[Solo] The Wrong Offering

[Jett Variona]

6th of Winter, 511 AV The Western Quarter Dusk was slowly spreading its starry blanket across the sky, and everyone who did not wear a dirty brown robe was clambering to finish up their business and get indoors. There were drunkards laughing, sprawled across the stone of the roads being hauled away by either concerned fellows or family. Those who were not would find sobriety at the end of sandal, or else suffer a injury worse than inebriation. Jett Variona's own mood was elated by a previous swig of wheat-beer, but he was hardly head first in the tank like these low-lives in the gutter around him and it was his Xannos given right. He enjoyed his drink, and the monk knew moderation when it was needed. However this night was sparsely one that required a fully cleared head, and patrols were as boring as counting fleas on an old hound dog. His hammer swung languidly attached to the simple belt at his side, a quick reminder for those who may have forgotten the curfew. Of course, Jett rarely used Agnis on nights like these. She was for the breaking of special men, or raised in defense for whatever may slither out of the Aperture. For the times where he did need to enforce Nykan law (or just a good old fashioned brawl) Jett preferred a more personal touch. He flexed his fists at the thought of action. It looked to be that this night might end up like many others: boring, uneventful, and long. He would wander the streets, make sure no crimes were committed, and wish that he was inside finishing the rest of his beer. A chilly wetness appeared upon the tip of his nose, causing him to look up. A drop of water landed on the pupil of his eye, causing him to look back down quickly and curse softly. It wasn't rain, but a prematurely melted snowflake. Its living brother began to drift slowly down around him, bringing about another muttered curse from the monk. He turned a corner to take a temporary shelter beneath an outcropping against some building he wasn't sure the purpose of. That was when he spotted the shadow moving in the corner of his eye. He whirled, hand at Agnis and ready to fight, but when his eyes adjusted he saw that it was only a man bent over and unaware of his presence. He calmed and let out a slow breath. Jett then noticed the man's garb, and the lateness of the hour. Not a monk, but definitely someone up to something. "Well well." Jett began, causing the man to leap a mile high and spin around so fast he almost fell. The monk folded his arms and grinned widely as he flicked a strand of wet hair from his face. "What have we here? Not doing anything we shouldn't are we? How about you make yourself scarce before I remember my duties."

[Jett Variona]

The shock on the man's face was so palpable Jett almost laughed outright. His mouth moved in surprise but no sound yet came, until the man licked his lips and cleared his throat. "Uhh, I mean, that is to say..." The man stammered. Jett held up a gloved hand, the exposed fingers of the garment glistening with melted snow. "Save your excuses friend. What were you doing over there anyway?" The monk took a few steps to his left and peered over the man's shoulder to look at the heap on the ground that he had been previously engaged in. It seemed like just a burlap sack crumpled against the wall of the alley, but on closer inspection Jett realized that it was the unconscious form of a man. He wasn't dead, Jett could clearly tell that at least. He haggard looking, and there was a trail of vomit leading from his lip to his chin. One of the more stealth drunkards, but obviously this man before him was doing some old fashioned finders keepers. The man started to walk past him as if to leave and ended up running into the monk's outstretched arm. He squeezed the man's shoulder somewhat tightly and looked back into his face. "Now I'm a forgiving man, but when a fellow Nykan decides to take advantage of another's liquid misfortune, that's when you begin to cross the line. I've a mind to haul you away for further questioning." The shock returned to the man's face quickly after that sentence. At least he had found his tongue by now. "Surely there's no need for that!" He said. "Perhaps we can come to some sort of understanding, yes? Oh! Look at that! My hand slipped!" Deftly the robber slipped some small object into the palm of Jett's hand. The monk had sometimes been known to accept a generous donation of Miza's from time to time for petty crimes, but this one he found himself wondering about. The victim had been, after all, intelligent enough to pass out on the streets, so surely a crime against such a man could possibly be overlooked? And that's when Jett looked down at the coins within his hand. And a stack of golden Laats stared up at him.

[Jett Variona]

The coins of the city made a high pitched clang! as they hit the ground and the the man's flesh made a deep umph! as Jett's hand collided with his chin. His lip split open from the impact and a crimson stream trickled from the wound and down onto the monk's fist. He grabbed the man by his neck and thrust him back up before his surprised body had a chance to collapse onto the pavement. Jett shoved him against the nearest wall and his other fist drilled again forward; this time the blow connected with the man's gut. The wind came out of him in a whoosh. "You stupid, sniveling low-life!" Jett shouted at him. "What do you think you were doing? Did you arrive here yesterday?" The robber, gasping to find his voice, stammered out, "I-I thought that-" "You thought what?" The monk cut him off. "You thought that I'd forsake my duty and let you buy my silence?" Jett ignored the irony in his anger. He had been fully ready to accept a bribe, but that was when he thought the bribe would consist of Miza's, and not the Laats he was forbidden to handle. There was a line, and this man had indeed crossed it. And for payment, Jett gave him his knee into the man's ribs. He heard a satisfying crack, and then a scream of pain.

[Jett Variona]

The morning sun drove away the frost and brought light back into Nyka. Slowly the city bustled back to life in the glorious way that only Nykans can manage. As the streets hummed with energy, the alleyways teemed with the lower forms of life. Three dirty children were playing a game of tag through these winding ways, ignoring their chores and responsibilities. Their laughter echoed off of the red brick the surrounded them. One of them, while running, accidentally stepped on something cloth that caught his foot and almost fell down flat on his face. He managed to regain his footing at the last second and grab onto a wall for support. When he looked down to figure out what he had caught on, a flash of gold winked up at him. His breath left him when he realized what it was, and sprinted off to call his friends over. The bag will filled with the discs, more than they had ever seen in their lives. An argument instantly ensued, their voices raised over each others as to who should take possession of the bag. The first argued that it was he who found it, so he should keep it. The second argued that ditching their chores and playing tag was his idea, therefore he should keep it. And the third said that his family was struggling the most, so he should keep it. In the end they decided to split the Laats as equally as possible between them, and they each went off their own separate ways, leaving the heap of a man groaning in a broken pile behind some barrels, the marks of a monk still fresh upon his person.

[Liar]

EXPERIENCE AWARD Jett Skill Points Intimidation +3 Unarmed Combat +1 Negotiation +1 Lore Nyka at Night Accepting a Bribe The Disgrace of a Laat Notes Couldn't give you much Unarmed because it wasn't explicitly described. PM me with any questions or concerns.