• Graded • II. The Messenger

[Kasoria]

Continued from here

5th Trail, Cylus, Arc 718
Citizen's Market
23rd break

They made it easier, but Kasoria knew his luck wouldn't last long. Not past the first, most likely.

Handsome Dom and his little knot of knuckleheads was getting ambitious. Well, he was: said knuckleheads probably didn't have the wit or imagination to square of against someone like Vorund, who they'd been gawping at since they were in short pants and rolling drunks for pennies. But Dom was a cut above, hence him being the leader. He was violent without hesitation and cunning like only the streets can beat into you. His handsome days were over but his ambitions were undimmed, and he was reaching that age where being another man's underling wasn't enough for him.

Vorund had noticed. Made overtures. Tried to make a deal, bring him into his family. Dom had... spurned him, to put it politely. Now he was making noise in the Outer Perimeter. Something about "paving the way" for "them".

Kasoria didn't need to know anything else. All he needed to know was where to find him.

"Dun I know you?" Harry cocked his head to one side like a dog and lumbered over. Even from a few yards away, he was almost a foot taller than the slight, still man. "Seen youse around, ain't I?"

Kasoria blinked up at him from under his hat. His orders were specific, and he was aware of a certain irony in his timing. Dom wanted to make an example of Theo Langrus, bartender, business owner, low-level criminal. Use the man as a walking, talking, fearful, mutilated advertisement as what happened when the new top dogs like him were defied, and how powerless the gnarled old men like Vorund were. Now in doing so, Vorund would be making how own proclamation. Kasoria was to be his stylus. And Dom the parchment.

"Oi? You fuckin' deaf or summin'? You a dummy?" He could see the piggy eyes of the larger man start to cloud, anger quickly replacing curiosity. He swayed slightly to the side, looked around him... yes. The other four were as they were. Theo was enjoying every moment he could, still carrying two eyes around in his head. "Look, how about you fuck off-"

A hand, large and meaty, reached out and grabbed him by the front of his cloak. Yanked him closer.

It all went quiet in Kasoria's head.

"-before something bad hap-"

Harry never finished the sentence. Or the word. Not in Common, anyway.

"What in the fuck...?"

Handosme Dom's mouth hung open as the little bastard who looked like he'd just crawled out of the sewers exploded into movement. His right arm came up, grabbing Harry's wrist, twisting it up and back-

-as his left arm came up and around, a short roundhouse punch-

-straight into Harry's elbow.

Dom didn't know if he broke it, but the scream certainly hinted at the possibility. But the vagrant didn't give him a moment, not a second to fight back. Before the first echoes had even bounced off the walls, right arm went from bent and holding to snapping out, clenched into a tight fist, letting got of Harry's wrist-

-killing the scream as it hammered into his throat. Wet, choking gurgling came out instead of words, Harry stumbling and staggering, feet turning to jelly, one hand at his throat as the other hung limp, but the vagrant still wasn't-

"Fuck me."

Steel sighed across leather, like a lover in a close embrace. The jackals heard it, ears pricking at the familiarity. The moonlight of the season was captured for a moment, shimmering beautifully against the two-feet of straight, honed steel in Kasoria's hand. Harry saw it, eyes bulging, vomit dribbling from his mouth. He abandoned clawing at his throat, going for the dagger at his belt-

-Kasoria pulled the sword back, cocked it at his side, lunged and burst forward in the same movement, form textbook and without hesitation-

There was a crunch. A gasp. Moonlight danced behind and around Harry. Then, from Dom's perspective, it vanished... then something burst out of his back. Something winking at him, from where it had ripped through Harry's chest and clean through blood and muscle and organs. The big man wheezed on his feet. The moment was still, and Kasoria knew that "easier" was over.

The first always was. Because they didn't know him. Didn't know what he could do. Didn't know he'd gone home for his gladius before hunting for his quarry. But now they knew. And when he pulled the bloody blade free and let Harry topple forward onto the cobbles, he saw murder and outrage and, yes, even fear on those young, brutal faces.

None more so than Handsome Dom.

"Right, you wee cunt," the upstart snarled, blades and bludgeons filling the hands of his men, and his own. "I'm gonna see you live t'fuckin' regret that."

Kasoria lifted his hat from his head, and tossed it to one side. Then he charged.

Thanks to Rumor for the template

[Kasoria]

No matter what happened, he knew he was getting bloody. He knew that the moment he saw the five of them go into Sally Mac's. He'd get one, sure, but that was usually the way. The easy part. But after that, they'd wake up, realize what he was and what he could do, and act accordingly. And unlike the bard's tales, they wouldn't line up for neat little duels. This was Etzos, not Rynmere, and fighting fair was worth nothing more than dying quickly.

No matter what happened, he was getting bloody. His and theirs.

Ferdy was quick on his feet, and got to him first, serrated dagger stabbing for his stomach. Forcing him back and to the side, feet sliding across the wet cobbles, blade sailing past him-

-gladius whirling up and then slashing down, using Ferdy's forward momentum against him-

-sending him screeching past Kasoria as his body went careening into the trash pile behind them, and his forearm pinwheeling away in another direction, still clutching his dagger.

Overconfident. Stupid. The others won't make that mistake, not after seeing what it could cost them.

"Fuckin' gedim, would you?!"

Dean and Whistler came at him as one, not bothering with bloody chivalry after seeing what he could do. Whistler hacking at him with a hand ax, keeping his distance, forcing him to do the same-

-as Dean stabbed and lunged lower with a sai, exotic and expensive, clearly a prized weapon that he loved to flourish. All thugs had their foibles, after all. Craved a signature. Kasoria slid and danced, body swaying and twisting, more like and swift than his looks suggested, but even then-

The ax connected and blood sprayed in an arc from his sword arm. He grunted and resisted the urge to clutch it. He'd need both, not just the one, and Dean would already be trying to capitalize, seeing weakness, sensing blood-

Which can make a man cocky, too.

The younger man closed with blood in his eyes, finally doing what Kasoria wanted him to do: stepping in front of Whistler. The older ganger shouted his frustration as his next swing was blocked by his own bloody partner getting in the way, but Dean was bounding ahead like a rambunctious knight, slashing up and across and kicking up-

-only for Kasoria to sidestep, boot between his legs instead getting caught under his right armpit, held tight there by his sword-arm as he-

-smashed his left fist once, twice, three times into Dean's crotch-

-third time feeling something rupture and burst across his breeches, scream becoming high and hopeless-

-then pushing the boy back into Whistler, still cursing and shoving the younger man out of the way even as he fell screeching and clutching his balls-

-ax coming down like an executioner at Kasoria-

Closing the distance. Coming in under the blow. Easier to do when you're smaller than most, and quicker than you look.

His empty hand shot up and caught Whistler's wrist, vertical chop that would have split his head open frozen in mid-air as Whistler saw the man come close-

-saw the metal moonlight swing in an arc so fast it was almost like a silver fan-

-that turned red at the end-

-and spilling things crimson and stinking and shuddering across the ground-

Kasoria slid past him and consigned him to memory. Left Whistler stuttering and staring at his own intestines tumbling out of the horizontal slash the gladius had made across his stomach. Decades of hard-fighting and drinking and whoring melted away into tears as he sank down and tried to shove them back in, ax clattering down, forgotten, useless.

"You... fucker."

Kasoria was impressed, though he didn't show it. Handsome Dom had seen his men torn up and crippled and killed, but he hadn't run. Hadn't taken advantage of their sacrifice to bolt and hide, which the warren of Etzos was seemingly designed for. No, he was still there. Clutching a short sword much like his, but apparently of Eastern make. He tossed it from hand to hand, shaking his head, face contorted with fury.

"Gonna be a fuckin' hassle, finding new lads," he said as the two men circled each other. Kasoria watching. Observing. Anticipating. "Ain't as easy as you'd thi-"

Mid-sentence. Mid-word, in fact. Dirty and cheap and very effective. But Kasoria was an old man, and an old hand. Muscles heaved and steel swung, then clanged in the cold moonlight.

Thanks to Rumor for the template

[Kasoria]

Moons and Stars, what he'd have given for twenty years taken off his tab. Why didn't anyone tell him he was getting old?

He didn't let that streak of self-pity last. Not with sharp steel and murderous intent bearing down on him. Dom didn't have much grace, but he had youth and strength and all the sinew and speed those things granted. Their swords crashed into each other over and over, fists and feet striking out, punching, blocking, trying to find weaknesses or inflict more damage, just enough for an opening you could stick a sword into.

Dom came in again, slashing at the side, Kasoria swinging his gladius down-

-blocking it with a grunt, impact rattling his arm like a battering ram-

Block and Counter. Block and Counter. With as little time between the two as possible. Once you forgot the simple lessons, you would soon forget everything.

-left elbow swinging out as metal smashed into metal, aiming to break the big bastard's jaw-

-only for Dom to jerk his head away, elbow swinging wide, and he countered with a kick-

-that did much the same, Kasoria throwing himself back and almost sliding across the rain-slick cobbles. By the time he came to a stop, rain beating down on his hair, gladius back on guard, he felt... fire in his throat... howling in his lungs... knives in his limbs. He was out of breath, and old. Dom was neither of those things, and smirked.

"Little more'n those cunts, ain't I?" The usurper snorted and flourished his sword again, whirling and spinning and letting the light catch the sculpted head. "Been usin' this thing since I was a nipper. What? Y'thought I was some wanker who just let his boys do the fightin'?" Another nasty smile. Predatory. Kasoria ached to ram it into his guts. "Last mistake you'll ever fuckin'-"

Kasoria lunged. All or nothing, because he didn't have much all left to spare. He stabbed and Dom parried, he slashed and Dom countered, he kicked and he punched and swung at Dom's side again-

-knee jerking forward and up as the younger man jerked his sword across to block him-

-swords grinding together, forced up and above them both, knee slamming into Dom's chest, knocking him back-

"Cunt!"

But not enough. Not enough damage. Not enough from an old man. Kasoria's feet hit the ground again, Dom only staggering a couple of feet before his sword came hurtling back at him and he barely managed to parry it away-

-but not far enough-

-thrust that should have gutted him instead slicing into the meat of his leg-

It was instinct that drove his gladius. A man desire to make space, make room, make him go away for just a little longer. A wild, vertical slash from his gladius as he shouted out in pain. Again, Dom was fast, but not fast enough before the gladius slashed up his torso from his navel up to the middle of his chest and...

Nothing. He didn't fall. Didn't throw up blood. Hells, he was barely even bleeding... and still smiling.

"Leather armor," he said, tapping the layer of hardened hide under his shirt. Kasoria was down one one knee, watching keenly. Waiting for what he knew had to follow. But still holding his sword, damnit. "Might have finished me with that one, f'not fer this right here. But y'didn't think ahead, did you?"

Kasoria kneeled and panted and watched and counted the moments pass by in his head. He wanted it over already. Blood was dribbling from him out of two places, and he'd have bruises across everywhere else soon. But still Dom stood there, relishing his victory, same mad, ravenous glint in his eye as when he'd been a hair away from making Theo a cripple.

"Always think ahead. Woulda' thought an old boy like you woulda'..."

He paused. Shook his head. Coughed. That felt... odd. He coughed again. Harder.

Kasoria rose. Finally.

"Wh... kff... what... fuckin'..."

Kasoria raised his blade without a word. He didn't owe this trash any answers. Just the barest of directions. Dom's eyes grew wide and panicked as he clutched at his throat but the air, it wouldn't come, it wouldn't fill his lungs! His sword fell to the cobbles, and he joined it a moment later. He started to change color, and looked at the sword, the wet and silver sword and...

The smell. Gods. He thought it had ben the man. Not the sword. But... he knew that smell. That stink.

"Gh... Ghost..."

Mushroom, Kasoria mentally finished for him, but still did not speak a word. Instead he circled the man failing miserably at the simple exercise of breathing, watching as the poison smeared across the blade works its wonders. Leg or arm, that would have taken too long to get to the heart. But a slash across the chest? Aye, that would do just fine. But with the rain, it might not be enough. Might just take Dom to the very edge, then disappear, leaving him curled up in blood and pain but alive to usurp again.

Which was not going to happen.

"W... Who... Tell me..." He was on both knees and one hand, spitting his words out into the cobbles as rain raced and rolled around his face. "Who... sent-"

Theo watched the whole thing. From start to finish. The beggar's appearance and Harry's fatal approach. The fast, vicious brawl that claimed the other three, or most of them. The final duel, the way it ended, and how it ended... he didn't understand. Some part of his mind wondered what the fucking smell was, but then that thought vanished as the raggedy man raised the gladius and swung it down in one smooth movement-

-and the ugly thing atop Dom's torso fell away from it with the crunch of vertebrae being sliced and shattered-

-and the rest of him froze there, just for a few moments... then slumped down, one hand outstretched as if trying to catch the head rolling away from it.

"Pl... Please, man..."

Theo wanted to flee. Wanted to beg. Wanted to be anywhere but where he was. But he could barely get up to one knee before the price of the beating was taken from his limbs, half his face still scarred and pitted with broken glass. The words came from Dean, anyway. Trying to crawl towards his sai without looking like that was what he was after. Legs not working with his balls busted and crushed, oozing through his breeches and leaving a sickly wet smear as he went, like a crippled snail.

Theor gulped as the raggedy man limped over. Every step hurt him, he knew. But none of it showed on his face, or what face the bushy beard allowed to be seen. Just smoldering eyes like Suns dragged to Idalos. Determined and set as rolling boulders. Orders were orders. Handsome Dom and his "merry band", as Vorund had called them. They all needed to go, and they only needed one man to spread the message.

Which Kasoria already had. In Theo.

"Wait wait please no fuck-"

Dean twisted and reached for his sai. Ten feet and a thousand yards away. He died with his hand still reaching, Kasoria raising the gladius high and letting it swing in his grip until it was reversed, pointing down like some Immortal's invisible sword-

-making Theo wince and feel bile in his throat as he saw it fall straight down like a comet, punching through the back of Dean's neck and erupting out the front of his throat. He coughed out of a fresh hole, spewing blood with the gurgling soound, and then was still.

Kasoria pulled it clear, and the rain was already washing the blood and poison away. He walked over to him, and Theo looked up. Afraid but unable to stop himself. Those eyes. All he knew of the man, for words were not coming from him. Just eyes and fists and smell and-

-steel. Steel pointing at him-

"Vorund. You pay Vorund, and only Vorund."

-then moving closer, stench-coddled blade pushing his cheek around... to see the quartered remains of Handsome Dom and the Merry Morons.

"If you don't, or if you try to take what's his, this is what happens. Do you understand?" Apparently, nodding wasn't enough. "Then say it."

"I-I-I understand."

The gladius fell away, and Theo seemed to collapse into himself in relief. The point was made. The message sent. Kasoria looked around at the windows. Some lit like open eyes; some empty, dead sockets. Silhouettes scattered across them. Dull and watching, whispering... never helping. Street theater in Etzos, bloody and real and free.

Words were of no use now. He turned and started to walk through the rain, coming down so hard it was soaking through the natural poncho he had growing out of his scalp. So he stopped low as he went, biting down hard so not to cry out as the wound on his leg pumped out another dram... and reclaimed his hat.

It was wet, but not on the inside, and there was no blood.

Steel sighed again, and the gladius vanished. Theor finally got up to his feet, slowing, tenderly, like a lookout peering over a parapet... and saw only the raggedy man vanishing into the shadows. Leaving the dead behind him.

Someone muttered from whence he'd come, and he turned to the handful of faces in the door to his pub.

"Fine... fine fucking help you lot were!"

Thanks to Rumor for the template

[Kasoria]

Northwestern Civilian Outer Housing
Midnight

Of course, the job would be on the other side of the bloody city. Of course he'd have to limp like an old man (well, even older man) through alleys and half-streets and narrow byways, dribbling blood here and there from arm and leg. It probably wasn't more than a break, maybe even less, but it felt so much longer by the time his shaking fingers found the key to the door and opened it.

They were pale, and it wasn't just the moonlight. For a man with copper skin since his very birth, that was worrying.

Kasoria locked the door behind him and moved with familiarity in the darkened little house. Drenched in light or black as a tomb, it made little difference when you knew every inch of a place. How many steps from the door to the kitchen. How high he had to reach to open the cupboard under the sink and retrieve the first aid kit inside it. He was already rifling through the bag as he went back to the table he'd been reading at. Reached for the tinderbox without any groping or grasping, closing his hands around it with ease.

He knew everything so well. He spent most of his time here, after all. Breaks and trials and seasons and years.

The thought made him blink, and he pushed the muttering away. He had work to do.

Flint sparked in the dark, eventually catching on a drooping wick. It burned, then glowed steady, and light returned to the room. Kasoria reached up and beyond and ground his teeth as he felt blood trickle down into his armpit and lower, tugging the curtains shut. Hell's Fuck, but he'd left this too long. Stupid wounds, too. Easily avoided if he'd been a little faster, little smarter, little-

Enough. You're getting older. Deal with it. Everything else does. Mind on what needs to be done.

Everything had been done before. Remembered as much as practiced. First he fixed the brazier and boiling pot over the candle, and filled it with water. That was take a while, he knew, so he focused on his clothes. That took a little longer. Fine, a lot longer. Age and injuries complained across every inch of flesh as he peeled layers and garments from him until he was naked.

Blood dripped onto the floor. He made a mental note to clean it. Hells, to clean himself, but he needed to deal with the wounds first. He sat down and examined the cut on his leg. Nasty and pumping but still fairly shallow. Looked worse than what it was. A quick rummage and he found the alcohol vial. Stinky and clear and biting as a rabid dog. Kasoria set his jaw and soaked a little sponge with the stuff, the pressed it-

Oh, yes. He could feel any rot that might be trying to gain purchase routed and annihilated like peasantry smashed with heavy cavalry. The sponge turned from white to red under his fingers, but when he pulled it away... yes, still bleeding, but he could see it clearly now, and didn't have to worry about his bloody leg dropping off.

Fine. Next step.

The fun part, of course. Thread and a curved needle. Kasoria had done this more times than he could remember, but you never really got used to it. No matter how callused or hardened your skin became, leathery after decades grinding and scraping in the gutters. It was still sticking a sharp piece of metal in yourself. Knowing it was you doing it, seeing the act and your own hand wielding the weapon... it seemed to make it worse. Almost like a betrayal. But a necessary one.

In one side... curling across and under the gouge... then up and out through the other side... pull needle and thread all the way out... then pull the thread tight, closing the wound bit by aching bit.

He did that half a dozen times then had to wipe away the blood again. Wanted to chug down the tasteless, nigh-poisonous alcohol in that vial just to knock himself out and be rid of his pain. But instead his hands moved like some automota made flesh, stiff but unyielding fingers washing and sewing until both ends of the thread could be carefully pulled... and the wound closed.

Next step.

Sealing jelly. It burned almost as bad as the alcohol but was just as useful, and stuck around for longer. He smeared a fat, smelly gob of it over the bloody stitches and then wrapped the whole thing up in a bandage. Tight enough to slow the bleeding, not so tight he'd cut off the flow entirely. Then he let his head fall back, sighing at the uncaring ceiling... and remembered he was only half-done.

Come, now. This one's not even that bad.

He had to crane and twist a little to get a good look at it. Hmm. Shallow, again, but something had been nicked. It was pumping, not just dribbling, and his arms was streaked and smeared with crimson. Kasoria took a breath and blew it out through his puffed-up cheeks. Well. Good thing he'd set the water to boiling. The cauterizing iron went into it, then came out and into the flame itself... and Kasoria watched it until it was red-hot. Knew that it would be pressed against him. Inside him.

Old memories growled awake as he waited and stared and thought. Faces and voices, half-forgotten or so well-known their resurfacing was like conjuring the dead. The first time he'd done this, or had to do this. A frightened female face in the doorway. Closer, looming over him, huge and strong yet kindly in the eyes.

"It'll hurt, lad, but it needs to be done. Be strong. Here it comes..."

Old pain became new. White and sharp and so bright in his mind. It transcended his flesh yet he pushed it deeper, into the wound, killing the memory and sealing the gushing vein. He smelled his skin burning. He heard his hissing breath and the bitten-off tears of a boy barely thirteen trials old. He pulled the iron from the gash and the bleeding slowed to a mere trickle. The sponge, the alcohol... it was hard to focus on them. Or maybe it was like he was outside of himself, some tired or unwilling part of his waking mind retreating, letting the body heal the body while his soul relented.

Fine, whatever you want. Just finish the job.

His hands were trembling by the time he finishing stitching. They were sweaty and bloody and still pale, newly numb from blood loss. He should clean everything up, but... but he was tired. All of his ached for sleep. Sweaty and gross and bloody as he was and-

-his hands slammed down on the table. Hard enough to create a fresh bruise, to add to his new collection. No. He was not some pathetic old man. Not some withered old fuck who could barely go a brawl without bleeding out. He rose to his feet and it was slow, but it was not going to stop. It was like a tree growing, decades squeezed into moments, until he breathed in and smelled all the stink of his victory... and was satisfied.

Good. Put the tools away. Clean yourself off. Go to bed.

Tomorrow he would wake and stare at the moonlight where there should be sun. He would think on the events of that night. Almost as if someone else had done them, and he was squatting on their shoulder, along for the ride and the rush. Then his body would ache and he'd remember it was not a dream, or a fantasy, and a day or two in bed being a lazy, recuperating bastard would seem welcoming.

The bell tolled. Long and loud and clear even as all it's imitators chimed in with their rendition. Kasoria's hands moved with them, returning all the first aid kit back into the bag. He kept the hot water for the wash basin, since he never really was one to sleep in his own fucking blood.

The bell tolled, and by candlelight the reader washed himself. Washed away the blood and turned clean water into brackish mire. Until he was fit for bed and almost collapsed into it. He turned over, and realized he could see everything. Looked over and saw the candle was burning. He should get up and blow it out. Save the wax.

Kasoria watched until it burned down to a pool of nothing, then the glow was snuffed out like the sun above was swallowed by the moon. Then he closed his eyes.

Thanks to Rumor for the template

[Muse]

Your review is ready!

Some gritty dialogue and dirty combat—stuff I enjoy in a thread. Your solos make me happy, thank you. They scratch some good itches. I need to get better at writing combat, so I guess I need to review more of your threads.

Kasoria

Points

XP:
10 | These points cannot be used for magic.

Renown:
+5 You're that little dude whose been killing some big dudes (Renown is neither negative nor positive, but you've done enough collateral damage in public for some people to at least whisper a word or two.)

Loot

N/A

Injuries + Overstepping

Minor gash on right bicep, slightly more serious cut on left thigh (both sewed up and/or cauterized and bandaged)

Knowledge

Skill Knowledge:
Unarmed Combat: Targeting Joints
Unarmed Combat: Striking with Knees and Elbows
Blades (Gladius): For Hacking AND Thrusting
Blade (Gladius): Killing Strike Through the Heart
Medicine: Healing Oneself from Minor Wounds
Poisons: Ghost Mushroom, Weapon Smear

Other Knowledge:
N/A

If you've got a question or concern or if I've missed anything, don't hesitate to PM me!

Now that your review is complete,
don’t forget go back to your review post here and drop this image in!

Reviewed By

Muse

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