pronged jailyard rush? Slowly, however, as the pirates got more comfortable around the ‘idiot’ persona Rorom had set him up with, he could see how the element of surprise might contribute to enough of an advantage when it came to greater numbers and larger men. He almost lost his focus as the three were drawn into the ruse, and Captain Cutlass tapped him on the shoulder. ”Oy, say do you have any dice? Carved dice of scrimshaw?”

”Yes yes… Here…” Rorom opened a chest full of badly crafted scrimshaw, carved up by himself. He thought he had some badly-carved dice in there. They’d be useless in a game, really, but who could say?

Before he could rifle through the contents of the chest, however, they were alerted by a sudden curse, "Shit!"

Rorom tapped his staff against the hull of the ship, trying to alert the ones below. He put on a expression of mock surprise, when Capn Cutlass rounded on him, pinning him against the cabin. ”What the fuck! Don’t move! I’ll be back for you.”

So saying, he took out his cutlass, and used the basket hilt to punch Rorom in the gut.

Then everything else happened. Captain Cutlass decided his men’s lives weren’t worth all that much more than a temporary combat advantage against the idiot Thagoras. They were squared off. As Rorom regained his breath, he came up silently behind Capn Cutlass, and thwapped him across the back of his head with his quarterstaff. ”Augh!” The Capn shouted, the strength behind the blow not being quite enough to knock him out.

Rorom swung his staff again, from the opposite side, rapping him on the head, over and over until the man was dazed enough to subdue.

It was around then that Eairok and Mirq rose from the grotto. They looked about, Mirq with a smile and Eairok with an expression of dumb surprise. ”Uh, it’s already done?” The Sev’ryn asked.

Rorom squinted at Eairok, and shrugged. ”Get ready for more boarders, in case we have company on the way. I doubt they will though, having heard their friends getting butchered and all that.”

The fisherman approached Thagoras, and bowed apologetically, ”Sorry, my men aren’t used to combat. You can have their share of the bounty, no arguments.” Rorom looked around at the carnage that Thagoras had wrought. ”I’ve never seen a man fight like that, before.”

[Kasoria]

He was ready for a brawl, that much was obvious. Kasoria knew the look of a man who relished a good scrap, if only when it was on his terms. Now, with the life of his man, Cutlass had it. He wouldn't be taken by surprised or blindsided by the little man. He would see him coming, every move and counter, and flourished the curved cutlass before him like a duelist of noble lore.

The younger man smiled. Adjusted his stance. Made a little come hither gesture with his free hand. And Kasoria waited a few trills longer, until-

TCHWACK

It was an odd sound, but it made a man wince regardless. Especially when he saw it happening. At the same time thick and hollow, dry and wet, the sound of a thick wooden shaft battering against the skull of a man cracked out across the deck. Cutlass staggered and yelped but didn't fall. Tough lad. Thick skull. But not thick enough to keep him on his feet after a second blow, administered by Rorom with an adept twist of his wrists-

TCHWACK

-sending Cutlass to his knees and while he was still turning, sword rising-

-another blow struck him, this time drawing an arc of blood. Another landed as he started to fall. Cutlass fell onto his back and Rorom ceased his assault. Kasoria cocked his head to one side as he did so. Curious. The man was still conscious, still clutching his sword - though not for long, as Kasoria kicked it away from his weakening grip a moment later - yet he still left him be? Just because he was on his back? He suppressed a sigh and a shake of his head. This isn't Etzos, he reminded himself yet again, and that isn't who this bloke has to be all the time. Unlike you.

"You... You f-"

CRUNCH

He stomped down hard enough on Cutlass' face to break something, and make the wounded man limp and insensible. He stopped moving, nose crushed, blood leaking from various holes in his face, and Kasoria took a moment. Rorom's two rodent-like associates were emerging from their hole, weapons held in hands clearly unused to them. He looked beyond them, to the sloop... and found a quivering figure slowly rising from behind the helm.

"I... I surrender!"

The assassin blinked as a beardless version of Rorom shuffled forwards, grabbing air with shaking hands. A few arcs younger, maybe. A few pounds lighter, too. But the similarity was there, shuddering towards them like a ghost, and about as white as one. His eyes scrambled around in horror at the mangled, bloody bodies at Kasoria's feet. His captain, so strong and swaggering, laid low with his face a scarlet mess.

"Good for you," Kasoria said in a tone that could freeze lava, gesturing to their boat. "Come aboard. Now."

The helmsman took his time, so frightened was he, but it gave Kasoria some time to think. To augment. Adapt. He glanced down at Cutlass and made a decision. It wouldn't change anything in the long run. This way, they'd have an extra pair of hands, and the Law in Rynmere would have someone to squeeze for whatever useful tit-bits he might have to offer.

"What's yer name?"

The shaking helmsman watched the little man walk to the other side of the sloop and draw an ax from a hiding place. A broad-headed, nasty-looking thing. It suited him. He swallowed hard, and then a second time, before blurting out, "R-R-Roboute."

"Rob-oo-tay," Kasoria said, sounding out the foreign name as if he were tasting a peculiar dish. "You wanna survive tonight?"

"Y-Yes!"

Kasoria stood over a gently stirring Cutlass, and pointed at Roboute with the ax. "Youse're gonna help us get this boat, an' yer boat, up t'Rharne Harbor. Yer gonna help my friends here-" he nodded briefly to Rorom and his two companions "-do all that, an' then we're gonna hand youse over t'the Law. Maybe they'll go easy on yeh, if yeh tell 'em what they wanna here. Or we can do it the other way."

"W-What's the-"

SHUNK

There was no sound like it in the world. Nothing so final. So meaty. So generous. So sudden and full and then, the terrible silence afterwards. Roboute's words died on his tongue as the ax came down. If there was one dram of mercy that night, it was that Cutlass' eyes did not open before it bit through his neck, severed his spine, and ate into the wood beneath him. His head merely lolled to one side, closed lids staring blindly at the helmsman as he sank down in horror.

A spurt of blood. A muttered curse from Eairok and Mirq, with the former looking about ready to vomit. All the while, Kasoria wore the same still, stoic mask as before. Even when scarlet spattered his cheek and he flicked it away. Even when he picked up the head by the hair, and walked over to the helmsman with the ax jauntily across his shoulder.

"Answer yer question?"

Roboute didn't manage any words. Just trembled and shook his chin and finally spun away to purge his guts over the side of the sloop. Kasoria rolled his eyes but was still satisfied. Oh, yes. Good and broken. Eminently pliable. He turned back to Rorom and pointed to the new vessel they sudden had possession of.

"I'm guessin' youse can helm this'n, an' theirs can be manned by Robbie here an' yer friends." Eairok and Mirq didn't look thrilled at the idea, and Kasoria sighed quietly. Fates. Some people always needed to be pushed... or convinced. "Might wanna check the ship, too. Dunno what kinda loot these lads might-"

"Right on it, boss!" Eairok blurted out with a speed that would have outdrawn even Kasoria. "We'll check her over! C'mon, you two..."

He pushed and pulled and forced his junior partner and their prisoner over onto the pirate's vessel. Roboute didn't dare look back and didn't pay attention to these two jabbering men as they vanished below and started tearing apart their boat for anything of value. He wasn't really thinking about anything, in fact. Just going through the motions of a seaman, lashing the Black Blade to Rorom's modest sloop, checking the wheel and rudder, the sail... all without being able to think about anything other than-

SHUNK

That same, awful and singular sound. Another skull for the sack. Another bounty to claim. Three more times, Roboute heard it bark out over the wood and waves. Every time he did, he'd jump a little out of his skin, but he did not cease his labors. Soon the boats were ready to make their slow voyage back up north to civilization, as Kasoria went on reaping.

[Rorom]

The fisherman wasn't into this game of cat and mouse, and skinning the men alive. Something about this situation left a poor taste in his mouth. But he was thankful for having Thagoras aboard anyway, it would have gone poorly without someone of his martial experience and skill.

Nevertheless he did as he was instructed, as did his men in manning the vessel that had transported the river pirates to his sloop. He was prepared to man the raft himself, but Eairok, on hearing that there was loot on offer, jumped at the chance, as did Mirq. Rorom just shook his head, trying to ignore the stench of blood that was heavy on the air. He’d have to take her out to sea to wash the scent of blood out of his vessel, give it a good scrubbing with salt water.

When Kasoria was finished harvesting his kills, Rorom looked toward him from behind the helm. ”So, you can have that prize if you like. I wager the shipwright will pay good for a vessel that’s in reasonable shape. Or you could hire some sealeg to take you out to wherever you’re going…”

For Rorom’s part, he didn’t care much to ask the man’s business or where he thought he would be going. It wasn’t his business, and that was all he needed to know. It may be time for Rorom to move on, anyway, from Rharne, and see the salt ocean again. It’d been far too long since he’d left Ne’haer.

[Kasoria]

"B-Blessed Ilaren!"

Kasoria had grown used to much since that nameless mage had vomited him out on this side of the sea, but he'd never get used to hearing a man invoke the name of monsters so freely. He winced involuntarily as the City Guard gaped at the contents of the sack he'd handed over, then backpedaled away from it as if it were aflame. It landed heavily down onto the cobbles, and as it toppled over-

-a chorus of gasps and curses and muttered prayers rose from the crowd, as a pair of heads rolled lazily out into the noon night.

"Probably shouldn't've dropped that," the little man said with a sigh, bending down to shove the staring skulls back into the sack. "Dont't wanna-"

"Seize him!"

The handful of Guardsmen around the Sergeant reacted at once, spears lowering, swords drawing, and Kasoria just blinked at them in confusion. After a moment he realized it wasn't a fucking joke, and raised his hands in placation.

"A'right, maybe we got off on the wrong boot, eh? Look, these lads in there... well, those heads in there, they belonged to-"

"I don't give a stuff! You-You don't just walk in here with a bag of bloody heads! You... You... savage!"

Another sigh. An eye roll. The little man surrounded by armed and armored Guardsmen lowered his head and massaged his closed eyes. He knew Rorom and the others were outside the station, cooling their heels, tossing pebbles into the bay, waiting for him to return with a bag of gold. Under normal circumstances, he'd have unsheathed his weapons and taken his chances. A bunch of lads like this, blood up and sure of purpose, wouldn't be interested in hearing what he had to say.

Good thing it won't be you they'll be listening to.

"A'right, Robbie," he said, gesturing to the man cowering just behind him. 'Tell 'em." There was a short, contemplative silence. Kasoria could almost have smiled. He could hear the cogs turning in the pirate's head. Wondering if he could weasel this confusion and mistrust into blaming everything on the terrifying thing that had slaughtered his friends. So Kasoria turned his head a little and fixed one eye on him. "Don't be a cunt, Robbie. Youse don't tell the truth, the boys outside will. An' yeh'll hang all the same."

That did the trick. Robbie shuffled forwards and began his tale. Started it long before they'd crossed paths, too. Kasoria listened along with the Guardsmen, although not quite as intently. He could see the shock playing over their faces, even the grizzled old Sarge, as a story of poverty and desperation drove honest men to become river reavers (yeah, whatever line of shite you want to sell them, boy), until the fated trial they'd come across The Albatross.

Then the sole survivor's of the Black Blade's voice became low and hushed. He went into stuttering detail about how Kasoria had carved apart his friends, butchered them like animals after luring them in with his idiot act. How he'd hacked off their heads for presentation to them, and pressed him into helping his partners get both vessels back to the harbor. He talked and he talked, and the more he did, the lower those weapons became. Kasoria fancied them an accurate gauge of how much deadly intent they bore for him.

By the time Robbie had finished, half-collapsed in a chair at the Sergeant's desk, they were limp and idle.

"I... I don't believe it," the Sergeant said, settling back into his own chair with his mouth gaping. "The Black Blade. We've had boats out after her for seasons! They kept sneaking off into secret coves, after every-"

"Aye, well, no need t'worry about the cunts now, eh?" Kasoria said and rummaged around in the bag. He held up a handsome head (well, formerly), and barked at Robbie. "Oi? Tell 'em who this was."

"Th-That's F-F-Flaren, the-the-the captain. He-He-He was the o-o-one in ch-ch-ch-"

"Yes, yes, we follow you." Apparently the Sergeant didn't take long to get over his shock and veer straight into annoyance. "Private? Corporal? Take this Robbie into the cells for interrogation."

"B-But I told you everything!"

"Can't be to sure of that, son. But we will be by tomorrow, rest assured."

Everyone in the room knew what was meant by that. Kasoria's face twisted into a slow, amused smile as Roboute's face collapsed into despair. He'd heard tales about how the Guardsmen... persuaded scum like him to unburden their souls of all possible secrets. He'd met a few men who's survived those nights. What was left of them, anyway. But his wails and pleas became screeches when they weren't heeded, until the beefy Corporal smacked him around the head with the pommel of his sword. Then he was but a limp sack of meat with wet breeches, carried away and down, never to be seen by Kasoria again.

He watched the pirate vanish behind the door, and took the seat he'd been in before. Resting far easier in it, he leaned back and stroked the handle of his new sword. Quite a fine cutlass, sharpened to a keen edge that night on the voyage to Rharne. He smiled at the Sergeant, who had the look of a man ready to hand over some money, but at the same time regretting the need to.

"Now... about the bounty?"

[Kasoria]

"Here y'go."

Kasoria wasn't one to bugger around where money was concerned. It made the world go around, especially where he came from. So after most of a break in the Guard Station, he walked back out with his arms loaded with coin, and parchment. The three men waiting for him rose from their various states of idleness. Mirq stopped skipping stones across the water. Eairok stopped cleaning his toenails with a knife and hopped around for a moment as he put his boot back on. Rorom was, of course, the most composed. He'd been waiting a good distance from Eairok - likely to stop the bits of nail flying into his face - and rose with his quarterstaff in hand, like an old man would his stick.

The Etzos killer couldn't help but smile at that. Deceptive, it was. He knew the man could wield that thing... not as well as he could a sword, but with violent intent, for sure. Without any ceremony, he handed over one of the bags of coin he carried, and the parchment with it. He spoke as the curious fisherman read over the ink-and-wax-covered document.

"Your half a' the bounty, an' a note of credit fer the sloop. Sergeant Ah-Dolf-Us-" he butchered the name, adding another syllable and betraying his foreign roots in the doing "-said he couldn't give out more coin fer it, but there's the name of a shipwright who'll take her, give you a fair price."

"What about the cargo?"

That came from Mirq, and Kasoria was less than surprised about that. The ratlike little sod had been jabbering the whole voyage back about how there was a whole plethora of stolen wares in the hold of the Black Blade. Kasoria had let him and his associate chatter about what they'd do with it all without adding anything to the debate. All he'd done had been go down into the hold, find what he'd been looking for, then leave them to it. The rest of the voyage had passed in relative silence, though much like the tense time before the short, bloody ambush, it was broken by the steady scraping of stone on steel. Only the weapon was different, and now hung from Kasoria's belt.

"Impounded. All of it."

"What?!"

It was at that moment the Guard Station door opened and Adolphus came out, with a flunky trailing behind him. He flashed a look over the foursome across the street, the unsettling little man he'd dealt with apparently their leader, and gave him a curt nod. Then he took a stamp from his underling and with a crack of inked rubber on wood and paper, slammed it across one of the posters nailed to the board outside the station. When he stepped away, they could see the red words "BROUGHT TO JUSTICE" emblazoned across a poster entitled "River Rats".

Kasoria smiled in a way that was not pleasant. It was more like a predator sensing blood, or a monster tasting tears. It was amused and mirthful, though the source would bring no joy to any other. Even Mirq's outrage was mollified by the sight of it, and the icy chuckle that followed.

"Wh... What's funny?"

"Justice. That so?" Kasoria spoke but it was clear his words were not for Mirq. A moment later he turned, as if remembering the other man, and shrugged. "S'what I got told, mate. Youse wanna argue the point? Take it up with that fella just went back inside. Sure he'd be happy t'discuss it."

As expected, Mirq remained silent but sullen. Him and Eairok were content to their take out of Rorom's half, and then there was the price the Black Blade herself would fetch. Hardly a small amount, they'd wager, and they'd be entitled to a slice of that, too. Kasoria busied himself with pocketing his own half of the bounty, then turned his eyes back to Rorom. His hands were still moving, though. Filling a stained and worn pipe with smoking herbs, actions his fingers were well-accustomed to. He barely needed to look down at them as he spoke, words a little mangled through the pipe stem soon between his teeth.

"I got my share, and I got other places t'be. Youse take the sale a' the sloop, I don't give a shite about it. Got my coin, an' what else I fancied..."

The assassin smiled, and Rorom saw an appreciation, a glimmer of genuine enjoyment in his eyes. Those callused hands that killed so readily patted the odd harness he now wore, hanging under his armpits. The Etzori had looted each headless body on the voyage back to the city. Coins and token and trinkets and jewels had all been stripped from them, tossed into a purse to be divvied up among the four of them later. But weapons... those were things only he had an eye for. The cutlass from Captain Flaren had been one that caught his eye, black steel and curving blade made for sweeping slashes and cleaving hacks matching some dark spark in his soul. But the other items...

The mariner could remember the crack of laughter that came from the foreigner as he found his prize. It was so odd and unexpected, everyone living on the sloop had jumped. Then they looked over and found Kasoria grinning - grinning - as he held up a queer construct of leather and cloth, made up of straps and sheaths for short, sharp blades. Three of them under each arm, and he pulled on out to weigh and study and flip and toss from hand to hand.

He'd tried it on, adjusted it so he could move and bend and twist freely. Then he strapped the cutlass around his waist and... that was that. Aside from his brief journey below decks, and his claiming of the small, fat bag of stinking weeds. Fates, they stank even without flames adding to the sensation, and after a few moments, Kasoria used a scrap of straw and a blazing brazier to do just that.

"We made out well," he said as he exhaled, voice and words and breath coming out in a lolling, twisting wreath of smoke in the eternal night of Cylus. "But I saw... somethin' else, on that board. 'nother bounty. Big one. Big enough t'get me across the sea an' back home an' keep me from starvin' t'death on the way. I'll be chasin' that, further down the river."

He held out his hand. After a while, Rorom shook it. It was not extended to Mirq or Eairok, and neither seemed to care that much. They were already whispering about something sinister, or sinister by their standards. Kasoria had eyes only for the mariner, and kept his grip a few trills longer than necessary. Just to make sure the man was looking back into his eyes, black as the night around them, dark save for the burning torches reflected in them.

"Until that day, Mariner."

He left the three men on the quay by the lapping water, with an old farewell from his homeland ringing in his wake. Trailing smoke behind him, faintly clanking with yet more killing metal added to himself, like a walking arsenal. The stink of burning pipe weed seemed to linger as long as the sight of him did. When Rorom found it no longer ticking his nose, he blinked, and the man had vanished into the shadows.