• Graded • III. After

[Kasoria]

Continued from here



The problem with legs, he'd found, was that you couldn't make them blur. As in, you couldn't unleash storms of blows like you could with your fists, arms moving so quickly that left and right sometimes seemed to be landing at the same time. That speed, married to power and accuracy, could overwhelm your enemy before he'd even had time to blink and realize he was in a fight. But with your legs? Well, they had the rest of your body ti worry about, didn't they? That was more important than using them to hit people.

Doesn't mean you ignore them, though.

It was hardly late in the trial, but it was near noon and training was drawing to an end. Without weapons, at any rate. It was nearing midday and the stink and the heat was telling him so, much as the bells that rang out every break. Nevertheless, Kasoria still shook the sweat from his stringy locks and slid into a ready position in front of the dummy. Arms at his side, but knees and elbows bent. Ready. Poised for sudden movement, such as-

-his hips pivoting to the left, all his weight on his left leg for a moment, as his right leg came up, folded in for a half-trill before-

-snapping out as he was sideways to his target, pure physics and muscle and weight lending yet more force to the blow-

-as it smashed into the side of the dummy, pulping a wooden kidney-

Kasoria was already moving again before the dummy stopped reeling and wobbling on it's rope mounting. He grounded his right, shifted again, this time swinging to the other side, coming up with his other leg-

More speed, more power, more force-

-crying out as his left leg folded up at his side, resting for a trill like an arrow nocked in a bow, before-

-exploding out again, lower, sweeping, swinging sweat and a blur of copper flesh as it went-

CRACK

It hurt, of course, but he knew it would hurt the other guy more. His foot slammed into where the dummy's kneecap would be, from the side, and had it been a man, Kasoria knew there's be a scream like a dying rabbit echoing in his ears right now. Along with the sight of a man falling to the ground with his leg broken in the middle. But he wasn't finished yet. Foot blazing, sweat pouring, he grounded both his feet and knelt a little lower, waiting for the dummy to stop and then burst up-

That was the key, he'd learned. It wasn't the movement of the fist, or the foot, or the arm, or the leg. It was that burst forward of your entire body that really gave power to the blow. Physics and scholarly disciplines, he was certain. Once upon a time, he might have known the names for it all. But now, after nearly a quarter-century, he just knew what they could do, and how he could make them his own.

Like when he burst upright, hips swinging up and forward-

-knee doing the same, roaring out into the haze of sweat around him-

-kneecap flying diagonally upward and hammering into the chest of the dummy-

-knocking it up and back and straight into the wall-

-but not far enough before Kasoria crashed into it.

Would have been different if it was a man, he told himself as he slid down the wall on his hands and staggered backward. Would have crushed his breastbone and driven him back and pulped his spine into the wall. But it wasn't a man, it was a dummy, and so he felt a little stupid and then stood there, panting and pouring salty liquid into the ground around him. Something small and furry and likely swimming with disease flounced across the back wall and spared the lethal little human a single, appraising look... before continuing.

Kasoria sneered up at it and flexed his head from side to side. Then rolled his shoulders, twisted his trunk until his spine cracked, worked down along each limb, loosening and limbering them up. Too long at the training and something usually got stiff, and that wasn't good. He had to stay sharp, after all. His livelihood depended on it.

The cats got comfortable, and so did he. Another break. Then he would be done with his bare hands and feet for the trial. He swallowed the urge to slurp down some water and flexed his toes. Legs and feet. They were half his body, and he couldn't afford to neglect their training.

After all, they'd proven their worth to him in the past.

Thanks to Rumor for the template

[Kasoria]

20th Trial, Cylus, Arc 695
Outer Perimeter
22nd break

Things got a lot more tense in the Sunless Season, for reasons that needed no thorough explanation. The trials wound on and on and yet there was no sun, no light, no reprieve from the endless twilight that rested across the world. Crops dependent on the suns failed, animals acted queerly, confused and thrown from their routines. Humans weren't much different in that respect. Kasoria had read somewhere that foul deeds were done more in darkness, for they were more likely to be unseen. Thus was the night such a busy time for those in the underworld, who scuttled about their errands and schemes with no daylight to expose them.

Cylus had no daylight. There was no exposure. So the underworld experienced both a boom, and a trembling that rattled through it. Because they were all men, and mortal, and the season but them on edge.

It did, however, mean that he was rarely without something to do.

"Ay' up, 'ere's trouble."

Around the table, tankards and mugs and cheap green bottles were lowered from lips, then placed on the dirty wood. A handful of jackal-eyed men turned their gaze to the front door of the tavern, where a fresh party entered... and immediately looked their way. The small, neat man at one end didn't need to put anything down: he'd barely touched his ale all night. The half-empty one in front of him was his first, and his lack of imbibing was a source of much ribbing from the other men.

Kasoria didn't care. He wanted to be sharp for what might occur. He knew that drink gave a man a sort of false courage, and even a queer, fleeting invulnerability when truly sozzled, but that was not his way. He needed to be aware, and in control. So he sipped and listened and watched. At the man who'd hired team, laughing and joking at the head of the table. At his "comrades", scum and sellswords all, enjoying their free booze a little too much. At the sea of humanity constantly churning around them, but at a respectable distance, the way a shoal of fish would around a reef of sharks.

And at the door. Especially at the door. Because the word across the cobbles was Revie no and her lads would try something soon and, well...

Cylus. Always makes people more... prone.

The young man smiled, though there was a twang of pain at the end of the movement. Another word he'd learned at the academy. Now a world forever barred to him, and rightly so. He'd broken the law. He had shed the blood of men and women not found guilty of any crime.

By the courts, he told himself, an angry, growling blackness in his mind that chimed in whenever he remembered the red, burning events of two arcs ago. They would have done nothing. There was not enough evidence. No-one would have talked. You had to to dot it, or there would never have been justice.

You had to, or they died for nothing.

"Well, well, well... look who's come sniffing, boys."

That utterly unoriginal remark snapped Kasoria from his brief reverie, and he cursed himself for the distraction. Two arcs it had been. Plenty of time to not think about it every ten fucking trills. He shook his head and stared at the scarred woman standing before their table, flanked by a coterie of men who looked... much the same as the ones around it, actually. The only difference was their employer. Kasoria knew that most of them knew each other, even worked together before. But consistency was as rare as loyalty in their world, and why wouldn't it be?

Sellswords: not just there for the coin, there for the most coin. And that can always change.

Kasoria allowed himself a smile. Two years. He'd learned plenty.

"You practice that in front a' these bumboys 'fore y'came over, lil' chit?" Magnus grinned, which was unfortunate. Even the gems and gold he had hammered into spaces between his teeth couldn't help that mug. "Cuz we're all very scared, aren't we lad? Very fucking intimidated."

"Wouldn't surprise me if y'were, Maggy," Revie shot back smoothly, pacing across the floorboards between the two groups, now very much clear of the drunks and patrons and waitresses who'd been there before. It seemed to Kasoria that most of the Lucky Goose seemed to have either left or chosen seats much further away. "After all, yer a long way from home ground, aincha? Have been for most of the season. Maybe you should, y'know, fuck off back to where you belong, hmm?"

"And if I fuckin' don't, cunt?"

That was what started it, and it was the slow, tense start that Kasoria could work with. The men flanking Revie stepped forwards, hands on sheathed weapons. Magnus' scum rose to meet them, tables scraping across the floor as eight surly mercenaries got to their feet and moved to line up with Magnus in the middle. Kasoria found a gap at his side and when he saw the man across from him-

"... you?!"

-a broken snarl stared back at him, disbelieving and hateful in equal measure. Kasoria blinked a few times in confusion, but it didn't take long. The shock of reddish brown hair, the bulbous nose and the brawny build... ah, yes, and the shattered set of gnashers that he'd never had the coin to fix. He nodded his head, just once. Let a half-smile play across his lips.

"Hello, Rand."

"Youse two know each other?"

"Fuckin' right we do," Rand growled, hand massaging the hilt of the cutlass sheathed on his left hip. Kasoria's eyes snapped to it, then back up. "Little cunt over there ruined my fuckin' mouth and my fuckin' foot."

Magnus and Revie actually exchanged a surprised look. If only for that rare, fleeting moment, they were equal in their reaction. Then the moment vanished and Revie chuckled, puckered scar dividing her face nearly in two twitching and squirming hideously.

"Well... all the more reason t'handle this the nasty way," she said, fingers drumming on the hilt of her own blade. "Looks like we got some unresolved issues, Maggy. Best to have it out. Clear the air. Rand here'll make it quick, at least."

Now it was Magnus' turn to smile, and revel in knowing something the whore-turned-gangster didn't. A couple of his heavies exchanged looks, anticipation rank on their bad teeth and feral expressions. Oh, such a mistake to make. Assuming that the little man was just his size, just his calm, polite, professional manner. The others... well, they knew what Revie did. And they knew Rand.

"Think so, do ya? Clearly y'don't know Kas, here."

"I know Rand," Revie said, clapping the smirking thug on a shoulder as big as her head. "And I've seen him cut apart men with that fuckin' cleaver like they were ham shanks. Y'think that limp slow him down? Well it don't, sunshine. After he's finished with that little cunt, maybe you'll be next. Or one of my other lads."

The air changed, and Kasoria could hear dice being rolled, far away, and high in the sky.

The gladius at his side was a weight on his thigh and hip, but he didn't feel the urge to pull it. He knew where his strengths lay. And he knew what would be the quicker way to end the fight he knew was coming. He took one, careful step closer to Rand, and the big man did the same. The glared and stared and finally Kasoria spoke.

"You'll lose again, Rand. You should go."

That was all it would take. A dig at his ego, an insult to his pride. Kasoria felt lightning rush through his limbs as Rand's expression dissolved into pure, unrelenting hatred, and his hand flew to his sword-

Across his stomach. As Kasoria knew it would. And he was already moving.

[Kasoria]

Rand let him get too close. It was a mistake made by many men, before and after that night. Often it was one of the last they ever made.

Afterwards, he really wished he'd been keeping a count. He guessed at how long it had taken, but recollection of the whirl and rush of combat was... unreliable. Time slowed and sped depending on how well you were doing, what you were facing, a dozen other factors. But he knew that it was not much time at all, because by the time it was done, no-one else had their swords out.

And Rand was finished in the muscle business.

The big man's hand flew down to the handle of the cutlass at his hip, eyes filled with eager bloodlust, and just as his finger wrapped around the handle-

-Kasoria burst forward a step, right leg coming up at the same time, foot flying forwards and-

CRUNCH

No sandals, that time. No bare feet like at the academy. Iron-bottomed shoes with steel toecaps. Rare for those outside the mines and the mills of the city, but worth the investment for a brawler. Kasoria's bursting kick slammed into Rand's wrist as it gripped the cutlass and something snapped under it. He felt the pressure change subtly, even through the metal. Something hard suddenly become soft and sliding and-

Broken. Rand's fingers went numb and his hand shot away, the man staggering back, lips wet and ready to yell in agony as his mind caught up with the reality that he was-

Kasoria never gave him that chance. As his foot came back down he burst forward again, closing the distance, heedless to all save the man before him as his arm shot out-

-fingers bent at the first knuckle, a thin line of bone flying out in a short, vicious jab-

THUCK

That pounded into Rand's throat and killed his ability to breath, sure as his kick had killed his ability to grip a sword. Now the shock of the first blow had worn off, and all the pain was rushing into him at once. In that fleeting trill before the final blow, Kasoria saw his eyes shatter again. That look of hate and confidence obliterated by not just agony, but realization. That has wrist was broken. That he was choking.

That he was going to lose. Kasoria made sure not to waste the opening.

"Fuck me-"

He didn't know who that came from, and didn't care. It didn't matter. Finishing the fight did. He couldn't pull a sword, he couldn't breath, but he was still on his feet, so-

-Kasoria burst forward one more time, right leg sweeping around, powered by his hips, grateful that Rand was a big lad and his leg as a big target-

-for the steel toecaps that smashed into the side of his left knee-

CRACK

-and broke it with a wet, sickening snap, like a turkey leg being broken off the roasted carcass. Then Rand found the breath to scream, as he finally toppled back, cursing and coughing and puking all at once. Revie's scum flinched away as the big man collapsed, all staring in shock at their mangled, near-crippled "comrade". Revie's eyes went wide for a moment, looking at Magnus, now grinning even wider...

There was a slow, steady, sigh on the air. It almost sounded like a living creature, made of some unreckonable stuff that had awoken to find fresh feed before it, and was grateful. It was steel on leather; Kasoria drawing his gladius as he stepped back from the ground between the two gangsters and their thugs, into Magnus' ranks.

His employer chuckled, and nodded to Revie, filling his hands with a hatchet pitted with human teeth.

"Whenever yer ready, love."

[Kasoria]

They won that fight. Took casualties, of course. Losses. One man bled out from a bottle in his throat; another was run through by a sword. But Revie ended up dead at the end of someone sword, and the handful of men she had left ran the moment she was dead. Magnus told everyone it was his hatchet that ended her life, but Kasoria doubted that story. The details, they were... hazy, to him. It was, after all, a very long time ago. Maybe Magnus did it. Maybe he was two busy with some other cunt trying to gut him.

It didn't matter. He was dead by the next Cylus, and Kasoria did know that for a sure. He'd been the one that killed him, after all.

Decades later, the selfsame assassin squatted on the ground in his backyard, listening to the wind and the noon bells and his own steady breathing. Not a mercenary anymore, going where the coin was better and more likely. Sometimes it was a matter of someone offering more than the man you currently worked for, but in Magnus' case? He simply ran out of gold. One season, near the end of the arc, his businesses were shut down by the Blackguard and his muscle deserted him. Kasoria was no different.

Someone else came along, who did have coin, and Magnus was in their way, so...

Such is the way of your world, the little man thought to himself. Now he worked for one man, one purse, and didn't complicate his life by entertaining other offers. Sometimes he thought that was foolish of him. The entrepreneurial Etzosi in him rolled his eyes at such loyalty, such a lack of diversification in his options. He had a reputation, after all. Forged and won by hundreds of corpses across twenty-five arcs. He could command quite a retainer, and a fatter purse than Vorund paid him.

But he was not that man anymore. That boy, without any ties save for a father he barely spoke to, who drifted through the dark corners of Etzos, wherever the coin and blood flowed thickest. He was older and wiser, or so he hoped, and he had nothing left to prove. He tipped back to the jug and let the water cascade from the corners of his mouth, soak his beard and drizzle down his chest. It had been a long morning, but the trial was not over.

It didn't matter which one it was. It was Ashan, and the season was young. But his training was daily, no matter what. He'd been a brawler and a scrapper long before the Blackguard, but the academy had shown him how crucial such conditioning was. But this was a rest, a break, and in those snatched bits he let his mind wander.

It didn't matter which trial it was, but the season was new, and that meant he would be traveling soon. Beyond this place of smoke and shit and souls hungry and ruthless and doomed. Into grass and rich, black soil, fields and dales and herds of big, stupid creatures that city boys barely believed existed.

Kasoria smiled through the sweat and strain of a man growing older. He would see his son again.

Water pattered and splattered on the stones as he tipped the rest of the jug over his head. Then he shook his head clear of clinging drops like a dog, and picked up his karambit.

His trial was not over.

Thanks to Rumor for the template

[Rynata]

Name: Kasoria

Knowledge:
Discipline: Not Drinking When On The Job
Tactics: Best Way to Defeat a Swordsman? Don't Let Him Draw His Sword
Tactics: Provoking an Enemy By Needling their Pride
Unarmed Combat (Ki'Enaq): Flying Knee
Unarmed Combat (Ki'Enaq): Push Kick
Unarmed Combat (Ki'Enaq): Roundhouse Kick

Non-Skill Knowledge:
Etzos Culture: Cylus is a Tense Time for the Underworld

Loot: N/A
Injuries: N/A
Expenses: N/A
Renown: 10
Magic XP: N/A

Points: 10

- - -

Comments: Oof ouch. I've "broken" my knee before irl so the descriptions were painful to read through. But in the best way! Very compelling read throughout. I'm glad the two old enemies got to have a showdown.

If you feel I've missed anything or if you have questions about your review, please don't hesitate to send me a quick PM. Also, please indicate on your request thread that this has been reviewed. Thanks!

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