Flashback Dirty Deeds

[Konrad Venger]

41st Day of Winter, 513AV Farook's Grog Shop, Robern's Reaches 20th Bell "Wunnit your birfday las' week?" The scarred man blinked another couple of times before he was sure someone was talking to him. Words always oozed slower through the Fog than actions. Street instincts and Sunberth senses were a different matter; you couldn't dull or turn those off, and you didn't want to. There were plenty who had kin and comrade that would like to separate Konrad's head from his shoulders. Even in the warm and the drink and the raucous of Farook's place, that last screed of caution never went away. But words? Shit. He had no use for words when he was in the weeds. The waiter - if that shitheap could claim to have anything so grandiose as "wait staff" - felt that instinctive clench as the black, broad hat shifted up and he could see the ravaged flesh underneath it. Snake-cold eyes like marbles looked at him, through him, into him, glazed and numb from the weed curling from lips that weren't all there. He still managed a smile, trembling thing though it was. You didn't last long in Sunberth if you couldn't put on a front with the never-ending parade of nut jobs and murder-makers that seemed to infest the place, and that went double if you worked in a grog shop. Besides, he knew Konrad, and Konrad knew him. That had to count for something. Right? "An' if it wuz?" "I... ah... j-jus' sayin'. Like, um, did you... do anything, or..." Konrad's eyes didn't move, didn't leave their target, keep him pinned while his hand moved and the smoldering pipe went to his lips again. He had to nearly clamp it down between his teeth to get the lump of stretched, scarred flesh on the right to close around the tip, sucking in a burning lungful of Swamp Weed. It sizzled and scorched as it rampaged its way down into his gullet, and he held it there, listening to the babble, words turning into buzzing, mosquito language from a gnat-boy with a shaking tray in his hands and- Whatever the boy has left to say was staunched and choked by a stream of smoke, shooting and huffing from that crooked mouth. He had to back away and someone broad and warm and fleshy bumped into him. Something with too much makeup covering not enough looks. The scolding whore scared him back the way he came but when he looked, there was Venger, on his feet, looking down at him. One hand still clasped his pipe. The other held a blade. Tapping it against his thigh, some strange staccato beat he couldn't place, but he couldn't look away from it. Saw how it caught the light with every fresh note. Smoke curled. It stank and made his nostrils quiver. He'd heard the stories. He'd seen one, just once. Dared to look up because his Papa would hate for him to die without looking Dira in the eyes, but there's no Dira, no great calm or acceptance of his coming fate. Just a drugged-up man with bored eyes, looking at him like a roach he knew he should squash but gods, it was just so much effort... "I... I-" "How many years you seen, boy?" "F... I... F-Fourteen, s-sir-" "Questions can kill ya, boy. Shoulda' learned that by yer tenth. Ah' did." Tap-tap... tap... taptap-tap... tap-tap... tap-taptaptap... The air around them emptied even of noise. No-one tried to sidle past or interfere. The beefy toughs Farook employs were suddenly busy outside and the man himself was busy scrubbing a bar counter that was long past redemption as far as cleanliness went. Probably already calculating how quick he could get another waiter and still have time to clean up the blood. Konrad pondered. Be good to make an example. Good for business, anyway, and in Sunberth, your reputation was your business. Reptilian eyes slid away from that sweaty face and glided over those watching, and those trying to look like they weren't. Street theater: the favorite pastime of city folk across the multiverse. In Sunberth, that theater often ended in bloodshed. They'd remember. They talk. Spin the tale. Every telling and retelling and it'd get bloodier. The blade twitched in his hand, like it was trying to push him towards a decision. Crackling, dead plant matter smoked in his pipe and the grey mist rises and curtained his view, the face, the boy... He gripped it tight. Yes. Every name needs a good polish now and- "Yo, Venger?" His eyes snapped to his name so fast the waiter almost heard his sockets crack. He dared to strain his vision and saw a thick man in the doorway, striding over, metal clanking at his side. His face was smeared with a crude, ocular tattoo across his nose and he took in the sight with a vague nod. "Busy? Cuz we're on." Konrad exhaled, a sigh of smoke and a future not taken. The waiter fought to keep his knees from trembling and send him down to the floor as leather sighs on steel and the knife vanishes. Tap-tap-tap, but that time it was a pipe being emptied and pocketed. The clatter of coin on the table and Konrad strolling past him, a black and towering figure that- -stopped- "Learn to keep your mouth shut, boy." Tarbo kept his eyes on the floor as the footsteps left him behind; until they faded away to an echo and the door closed and like some mage's spell given life once more, noise and laughter and music returned to the Grog Shop. "Petch me..." The boy tottered away like a newborn foal and Farooq looked up from his futile labor to see saw that familiar figure, topped with a broad-brimmed had, clad in a black coat, meet up with other dark wraiths beyond the filthy window. They flickered in the torchlight and words were exchanged. Venger, Three Eyes and two more. Nodding and pointing... but not the man who was at his table. He was still. Waiting. "How the petch you not know? That was your bloody job!" "Look, all I saw was the boys outside, two of 'em, big bastards, but they wouldn't lemme in!" "Why not?" "They wanted money to go in! I ask you! Bloody criminal, that is!" Three Eyes rolled the two he was born with like he was beseeching the heavens for some sense among his partners. Venger was a silent statue next to him, still save for the wind whipping at his coat and the slow, steady suck-and-pull of his breathing. "How much?" "Two gold, I think-" "Oh, you petching idiot! Small price to pay for getting the information we need, Dave! Wysar's Cock, we could be walking into a whole nest of 'em!" Dave took another snort from the little clay jug and stuffed it back into his coat. Aarin was silent as Venger but twitchy, shifting from foot to foot, shrugging his shoulders, fiddling with his cloak and fingering the hilt of his sword until Venger fixed his gaze on him. He held it until the boy stopped moving. Barely even listening. Growing more and more cold and impatient. "Look, four of us, all boys with dirt on our hands, we'll be fine, yeah? Two blokes out front won't be a problem, then-" "Then what? We march in and face petch knows how many more?!" "What's the job for?" Silence among the trio as Venger finally spoke. He wasn't looking at them, pupils still pinpricks in his hollow eyes as he looked into nothing, gazing into darkness and leaving his question hanging in the frigid air. "Wh..." Three Eyes didn't take long. He knew what Venger meant. "Er... Bust the place up. Shut it down. Old Ezra up on the hill doesn't want the place in business anymore, y'know, taking customers from him. So he-" "Wants it closed down for good." Not a question. He was impatient. His purse was light and his hands hadn't seen or felt fresh blood on them in a while. Winter was always like that. People were more concerned with staying warm and not freezing to death than going to war in the streets. Just like real armies, the militias and regiments of Sunberth preferred warfare in Syna. Venger's lip twitched. In the warmth. "Y.. Yeah. Basically. Doesn't want them coming back, not-" Venger turned on his heel and walked back inside the Grog Shop. The trio of street scum just stared, the younger ones gaping openly, Three Eyes working his jaw until the teeth he had left ground and he cursed himself for taking this job to Venger. Too bloody unpredictable. Probably going to leave us in the cacky, he thought sourly. Not even a by your- The door opened again. -leave...? Something swam and danced as Konrad clutched it close to his chest in both arms. As he got closer, they could see the necks of the bottles. Even stopped and corked, they could smell the sheer, stinking purity of what was inside them. Four. Three Eyes frowned. For them? What was he- "One each. Don't petchin' drink 'em. They're for the job." "The-" Dave sputtered but Venger was already walking, slipping his own bottle inside his coat and marching with a crunch-crunch over the fresh snow. "The job? What're we using them..." There's a new sound beyond the crunch. Above it. Slow, methodical ripping. Cloth being torn into strips, some handkerchief or towel snatched from the Grog Shop. Four of them. Three Eyes swallows. Venger doesn't slow his pace. He knows where he's going. "We're not goin' inside."

[Konrad Venger]

OOCMy deepest thanks to Erik Murphy for his awesome and apocalyptic template. I owe you, mate!

Three Eyes wasn't born with that name, obviously. But that was the only one people remembered anymore. Ever since he'd staggered into a tattoo shack in the Tent City, ranting and spewing about how he "needed an edge" in his business, another eye to see his enemies even as he slept, and he was willing to pay for it.

Unfortunately for Three Eyes, he hobbled into the shack of the only bastard more shyke-faced that him in all of Sunberth. So instead of a nice, bright, impressive eye across his forehead, he woke up with a squashed and ugly mess smeared across his nose.

Konrad always thought that if you squinted just right, he looked like a cyclops with his eyes stretched way too far.

He'd been there in the tavern that night when Three Eyes stormed in, spitting like a cat and jutting his chin at anyone who dared titter at the fresh, embarrassing ink. He wanted vengeance and blood and revenge and his money back and stop petching staring at it!

Konrad took a swig of his brew and suggested cutting the artist's hands off. Three Eyes just gaped so he had to explain, of course. Death was easy, and it was quick. A slide, a slash, a stab, and it was over. But pain and punishment? Well, done right, they could last forever. What better way to punish an artist than take away his means to create?

It was a little cerebral for Three Eyes.

So instead, Konrad had held down the pleading Svefra in his shabby little hut and tried not to get too much blood on him while Three Eyes shanked him over and over and over and over. He got well-paid for it, too.

Three Eyes had no problem killing a man for fucking up his face. That was fair, by Sunberth standards. But what Konrad was leading them to now..?

"Two of 'em, yeah?"

"Aye, just the two."

Dave rasped in the shadows, the four of them huddled in the shadows round the corner from the club. Distinct sounds of riotous, profitable merriment were clear to all and Three Eyes felt an eel of doubt wriggle in his guts. He could hear women. Lots of women. Whores. Where you had whores, you had their kids. Upstairs, true, but still...

"Gives yeh a frisk an' take yer coin an' tha's it. Only the steel on yer waist, y'know?"

Three Eyes snorted softly and then loudly, pulling back in some of the phlegm and freezing snot from the freezing air. Wouldn't make much difference to Venger, he thought. Everyone could see the curved sword on his belt; less saw the kukri at the small of his back. Even fewer knew about the broad, nasty killing-dagger in his boot... and Three Eyes would bet that wasn't all he carried.

"Aw'right," the scarred man said, scratching at the scruff growing in tufts on the expanses of flesh that weren't scar tissue. "We walk over, act all sodden an' shyke, take 'em quick and-"

"Nah, split up." Venger's jaw clicked shut and stared at his interuption. Thre Eyes just wet his lips. He'd known the shyke-faced bastard too long to be easily scared by The Look. Instead he scratched under his own chin and held up two fingers. "We split. Two come from one side, two from the other. One pair goes all lairy, like, gets all the attention. Next pair comes up behind, all quiet like, just a couplea' drunks, and bosh, then we do it."

Konrad had to admit, he was pleasantly surprised. Since when did Three Eyes suddenly become a tactician? He mulled it over for a few moments, lips curling this way and that, and finally nodded sharply.

"Whut he sed. You two? Yer the Loud and Ob-Vee-Us. Think that'll work nicely. Eyes? Yer with me."

"OooOOoOOohhhHH, weeeeeeee found oursheeeelves,
Fain grog unnnnn faaaiinnn companeeeeee,
An' the haaaaalls an' thaaaaa' tavuuuuurns,
Uuuuuuvvvvv Teeva's Breyeny Beeeeeeeeeeech...!"

"Ovek's Loaded Dice, the petching state a' that..."

Mister Beard didn't bother trying to keep his voice down. Konrad could hear him plain over the cold, crisp air, even with the wind tugging and slicing at his ears. Him and his partner shook their head and swung their arms against their broad chests, eyes and mirth directed and Dave and Aarin who were just... slaughtering a barroom classic.

"Dunno what yer hopin' for, lads," Beard's hulking partner said, grinning with a mouth of copper and silver teeth, like he'd been chewing nails when not cracking skulls. "No petchin' way're youse two gettin'n here."

"Fugzadusaay?!" Dave slobbered, in language not quite any, really. He made a show of pawing at his pockets, not quite getting his finger sin them, spilling lint and small change and whatever else is inside. "Saynicuntpayzit? Bollucks!"

"Best speed it up," Konrad murmured into Three Eyes' ear. "'fore they realize these two ain't stinkin' a' shyke."

Three Eyes just grunted, taller and heavier form of Konrad pressed against his side and gods, when was the last time he'd even heard of soap? Whereas Dave and Arrin were Loud, they were the opposite, sidling up the other way, Konrad occasionally letting out mumbled ditties like a true Berth Drunk without a care... only it wasn't a bottle he held behind Three Eyes' back. It was his kukri.

"So we're doin' this?"

"What?"

"Burnin' the petchin' place down."

Konrad didn't reply right away. He'd sensed it, seen it in Three Eyes' face when they were on their way here, winding across frozen tiles and through foggy streets. His unease stank up Konrad's nostrils and it was making him... concerned. A job was doomed from the start if one of the crew was hesitating, nervous, doubtful. Especially when what they were doubting was the crux of the whole damn thing.

Could kill him before we started throwing. But... no. We'll need the sword.

"We're doin' the job, an' doin' it the best way fer us, after that twat you bought didn' do his petchin' job an' check the inside."

"People in there, Venger," Three Eyes hissed, the two of them lurching closer to the entrance of the club like a four-legged mutant. "Not jus' swordhands an' scum. Women. Working girls. Jus'... folk."

Beard and Toothy loomed larger before them, still not noticing (or caring) for the two mumbling drunks coming from the other direction. Behind them, the club did the same. It was a butcher's once, if Konrad remembered right. Whenever the past surfaced regarding this street, it was with the smell of raw meat and dried blood and... sesame seeds... flour and burnt loaves.

Bakery. Gods. Gettin' old.

He could smell the money piled in pockets and on tables; scent it through cheap perfume and spilled cognac and a dozen types of weed that only the "respectable" peddlers could get hold of. Every other tick, between laughter and calls for alcohol, for women, for food... the tinkle and melody of coins slapped on tables or poured into dealer's bags.

Konrad stared over Three Eyes' shoulder as they passed. The club was doing a roaring trade. Through slashes of clear air in the curtain he could see tables loaded with coins and dice and cards, surrounded by the smug, the rich and the desperate. Women perfumed and elegant waltzed from table to table, or haunted the bar, lined with men smoking pipes and toasting each other.

Dozens of people. And not just "people", either. Targets.

A flash. He didn't get more than that. But he knew enough watchful expressions and callused faces to know security when he saw it.

"'ere, what's 'is problem?"

He turns but keeps his eyes down. His face is too known, to distinctive; the only way is to hide it behind his hat. Three Eyes is hardly a thespian, but he launches into his drunken spiel well enough, almost drowned out by Dave and Aarin's hideous dirge.

"'im? 'eesssh jus' a lil' wurse f'wear, mate. Jus' needs a nap... top up... wumun..."

A filthy leer and Bearded grimaced like he'd stepped in something that had stubbornly refused to die. Toothy glanced over his shoulder but kept his post, eyes fixed on other two-

Two sets of eyes, divided. Nice job, Eyes.

"Yeah, well, 'e won't be gettin' any of it in 'ere, mate. Jog the petch on, eh?"

Konrad swayed on his feet and straightened his legs. Found his footing well enough on the icy ground... and tapped the kukri against Eyes' back. Without any other signal needed the smaller man tottered forward a step, holding up a hand, standing between Konrad and-

He knew this moment. He chased it. As much as the money and the weed and the grog and the hot, spurting rush. This frozen second before all of that. That perfect, balanced whole, right before he shattered it.

"Mate, I dun'-whoop-!"

Three Eyes fell over his own feet like a born clown and Mr. Beard jerked his head down to follow him, wondering how anyone could be so pissed-

-or so sober, like the other man seemed to suddenly be. Standing tall, a flash of steel in his hand, revealed the moment Three Eyes dropped-

Konrad felt every fragment of his smirk as the hairy watchman realized he'd been fooled. The bumbling drunk hiding his friend's weapon, dropping down to give him the perfect-

Leth shone and sparked and flashed through air so cold you could have cooled drinks with it. Konrad's quarry went for his sword, knowing he'd never get there in time. He opened his mouth and a curse started to spill from his lips, though he knew it would do no good.

We still fight. What else can we do?

Face revealed for the first and last time, Konrad swung the kukri in a flat arc through the air Three Eyes had been in, bursting forward a step as he did-

Crimson joined the silver in the air, curved blade burying deep in the man's tree-trunk-neck. His eyes popped and beyond him, vaguely, Konrad was aware of his partner turning, amusement turning to shock-

Steel hissing against leather. More silver, more dancing fragments of Leth and death ad Dave and Aarin threw off their act and grasped their daggers.

"Jerrard, the-"

Three Eyes jerked up and buried his own blade in Beard's stomach, plunging it in and an up into that barrel of a chest cavity, jerking it back and forth, slicing lungs and heart into burger meat as Konrad-

-tightened his grip and yanked the kukri the rest of the way through that beefy neck, sending a torrent of coppery scarlet pouring over him and Eyes and the virgin snow.

Toothy died with blades in his back and his mouth agape, forced against the door of the club by the two gangers. Konrad watched as they cursed and spat their scorn into his ear, so close the three were as lovers, only every penetration was a dagger impaling some part of him. Only when his coat was a ragged and soaked mess did Dave finally back away and let him slide down, grasping for the handle, trying to escape even in death.

Konrad pulled out his bottle, and the others followed suit. He wasn't one for dwelling on Dira's business.

"Stuff 'em and light 'em," he said simply, leading by example by yanking the cork out with his teeth, spitting and stuffing at the same time. He pulled one of the skinny faggots outside the club free from its place flanking the door. "Dave? Door. Eyes and Aarin? Windows. Oh, an' Dave? Be ready t'duck."

He held out his torch and the rag was ablaze in a moment, fire greedily licking up its length. The others did likewise, Dave waiting until last, one hand on the bottle, the other on the handle of the door. Already people were rushing past them in the street, women gasping into their hands or muttering behind them, men deciding that a stiffening corpse was no company they'd like to keep.

Dave ripped the door open until it clunked against Toothy's bulk, open about two feet and more than enough. What were flashes of life in the curtain was now the whole tapestry. Dealers and players and muscle and whores and 'tenders and hustlers, half of them all looking over at the blast of cold in their warm little world. Curious until they-

-saw Dave's ruddy face and the fire bottle he held. Konrad's beyond it, lit hellish and crimson with fresh blood and bloody intent both. He drew back his arm as Dave sent his bottle flying inside-

-launching his own a moment later-

A shattering and a whoosh crashed and blended into each other at once, sunspots flaring into life on the tables. In an instant all was fire and cacophony, figures screeching and running with garments and hair blazing-

Windows shattered on either side of the door. A fresh volley of flames were hurled into the room and fires joined together, shook orange hands and began to devour tables and chairs, liquid flames pouring over the wood-

"Gods above..."

Three Eyes again. Konrad cast him a sideways glance as he flicked the blood off his kukri and sheathed it. The door swung shut as Dave let go and staggered away from the massacre they'd put into motion. They were doing a job, and this was the best way to do it. Flames were shadow-dancing beyond the curtains now, already licking at their hems like naughty children. Hammering at the doors. Panicked and frenzied, forgetting the handle, but soon they would remember...

Job ain't done. But still... gotta take precautions.

"Anyone comes out empty-handed, you let 'em run," he growled over the wailing and the crashing within. He drew his kopis, larger and longer and heavier brother of his kukri, tensed his hands around it. Three Eyes drew a sword; Dave and ax and Aarin his daggers. "But any bastard comes out with a blade in his hands... you cut him down but proper, y'hear?"

"Aye!"

Niceties, Konrad thought with some weariness. Give the "folk" a chance to run. Everyone else, well... they had a chance, and chose to came out armed.

The door flew open, a mass of humanity spilling out behind it. With a gesture more theatrical than perhaps intended, Konrad reached up and tossed his hat clear and away, baring his face and his greasy mop to the skies.

"Time 'tgo t'work..."

[Konrad Venger]

There was a balance. There had to be. Even in a place so clearly chaotic as Sunberth, there had to be some equilibrium between destruction and stability, death and the living. Thousands upon thousands of souls, all of them hardened to life in a place without Knights or Wave Guard or blue heroes to protect them... and yet, all still people. The mercenaries and assassins and gangers, they were always a minority. Even the great lords of crime and darkness like Robern understood the cardinal, unbreakable rule.

Do not anger The Mob. Do not go too far. That exists even here.

Konrad had not forgotten it. Hence his orders to... huh... yes, they had been his men, if only for that night. They followed him, even though Three Eyes had collected them all together and got the contract from The Establishment. If he had time, he could muse on how strange that was, how unlike him to be a commander of others.

But he didn't, and the muscle screaming curses at him was proof of it.

Konrad didn't need to look down to see the short sword in his hand. The rage splitting his face was enough, not like the terrified confusion of the woman that scurried past a moment before. Empty hands. Those were his orders, because it was understandable to any Berthian. People got butchered with empty hands all the time, but they had done something. Owed the wrong man, pissed off the wrong ganger, worked for the wrong chief when his minions came knocking... but burning a whole building of them alive and slaughtering those escaping? That was the proverbial and unwritten "too far".

Konrad gave them a chance. To lay down arms and flee with their lives and, maybe, their purses. Or fill their hands and try something rather more stupid.

The screamer was just that, but he wasn't calm, wasn't seeing the angles. He was smoke-choked and fire-blinded, tears coursing down his sooty face, feet unsteady as he tore out into the cold air. Konrad was still, kopis half-raised, patient and-

-ready for the sloppy overhead slash Sooty was ready to split him in half with-

-sidestepping it, swaying away, blade passing through empty air instead of collarbone and shoulder and ribcage-

-Konrad's own kopis slashing horizontally in a backhanded blow to Sooty's torso, ripping open his stomach, sending tendrils of steaming, fat-covered intestine spilling into the dirt.

Sooty's battle-rage died as soon as she saw the sight of them all squirming at his feet; he barely felt the pain through the shock, sinking to his knees and feeling his own bowel fluids soak through his breeches-

Then Konrad's left hook connected with his temple and the idea of pain and coming death fractured, shattered, fragmented into jumping stars and shadow. Sooty toppled, never to wake again, and Konrad was still busy.

Another man came rushing at him swinging a short ax that he was frankly amazed he'd been allowed to bring inside with him. Must have paid a little extra, Konrad backed up a few steps and the ax-head snapped at him from inches away, wielder drawing closer, pulling back-

-and Konrad lashed out with his right boot burying it deep in the burly sod's balls and lifting him nearly off his feet-

"S-Shy-"

The rest was lost in a torrent of vomit as the man folded over and spewed what had been some exquisite roast duck less than ten chimes ago. That was forgotten as he crumpled, shadow falling over him that he could barely see through his swimming vision-

Konrad grunted as he thrust the two-foot blade deep into the shaking torso. Difficult angle, but it still sunk in, carving through flesh and scraping bone until he had to brace his foot on the man's shoulder and yank it out, kicking him back as he did-

-the blade shining crimson from hilt to tip, and he was satisfied. Bastard wouldn't be getting back up again-

Yet on they came. It was hardly an even contest on the surface. The club patrons and guards were disoriented, blinded, choking and spewing, some even aflame as they tumbled out the door or heaved themselves over broken glass and out the windows. But Konrad and his men were but four to dozens, and if even only a fraction came out seeking vengeance...

This is Sunberth. No "if", and no "fraction", either.

As if to prove his point, another pair of men came rushing from the door, this time prepared for a proper fight. They were barreling over the swells and well-to-do they'd been protecting moments before, shoving them aside and pulling the short swords that seems ubiquitous in Sunberth. Konrad flexed his hand around his kopis, gauging distance, wondering how-

-a woman tried to run past him, the two guards just behind him-

That'll do.

-only for Konrad to grab her with his free hand and throw her back into their path, or at least one of them. The guard on the right stumbled and skidded to a halt as a hundred-and-thirty-pounds of shrieking, pleading female smacked into his chest, his partner still going forward-

-alone-

-hammering down diagonally with his sword, Konrad's own blade crashing into it, sparks flaring between them. His arm cracked and trembled from the impact and Konrad lashed out again-

-but this man was quicker, harder, older, and to be all those things in Sunberth, you had to have survived a fight or five. He twisted his body to the side and now it was Konrad's turn to miss his target, balance thrown of completely-

"Petch!"

-and his arse smacked down hard onto the frozen cobbles, everything south of his balls either tingling or going numb in a moment. The guard barked out his victory and rose his sword again to hack down-

-Konrad kicked out in sheer desperation and felt his boot connect with the petcher's kneecap, that deliciously sick wet snap of a breaking bone sounding out like cannon's shot. The guard screamed, all victory gone from his face, collapsing forward along with his sword and Konrad tried to roll-

"Petching murdering shyke!"

Well, she wasn't gonna keep him busy forever.

The second guard had finally disentangled himself from Konrad's on-the-fly "interference", and was bearing down fast on him. His partner was still down on his (undamaged) knee, spitting curses like poison along with his teeth, leaving the other man to kick down-

-and Konrad grunted as the impact rattled his ribs, stabbing up with his kopis-

-only to have it dashed away by another sword, a kick following it again, hard boots and foul words raining down until Konrad was starting to black out and the bastard was standing over him.

"Petching women in dere, youse bastard! Now I'll send youse t-"

Konrad's free hand shot up and grabbed at the black, hanging mass between the big sod's legs. Then he squeezed. And twisted. Then pulled.

The scream could have frightened Dira away from her work. Something popped in the handful of cloth he held, soaking his hand through them, and the big man dropped his sword and swayed to the side, screaming again as the agony flooded through him-

-then Konrad heard it stop, saw the man's eyes pop open in surprise, looking down... to see the shining scarlet dagger jutting through his throat. He fell with a gurgle and a sigh that was mostly blood, leaving Three Eyes standing there behind him, yanking the dagger free.

"Bastard!"

Konrad didn't bother with a thank you: the new cripple was hobbling at them, swinging his sword at the man that just killed his friend, ignoring Konrad on the cobbles. Three Eyes jumped back, light as a bird, the cripple coming closer-

-and Konrad swung low, very low-

-taking off his good leg right in the middle of his shin.

Another scream. Konrad had long since become numb to them. His ears rattled but all it did was stir a desire to finish the job. As the cripple toppled, Konrad did him a favor, waiting until he was on his hands and knees before bringing down the kopis in a vicious chop at the back of his neck.

It didn't take his head of, but the spine snapped, fluid mixing with blood as it sprayed around the sword as he yanked it out.

He looked around and their ragged band of arsonists was repeating a similar scene. Flames howled and reached from the windows now, the inside an inferno that was gobbling up whatever business or competition Old Ezra had to fear. A dozen bodies were laid out in the frost and the snow and the blood-slick cobbles. Dave was putting the finishing touched on some mustachioed cretin, begging even as his ax split his skull. Three Eyes was wiping his blade after getting it free from the hulk, and no-one else was coming out, armed or otherwise.

Wait... wasn't he forgetting someone? Where was-

"Sh... Shyke..."

Aarin was sitting in the snow like a lost child, hand clasped over his stomach. It was red and dripping, and no matter how hard he pressed, he couldn't staunch the flow from the gaping wound there, down his crotch, onto the ground. Konrad walked over and wide, terrified eyes far too young to stare at Dira looked back at him.

A seasoned pair looked back. Flickered down. Assessed the damage and the cost to repair it.

"I... Th-There's... there's a woman... he... healer... for st-streets down... I'm su-"

Three Eyes looked away when he saw Konrad's hand go to the small of his back. He kept them on Dave instead, who was looking over, wondering why that Venger guy wasn't-

Konrad's kukri flashed out from under his coat and buried in the boy's throat. He choked, just once, and the hideous killer yanked it across his voicebox, his jugular, his catorid-

-free hand gripping his hair and forcing him to look down, so-

"Don't want any more a' that crap sprayin' on me, boy." He paused, as the trembling and choking and pitiful, wet bubbling went from frenzied and futile to pathetic and minute. "Wouldn't a' made it, anyway."

"You petching bastard, he was-"

"Back off, f'petch's sake, kid!" Three Eyes stepped in the way and growled in Dave's ear as he held him back. "Yer mate had an 'ole in 'im you coulda' rode a Tskanna through. 'e wasn't lastin' past tonight."

"He didn't even try!"

"Why should ah'?" Konrad said, wiping his blade clean before putting it back where it belonged. "Ain't got time nor inclination t'help dead men. Put him down quick and now we got a three-way split 'steada' four. So, yer welcome, and let's get-"

Screaming again. Wailing. Piteous and begging. Betrayal given sound, curling up and ripping through the endless crackle of the flames. All three of them looked within them, one huge conflagration... and they saw things in them. Moving things. Things from which burned flesh sloughed off like clay and pleas for mercy were high and feminine and none of them could deny what they'd done.

Three Eyes shook his head. Dave just stared. Konrad looked away and checked his blades. Good. Purse? Where it should have been. Gods, how many times he'd lost that in a brawl, gone for a thank-petch-I'm-alive-brew and come up empty.

"Pleeeeeeeease...?!"

"Aw'right," he said, wincing and clutching at his ribs. Bastard had a foot on him, that was for damn sure. "Let's git t'Ezra's. Get our gold and see this petchin' night to an end."

That, at least, met with no argument. He led the way, walking from the pleas and the horror and the bloody bodies with no backward glance-

"Damnit."

-until he snapped his fingers, walked back... and fixed his hat square on his head.

"Ah' swear, if it wasn't screwed on..."

A chime later the trio were streets away and a rough, rude mob was heading towards the smoking tower of flickering orange behind them, buckets and pots and tins sloshing with water. Konrad paid them no mind.

Wasn't his job, after all.

[Royal]

 

Konrad

Skills
Intimidation +3
Observation +3
Brawling +2
Rhetoric +3
Leadership +3
Planning +1
Tactics +2
Acting +1
Weapon: Kukri +2
Endurance +2
Acrobatics +2
Unarmed Combat +1

Lores
Location: Robern's Reaches
Sunberth: Reputation is business
Acrobatics: Dodging and ducking
Weapon, Kopis: Backhanded slash
Unarmed Combat: Left hook

Other
Konrad is a right hard-arsed bastard, ain’t he? Just for future reference, if you split longer posts into two, you’ll get rewarded more skills. With only 3 posts in this thread, the most points per skill you could have earned would be 3, and in truth you provided enough to have been rewarded 4 or 5 in some cases. Make the most of your writing and bloodshed!

Questions? Comments? Please don't hesitate to PM me!