Solo Fill Your Hands

[Konrad Venger]

12th Bell - 1st Day of Fall, 517AV - Warstorm Pavilion

"Wondered when he'd show up..."

Cre'ran looked away from the squad training before him and followed Acele's gaze until it fell on... ah, yes. He'd been wondering the same thing, at odd points over the last few seasons. Whenever he heard a new story, or overheard some gossip among the trainees, about the walahk with the scars who was handy with a blade. Or three. Or his bare hands.

No, even better with his bare hands, wasn't it?

"Maybe he thinks he's ready for the real thing," he said with a light smile, turning away from the new face, back to his students, where his attention was truly needed. "Tired of beginners and hobbyists, perhaps?"

Acele snorted and hawked a gob to her side. Curious how one so delightfully feminine in appearance could be so stunningly male when the mood took her. The grizzled master of the War Storm just smiled a little broader, amused and proud in equal measure. Acele wasn't one to hate, but prejudice... she had a dram of it in her. Mainly concerning outsiders, walahks, those who Endrykas had to support even though they weren't of Zulrav's people.

No matter how many times I remind her that no-one is supported by the Moving City. You either pull your weight, or you get left behind... or worse.

"I'll see what he wants."

"That's obvious enough," Cre'ran said as she started to walk away, having eyed the display of curved, sharpened steel on the man's body the moment he spotted him. "Real questions are how, when and with whom."

Another grunt. But no spitting, at least.

Konrad knew whom he was looking for. Learning up on what he was walking into had kept him alive for years back in Sunberth; this was little different, other than the fact he probably wasn't running the risk of getting killed. Well... most likely, anyway. Of all the clans, he knew these Diamond wankers took their training very seriously.

Girl, huge sword, knives, looks fine... ah, here we go.

"Greetings," he said, a model of Pavi politeness as he signed the word as well. "I am Hansel. I have come to-"

"Train. Yeah, I figured that much."

Hmm. Not a good start. The sharp tone, the half-scowl, the arms crossed across her chest... the woman was clearly not happy to see him. Although that could have just been her nature: you didn't become undisputed Champion of Sword twelve years in a row by being soft, or easy, or trusting. Konrad's gaze flickered to the massive sodding hunk of steel strapped to her back, almost as long as she was. It was practically an executioner's sword, it was so big, but if the rumors were true, she could wield it with as much grace and precision as a rapier.

Knew I should have stopped by and watched a few times.

"What does it cost to train here?" He plowed on, determined not to let her suspicious visage dampen his spirits. "I have coin, if that's what-"

"Don't cost coin to train here," Acele said, cutting him off yet again but no, no, he wouldn't get angry. Wouldn't help the situation and besides, she could slice him up neat as deer meat if he got short with her. "But we don't take it easy on anyone. You get petched up or break anything in the lessons, it's on you. You bugger off because you can't take the pace, don't bother coming back."

"Sounds good to me."

He smiled. Almost a smirk. He hoped she could see just how close it was to that... and judging by the way her glower hardened just a fraction more, she did. She snorted and cleared out her mouth on the ground... but it wasn't in front of him, an obvious insult. More a sort of vague gesture of contempt to outsiders in general.

Konrad shrugged internally. If she thought he'd take offence at being hated and distrusted, she clearly had no idea whom she was dealing with.

In fairness, no-one here does. Not really.

"C'mon, then..."

Despite her sour words, she wasn't about to turn away a man wanting to learn, and Konrad followed her. Musing on the "real" Konrad, as it were. The sellsword and reaver and ganger who'd slain dozens back home in Sunberth. Men, women, children... he was never picky. Coin was coin, and he was a man that had expenses. All his life people had looked on him with fear, disgust, or hatred. Rarely had that varied, but that man...

Sometimes he thought he'd died with Three Eyes, out in the grasslands beyond Kenash. That the man who awoke in the Pridesun pavilion was some vestige of himself that had itself been extinguished decades ago, by his father, by his scars, by his life and just by that stinking, shykey city in general.

"You're looking to train with that kopis, right?"

"Yes," Konrad said after a moment, broken out of his wonderings and then quietly impressed she actually knew what it was called. Most didn't, but then again, she was Champion of Sword. If that person couldn't know their blades, then... "And my kukri."

She stopped and turned, in front of a whirl of sweating, grunting, half-clad, sword-wielding Drykas. A miasma of training that for a moment took Konrad back decades to the Trainging Grounds of the Sun's Birth, probably the most militant syndicate in Sunberth. Oh, they were still a gang, when you got down to it, but being founded by exiled Syliran Knights certainly gave them a more... disciplined edge.

Like, for example, having their own training program. Matching armor. Horsemen trained beyond the city walls, pike formations, fortifications in their territory.

Still never got much further than the river, though, he reminded himself, a vestige of that old Daggerhand killer chuckling with black pride. Shiny and sharp they were, but they didn't have much cunning to them.

"You mean at the same time, right?"

"Yes," Konrad said again, hazarding a faint smirk. At least she caught on quick. "I'm good with the little one, even better with the big one, but both at same time? Need to practice that."

"Aye, well... come to the right place, didn't you?"

She didn't wait for an answer, and Konrad didn't press for one. Petch her and her bloody attitude: as long as he got a real, living person to spar with, he was happy. He'd been making do with amateurs and neophytes for too long, and the only mortal scrapes he'd seen had been with starving beasts of the grasslands. Nothing of real substance, real challenge, like he could find every day week in Sunberth.

One thing about that place: it learned you quick how to fight.

"Corvun? You've had enough time resting, back on your feet, boy."

Boy he may have been, but he was still bigger and broader than the girl. He lurched upright as Acele approached, wooden bastard sword in his hand. She pointed at the racks to one side without looking at Konrad, bedecked with all sorts of training weapons.

He took the hint and scuttled over, replacing sharpened steel with slightly-heavier wood, instead. He hefted the kopis and kukri counterfeits, and nodded with an impressed purse of his lips. Almost the same balance, and they were beat up as all shyke, too. They kept their value, and... gods, they actually looked like they'd been carved.

"You'll be with Corvun today," Acele said, not waiting, not looking, speaking her will and orders to the air and trusting Konrad to listen to it. Or just not caring if he didn't. "He had an early session but sprained his ankle. Now he's ready to go again, aren't you?"

"Yes, ma'am."

Which Konrad heard as "it still hurts like shyke but I'm about to naysay you". Still, it didn't matter. The woman gave them both a brief nod and pointed to an open spot on the training field. The two men took up positions and she left them to it, dozens of other budding warriors to supervise.

Corvun, light-haired and with a cleft in his chin, eyed the walahk for a moment, swishing his sword gently through the air. Konrad noticed him getting used to his stance again, working around his... left leg. That's where the sprain was.

"Heard about you," the boy said, injecting a little surliness into his voice now he wasn't around his All-Powerful Champion. "Meant to be pretty tough."

"I have not heard about you," Konrad shot back with a crooked smile. "Let's see if the same is true, hmm?"

To his credit, the boy smirked. Then the immortal dance began, and Konrad smirked right back.

[Konrad Venger]

That he only had half the weaponry in his hands wasn't about to stop Corvun. He made up for it with speed.

His bastard sword was swinging and twirling at Konrad within a tick of him getting in range, swiping at his side, drawing Konrad's own weapons up and down and across to block the blows-

-at his ribs, his shoulder-

-his leg and head, smaller kukri shaking his hand painfully as it absorbed each blow-

-the Drykas moving forwards with each blow, forcing Konrad back and back and gods, the Sunberth-born brawler could have grinned. This was different. This was better. An opponent with balls and skill, putting him on the back foot.

As painful as he knew it would get, he welcomed it. You didn't improve by hammering those lesser than you into the dirt: only be facing equals, and betters, and risking bruises and broken bones. You just had to be willing to take the lumps, and speaking of which-

"Shyke!"

First blood went to the Drykas. Konrad was still unused to wielding a weapon in each hand. His focus was split, his gaze was in two directions and hells, having two eyes didn't mean he could see both ways. The wooded bastard went backhand towards his right, then stopped pulled back-

Feinted me, ya shyke!

-smacked into his kukri and then snapped away-

-swung down low, and he was too slow to block it-

-before it smacked into his shin, sending him hobbling back.

Corvun didn't pursue. A fatal error in a real fight, but that was hardly what this was. He let Konrad hop for a moment and regain his balance, weapons up and trembling just faintly in his hands. The smirk was back, spread across that boyish face. Just the motivation Konrad needed.

"Need to do better, old man."

"Aye, if you say so-"

He was on the attack before the last two words were even an echo in the air between them. Leading with the bigger, longer kopis, swiping back and forth, gritting his teeth as each strike was parried or blocked-

-high and right-

-backhand to the left-

-followed a moment later with a slash from his kukri, so low he had to almost bend his knee to deliver it-

-but Corvun simply slid his foot back and avoided it, bastard sword stabbing out to impale Konrad's chest as he was almost on on knee-

The older man grunted and almost choked on his breath as he swung back his chest, kopis slashing vertically in front of him to knock the thrust away and to the side-

-left arm swinging up and behind him, like an executioner's sword-

-Corvun's eyes popping as his confident thrust became overextended, throwing him off-balance-

-then it was his turn to yelp as the kukri smacked into his sword-arm, limb suddenly on fire from bicep to fingers, practice sword dropping-

Konrad didn't stop there. That was the difference between them. Corvun had skill, maybe even experience, but he was still sparring. That was what he was used to; Konrad was used to the opposite. He didn't see a point scored, but an opening made... and he wasn't about to waste it.

There was a wet, meaty sound of hard wood hitting soft flesh. Corvun folded up as Konrad's kopis backhanded him across the belly. He staggered, half-falling, scooping up his bastard sword by some miracle as he retreated.

"Not so tough," he muttered, gripping his weapons tighter, smarting shin motivating him a-plenty. "Weapon up, boy."

Fear flashed on the youth's face for a but a moment. They were surrounded and observed, even if everyone was training in some manner. To lose face like this, among his own people, at the hands of some shykey walahk no less...

He loosed a ragged breath and drew himself back upright. The crazy outsider just grinned even wider.

"That is more like it."

Don't Make Me Repeat Myself.

[Konrad Venger]

"The man loves to fight."

"I'd prefer one who knows how to win."

Cre'ran shrugged a little, deciding the fierce little Sword Champion had a point. The walahk clearly had skill, and the instincts to adapt, which the master of the Warstorm regarded as even more important. He said he wasn't used to fighting with two weapons at once, but within a few chimes of sparring, he was finding something resembling equilibrium.

"Shyke!"

Just not enough. Not yet.

The boy didn't like being humiliated, and he really didn't like Konrad spreading a foot-long bruise across his stomach when he'd already made his point and disarmed him. Mayhap the sellsword would have explained to him that the best time to hit a man was when he didn't have a weapon, but he doubted it would have done much good.

Probably ain't what they teach here, anyway.

Corvun kept on at him, even after whacking him across the arm and nearly robbing him of his kukri. He didn't try using it after that, instead relying on his kopis while he tried to get some feeling back in his arm. The younger man was angry, red-faced, baring his teeth as he swung and slashed and thrust-

-again Konrad's kopis parried a thrust at his chest-

-but this time Corvun was ready, lunging forward and swinging his boot up-

-Konrad backing up frantically, slashing at a boot the size of his head with his kukri-

Corvun grunted and ceased his advance. A solid hit, but not enough power behind it. Konrad rolled his shoulder and felt strength come back into his limb. Wished he'd had that a few moments ago, when it mattered. Still, the boy gave him a few ticks, and he made use of them all until-

-he cam on again, barreling forward with a snarl, hacking down at Konrad and drawing his kopis straight up. The lad was tall, but not so tall that the blow would be like a hammer knocking him back. Instead their two wooden swords clanged and vibrated against each other, trembling both their arms and-

-Corvun's fist was already moving, slamming into Konrad's stomach, paying him back for that blow moments ago-

Too cocky, boy.

-and in his moment of smirking victory, Konrad let the momentum of that blow, the way it jerked his head forward, gain yet more speed, chin tucking down to his chest and-

Crunch

Acele cocked an eyebrow as she saw the walahk's head break Corvun's nose, under their two swords still frozen over their heads. The boy staggered backward, blinking rapidly, eyes filled with tears, free hand pressed to his face and already leaking blood down his chin.

He was beyond angry, now. The walahk wasn't fighting fair, which she could forgive, but this was going past sparring. Here they sought to train with swords, of all kinds, not use any weapon available like back-alley brawlers in some walahk stone city. Time to step in before this goes too far.

"Stop!" A single word from her was enough to stop Corvun's arm in mid-swing. The bastard sword went back down and Konrad saw him straighten like a soldier on parade. "Get a cold towel over that, Corvun."

"Mistress, I can still-"

"Now, Corvun."

She didn't raise her voice. Didn't need to. Even if she wasn't who she was, and had done what she had, Konrad still noticed the careful gaze of Cre'ran halfway across the field, observing all. The boy slunk away after shooting Konrad a look that promised vengeance, and then he was alone, with Acele.

Who looked at him as if he were a difficult horse she was trying to break, then cried out, "Friya! Over here!"

A woman jogged over. Tall and blonde and broad-shouldered, tapering down to thick thighs, all of it covered in breeches and leather bindings. Konrad saw that, but didn't really notice any of it, nor her square face and comely eyes.

He saw the two wooden axes she was holding, and gulped.

[Konrad Venger]

She was quick, and precise, and she was fearless. Konrad knew within the first few ticks that was outmatched. So what followed was, as far as he was concerned, inevitable.

"Shyke."

He got enough time to spit the word before Friya was on him, swinging first one ax then the other, advancing, driving him back, forcing him to retreat-

-kopis coming up to block one blow, wooden sword rattling in his hand as the ax struck it-

-kukri doing the same on the other side, lower, grunting as he pushed both weapons away and retaliated-

-a thrust parried, a slash blocked-

-and she slid to the side, spinning as she went, backhanded blow from an ax looking to smash his left leg as she came in low-

-and Konrad jumped away, trying to buy himself some space, some time-

She wasn't selling any. The moment she faced him she was on the attack again, attitude reflecting her weapons designed for nothing more than destruction. Her feet glided across the grass, feinting left, right, a backhand blow at his head-

-another feint, drawing up his kopis-

-leaving his side open-

-for a chop that nearly broke a rib, then another, and he howled in pain-

-sweeping diagonal slash from his kopis making her sway back, but not even move her feet. And once it had gone clear down to the ground, she gave a short chop to his arm, killing his feeling, weapon hanging limp, barely in his grasp-

-other ax swinging for his head and a knockout blow-

"Bugger!"

He ducked and staggered away, running out of room. The space around them was plenty, but only if both fighters balanced attack and offence. That wasn't the case here. Konrad was massaging one arm with his other even as it held a kukri, trying to will some life back into it... and Friya wasn't even breathing heavy. She flourished her axes and settled into a new stance.

One ax held horizontal, low and forward. The other cocked back by her ear. The bitch smiled out of one side of her mouth and then-

Petch this!

He couldn't retreat forever, so he flung himself forward. His kopis swung back and forth, easily parried, but his momentum carried him to her, kukri held in reserve until he was close enough to-

Don't petch it up.

-swing low at her feet, knowing she'd back up, but a swift backhand higher with smash into her hip-

Too slow.

-one ax came down like a hammer and knocked the kukri down into the ground, the other coming up like an uppercut-

It was like getting hit by a Jamoura. Every bone in Konrad's head rattled and ground together, and he heard something snap south of his cheekbones. Grass and sky and Syna and swirling, dueling figures became one big burst of light that blinded him. He was aware he was spinning, then falling, weapons somehow still grasped, like they were talismans against evil. Then he went down, and the grass was warm and unwelcome against his face.

Konrad groaned, and even that petching hurt. He cut it off halfway through and tried to rise, arms and trunk feeling like they were made of lead. Things were clearing up, at least. By the time he got to his knees, he could make out shapes and colors. People and horses. Tents and weapons and-

"Peshin'... bish..."

Friya just snorted across from him. Barely a bead of sweat on her brow, pacing back and forth while she waited for the walahk to get to his feet. Further away, Acele watched with a smug little smile, crossed arms only adding to the image. The walahk wanted a challenge? Wanted to spar with the real warriors of Endrykas? Fine. That's what he'd get.

The man rose up, unsteady and panting, blood pouring out his mouth. He surveyed the territory, and the woman who was mot of it. The one he knew would be on him like a terrier on a rat within a few more ticks.

She was quick, and precise, and fearless. He couldn't beat her as he was. But that was the thing. Konrad had been here many times before. Facing enemies that outmatched him... with what they were holding. How they fought. The limitations and confines of their style.

Konrad didn't have any such limitations.

"What in the...?"

Acele frowned as the walahk held out his weapons to his side, pointed to the ground... and green gas began to curl out of his hands and wrap around the wooden sticks. Friya made much the same face, mouth dropping open slightly. Konrad just glared, eyes fierce and focused... but not quite on her.

Come.

It was faster now. Easier. He just had to breath deep through ragged lungs, fill that imaginary bucket in the well of his djed, and when he brought it up... direct it where he wanted.

Until the res poured from the scars on his palms and coated kukri and kopis both, like fog or smoke or-

Pitch. Just like that.

"Burn."

There was a whoosh of flame, and Friya's eyes grew wide as hen's eggs. Both weapons were now ablaze, raised up by the walahk, and now it was his time to smirk. Slow and nasty and through broken teeth. He swung the weapons around just once, heedless to the heat pouring off them, drinking in her confusion and shock-

Then he moved, roaring like a beast and drowning out the shrieks from his ravaged body.

[Konrad Venger]

"Myri's Blood, is he sodding mad?!"

"No. But he's clearly missing the point."

Acele snapped her head around to regard Cre'ran and his cryptic nonsense, but thought better of it when he saw the look of cold anger etched onto his features. Best to remove the source of that anger, before it interfered anymore.

He didn't need to say anything. His lieutenant was already striding towards the fiery scene unfolding at the edge of the training field, dueling couples around them pausing to watch like ripples of disruption. Cre'ran's jaw torqued in irritation. That, more than anything else, was what angered him.

Too far, walahk.

Konrad knew he had ticks to make this count. The shock would wear off, and jarring as it could be, shock was not fear. Fear clung and lingered; shock dissipated much faster. More than that, he didn't know how long these well-made but still wooden weapons would last before they were burned down to charcoal and useless to him.

But most of all, he had to split his will between the battle in front of him, an enemy easily his superior, and feeding res into his weapons. And he could only do that for so long before...

Best not to think about that right now.

So he didn't. He came in fast and swung his flaming kopis in front of Friya's eyes. Close enough to singe eyebrows and send her staggering back, flailing at the sword. The the kukri came even lower, and Konrad slid to his side, ribs creaking and shouting for him to please, just stop! He ignored them and kicked low, looking to stagger her-

-but she was fast, after all. She danced away and retaliated, chop from the side followed by one from above-

-he blocked them both, just barely, and scraped the burning kopis against the haft of one ax until the woman-

-yelped and dropped her weapon, unwilling to bear the heat anymore, suddenly down to just the one-

-and Konrad took advantcage, coming in from left and right, grin splitting his face with every moment-

Muscles twitching, veins burning, res pouring from his scarred palms starting to pulse angrily.

End it. Now!

"OUT!"

Friya blinked as the walahk barked the work in a foreign tongue, and the flames died. The weapons were gnarled and eaten away, blackened and twisted, but still solid. Smoke trailed like grey ribbon as they came crashing towards her, and she threw up her remaining ax-

-blocking an overhead block from that sword-

-knowing the kukri would be following-

-but it didn't, a boot came at her instead-

-doubling her over as it hit her in the stomach and-

"ENOUGH!"

Everyone stopped. Not just Konrad and Friya, but every soul in that field. Several dozen dueling, sparring, focused individuals, and all that attention was shattered the moment they heard one, shouted command. Everyone stopped, weapons lowered, and Acele strode towards the bleeding, panting Konrad like Myri's pissed-off sister.

"What in the hells are you doing?"

Konrad blinked, tone as if he'd just been asked what color the sky was.

"Winning."

"Through magic?"

"That is what it took." He nodded to Friya, already back on her feet, hand rubbing her stomach the only sign of Konrad's brief success. "I could not beat her with weapons. So I had to find other way."

"That is... That is not what this place is for!"

The walahk shrugged, drawing a few stunned gasps from the watchers. Acele was known as the finest sword-hand in Endrykas, and by quite a wide margin. She was not fiery or aggressive, save for when roused... and that was what the walahk had done. Yet he spoke to her without fear, tossing his smoking, ruined weapons to the ground. To him, it was simple logic, and he felt no guilt.

"This place is to teach you how to fight-"

"With weapons-"

"Magic is a weapon," Konrad all-but-snarled, ignoring the shock-turning-to-fury on the smaller woman's face. "The ones I had were not enough. So, I had to use others."

"And what happens when you can't, Hansel?"

That didn't come from Acele. The crowd parted as Cre'ran came strolling down from on-high, hands clasped behind his back. His face was the same cold mask as before, but the anger had faded into something... more constructive. Konrad took one look at his eyes and saw a fierce intelligence there. A mind that could win a fight before unsheathing his weapon, through sheer observation alone. He felt naked under its gaze, and yet still tried to reply.

"I can always-"

"No, you cannot. There is much in the world that can stymie djed, Hansel." The Warstorm Champion circled the walahk as he spoke, words calm and even airy. "Heard of Leeching? It steals the djed from a body, like making a hole in a bucket and draining out the water. Or how about glyphing? A mage could carve runes into a place, so that when another mage walked across their threshold, pop, no more magic for them."

Konrad's jaw clenched at the concept, the images, this new information that prompted them. Could it really be so easy, or so plausible? He didn't know much about magic but-

"What about Shielding? Yes, even that would be enough. A strong enough Shield around your opponent, and your djed would be as naught." Cre'ran finally stopped in front of Konrad, looked him up and down. He could see the shakes in his arms and the sweat soaking his beard, dripping down his shirt. "Or maybe you're just too exhausted, which you know is possible. Maybe you've been throwing fire or water or whatever for a bell or more, and you have no more djed left in you. What do you do then, Hansel? When magic cannot avail you?"

They all waited for an answer... or, rather, waited for the lack of one. Konrad didn't disappoint, much as he hated the scrutiny and the ironclad logic the calmer Drykas was throwing his way. Finally he just shook his head and shrugged, acting like a stroppy kid and bloody well knowing it.

"I guess I would die."

"Or you would run, to fight again one day." Cre'ran shrugged. "That's always an option, too."

Konrad sneered, relishing the chance to turn the man's argument back on him. "And what if I cannot run? What if to flee cannot... ah-vail me?"

Whatever smartass ploy he thought he was using, Cre'ran was clearly expecting it. His smile told him as much. He bent down and picked up the still-smoking practice weapons, and held them up briefly.

"Then you need to get better, don't you? That's why you're here. That's why here, we just use weapons. Because when magic and djed and res and even running are all denied to us, we rely on the simple things. Like sharp steel and trained muscles."

He tossed the ruined weapons to Konrad, then held out his hand.

"Five gold mizas, to replace the weapons you destroyed."

"Five?! They would-"

"-and to teach you a lesson. You used to be a sellsword, correct?" Konrad's brief flush was all the answer Cre'ran needed. "Ah, I thought so. Nothing makes a mercenary remember more than losing money. That's why it's five."

Konrad scowled and grumbled but he paid what he owed. The trainees went back to their corners of the field and soon the air was filled with the high, meaty cracks of wood smashing into wood, or into flesh. Acele gave him one last glare and marched off to where she was needed. Konrad was left with Cre'ran, who was already turning to leave before-

"I can come back? I broke the rules, but I can-"

"Yes," Cre'ran said over his shoulder, his cool as collected as ever. Konrad wondered if the man ever showed fear of anything. "But next time? Remember those rules, Hansel. First-comers get some leeway, but not much. Consider yours used up."

Then he was gone, and Konrad was left alone, and lighter in the purse. Friya had collected her weapon and gave him a silent, smoldering glare that promised retaliation one fine day. Konrad met it and flashed a quick wink her way.

Fast, precise, fearless... and perfect for him to learn from.

"Until that day, woman."

"Too bloody right, walahk."

Receipt-5gm for replacement practice weapons

[Madeira Dusk]

Grades Awarded!

Don't forget to edit/delete your grade request!

Konrad

Skills

• Socialization: 1xp
• Endurance: 2xp
• Dual-Wield: 4xp
• Weapon- Kukri: 4xp
• Weapon- Kopis: 4xp
• Intimidation: 2xp
• Tactics: 2xp
• Reimancy: 1xp
• Rhetoric: 1xp

Lores

• Acele: Champion of Sword
• Lore of the rumours surrounding Acele
• Lore of underhand tactics
• Intimidation: the difference between shock and fear

Awards & Retribution
- Severe Bruising: will last 15 to 20 days

Notes
I love how you write combat. Your style kind of morphs into something choppy and fast paced, so I could really feel the urgency rather than you just telling me that something exciting is happening. It makes for an amazing read!

I do suggest that you shorten your posts when you write solos. You can farm more xp that way, and Konrad can be even more of a badass.

Any questions or concerns, shoot me a pm!


Favorite Quote:

"What in the hells are you doing?"

Konrad blinked, tone as if he'd just been asked what color the sky was.

"Winning."