PM to join If You're Good at Something... (Makah'a)

[Konrad Venger]

20th Day of Summer, Pridesun Pavilion, 14th Bell

"Hans, there's someone t'see RURO'S PETCHIN' COCK?!"

Well, it ain't bloody here, is it?

That's what he should have said. Bells later, when Konrad had finished his task and ruminated on Sedon's aprupt appearance in his tent, he thought that would be the perfect reply. He could live a lifetime and never, not ever, come up with a more perfectly comedic comeback.

Of course, such wit usually does visit one after the fact. During the fact, however, Konrad's hand was also a claw, so that didn't help.

"Petch... d'you... want...?"

Sedon didn't speak, despite the urgency choking the words snarled at him. All he could do was stare at the hand Konrad was holding up... if that was the right word for it. Five dirty fingernails were now the curved claws of a wolf, like the one sitting on the dirty in front of the seated figure. Each one was thick, long, sharp enough at the end to rend flesh. But fearsome as they were, Sedon just had to look at Hansel's face to know conjuring such a feat was not easy.

Sweat dribbled and dripped off his chin and nose, even his eyelashes. It ran in rivulets down his face and as he waited the man took a deep, shuddering breath... closed his hand... and winced.

Go back, Hansel commanded his body, whispering through his flesh, into the pool of djed within him. Come back as you were.

"Gods above."

Konrad's teeth ground and he made a mental note to give that fat bastard a hard time for this later. He had told people he didn't want to be disturbed, that he needed to practice his wyrd. The same wyrd that got them water five days before, the same weird that burnt trash for them... and they couldn't just listen, could they?

Sedon gulped as he saw the ends of Hansel's fingers shimmer and slide, like he was viewing them through a waterfall. Curved, thick bone claws became light and wobbly as putty, vanishing into themselves, until all that was left was the man's natural fingers... and some blood.

"Wadid I tell yau?" Konrad advanced on him, wrapping some cloth around his bleeding fingernails, forcing Sedon out and into the blazing Syna. "I said, leave me alone. Dunt disturb me. Youse deaf? I dun' see anythin' ablaze or attackin' us, so why the petch are youse-"

"Someone to see you," Sedon said in careful, measured Common. He knew that Hansel often got... quite a froth going, when he could switch back to his native tongue, and wanted to derail it before he could starting raging. "Someone to spar. Say hear about walahk with sword hands."

The walahk glared. He kept glaring. Sedon stared right back. Konrad had to respect that about the man: much as he knew what a daemon "Hansel" could be, he wasn't one to show fear to him. No, that's not how you handle animals, he told himself with a dram of bitterness. Don't let them smell it on you.

"Could be coin for you. To train? Like others?"

The man snorted sourly, ruined corner of his mouth yanked up in a disfigured sneer. He shook his head and peered behind Sedon, as if to spy this new visitor. When was the last time he actually got coin for swinging steel or fists with someone here? For that matter, save that big Myrian, when was the last time he'd even gone searching for a spar?

They always come to you, he thought, flexing his hand until he got the feeling back in his fingertips. Looking to train and learn... but never to pay. Useless sods.

"I'm a..." Konrad stumbled over the next word. Was he really a sellsword anymore? When was the last time he'd taken a contract, a commision, a bag of gold for heads or time served? Seasons. Maybe a year's worth. He sighed irritably. "I'm no' a bloody charity. This wanker wants t'spar? Fine. Then 'ee can bloody well pay fer the privilege. Where?"

Sedon pointed him towards the rough entrance to the Pridesun Pavilion, and Konrad stuffed his wide-brimmed hat across his head. Clad in naught else but breeches and a tunic, he stalked over to where the new face was waiting, slapping and trapping on his weapon harness with more force than it needed.

Don't Make Me Repeat Myself.

[Makah'a]

Date: 20th Summer 517 AV
Place: Pridesun Pavillion
Time: 14th Bell


Since his arrival, Makah'a tried to acclimate himself to his new environment. The people, the culture; everything was tied to a kin someway or another. He was not. The difficulty of understanding how to belong unsettled him because it was all far too familiar. Just as it was among the Kalanue, the Suli and the Tatsuwaat, the Drykas, and those who aid them work together as families or tribes under one people. It was easy to identify this family-esque society through his walks around the settlement.

Now was the time to make something of himself. Makah'a could not keep dwelling on the similarities and differences of Endrykas and Eyktol when he could very well put his skills to good use. By what Quzon, his fellow traveler, mentioned; Endrykas would fall by the Eyktol border in the next two seasons. It was plenty of time to stay in one place, and plenty of time to contribute to society in the best way he can, at least as payment for allowing him into the city.

In all truth, it was much easier said than done. Anyone could be swooned by procrastination, even someone as disciplined and determined as himself. Word caught his attention about a man who was very good at fighting. Makah'a was itching to train and expel some of his pent aggression; this was the perfect opportunity.

After discussing to meet with this well know fighter, he approached the Pridesun Pavillion and waited patiently for the warrior to arrive. It took a while to gather the fighter but eventually Makah'a met with a man. Slim and seemingly scrawny in stature, but equal height, the man he had been told could fight him and went by the name of Hansel. The gesture he made to the sword on his belt made Makah'a to believe this man knew he was good and not afraid to show off. "You are Hansel, yes?" Makah'a spoke, looking to the man in the eye, ignoring every other detail he could have picked up. "I come to spar with you, of course with payment for your time and effort." He nodded, his hand comfortably resting on his longsword that held snug to his hip. Makah'a knew he likely wouldn't have enough gold to spare for a simple fight, and a thought came to mind, but he will wait to see if the man was first willing, and second; expensive.

[Konrad Venger]

"You are Hansel, yes?"

"Well if I ain't, y'wasted yer time, dint'ya?"

He was well aware it wasn't a real answer, and was still too grumpy to give a shyke. But a few more ticks listening and fixing his clothes and harness and hunting around for something to drink in Yeh Bugger's saddlebags gave him enough time to get his head straight.

It is work, after all, he reminded himself, grumbling inaudibly as his mind rattled on so bloody reasonably. Gotta find some way to make money.

"I come to spar with you, of course with payment for your time and effort."

There was a shorp, sharp bark of laughter that reeked of mocking. Konrad turned, half-empty water skin in one hand, smirk haphazardly splayed across a face not meant for the gesture.

"Petch m'I gonna do wiv' gold, boy? Petch do I need it fer? Y'se anythin' worth buyin' 'roun' 'ere?"

He spread wide his arms, taking in the pavilion and the people and seemingly all of Endrykas. Not only that, but the Syna-blasted grass and plains beyond it. Parched of water, or succor, or life... and everything that tried to live there suffered. Animals had to chomp down hundreds of acres a day just to survive. Reimancers like Konrad worked every morning to suck every drop of water out of the ground. Anything bigger than rats and voles were ruthlessly hunted down for leagues around.

And it still wasn't enough. Konrad had lived through famine before, tough times and lean pickings. He knew when starvation was coming, and wanted to be ready when it was.

And coin ain't gonna help that.

Konrad leaned against Yeh Bugger, staring down the swarthy visitor built like a sodding outhouse. He was a boy, at least by Konrad's standards, but stood as a man. Callused hands, broad shoulders, deep chest... a man who worked hard, and had been bulked up by it. He sipped at his water and snorted. Was he any different? Gods, he actually had a beard now, of all things. Sunberth folk weren't much for them: they got dirty too easily, and were only useful in the Winter when a man needed an extra layer of protection from the ice in the air.

Konrad stroked the rough, short thatch covering his jaw. So strange, how things changed.

"What else y'got t'offer?" He slammed shut the door on the foreigner's first offer, but left a window open with his next words. "Ain't just coin dat's worth shyke, y'know? Youse do fer me, an' I'll do fer you?" Another sip from his skin, wetting his dry throat. "Give youse the benefit a' my 'sperience an' all day shyke..."

[Makah'a]

Makah'a did not take too kindly to the laugh. Normally he would call out the laugh with some slew of curse words and show some stance or other aggressive body language, but he knew better than to be easily moved by someone else's antics and take it as a personal insult. Instead he kept his composure calm, his hand shifted in position atop his sword, but with no sign of hostility. He kept his eyes on him with a plain expression as if to show no sign of amusement, nor insult to the gesture. Hansel did have a point; Makah'a quickly learned within his first few days here that gold was effectively useless. Water and food was scarce, and even then, most of the trading he witnessed around the encampment was exchange of skill, not so much gold. Yet, as was told to him long ago, never start a negotiation with one's own price and currency, engage the conversation to create a compromise.

"That will depend on what you need." He started. His weight shifted onto one leg as he gestured his hand to open up the conversation.

"I can work metal. I can hunt, but I am certain you can as well. But...I can find water, something I am sure you cannot." A smirk grew and Makah'a raised a brow smugly. "In the end, it may all depend how pricey you are. But that is what I can do for you. Unless you need an extra hand for a job?"

All his skills that seemed fit for the exchange were on the table, but he thought it best to at least offer himself as another body for a labor intensive job. It was a last second thought, but an open ended question for a barter would be better than a finite offer. Still, Makah'a did not know what to think of the man. The way Hansel spoke was nearly incomprehensible and a language in it of itself. Even with a good grasp in Common, It took him a couple moments to decipher and respond throughout their conversation thus far. What did "shyke" even mean? was a question that came up as frequent as Hansel mentioned it. Hopefully there wouldn't be much more conversation if the stranger decided to accept the offer.

[Konrad Venger]

Day, Season, Time, Location

It didn't take long for Konrad's head to clear upon waking. More than once he'd had scant seconds to gather his wits and align them with his body, before a blade or three was hurtling his direction. The few ticks he'd been talking to his visitor were long enough to take his measure.

Like the nostril flare when he'd laughed, the look of a man aching to demand recompense for an insult... but disciplined enough to use his words instead. A man who clearly wanted his services, and was prepared to suffer a little for them.

Like the way his voice slid into horse-trading, as they'd say back home. Offer, counter-offer, negotiation, clarification... soon would come Konrad's turn to lead in the dance, and he'd not be missing any steps. He swilled the water around his mouth and gargled with it. Gods above, the petch had he ate last night? He could still taste it moldering between his teeth.

"Work metal, do yeh?" The words stuck in his mind, possibilities opening up and flashing before his eyes. "Aye... mebbe could find a use fer yeh, then."

The tall man stood there for a long chime, sipping water, studying his "guest", wondering what he could wring out of this session... and found himself drawing a blank.

Horse shoes for Bugger? Nah, what was the point? He'd never been shod, being a Drykas mount, and putting them on him now would cause more problems than would solve them.

Weapons? Gods knew he had enough metal on him designed to cleave, rend, thrust, bludgeon and otherwise brutalize. He didn't need or even want anymore.

So, nothing from the metal side of things. But what's this about water? Finding water? He seemed confident. Bit of a smirk at his lips... could be worth looking into.

Konrad's lips stretched slightly as he flexed his free hand, and felt the merest tremor of djed pass through his fingers. He didn't need chimes of focus to channel his res now; just a few, concentrated ticks were enough to fling a bucket into the well he bore inside him, and drag up res enough to throw fireballs or torch trash, people, animals... or form balls of water the size of his torso.

"Find water, can yeh? Fine skill t'have, when all's dry'n dusty. Might be worth more'n yer craft wit' steel, boy."

You can find water... but if you get some more, without having to use your djed, and all it costs you is a half-bell teaching this kid to throw his hands...?

Konrad nodded to himself, as if an agreement had just been made. Then he looked sharply back at Makah'a, and there was a cold, steely intent in his words.

"What're y'lookin' to train wit' today?"

You'd have to know him to have seen it, or know his kind of man, but beneath the casual lean and the shoddy clothes, muscles and ligaments and limbs tensed. Regardless of what this man wanted to learn, Konrad's had a lesson brewing. He kept his eyes on the dusky newcomer as he tipped the waterskin up for one final drink. Then, upon that draught and Makah'a's words, the lesson would begin.

Don't Make Me Repeat Myself.

[Makah'a]

This man held no regard for others opinions and it was crystal clear. The way he dressed and presented himself, or lack of a presentation by that awful stench. The laziness in his language, but that would be unfair to judge if he was never taught language properly to begin with. And the unnecessary swishing and gargling.

But in all honesty, Makah'a was in no place to judge. He was standing in what he assumed to be Hansel's domain. Even he would not be willing to exert any more effort in impressing another if they were the one who sought him out and entered his home. It was better to be straightforward.

Still, it did say something about Hansel's character. Rather than being cordial, he was frank and it sped up the process of formalities; something Makah'a not admired, but favored greatly, and likened to himself.

He did held some reservations about how this fight would play out. The stranger did not look strong compared to himself and other men Makah'a fought. Yet, the scruffy man had a sturdy reputation as a fighter, and he would not disrespect that fact despite his doubts.

"No swords." He stated, unbuckling his belt that held his sword and grasped it in the other hand. "We fight without weapons, and I find water for you."

[Konrad Venger]

"No swords."

Fine by me.

More than fine, in fact, but Konrad wasn't about to say that. Or anything, as it turned out. He just watched and swallowed and metal clinked, leather scraped and the sword the man wore on his hip was removed. Already plans and movements, blows and counters, feints and blocks, all were flickering and dancing behind his cold, vigilant eyes.

"We fight without weapons, and I find water for you."

"Water?" Mayhap if Makah'a was a man seasoned like Konrad had been, his antennae would have twitched at the gruff man's sudden change in tone. He even half-smiled as he held up the waterskin, shaking it, water sloshing, drawing the eye. "Already got water right here-"

He tossed the waterskin to the Chaktawe, and did so just right. Not too low, an easy, flat arc just above head height. Straight for the man's face, so he'd have to either sway to avoid it or reach out his free hand to catch it. Either way, he'd be looking up-

-not down-

-where Konrad's leg swung up-

hips jerking forward to add power to the kick-

-that he aimed straight at Makah'a's stomach.

A low blow, if ever there was one. Not a boot in the crotch, because while practical and certainly not unfailing to the Sunberth-raised scrapper, he didn't want to damage his new student too early into their lesson. But a kick to the guts, enough to send the muscular foreigner staggering back a few steps, letting him know the fight had begun.

"Tha's 'ow a fight starts n'my world, lad," he'd say once he had the younger man's attention again. Makah'a would find Konrad a little further away, out of reach of his retaliation, calmly if swiftly unbuckling his own weapons and letting them fall to the ground. "First thing I've t'teach yeh: ain't nun'a dat fair fightin' shyke be taught 'ere."

He paced. Moving from side to side. Waiting for Makah'a to make his move. Big lad like him, he expected a charge... but he could always be surprised. That was the beauty and peril of a brawler's life: you never quite knew what was going to happen yet. And it was in those few ticks before Makah'a advanced that Konrad's face tightened and twisted into a smile, one bereft of sneer and glittering with unashamed enjoyment.

Because beyond the coin and the contracts and the fact it was the oldest profession he had, there was the truth of the matter:

He liked fighting. The why didn't much matter.

"That, an' the value of a distraction, ye ken?"

Don't Make Me Repeat Myself.

[Makah'a]

The shift in tone, the toss of the waterskin; Makah'a knew something was not right. He did not expect Hansel to grasp the opportunity to fight right this second; as he looked up to catch the waterskin, he knew it was the wrong move.

A sudden kick to the stomach knocked him back and he staggered. He growled more at himself for succumbing to the distraction rather than anger. He would have done the same thing, but then again, would he? Makah'a always believed people to have some sense of good, in this case fairness; in them despite the lack of trust he's had. A never-ending contradicting state of affairs in his own mind.

With a scoff he tilted his head, thinking about how he fell so easily, but also listened to Hansel.

"First thing I've t'teach yeh: ain't nun'a dat fair fightin' shyke be taught 'ere."

Back and forth. Medium pace. Makah'a's eyes trailed his movement. The sword and waterskin were tossed to either side and he slowly approached, not enough to warrant another blow, but close enough for either of them to take a step forward and swing or...

Quickly, he stepped forward but instead of lunging, dropped to the ground, swinging his leg toward the direction Hansel would have stepped next and knocked him off his feet in one full circle, coming back up on his two feet with one foot behind him in a fighting stance. When he noticed Hansel moved side to side, he caught a short, subtle pattern in his footwork. Just as Hansel was moving to Makah'a's right, Makah'a swung his leg left.

He stood nearly on his toes, ready to move aside. Hands were up, cupped instead of fists. His eyes watched for Hansel's next move.

[Konrad Venger]

He was observant, and he was patient. Good qualities for any fighter. A brawl was all heat and passion and thinking on your feet, but this wasn't technically that. Two opponents, sizing each other up, having the time to mentally draft plans, moves, counters... it was a different beast for Konrad.

So he was wary. Makah'a reminded him of that Myrian fighter, Q-something. He'd been a tough one. Not just thick-skinned and bull-headed, but skilled. Konrad remembered what happened when he got to close to that big bastard.

Remarkably similar to what nearly happened this time, in fact.

The big man dropped and Konrad's mind screamed "legs". A man dropped that low, it was either for a lunging tackling, or to take your legs out from under you. Either way, the best defense was-

-not to be there-

-when a thick leg swing out like a club, barely missing his feet as he jumped backwards. For just a tick, Konrad's eyes popped wide. Damn, he knew just where to strike, and when. The second part was what worried him... no... not quite the right word.

He felt his heart beat a mite faster as Makah'a righted himself, slipping easily into a fighting stance. Konrad was tensed, arms bent a little, hands in claws, ready to curl into fists or strike out another way. He looked in those dark eyes and saw no fear, no wariness. Just an eagerness for battle to be joined.

The Sunberthian smiled. This was more like it.

"Good lookin' out, there," he drawled, pacing again, but slower. "Knew just when t'move, dint'cha? Gotta say, was expec-"

Attacking in mid-sentence was one thing; mid-word was something else, and even less expected by most. Konrad got out half the word and exploded forwards. That was a brawl, too. Movement and fury, harnessed and flung in one direction.

He swung up his left, looking to plant it in Makah'a's balls and-

-no, a feint; the blow barely moved halfway there before it stalled-

-the point was to draw Makah'a's attention again, make him look down where before he'd been looking up-

-and Konrad's true attack started, a right hook, high and to the side, hips swinging into the blow-

But Makah'a was a fighter. This much Konrad already knew. So he wasn't expecting it to connect, just needed to rattle him, get him moving, focusing on blocking, so he could-

-lunge straight at him with an ear-splitting yell. Something else he'd picked up along the way: no-one liked fighting a man screaming like a daemon. It rattled anyone, and if nothing else, gave them one more thing to process.

It was a high tackle, leading with his left shoulder straight into Makah'a's sternum. No holding back, all his considerable size and weight going into a wrecking ball dive that would take both of them down to the ground-

-hopefully with Konrad on top. The impact would shake them both down to the bones, bodies pressed together, and once there Konrad would-

-jerk his head forward sharply, almost like he was trying to impale his chest with his chin-

-looking to smash the crown of his head into Makah'a's face. A headbutt delivered while horizontal. Hardly conventional, but ah, that was the beauty of the brawl. It abhorred convention and spat on tradition. Every one was different, and as his head hammered forward and his face was momentarily hidden, Konrad was grinning.

Felt good to be fighting someone worth a shyke.

Don't Make Me Repeat Myself.

[Makah'a]

Konrad spoke, and Makah'a listened for the first half of whatever he was rambling about. Then he noticed him moving forward fast. Makah'a didn't know where he was going, but took a step back as a precaution. Only now he realized Konrad actually cut his words short on purpose to surprise him. Still, he didn't expect his hand in a fist just under his belt.

You don't fight fair at all, you little rat.

Makah'a didn't phase when he felt a right hook coming and he dodged, taking a few more steps back in the other direction and Konrad shrieked and lunged forward. He braced, falling a second before contact to soften the blow as they fell with a thud. He huffed, taking the brunt of the impact and growled, his eyes showing more determination as he narrowed them at Konrad. Just as he took a moment to gather his thoughts Konrad thrust his head forward, but Makah'a, quick to notice, used his hand to grab his skull in a swiping motion, pushing Konrad's head to the side and into the dirt. With this leverage he took the opportunity to get on top, and threw a fist into the side of his torso and again to the temple of his head.

Makah'a was fed up with the cheap tricks. He imagined this man to know what honor meant in a fight, but this felt more like a brawl. At this point he understood Konrad was not going to play any better, and he accepted that would be the fate of the rest of the fight. He had to learn to play dirty too, but not enough for the two of them to equally terrible, which was arguably the most difficult part.

With his fists clasped together and raised over his head, he pummeled down into Konrad's chest, enough to likely knock the wind out of him, but certainly stun him. Makah'a climbed off in two beats, and stood back in his fighting stance with his hands curled and eyes staring down his opponent's every move.