Closed Fishing Daggers I: A Beginning

[Senghor Vilhjalmr]

Seng's eyes steeled at Web's options of partnering him with the kid, it was like sticking a lion with a domestic house cat. He wasn't always one to underestimate someone but truly, Matthew would have been someone better to pair Senghor with, expressing his thoughts would just have to be through his actions that night. His eyes trailed to Noven and Kaie as they began to execute their commands, Senghor could have comment on how the mighty had fallen but than the irony was that he too was a a part of that might. Business - he thought to himself as he looked at Noven and Kaie go. Just business - he repeated in his head as he waited, it didn't take long for Matthew to indicate that thei guest had emerged and that prompted Senghor to swiftly move. Senghor was a Brawler, his method of sheath involved the following : As he stepped out from around the corner with the darkness still at his back, his eyes glint at the sight of the Daggerhand. Whether the boy choose to follow or not it was up to him. "Hey fellas!, wher' are yer fuckin' dogs?," the thug howled as he looked around, his eyes easily grasping the movement of Senghor charging his way. "Yer've gotta see dis one, tits dhe size of melons!?" he said as he the light of the moon finally enveloped Senghor and cleared him to the Daggerhand. "Ay, wher's..." he asked as he looked at Senghor omnipresently seem to hurt him with his eyes. Drunk and confused he seemed to want go back into the whorehouse, his hand gripped the handle of the door yet he felt his entire weight violently smack into thick wooden door and rattle it at its hinges. Senghor grasped the man by the back of the head and shoved him into the door again before pulling him back and throwing him onto the ground. Dazed as he was it seemed that he quite grasped the situation and scrambled back to his feet yet before he could raise his fists Senghor throw his own at the man's face and two more into his chest. He watched the man stagger back to compose himself promptly throw a misguided one at Senghor who dodged it effectively enough. Drunks - he thought as he sidestepped only to bring his hand to the man's head and balling it into a strong fist. In his head something quirky and smart was said but he really didn't have time for such nonsense, Senghor shoved the Daggerhand onto the ground and heard as pain collectively left from his blooded lips. He turned to look back those he had come with and by chance, that one simple mistake caused a problem, the Daggerhand saw an opening and took it for what it was. He stood and bolted, shoving Senghor aside and running for his life, literally. Senghor rebounded back to his feet and swore at his mistake, his feet quite motion as he bolted behind the Daggerhand with shear athletic prowess, the scumbag had already gained some distance and Seng wasn't liking where this was heading... He had to catch him, and when he did he'd make sure that the man would never walk again.

[Gad]

And so it was that the duties were delegated, and the die cast. Gad didn't rustle, in body, or in spirit as his comrades set upon their targets. Kaie went to work quick, smoothly hacking off appendages like they were sticks of butter. He remembered his initial inclination to get "handsy" with her back at the Fishbowl and was glad he didn't, reasoning that one die he might be able to afford some nice rings and he'd want fingers to put them on. He was more than content to sit back and watch the action. He liked a good brawl, but why put on the apron when there already so many cooks in the kitchen? Speaking of which, or who, Noven approached his mark with just as much verve, and a slightly more hands on approach. Gad felt a small- not sentimental, but more visceral- tinge of pity for the man caught with his pants down. How many times a season could that have been him? More than he liked to count. He couldn't feel too bad for the guy though, either one of them actually, and besides; the way Kaie and Noven moved was worth the watching. Smart, she- heh- 'disarmed' the guy before he could really even get his sword ready. Preemptive thinking. Holds nothing back. Gad analyzed their movements to the best of his skill and let his eyes wonder over to Noven. Hm. Same preemptive thinking, not afraid to take advantage of a dirty opening. Well, who is? But smart enough not to announce himself with noise and grunts at least. Did he go all in on that wall banger? Seems weak for such a built guy. Maybe. Might've got cocky hearing how Matty made sure the man was good and sauced before he worked his way out here. Valuable Matty boy. Noven might be a bit more bruised if that guy wasn't so plastered. Yes... that's actually quite brilliant. We get them, literally, with their pants down, staggering drunk. Everyone sees, and spreads the word. This was meant from the beginning to be a blowout, a slaughter. Gad let his eyes roll over to Web for a moment. Clever Web. Clever Bitzer. And yet- Gad crossed his arms and leaned against the wall leisurely. -don't know if I'm so high on the high-profile. Yeah I cause a ruckus sometimes but- this ain't really my style, wonder if I can just hang back here and- Gad's analysis and reflection were interrupted by the appearance of the third and final Daggerhand, the one explicitly reserved to Senghor and Gad himself. Gad motioned as if to apprehend the thug, but Senghor, zealous, was on the guy. That was fine by Gad, and he sunk back into the wall. It was nothing explicit or overt, but he got the keen sensation that Seng thought Gad was beneath him. Gad wondered of himself how he'd come to realize this. Little things, body language, stance, the cold look when Web announced the pairing, or the way he hadn't ever even acknowledged his existence, and was more than eager to leave Gad in the dust when their mark appeared. Gad didn't really fault the guy for thinking it either. Gad was on the slim end, preferred talking to fighting. Senghor almost looked like a stocking filled with walnuts, and Gad doubted the man could form complete sentences. So, the obvious judgement would be Seng was much more suited to rearranging faces than Gad. And, from the scene Gad was watching, he'd be hard pressed to argue. Considering Senghor's maladroit handling of aforementioned face redecoration, Gad felt fine keeping his position in the back, in his mind, this was where he should be. But, the scent of blood, the mild indignity of remaining unacknowledged, and a penchant for magic mingled, and conspired in the back of his mind, and soon a different voice was bubbling up into his thoughts. Oh wow, look at boy go. He's really tearing into him. I bet he's thinkin I couldn't handle it, meh, might as well let him think that. Why? Because- Why not get your own hands a little dirty Gad? The wizard clenched his fists and looked down at them. -No, your real hands. Subtle pulsations of invisible power, djed, throbbed in Gad's finger tips. The sensation of leaving oneself a shell and stepping naked into cold void wrapped around astral appendages as those manual manipulators managed to wrest themselves from that form which held them in place. Slowly, sensation coalesced outside the body. Gad did this the slow, safe(r) way which was the only he'd ever been taught, which was to slowly dislodge the pieces from proximal to distal until they were free. And then they were, and his Astral Projected fists floated nearby. He took his back from the wall and started to move over to where Senghor was still handling the Daggerhand. Gad's pace was measured and slow, because as he saw it, he still had all the time in the world. He was only half-way to him when Senghor got the man to the ground. Gad thought this might be his opening to cause some pain, but things didn't turn out so swell. Senghor did the stupid thing, and turned around to look at the audience, and the Daggerhand did the smart thing and got the hell out of there, seeing the audience wasn't really on his side. And, then, Gad did a stupid thing too. Hands shot out, his, across great distance, striking and snatching at the fleeing prey. The sensation was at first something he could ignore; little pins and needles, in the tips of his material fingers. Out of place for the simple fact that while projecting, you shouldn't feel anything at all in whatever real body parts where being used. Gad suppressed it under bravado, adrenaline, and a recently agitated inferiority complex. The left hand, his dominate hand, sent a decent punch to the general area of the man's left kidney. The right hand caught the man by his favorite bits and squeezed, eliciting an almost breathless cry of pain. Hurting, and confused about this pain from nowhere, the Daggerhand struggled onward to continue his escape. Quickly, both hands moved in unison around to the front of the man, sliding down his shins, to the fronts of his ankles. At this point Gad yanked with as much power as he could muster in the projected hands, and the man's own momentum almost turned him heels-over-head; as an aside, Gad never understood why the phrase wasn't as such, and was instead "head-over-heels", which was how people naturally were in almost any everyday activity. The man's face plant was punctuated with the sound of snapping nose cartilage and fracturing face bones, and each exhale through his broken proboscis widened the blood puddle is face was resting in. Gad felt a kind of satisfaction at having broken a part of human that was almost uncharacteristic. Violence, or the threat of it, were handy tools, readily available, but he usually liked to tell himself it wasn't something he enjoyed resorting to. But now, with this magic, why lie to himself? He was getting a rush, and that pounding in his pulse drowned out that sensation of cold knives being ever so lightly dragged across his fingertips and palms. There was a nice rock there on the ground next to where the man had fallen, a nice skull crushing sized rock, so who had time for over-giving? Luckily for Gad's cover, just as he'd laid astral hands on the rock his mage's high started to relent, and that stinging sensation forced him to reel those hands back in, as he'd far exceeded his range and force thresholds; there'd be no reports of flying, magical rocks associated with the Scars, at least not today. The only one's who'd recognize this as something other than a completely material brawl would be the man, who Senghor was probably about to kill, and perhaps Webb if she deigned to use her Auristics; a power to which Gad was still oblivious. He choked down his own spit, with each inch they approached, that cold sting got more bitter. Soon he'd slid his back down the wall and was sitting on his butt. A cold emptiness filled his belly as he started the reattaching process. Sensation, feeling, it should've returned by now. But, even as they were being fully reintegrated, all he could feel was the painful throbs. He slowly clenched his hands into fists, not out of patience or caution but because they'd become so unresponsive, like after working barehanded in the snow. He gnashed his teeth quietly and crossed his arms across his chest, tucking his hands under them. He winced a little from the pain but hid most of it. Gad leveled his gaze on Senghor, to watch how he'd handle finishing off the man.

[Zandelia]

She had heard that any good operation required luck on its side, that even the most carefully planned and consummately prepared scheme could always be elevated or destroyed by the workings of Ovek as surely as a dagger to the throat was lethal in every sense of the word. She preferred, where possible, to make her own luck but as the third little Daggerhand was seen stumbling out of the back door in a reverie of jovial celebration she had to hand it to the phrase makers in that it suddenly made their jobs far easier and less dangerous to contemplate. She decided that she would have to leave some for of offering to the Gods and Goddesses before each future mission, just to cover all of the bases. The rest, for want of a better word, was history.

She watched the warrior Kaie move forwards with the clinical grace of one whom had clearly seen fighting in many lands and innumerable situations. She didn’t so much run as glide across the packed earth as she bore down upon her quarry with both precision and restraint. She had not been asked to kill though Zandelia was sure that if she had been there would have been little hesitation and much the same result - success without much effort. She smiled at that briefly from her spot in the shadows as her gaze shifted between her operatives for the night and the street mouth’s that could potentially disgorge further enemies at any moment. They had to be quick.

And quick we have been indeed, one down and Noven taking the second rather quickly too. Impressive work, team efficiency far exceeds that which I had expected. Perhaps we could be a decent force if bound together properly after all she mused, she had had doubts of course but she couldn’t argue with their appearance and current achievement.

Noven’s style was more brutal than graceful but she could appreciate that. Fists of fury he had and the spirit to match them below the skin’s surface. He could be useful if his anger was focused properly, honed like the tip of a lance and then thrust deep into the heart of a target or two. Gaze continued to shift and she found herself pleasantly surprised by Senghor also, despite her misgivings as to his allegiance to himself above al other things. She had picked him out as a potential issue after the meeting, yet he worked well enough and brought his man down. That was, of course, until he turned his back and presented an opportunity that was foolish. Seconds flickered in startlement as the target slipped away only to be brought down by an invisible force. She pushed herself from the wall quickly and ran forwards, flowing past the group and slamming a boot into the temple of the third Daggerhand sharply - unconscious he was now.

“Do not assume victory until you see it before you, next time it might not be the enemy who is downed,” she stated with harsh coldness, “those who stand beside the person who makes the mistake suffer more than the mistake maker. Pick him up”

“Everyone into the alleys behind Matthew, Matthew…show them a nice dark and secluded spot. I saw one not far back there, just keep pushing and you'll see the little shack on the right I think” she looked back at him through the darkness. Bind them, gag them, use their own clothing. Keep one of the uniforms clean and serviceable…we will have a need of it soon” she finished the orders as she made her way back to Gad - he seemed visibly strained now and she placed a hand upon his shoulder as she looked him in the eye.

“Well done, are you alright? If you need to rest then you may go. The breaking of others is not a sight for everyone and you have done more than you were capable of…I sense” she pitched her voice so that it was heard only by him, lips close to his ear. She offered him the opportunity to leave if he wished, she knew how taxing magic could be and she was certain they had been saved by his projective skills.

“Come one now, quick and sharp. Simple and efficient. Excellent work so far but the job is far from done. We got the goods, now we must get the goal” she stated as she waited at the alley mouth, ready to usher them in and take up the rear guard - a good leader made sure her people were safe above herself.

It was only fair she was last, she hoped they would symbolically understand why she cared enough to do so but in the end all that mattered was the success. Perceptions took time to build if they were to be worth anything. Small acts, here and there, to show one’s intent and purpose.

[Kaie]

To Noven's question, Kaie merely offered a clueless shrug. She could feel the gentle dribble of blood running with gravity down her arms from her enemy's mutilated finger stubs, but when she went to wipe it off onto her cloak, her eyes were drawn to a fresh patch of slashed fabric at her chest. Immediately, her expression turned dark and a round of silent curses were uttered into the night. For a tick there arose the childish urge to put her heel to the downed man's skull. If not for the job at hand, she might've. Instead she resolved to merely glower at him. You were close. So very, very close...but I will not give you the chance to try again, Kaie promised him. The sound of frantic footsteps across the street turned the Myrian's head.

Her stomach dropped the moment she saw him: the fleeting Daggerhand racing like a madman away from Senghor toward some unknown safety. She felt herself leaning forward again, contemplating whether or not she should bolt after him and assist the desert skinned warrior with his task. Lucky for them, the fool appeared to have tripped over himself and crashed head first into the ground. The scene itself was enough to catch a laugh from the Myrian as she knelt beside her own Daggerhand prisoner. Soon enough she had him up. His left arm wrapped over her left shoulder, and she secured his bleeding hand to her chest at the wrist with her left hand. Her right wrapped around his waist to hold him to her side. His legs dragged pathetically behind him as she struggled to drag him along, but from afar it could've passed for a friend aiding a drunk back to his quarters. One time she stopped and looked to Noven to ensure he too was good to go, but before long she had reached Web to receive the next orders of business; all of which were answered with a stiff nod.

Kaie's gaze rose to find Matthew, and when she did, she followed with pace after him into the dark toward the shed. With each step she could feel the blood from the stubs of fingers soaking through her torn and tattered cloak. A single glance at his body was all the Myrian needed to know the uniform was far from salvageable for the time being. He'd bled on himself, too. "Nov, think your guy's clothes will do?" She asked quietly, voice strained as she once again adjusted her grip on the dead weight she carried. "I didn't do a very clean job taking this one. He looks like a petchin' mess."

[Noven]

As Web gave the next set of orders, Nov looked down at his unconscious burden. Carry him all the way to the nearest alleyway and find a way to gag or bind him on top of that? Not his idea of a fun time, but hey, this was a job and no point in grumping about it.

Thinking for a moment, the cook raised his left hand and removed its glove. After today, if they ended up requiring more effective interrogation, all those present would know of his crimson-veined mark anyway. He stooped down and stuffed the glove into his victim's mouth without remorse. The little piss pot of a thug had probably done far worse to others in his life time as a Daggerhand lackey.

Nov heaved the limp body onto his shoulders with a grunt and followed after the others. He wasn't built for strength like Seng was, the cook thought with a stab of envy as he struggled under the passed out Daggerhand's stinking weight. Carrying a full grown thug made his muscles strained and breath labored, but he bore it without complaint, determined to not let the fiesty slip of a Myrian outdo him. If he whined now, in front of Seng, while a lass who has yet to even seen twenty years performed the exact same task right beside him, he would never hear the end of it.

Once they neared the shed, Nov found himself looking forward to dumping his burdens onto the cold, hard ground. He was in the midst of shifting the Daggerhand's weight to stretch out his own, tensed muscles when he heard the Myrian's voice.

The cook glanced over his charge's grimy rump to see Kaie was right. Her man was still bleeding profusely. He wasn't going to make it much longer if they didn't fix him up a bit.

"Aye," Nov responded, his voice a bit hoarse from the strain. "It'll do."

Upon their arrival he let the body on his shoulders slip on to the ground and got to tearing a few sizable strips from its clothing. They didn't need to heal the guy properly, only keep him alive long enough for the questioning.

Noven looked up at the Myrian and extended his offering. "Here, these ought to be enough."

It felt a bit strange, working so civilly with folk he hardly knew. He was used to working by himself, or on occasion with a fellow merc like Seng, not with harlots and foreigners and one-eyed blondes. The cook wasn't all too sure how he felt about it at the moment. How he felt about anything really, except maybe filthy shit stained Daggerhands.

But this was no time for internal speculation. They were here to interrogate, and Nov was happy to oblige.

He flexed his left hand unconsciously as the veins throbbed scarlet in response.

"Ready when you lot are."

[Matthew]

Matthew gave a pointed glance to the young boy, making sure that he knew to stay where he was. The boy nodded, not at all interested in going down there and dealing with the sort of people that it looked like Matthew associated himself with. Who would, really? Dark, dangerous, and brutish. That pretty much summed them all up in a few simple words. So what did that make Matthew? The pretty one? The Scars didn't really need a pretty one. He made a face, heading down to the alleyway to assist where he could.

---

He was down on the street moments later. He sucked in a breath of the cool night air, using the motion and the accompanying sensation to draw upon the djed that shimmered inside the pit of his stomach. He spiralled it up through his belly and throat, tasting it on his tongue and holding it at the ready for use at a later time. A short nod was given to Web as she dished out their orders, Matthew moving back deeper into the alleyway and motioning for the others to follow him. He made sure to wait until their prisoners were properly bound and gagged before he moved, but after a moment he would set off at brisk pace. He bobbed and weaved through the maze of dark alleyways, his mind moving quickly. What was the best way to go about this? He assumed one of the others would be the person who interrogated what information they needed. His mind clicked and blurred as he approached the shed, pausing to slide the door open. He had no interest in being silent with his motions. Sunberth would not bat an eye at the sight that they would see.

He called upon his Auristics as his companions began to pass. He summoned the djed and burned it, the world lighting up around him in a multitude of colorful auras. He scanned each of them, making sure not to delve too deep, just looking for one thing in particular. After a few moments of the focus, not actually turning his head to physically look at them, he dropped the magic and merely focused on getting to his destination.

As their captive was carried by, Matthew decided on a path of action. After they had all filed into the shed he would close it behind them and hold out his hands for the strips of cloth that Noven had acquired, assuming what they were for. "I have some training with medicine. I'll do what I can." If the strips were given, he would sit quite neatly beside of the captive, watching him with a painfully out-of-place look of innocent curiosity.

[Senghor Vilhjalmr]

Senghor stopped running when he watched his escaping Daggerhand trip over and land on the ground himself, Seng was many but he wasn't stupid, drunk as the man was he still had some motor to keep him running, something had caused him fall. He inclined his head toward Web, she spoke but he didn't listen, he was possessed by his own anger at that moment that her speech became inaudible to him. Yet he did hear when she told him to pick him up. "Shouldn't have ran, it would have been less painful if you didn't run." Seng said as he walked behind the body of the man he'd recently beat senseless, grasped the back the man's shirt and wrangled him up and over his shoulder like a corpse. "Shouldn't have ran, now you're dead." Seng whispered to himself as he turned toward the alley and walked in with the rest of the Scars. The tall mercenary was so deep in his murderous thoughts at that moment that he didn't even hear the question protruding at the back of his head, why was the nearly blind one taking up the rear, she won't see them coming - his subconscious joked darkly as Seng walked in behind Noven and Kaie into the shed. As the smack of flesh and earth echoed into the desert skinned mercenaries ears, he turned and looked up, the harlot was long gone by than but Seng could help but enjoy the night's existence at that moment. He needed to calm himself, to ease through his enraged thoughts for the job ahead of them that night. So far, for good - he told himself as he looked about the shed. By shrugging off the man's body, the deafening sounds of meat onto cold earth once again resound profoundly to them. Seng knelt down and looked over the man, he was young, still early into his twenties, he was something that scum like the Daggerhand seemed to produce indefinitely. "Foot soldier?" he murmured to himself in thought, as he looked him over, Seng was so occupied with the young man that he didn't even see what the rest of those there were doing. There was something curious about this one, he was Daggerhand, but something about him spelled a level of trouble and recognition. As he looked him over and began to pat him down, the man's features molded in the back of his mind and sat there, "I've seen this kid before..." he thought, looking him over before standing up and turning his attention over to Noven. It was than that he recollected the memory of the kid, Seng and Noven had met him before, years back in the immaturity of their friendship, he was just another street urchin boy that once came to the orphanage to ask for food, luckily Seng was there too help out Noven that day. The kid was brash, a bit mature for his age even too, arrogant and sly but he was still a good kid. "Shit!" Seng promptly spat out loud in frustration as he went up to Noven, he knew that his friend had a soft spot for such kids but now, it was a dilemma, Seng had beat the kid senseless, near-death and now this... "Nov..." Seng said, pulling his friend aside and whispering in his ear. Seng paused momentarily, at the corners of his eyes he saw the lifeless body, he felt conflicted but he knew that already he'd captured his friend's interest. So, he told him...

[Ssezzkero]

Grades

I've never read a thread with so many PCs that was so organized! On the other hand, I'd like to apologize if I messed a few lores up, I feel as if I am reading this out of context, which makes it a little harder to pick out useful information. Other than that, I found the thread quite interesting. If you have any questions or concerns, PM me.

Zandelia

XP:

• Leadership: +3
• Tactics: +1
• Socialization: +1

Lores:

• If The Scars Wants To Become Official, They Need A Record
• Kaie: And Interesting Woman
• Luck Has A Hand In Everything
• Kaie: A Graceful Fighter
• Noven: A Brutal Fighter
• Senghor: Maybe A Little Too Confident
• Gad: A Useful Mage

Notes: Don't forget to edit your post in the request forum as 'Graded'.

Kaie

XP:

• Socialization:+1
• Weapon: Galdius: +1
• Wrestling: +1
• Body Building: +1

Lores:

• If Bitzer calls, You Answer
• Mission: Give The Daggerhands A Message
• Zandelia: Known as 'Web'
• You Weren't Very Clean In Taking Your Target Down

Noven

XP:

• Observation: +1
• Unarmed Combat: +1
• Body Building: +1

Lores:

• Mission: Give The Daggerhands A Message
• Gad: A Real Talker
• Working With A Group

Matthew

XP:

• Acrobatics: +1
• Investigation: +1
• Auristics: +1
• Leadership: +1

Lores:

• Brothels: Both Easy and Hard to Gather Information From
• Not Quite OCD, But Methodical In Cleaning
• Mission: Give The Daggerhands A Message
• Kaie's Odd Grin: What Does It Mean?
• Picking Out a Location To Carry Out an Interrogation

Senghor Vilhjalmr

Notes: Please pay your seasonal expense for Winter 514AV. After this has been updated, PM me and I will give you your grades.

Gad

Notes: Becuase of your nine month inactivity and lack of easy access to your CS (which is not updated either), I am witholding your grades. If you come back to Miz and wish to receive them, pm me and I will give them to you.