[Northern Quarter] Scratching the Blade : part 1 [Kassan]

An espionage mission goes awry as Kassan captures Ezra breaking curfew, will the devoted follower of Uphis show mercy or exact the wrath of his God?

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Known as the Celestial Seat, Nyka is a religious city in Northern Sylira. Ruled by four demigods and traversed by a large crevice, the monk-city is both mystical and dangerous. [Lore]

[Northern Quarter] Scratching the Blade : part 1 [Kassan]

Postby Ezra Crenshaw on January 20th, 2012, 7:22 pm

Ren would have said he was wasting time. Was it a waste? Practically the whole day vanished under the weight of his unspoken purpose. She remained sensitive enough to his situation, removing herself when conversation turned to the gap in his story. But when her eyes would settle on his badly damaged flesh he knew the question was hanging about, just waiting to be given voice. In those moments the browns and greens in his eyes would pop wide like a firecracker, a swirling tempest beneath his furrowed and  scathed brow. The smile he wore to mask it looked strained, forced. She couldn’t know that every mirror showed a mocking face in every gash. The pain was humiliating and it divided Ezra, it was the whole reason he returned to Nyka at all. He needed revenge.

The day wasn’t a total loss, the fish preserved in his pack was proof enough of that. Still, he hadn’t come up with any leads and the list of people who might remember the Crenshaw lineage whittled down to just two. A healer at the Grand Infirmary and a monk of Uphis. He had an offer of help with getting in to the infirmary, a little medical know how and a flash of his battle scars should be enough to pique their curiosity. But that could wait for tomorrow.

Ezra took a quiet joy in the clacking sound his sandals made against the tightly mortared stone bridge over the Aperture. The fifty foot drop into that dark crevice would have given a younger man cause for alarm but Ezra happily ignored it, they were like two ships passing in the dark. After last night's rainfall the morning had started out muggy, damp from the midnight downpour. But, without a single cloud in the sky, you never would have known. The skin of his face tightened as the vibrant sun warmed his cheeks while the cool winter air prevented him from perspiring too much. His first day out of exile and it was thrilling.

As he rounded the north central bridge spanning the crack in the earth, a screech pierced through the shadowed abyss below. 

Immediately, Ezra rushed to one side and bent an ear towards the void. The single irksome bleat in a sea of emptiness caused a shudder through his battle torn frame. One echoed at the inkling of what it meant. The color drained from his face as he strained to listen for the next call. But nothing came.

"Jus' a touch of the ol' craze, it's not the time, " he muttered, thinking back to the old sailors and their frequent apocalyptic predictions. The sea could make a man drunk on doom, many simply wanted Dira to take them before the sea did,  "pay it no nevermind, jus' the wind a'hollerin'. The time's all wrong."

The tightly packed houses dissolved the closer he drew to the monastic temple in the Northern Quarter. A sea of clay colored bricks trickled into the sun-blemished stone surrounding the monastery, while freshly groomed trees lent the sweet fragrance of molasses to the air outside its many high-arched walkways. Ezra fumbled into a seat at a wooden bench opposite the entrance and set about to eating a bit of his lunch. 

Of the two fish he caught that morning, one made for a good trade at a butcher's stall in the Fourth Day Market. A fish had been exchanged for brined meat, a generous amount of salt for preservation of his remaining catch and the crusts of a hunk of day old bread. It was a lunch reserved for one well above his station because the monks doled out food based on social status, something Ezra wasn't too keen to expose. Stuffing a wad of the hardened bread and salted fish meat down his throat, Ezra pulled out a book he had borrowed from Ren's shop to study while he waited for the man who had beaten him.

Practical uses of Emergency First Aid :
In many cases, applying emergency first aid can save the injured for long enough to receive medical treatment. First aid can be applied by anyone with sufficient knowledge of the subject, even without master training. This book will discuss the proper application of treating and disinfecting injuries, wrapping open wounds and the application of force to resuscitate an individual who has stopped breathing.

Cuts or scrapes

Precautions : if the wound is squirting blood, more than an inch deep near critical arteries or coming out in bright red colors immediate professional attention will be required.

First, wash the wound with water to clear it of dirt or debris, wrap the wound if it will come in contact with dirt or debris. If the wound is not easily pulled together it may need stitches...

Ezra followed along with several of the examples using his own injuries to practice. He peeled bandages over wounds to slow the flow of make believe blood, pulled skin together and mocked sewing it shut, finally he felt around at the throat for the trachea, where a pretend wad of food would get caught. The book had chapters for animal bites, chemical burns, broken limbs, and Ezra simply devoured the text.


Two monks sauntered through the walkway into the head quarters while he waited. Out of his good eye he didn’t recognize either of them. Instead he marveled at the furling robes as they slinked underfoot while the rhythmic clanking sound of their steel blades reminded him of buoys bobbing in the bay. They quickly disappeared into the depths of the living quarters and he let out a sigh. Waiting was the hardest part.

Nighttime, 32nd day of Winter, 511 AV


In the dark the temple of the monks of Uphis cast a vulgar silhouette, a solid pointed spire with torches lining the outer walkway gave the pious building a hellish demeanor. Or at least it appeared that way to the battered old man as he clambered up the rope ladder from his hiding place in the Aperture. The winter months meant a severe decline in Greenwing Flyiers and Dourdem roots but the risk entailed some of the more fearsome encounters that Ezra was all too happy to avoid.

The stake out had so far proven to be a bust, no one came in or out of the monastery matching the description of the monk. He couldn't just go home without being completely certain. Should he get the job at the infirmary this would be the last day to attempt such a thing before he'd be stuck back in civilized life. And with the monks frequently getting injured he was bound to be recognized. He had to make absolutely sure that his secret was safe as the penalty for an exile returning from the Aperture was fatal. He had to be sure, after all what was the point of living if it had to be in fear.

Ezra quietly removed his sandals and tucked them in his pack, fastening it to the highest rung of the rope ladder with a quick slip knot and watched from the shadows as a patrol passed by the entrance. Then, as quietly as he could manage, he motioned towards the light. 
Last edited by Ezra Crenshaw on January 25th, 2012, 11:11 pm, edited 3 times in total.
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[Northern Quarter] Scratching the Blade : part 1 [Kassan]

Postby Kassan on January 20th, 2012, 11:22 pm


Kassan was on night duty. It mattered not, however. Night duty was always welcome, since it gave him time to reflect and meditate. Sometimes, it was good to just catch up. Other times, all he wanted to do was profess his faith for Uphis to all and sundry.

He was walking around the Northern Quarter in a square like pattern, nodding softly as he passed other monks. His glaive tapped lightly against his back as he moved, throwing daggers secured in their bandolier like sheaves. They were not just weapons. They were extensions of Uphis himself. And if needed, they would be used without hesitation.

As he neared one of the bridges that crossed the monstrous Aperture, his eyes caught on a silhouette moving into the blanched pools of light. One hand moved instinctively to his glaive, but he held it for the moment, squinting to try and visualise the shape better.

"Ho there!" he called darkly, "stop and look at me."

Night duty, a time for quiet reflection and meditation. That didn't seem likely anymore.
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[Northern Quarter] Scratching the Blade : part 1 [Kassan]

Postby Ezra Crenshaw on January 21st, 2012, 5:38 am

Ezra resisted the instinct to turn and seek out the voice, the instinct that kicked in when an inebriated soul lost control of his mug at the local pub and the splash that followed as the clay fractured into a million tiny pieces. In the span of only a fraction of a second all eyes in the room would turn to that one hateful sound. They didn't look out of anger or intrigue, they looked out of fear. Somehow, turning to face the danger would prevent imminent doom. But the darkness had taught him long ago that it isn't the eyes or the hands or the feet that protect you from danger. It's the mind.

He allowed himself one thought, 'To the deep with me, not a stitch past the cliff and I've met my end!' and it set his body adrift in a sea of panic. Then it was gone and a rush of adrenaline filled in the vacuum, heightening his senses and thrusting his thoughts into overdrive. It was night time, the voice was authoritative, it approached from the blind spot on his left side, there was a clanking noise like a sword ringing out then a muffled thump as the words fell from the commanding figure's lips. 'A Monk of Blades, yet to draw his own, guessin' from the direction and spittin' words his dark eyes haven't switched,' Ezra thought.

"Sir, not a scrap on me, an' I'm not taken to quarrel," Ezra said still facing away from the assailant, "By all reckoning, 'nother shout from your gut would bring all heaven around these ears. You flash some steel an' when them other boys get back, they’ll roll in like a hurr'cane."

Ezra swiveled his neck to get a look at his accuser. The dutiful robe of the Uphis order rippled in the wind, cinched together with a modest twine that matched a pair of sandals over dark Benshira feet. The dominant hand rested on a thick sword with a long hilt, a weapon Ezra hadn’t seen before. The man was built like he spent his whole life in a constant state of training.

Enough time had passed, and Ezra figured the monk’s eyes had adjusted enough to get a glimpse of the gash in the old man’s face, there was no escaping that. He noticed a house with a pickaxe propped against the door a good twenty feet from the entrance to the bridge. A local cobbler, set up shop for spot repairs on the North Central. A few assorted mixing pans sat under a window ledge and a sack of lye piled up underneath it, maybe a delivery for the morning. It didn't matter much, all of it was too far away and the Benshira Monk could outrun him in a race. His pack had everything left in his life, so he couldn’t abandon it and diving into the Aperture wasn’t a solution, it was far too dangerous at night. That would be suicide.

Open palms stretched up towards the monk, pleading. The empty hands held only scars wrapped around bony wrists, poking out in places the bandages couldn’t hide. Rail thin flesh clung to his knuckle bones like a mongrel gnawing on table scraps, and a long gash stretched across the bridge of the old man’s nose. But behind the cracked flesh of his avian face a fire lit just behind his eyes. Ezra’s will to live was strong, and his next words came out with conviction :

“Them other boy’s in your lot’ll rob a frail ol’ fisherman, beat ‘em too, but you’re blade is stayed. By the color of your skin and them robes on your back, I’m a’mind to ‘fess; not a man better in faith to th’ God of Blades!”

A flickering torchlight bounded down the nearby alley towards the opening where the monk with the sinister looking blade confronted Ezra just at the mouth of the bridge. In seconds they would be upon them and it was up to this man of the cloth to choose whether to save Ezra’s skin or to exact punishment.

“Fact is, a man of Uphis come and take my daughter!” He blurted out, “ I can’t rightly find her any which where, an’ no devil seen hide nor hair since. How can a girl vanish like that?! Only one thing has no papers and the thought of that would send me to my grave faster than any blade!”
Last edited by Ezra Crenshaw on January 25th, 2012, 11:19 pm, edited 1 time in total.
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[Northern Quarter] Scratching the Blade : part 1 [Kassan]

Postby Kassan on January 21st, 2012, 10:52 am


As the man rambled, Kassan's eyes began to see his form. He was startled. It was an elderly man, and the scars... he winced, wondering how the man had gotten them. Kassan had a few of his own, but they were not so visible.

Light came from behind, and he could hear the distant voices of other monks. The man pleaded with him, explaining his predicament. Kassan moved quickly towards him.

"Leave. Go home," he whispered. The man was guilty of nothing for now - Kassan would let him leave. There were other monks that were not so forgiving. "Now."

The nighttime curfew was not a strictly enforced law, but it was the monks time. It was when the monks effectively ruled Nyka, and so they were the only ones that walked the streets. Fights were frequent in the Celestial Quarter.

"I'm sparing your life, so leave. Please."

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[Northern Quarter] Scratching the Blade : part 1 [Kassan]

Postby Ezra Crenshaw on January 21st, 2012, 7:53 pm

The merciful monk moved into the shadow, issuing an order for Ezra’s freedom. Light from the alley came closer and Ezra’s whole body tensed up when it spilled into the clearing. He held his breath, certain that the patrol would spot him despite the man’s best efforts, but the monk before him relaxed his guard and stepped closer, shielding the frail old fisherman from recompense. As the patrol rounded the bend, filling the air with their jovial conversation, they offered a wave to Kassan without a moments interruption. The raucous wake of their laughter trailed slowly behind them into the night air as the pair walked out of sight.

Ezra looked up into the eyes of the man who had spared him and muttered a solemn prayer to Uphis before turning his back to recover his pack. His mock-sincerity faltered in the dark as he dragged himself over towards the bridge. He was fortunate the man hadn’t noticed his bare feet. Just as he was about to bend down and unhitch his pack, Ezra realized how strange it would look. 

‘Exactly how do I go about fixin’ this mess?’ he thought, knowing the monk’s patience and honor would require him to at least watch the hobbled old man make his way back. Ezra Crenshaw had to choose whether to suffer the wrath of Uphis through the benevolent monk or the wrath of Ren for losing her book. He muttered a curse under his breath as he failed to come up with a believable excuse for bending down so close to the dangerous ridge.

Then he heard a sound that made him freeze in place, a terrifying scream filled the cloudless sky and the beating of massive wings wafted into his grizzled ears. A sickly green light was soaring through the blackness as he searched below the bridge accompanied by five others in the distance. A matching set of ghastly wings tearing at the sky in a uniform formation. A Greenwing flock was migrating out of season!

“N...no...it’s not the time!” Ezra dove for his pack just as the monsters climbed over the ridge, a rush of wind pushed from their wings slammed into his exposed back. Six of the putrescent things had risen from the depths and were now making a path for a new home to colonize, to be successful they would melt through the stonework of a nearby house but first they would devour anything in their path!

They looped overhead as he reached for his pack at the top of the rope bridge. Narrowly missing the acid bath from their scouring touch. He tugged on the hemp-rope clasping the bag to its spot but it wouldn't budge, he became frantic and tugged again and again. The horrifying creatures landed against the brickwork of the cobblestone building leaving an evil looking residue behind that crackled and fizzed, eating away at the brickwork with their corrosive frames.

They let out another earsplitting scream and turned their unearthly gaze on the lone monk standing in the clearing. The patrols were well out of shouting distance, it would take several minutes before back up could arrive. No, Ezra and Kassan would have to face down the flesh peeling fluorescent demons alone.
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[Northern Quarter] Scratching the Blade : part 1 [Kassan]

Postby Kassan on January 22nd, 2012, 9:52 am


As the small grop of monks rounded the corner, laughing, joking - they had more than likely been drinking too - Kassan stepped forward to shield this curious old man from view. And when they had gone, he heard the man's quiet prayer to Uphis. His respect grew tenfold.

"As I said before, you have to go home. You can't just come out in the night, meandering around the Quarter," Kassan bowed his head a little. The man was old. Scarred. "You should know that."

But suddenly, their attention was diverted by the terrifying noise tearing through the air. The beating of wings. Kassan's heart quivered at the sound. Greenwing's. It could be only Greenwing's. And a small flock to boot.

"Uphis preserve me," he whispered, before pulling his glaive from his back, holding out in front defensively. He looked up, watching where they went, utilising their acidic saliva on the ancient Nykan brickwork. No man or beast destroyed the property of Uphis.

The old man was stumbling, trying to pull something from his bag. There was no time, they had to do something. Kassan had not come into contact with Greenwing's before - at least, not in this close capacity. Would they be scared by his assault?

Unquestioningly, he swept towards them, glaive held out. He cried a battle chant, moving with alacrity. He didn't know his enemy - but it was fight or flight. And flight was never an option under the roof of Uphis.
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[Northern Quarter] Scratching the Blade : part 1 [Kassan]

Postby Ezra Crenshaw on January 23rd, 2012, 4:23 am

Eventually he worked out that the strap in his mangled hand needed to be pushed forward to open the loop in the bindings. A bead of sweat moistened his brow as the gaggle of flying rodents billowed overhead. With a few relaxed breaths Ezra pulled the pack free of the rope ladder, clutching the burlap sack to his chest for protection. He muttered a string of curses to himself, one for getting caught so quickly and another for failing to dispatch the simple knot with even the lowest deckhands aplomb. ‘Doin’ father right proud,’ he thought, hazarding a glance at the stoic monk and his frightening weapon.

The glaive looked heavy in the man’s hands yet he kept a steely grip on the hilt. Like an orphan clasped to a stolen meal, the monk’s hands never flinched. His gaze turned to the night sky, wary for that eerie fluorescent green, and waited.

“Us native’s, we have a sayin’,” Ezra blurted out, shaking his head from side to side, as he lie otherwise motionless with his back pressed against the scratchy pavement. The flock had circled back overhead, they were preparing a coordinated effort that would likely be their demise.

Get low beneath the seas accent
Their poison wings will not relent
A measured blow shall break their heart
Though even steel may melt apart

And though you may fell one this way
There’s always more to keep at bay
With teeth that gnash and bones that beat
Their tattered wings with taloned feet

They have no sight but see with sound
A timely bang brings them aground
Get out yourself a long enough reach
And lo’ beware a synchronized screech


He grinned as he remembered the faces Millia would make to young Ezra as she told him the silly rhyme. His eyes closed for a brief moment when it dawned on him that he never got to say goodbye to his mother. Ezra Crenshaw, last of the Crenshaw lineage, had been thrown into the hellish pit before he could even bury his momma.

Suddenly, Ezra’s eyes opened wide as a searing pain shot up from his right leg. A lone Greenwing Flyer had brushed against Ezra’s exposed skin then rebounded to it’s vaulted corner perch at the stone cutters home. With a screech it disappeared further into the night but not before leaving a dripping trail of highly toxic saliva. The burn on his skin was light and he quickly flushed it with water from the pack, dousing the damaged flesh and clearing remaining debris with whatever remained from lunch. He packed a bit of salt on the flesh making him shriek out in pain. The sodium caused the wound to swell up, apparently he got his chapters crossed. Another dowsing from his water skin and the wound was clean, the chapter on chemical burns would pay off if he ever made it home.

“By Aperture’s End!” Ezra swore, sucking air through his teeth, “Ok, so moral is ‘take care of yer sword’ and listen for them comin’. When ya’hear that battle call a’hollerin, ‘hit the ground’!” He winced in pain with his hands clasped around his burned ankle. In a trance he witnessed the trail of acidic phlegm trickle down the side of the stone worker’s house, splashing on top of the bag of lye and tearing through the paper covering like a drop of water though an open net. Then he heard a strange crackling noise and the acidic fluid stopped. He was mesmerized. Something that wouldn’t melt.

The screech came overhead, jarring Ezra free of his fixation. The second wave was about to start and with time running down the old fisherman clutched the pack to his skull for an extra layer of protection and bolted for the building opposite. He had a plan.

The next ugly critter charged after the running man in his race to the building, it dove through the crisp air with expert skill but Ezra got there first. He slid the pack against the ground and snatched up a pair of iron pots. The monster swept through the skyline, tearing towards the frail man, who turned and faced the Greenwing with a victorious smile.

With a loud clang the barreling monster suddenly lost control of its depth perception, ramming itself into the face of the building as Ezra rolled out of the way. The creature’s sinister flesh kept eating away at the pavement, clawing in place as it attempted to right itself to take off again. Ezra acted, dropping the pans in exchange for the sack of lye and dousing the beast in the neutralizing agent. Industrial grade lye scorched the downed flyer's flesh as it slowly withered into a ball. 'One down,' he thought.
Last edited by Ezra Crenshaw on January 27th, 2012, 3:04 pm, edited 2 times in total.
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[Northern Quarter] Scratching the Blade : part 1 [Kassan]

Postby Kassan on January 23rd, 2012, 7:33 pm


Kassan's heart raced as he watched Ezra move, narrowly avoid an acid attack, and then fell one of the winged beasts. He turned back to his own destination, sweeping his glaive forwards towards the Flyer mottling the old stone wall.

He did not make contact with the beast. The acid would soften his weapons blow, and possibly dull the blade too. Instead he swished it back and forth, twice, attempting to menace the flyer away. It moved, but only a little, so as to escape the glaive's strike. Kassan growled vigorously, treating it just like a bird, attempting to shoo it away.

He turned back round to make sure the old man was alive. He was. And he was more capable than Kassan would have originally given him credit for. This mysterious man, with pockmarked skin, seemingly scarred by some unknown event in the past, was fighting before his very eyes. He was more supple than most his age.

"Let's try and move them back towards the Aperture!" Kassan shouted over the crying creatures.

He suddenly wondered if he should get help. These monstrosities had come out of the Aperture, and they needed to go back there - or to be destroyed. Nyka had always walked a fine line of sanctuary and danger. It looked like tonight was to be the latter.

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[Northern Quarter] Scratching the Blade : part 1 [Kassan]

Postby Ezra Crenshaw on January 24th, 2012, 7:14 am

A quick nod was all he could offer as the diabolical bats fluttered around their heads with a bout of molten death at even the slightest touch. Ezra motioned to move but the injury on his leg started to flare up. He attempted to take a step only to fall face down on the floor.

The monk waved his mighty weapon at the air, pushing the beasts back into the frothy night sky as they readied another attack. 'He heeded my warning' bout the acid. Could tear through that steel right quick!' he thought as he dragged himself in front of the door to the stone masons house. He issued a sigh, completely content to just fall inside and let the professionals do the rest.

Just then, Ezra remembered the pick axe. Sure enough, propped against the door frame rested the tool. Grabbing it with his right arm he inched himself into a sitting position to catch his breath.

The downed Greenwing by the corner continued to slowly roast in its scouring lye bath. Ezra's ears started ringing as he wondered why the lye had neutralized the acidic saliva. Unable to figure it out he rolled his head towards the lone monk who was peerlessly scanning the night. He was looking for green.

A sudden series of screeches pierced the silence. Small hairs on the back of Ezra's neck stood on end as he wafted away the stench of the broiling corpse next to him. The synchronized scream meant these beasts were about to attack in unison. And they were eyeing the man swinging the heavy glaive.

"No, get down!" Ezra shouted, "aw, Gods take us, here monk, use this!"

Ezra lobbed the pick axe at the feet of the man, hoping he would have enough time to quickly rearm himself and swat the creatures away. 'At least he wouldn't have'ta ruin that lovely shaft sword.'

Just then a Greenwing Flyer charged the monk. Ezra stood to shout, but he didn't notice that a separate flyer had started to charge the wounded old man. Whatever the monk of Uphis was going to do, he'd have to do it fast!

OOCSo your post should cut them down, mine they might run away and then you can conclude it. Sound good? Sorry for the quick post, just didn't wanna leave you hanging!
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[Northern Quarter] Scratching the Blade : part 1 [Kassan]

Postby Kassan on January 25th, 2012, 1:07 pm


There were screeches, and cries, a whole cacophony of terror filling the Nykan night. The old man shouted, and threw a small pick axe towards Kassan. It skidded along the floor.

Sheaving his glaive, he grabbed it instantaneously. It was stupid, but his glaive was ornamental, irreplaceable. If it was softened by acid, what good would it be to anyone?

He was a man of Uphis. He could wield any blade in his Lord's name.

And then a Flyer dived at him. He shuffled back towards the old man, moving quickly. Another cry diverted his attention - a Greenwing swooping down to strike at the stranger.

"Strength and honour!" he shouted, forcing the old man to the ground, and swinging the pick axe at the final moment like he was playing some kind of sport. He half closed his eyes. But he felt the thunk of the axe, and knew he had made contact. Two screams filled the street, and when he dared to open them, the Greenwing's were limping nearby.

However, they were not dead. These things could take a knock or two.
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