Solo Mobster Madness

Noven narrowly avoids marking his own grave.

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Mobster Madness

Postby Noven on October 21st, 2014, 5:58 am

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Fall, Day 16, 514AV

Why am I always stuck doing this shyke...

Surly as ever, the cook grumbled to himself as he toted around a bulky package under one arm. Even with Robern dead and the gang's ever weakening grip on all the glory and power it once possessed, Nov never quite relished the idea of roaming around on Daggerhand turf. Mostly because he knew that, if push came to shove, he wasn't sure he could stop himself from murdering one or ten.

But this task needed to be done. Well, Jillene needed it to be done. He personally could care less.

Noven had tried to question why the Isur required the mystery gift to be delivered so suddenly. Tried, and failed. All he got were more cold, blank stares and re-emphasized orders that he not be caught. A part of him suspected that it had to do with the Nighteyes, but those rumors were never exactly confirmed. So, the only thing he could do in the end was accept his fate and get the stupid thing delivered as fast as possible.

Nov hated delivery jobs. They were boring, menial, and took much too long for his liking. Not to mention that whenever he went out, he had a tendency to get himself and a whole spectrum of other people hurt. In fact, the last time he'd set foot past the orphanage's doorstep, he ended up murdering two mobsters in the making and got trapped into a deal with Blondie.

It didn't help either that the knife wound he had received only a handful of nights ago was still healing. Things came to a close call when he'd whacked those filthy petchers off Caela, but those goons had been too untrained and stupid to cause him much threat.

These Daggerhands, however...

Normally, Nov had little trouble pitting his skills against those of Daggerhand lackeys. Even fewer qualms over doing so, too. But on top of still recovering, there was also the sheer number of goons marching about to consider as well. He could take on one or two in his current condition. Unfortunately for the cook, the Daggerhands had smartened up a bit since their inevitable decline and started to seek out recruits in groups of four or five. They hassled any healthy looking man they came across, and hassled the women even more.

This was arguably the worst possible time for Jillene to need something delivered. Honestly, the shyke that woman puts me through, Nov seethed. But what could he do? It was either obey the five foot nothing Isur's demands, or get fired. He couldn't afford to get fired. Especially not now, with all these strange occurrences afoot inside the Berth.

The cook was just about to turn his last corner before he reached his destination when he made the mistake of letting his gaze linger too long on a group of recruiting goons.

"Oy, you there. Lad with the bundle."

Dammit. Nov entertained the idea of making a run for it. But his package was too heavy and there was no where he'd be willing to lead an entire pack of Daggerhands to. Gritting his teeth, the young man stopped and turned around slowly. "Eh," was his lackluster reply.

The leader of the thugs, an ugly fellow with a shaved pate and scar running over one side of his upperlip, planted his meaty fists onto the sides of his belted hips and grinned haughtily. "You look like a strong lad. What say you take up cause with the Daggerhands, become our brother and get a taste of real power? It's got a good flavor to it, I can promise you that."

Noven stared at the man for a moment before answering through gritted teeth, "No thanks."

As soon as he started walking again, though, he could hear their footsteps following. Cursing his ill fortune under his breath, the cook reluctantly turned back around to face the group of five once more. "Come on boy, you haven't even given us a chance," the bald thug leered, spreading his hands. "What's it gonna be, make this hard or make this easy? You don't wanna be rude to us, that I promise you won't like."


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Noven
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Mobster Madness

Postby Noven on December 14th, 2014, 2:41 am

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Outnumbered and stuck on unfamiliar turf, Nov chose to do something he rarely bothered with in that moment.

He stopped to think.

The destination of his delivery was still a dozen buildings down the street. He could bolt past it and toss the package at the door...but that left too much up to luck and chance, as well a precision to tossing things that he simply didn't possess.

What then? Fight these petchers? The merc certainly would have liked to, except he couldn't guarantee he wouldn't destroy the package somehow in the process. Or make it out alive, period. And even if he managed to escape after losing the goods and gettting caught, there wouldn't be much of a point in trying to go back to Jillene, because she would personally end him once she found out.

Krysus, why couldn't anything in life ever be easy?

"Look, mate, nothing personal," Nov lied through his teeth, "I've got a job to do and no time to chit chat, is all. But I'm feeling generous today. How about I leave you fine lot with a bit of coin for your troubles and be on my way, eh? What do you say?"

Old Shavepate looked to his brethren for a tick. Then he grinned. The unseemly sight gave Noven a bad, bad feeling in his stomach.

"Sounds like a reasonable offer." Shavepate rubbed along his chin, eyeing where he guessed the potential recruit's coin purse might be. "But I've got something better in mind."

The big thug brought both fists together and cracked his knuckles. "How about you give us your coin--all of it--and show us what's in that package. Then maybe, just maybe, we'll decide to let you off the hook and bait you another day."

There was nothing in that counteroffer Nov liked. Not one single part. He tightened his grip around the package and gave a mental apology to his stomach. Whatever came next was going to push his barely healing wound to its absolute limits. And that was just if he was lucky. If worst came to worst, his stitches would get torn and his cut grow infected, with no assurance that he'd be able to call on the good doctor a second time afterwards.

Ovek lend me your luck, the cook prayed silently, making that two rare acts in one morning, because I'm sure as fuck going to need it.

He sighed and moved his hand slowly toward his belt, as if reaching for his coin purse. Shavepate and his goons snickered to one another, no doubt already dreaming lustily of the splurging they'd partake in tonight, once their recruitment rounds were finished.

"C'mon, boy. We haven't got all d--"

Without warning, Nov lashed out with one of his Tamos. His blade only swiped through empty air, but it was the sight of the weapon, the initial jolt of alarm that he was counting on. All four Daggerhands present visibly flinched as their hands flew to their own weapons in sheer instinct. Two of them appeared to own daggers, one a sword, and the last, their leader, a pair of gleaming brass knuckles.

They were caught off guard for all of a few ticks. But a few ticks was all Nov needed to turn tail and bolt, dagger in one hand and package tucked under the other. He stopped for nothing, not even to look back, as he blazed down the street.

"Shit--what are you lot standing here for?!" Shavepate bellowed. "After him!"


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Mobster Madness

Postby Noven on January 8th, 2015, 11:27 am

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It wasn't something the man would be proud to admit later when he retold the events--with an embellishment or two, of course--back at Sunset. But Nov ran for his life. He plowed down one street after another, package still in hand, stopping for nothing. Not even to look back. He was like a runaway bull smashing its way blindly from captivity, fury and an overpowering need to escape the only two things left on his mind. Though Nov tried his best not to outright harm any unfortunate passerby's who happened to be in his way, he was unable to stop himself from knocking various baskets and crates to the ground, as well as a couple of bodies.

"Get back here you sodding little cunt!" Shavepate bellowed from behind. He and his goons were bulkier and slower, but they had all mobsters shared. They couldn't give less of a petch who they hurt to get what they wanted.

Noven knew that some of the cries he heard behind him were fatal ones. Even so, he could not stop. There was too much as stake. Aside from his own life, there was Jillene and her package to consider. And the children. And the Scars. And not to mention his precious, precious vendetta. Getting caught was so far out of the question it seemed almost comical.

At some point, the cook realized he was nearing the destination of his delivery and panicked. What should he do? He couldn't drop off the goods now. They were too close on his heels.

Looking up, Nov saw that most of the buildings on this side of the street were one story tall. There were also plenty of barrels and crates lines against the walls. A plan birthed from snap judgment, he skidded to a halt, brought the package up to his teeth so he could bite down on the string tying it all together, and lunged for the nearest stack of crates.

Shavepate and his thugs almost ran right past their prey before backtracking in a symphony of curses. "Petcher thinks he's a monkey," the leader sneered before giving curt orders to the rest of his crew. "You two, get up there and go after him. Finny, I want you to double back and try to cut him off."

"But where will you be, Boss?" the uglier of the two assigned to climb asked.

"Getting ahead of him in case he goes the other way, you petching idiot," Shavepate snarled impatiently. "Stop wasting time asking me stupid questions and get that son of a bitch!"

Scrambling into action, the goons made off to follow their orders. By then Nov had managed to launch himself off a stack of crates and grab onto the edge of a shabby old roof. His first attempt left him with a broken plank and almost a broken neck as well. The rotting wood came apart easily in his left hand. Thankfully, his right fared better, having grabbed onto a more stable piece of roof, and the cook was able to throw up his left hand one more time to find more solid purchase.

Getting up on that thrice blasted roof was grueling work for a man more used to fist fights than cat burglary. He had to pedal his boots against the wall as if he were running up it while the muscles in his arms strained to pull the rest of his weight up and over. As though the fire in his lungs from so much mad pelting wasn't enough, the flames now spread through all four of his limbs as well. Not to mention his jaws felt like they might give at any tick from his teeth clamping down on the package strings so hard.

Looking down, Nov saw that two of the goons--the ones with daggers, his mind ever so helpfully informed him--were coming after him. It sent an extra spasm of panic through his body and the merc doubled his efforts, cries of effort muffled through string and teeth.

For a moment, it seemed like he wasn't going to make it. Then he managed to get one foot up along the edge of the roof as well and Nov surged forward to land in an exhausted heap on dark, molding tiles. He spat out the string of the package as it flopped to one side and focused on getting back on his feet. There was no time to rest. At least two of them were coming up after him and he needed to either be running or ready to fight.


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Mobster Madness

Postby Noven on March 3rd, 2015, 6:54 am

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Well, shyke. Running had never been his forte anyway.

Nov was barely on his feet when the first of the two thugs behind him managed to clamber onto the roof. With ruthless desperation, the cook scrambled over, raised one boot, and smashed it into the thug's fingers. A howl, a curse, but no bodily thud. Must've managed to grab onto something then, or land somewhere safe. There was no time to lament his failure, however, as the second goon came crawling over.

Trying the same trick twice proved more dangerous than sound. As soon as Nov aimed another swift stomp on the second thug's fingers, he almost got dragged right off of the roof. Jumping out of his pursuer's reach, Nov stumbled backwards, kicking the package out of view.

He would have to fight them, then. One by one.

Thug #2 came clambering onto the roof. Not wanting to risk being thrown off again, Noven stayed where he was, fists raised. His opponent leered as he drew a long dagger and advanced.

Nov backed up a few steps, but the roof was narrow and sooner than he preferred, there was no where else to retreat. Looking up at the Daggerhand, he put his hands behind his back and cocked his head to one side. As quickly and stealthily as he could, Nov began removing his left glove.

"What's the matter, boy?" Thug #2 sneered. "Ready to give up so soon? Looks like you weren't cut out for the Daggerhands after all."

Noven sneered back. "Yeah, no kidding. Guess I didn't meet your top requirement: being so petching ugly you've got no choice but to put a tattoo on your chest just so people have something else to look at it."

That about did the trick. The Daggerhand roared and rushed his target, dagger gleaming wickedly beneath Syna's light. Nov was ready and dodged backwards, bending for half a tick at the waste as his opponent's dagger arched in a wild swing aimed at his head. By the time he bounced back, there was another swipe to dodge. And another. And another. For a moment, it seemed as if this mobster would win.

But then it came. The gush of confidence, the overstepping that ensued. Thug #2 lost a little of his balance from a particularly frustrated and violent slash. And it was all Nov needed to slip within his guard. He aimed a well timed punch straight to the man's thrice-broken nose. There was a sickening crack and then a howl as the thug flailed in stunned pain. Not giving him more than a tick's worth of reprieve, Nov aim for the man's face again. Except this time, he switched to his left and flared his mark, the crimson veins along his dark skin glowing with greed.


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Mobster Madness

Postby Noven on March 3rd, 2015, 6:56 am

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Had his hand lingered, Nov was certain the Daggerhand would have tried to hack at or bite it. But he knew what to do; the cook withdrew his hand quickly, watching his victim stumble back in unimaginable pain, dagger long forgotten as it lay abandoned on the rooftop. Nov was not done, however. He rushed forward, his own dagger unsheathed, and caught the man by the grimy ends of his hair. Then he sank his Tamo deep into his victim's skull, ending his gruesome cries once and for all.

No sooner had he finished with the first than the second Daggerhand finally arrive at the scene.

Rage contorted the man's face first. Then fear as he saw the crimson veins on Noven's hand. "V-V-Vexer!" he stuttered, catching Nov off guard. How the hell did a common thug like him know of his goddess mark?

Then the man turned tail and ran.

Nov swore and made chase. He couldn't let the little rat escape. It knew his secret and if it sold so much as a single soul, the cook was doomed. The second Daggerhand was nimbler than the first and managed to clamber down the rooftop with surprising speed. Fortunately for Nov, he wasn't concerned with expertly climbing down from the building. It was only one story tall and various piles of refuse and used straw littered the cobbled stones beneath. With only a moment's worth of regret, Nov let himself step right off of the roof to crash directly on the scrawny Daggerhand.

It was a messy business. The two of them were winded but relatively unharmed, pushing, clawing, shoving at one another in the pile of refuse to get back on top. In the end, however, Nov was stronger and more accustomed to these kinds of chaotic scraps. He found his bearings first, fumbled at his belt for his second Tamo, and tried to stab the thug in the eye. The Daggerhand twisted his head away just time. Swearing in frustration, Nov renewed his efforts to pin the petcher down. He pushed one arm against his gasping throat, ignoring the red lines rent across his flesh by desperate, claw-like nails. Once he got the man pinned, he shoved his elbow forward and up, forcing the chin to draw back, exposing the neck. And then, with quick, vicious speed, Nov cut the man's throat. He left the body spluttering on the ground, pausing only to wipe the blood from his blade on the thug's trousers before. He paid no mind to the spray of crimson across his chest and face.

Turning back around, Nov sheathed his Tamo and laboriously climbed back up onto the roof. It was harder work this time, exerted as he was, but it had to be done. The package was still resting behind a sooty chimney, waiting for retrieval.

"Two down, two to go," he muttered to himself once he had the package back in his grasp.


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Noven
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Mobster Madness

Postby Noven on March 3rd, 2015, 7:20 am

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Nov doubled back first, giving himself time to recover. He'd retrieved the second Tamo as well from his first kill, cleaning in a similar manner before sheathing it with its brother. He was positive he'd heard right before the fighting had started in earnest. Shavepate would be waiting up ahead, while some knob or other named Finny would be circling around the back.

The cook walked all the way to the end of the roof and sat down, catching his breath. He wiped absently at the blood sprayed across his face. The gesture made the stains more unsightly than ever, but he had no proper way to clean himself. Once this was all over Nov swore the only thing he planned on doing was dunking himself in scalding hot water.

With a tired sigh, he got back onto his feet and searched for a way down. No jumping feats for him this time around; there weren't enough human cushions to soften the fall. Spotting a group of barrels to the left, Nov got himself to the very edge and gripped the package string back in his teeth. Then he slowly, carefully, eased himself down, dropping around the last two feet to lead awkwardly on the collection of barrels. They were heavy, much to his relief, and didn't wobble or tip over under his considerable weight.

He had just barely hopped back onto the cobbled stone, lifting the package out from his teeth, when a voice interrupted.

"Y-You killed them b-both...didn't you?"

It quivered with a mix of fear, disgust, hopelessness, and perhaps the barest hint of admiration. "You're c-c-covered in blood...their blood. And they didn't even w-wound you, d-did they?"

Noven looked up to see a kid standing before him, sword raised, practically about to piss his pants. The lad had to be no older fifteen or so years, with lank brown hair and wide, grey eyes. Something about the sight made the cook's heart twist in a sour knot. He worked everyday with urchins like this one. And everyday, he knew at least half of them would die come the following Winter.

"Your friends chose the wrong guy to mess with today," he said in way of response. Then he scowled and spit to one side. "I've got no time for you, kid. Get out of my way."

"Or w-what?" the boy retorted in defiance, raising his chin a little.

Nov leaned forward a fraction of an inch, but it felt like miles for the shaking bundle of nerves."Or I make you."

There was a flash of terror in the lad's eyes. Then he settled down into something akin to acceptance. "I can't go back without you dead," he swallowed and explained, stutter suddenly gone with this newfound peace in his heart. "They won't let me live if I do."

The cook's scowl softened to a frown, though the sadness in his eyes was no less grim. "It's your funeral, kid. I gave you your chance."

A moment of hesitance. Then Finny charged, sword raised high over his head and pubescent voice cracking in the fiercest battlecry he could muster. Nov didn't even bother setting his package down. He just stood there, waited for the lad to get just within chopping distance, and then sidestepped to the right. Finny stumbled forward, bringing his sword down on empty air, face drawn in dreaded understanding. That's when Nov slammed his free hand down on the kid's neck. Using the downward momentum, he then brought his knee up to Finny's stomach, knocking his air out for good.

The kid collapsed in a sorry heap, sword clattering beside him. Nov gave him a look of what might have passed for pity before moving on. He didn't like killing children. It just didn't suit him, no matter what the circumstances were. What Finny did upon waking was entirely up to him. The cook shed himself of the responsibility and circled back around the building, eager to find the last vermin to exterminate for the day.


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Noven
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Mobster Madness

Postby Noven on March 3rd, 2015, 7:42 am

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His final target was none other than Shavepate himself. The Daggerhand didn't seem all that surprised to see Noven walk right around the building and down the street. There were still some passerby's coming to and fro, but most had decided to steer clear and find somewhere else to be at the sight of the fresh kill lying gruesomely in a pile of refuse.

Nov must have looked a proper nightmare himself, covered in offal, sweat, and blood as he was. The only relatively clean thing on him was the package itself, which miraculously enough had remained quite crisp, minus the few dents and nicks from being tossed about so much.

"You're going to pay for what you've done, you little shyke," Shavepate spat.

In answer, Noven set down the package on a crate near the dead body, trusting no one would be stupid enough to steal it during the upcoming fight. Shavepate only grinned at this blatant show of disregard. He bumped one fist against an open palm a few times, rubbing the brass knuckles as he did. The man was much taller than Nov and his strides close the gap far quicker than the cook would have liked. By the time he was within four or five feet Nov had his fists up and knees bent, ready to counter or die trying.

Shavepate didn't bother speaking another word. He came down on the cook like a force of nature, swinging one brawny, scar-ridden arm with frightening accuracy and speed. Nov managed to duck, though just barely, and felt the alarming whoosh of air pass right over his head.

The next the that came for his face was Shavepate's impressive knee cap. Nov blocked this with both hands, but other the man was fast. He brought his brass knuckled fist down on the cook's back with unforgiving pressure and speed. It knocked the wind right out of Nov's lungs and sent him down on one knee. Ye gods, he might very well not end up winning this one. He'd exerted himself too hard and the Vexer had limits.

Well, physical ones.

Shavepate was too busy gleefully pummeling and jeering at his opponent to notice the crimson veins on Nov's hands, which were still cling desperately to the Daggerhand's knee, practically hugging it to prevent it from escape his grasp. And then, in the brief lapse between the fifth punch and the sixth, Noven sank his teeth into the thug's thigh and bit with every ounce of strength he could muster, flaring his mark as he did.

The unreasonable amount of pain caught Shavepate by surprise, causing him to try and shake Nov off like a rapid dog. The cook relented eventually, but only to sock the man right in the balls, not even stopping to think as he called upon his mark for the third time that day.

Shavepate came crashing down in a screaming fury, veins bulging at the neck and face tomato red from the strain of shouting. Nov wasted no time. He grabbed the man's head between his hands, back still aching thunderously from the earlier attacks, and smashed it against the cobbled stones. Over, and over, and over. Until there was nothing but a pulping, unrecognizable mess. Gasping for air, Nov crawled over a few inches and yanked the brass knuckles from his victim's hand. He tossed it into the refuse, hoping more would be added on top by the time these bodies were retrieved.

With a shuddering, wheeze breath, he checked his ribs and stretched his back experimentally. Nothing seemed to be broken, but he had hell to pay for come next morning. Getting shakily back onto his feet, Nov walked over and picked up the package one last time.

Jillene better be ready to give him the petching day off of a life time.


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Noven
Taste my fist
 
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Mobster Madness

Postby Keene Ward on April 6th, 2015, 4:44 pm

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Grades


“For there is nothing lost, that may be found, if sought.”
-Edmund Spenser, The Faerie Queene

Noven

Skills
    Unarmed Combat +2
    Brawling +2
    Acrobatics +4
    Weapon: Tamos +4
    Stealth +1
    Running +2
    Endurance +3
    Climbing +3
    Body Building +1
    Wrestling +2
    Tactics +5
    Planning +5
    Subterfuge +1
    Socialization +3
    Intimidation +1
    Rhetoric +2
    Persuasion +2
    Negotiation +3
    Land Navigation +2
    Cleaning +2

Lores
    Tactics: Thought Before Action

Rewards/Consequences
-Minor scratches where #1 got his nails into - heals in about a day or two
-Bruising along the upper and lower back - several weeks of soreness
Image+Congratulations! Noven has reset his death by vexation timer back to day one!

Notes
Wow. There was a lot of stuff to award in this thread. As always, excellent writing. I love reading Noven, and this was certainly an exciting read! I'm not going to lie. I'm a little miffed no one explained was was in the package.

If you have any questions or concerns, please send me a PM!

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