Solo What The Petch Is THAT?! [Job Thread]

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While Sylira is by far the most civilized region of Mizahar, countless surprises and encounters await the traveler in its rural wilderness. Called the Wildlands, Syliran's wilderness is comprised of gradual rolling hills in the south that become deep wilderness in the north. Ruins abound throughout the wildlands, and only the well-marked roads are safe.

What The Petch Is THAT?! [Job Thread]

Postby Konrad Venger on January 25th, 2016, 7:56 am

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23rd Bell - 81st Day of Winter, 515AV - Eight Days West of Zeltiva


"Least they coulda' done was let us run a couplea' whores down to the camp. Gods above, ain't natural goin' this long without a poke."

If anything was guaranteed to make a sellsword whine more than lack of gold, it was lack of cunny. After eight days of it, Konrad was getting tired of the usual tirade. He'd heard it so often he could mouth along as the rake-thin Sunberth mercenary talked, regaling all around their fire about how unfair it was, how cheap, how cruel.

He sighed underneath his hat and tried to drone him out. Which wasn't easy, considering the wind whistling through the damn arrow holes in it, front and back.

Hey, could have been worse. Nearly was.

"For the love of all the gods," one of the others let out with a groan, half-muffled by a jacket-pillow that wasn't seeing much service. "Fangor went over it before. Zel don't take slavers. Zel don't like slavers. None of us goin' in, not for nothin', none of them comin' out, fer even less. Just quit yer whinin' and live with it."

The general chorus of agreement did nothing to stifle the outrage of the sellsword.

"Yeah, well-"

"Ain't no well, just how it was-"

"Yeah, well, all I'm sayin',"
the murk plowed on, in the self-righteous tones of all arseholes who start or finish any sentence with those three words, "Is that a whole sodding season on the road with naught but my hand is startin' to get to me."

"F'fuck's sake, boy, you wanna get yer thing wet, just drag one of the women out of the carts."
Konrad couldn't help but add an opinion, especially when it seemed like the most sensible one. "Long as y'don't mark 'em up, who the hells' gonna care?"

Which, of course, was the wrong tact to take. The man was set on complaining and that's what he'd do, launching into a list of reasons why he didn't want no slave cunny, why Fangor would cut his balls off for "spoiling the goods", and blah-blah-blah...

"Gods, is Darrick still goin' on about his swollen balls?"

Konrad tipped up his hat with one finger as Three Eyes' voice entered the fray, wandering in from the shadows beyond the fires. It meant his watch was about to start. He started to sit up and-

-bit down to hide his wince as fire erupted across his belly. His wound from the Denvali ambush hadn't quite healed, though it wasn't serious anyway. Stupid sod with the gladius should have bit deeper, really raked it into him. But he was lucky, apparently, and lived on to have their perpetually-tipsy "healer" (Konrad couldn't call him that out loud with his very tone dripping with quotation marks) sewing him up.

It was a scratch, and everyone knew it. But old habits die hard, especially when they keep you alive, and Konrad wasn't about to show his weakness to anyone. So he swallowed it, getting up to his feet even with his stitched grinding against his skin. Three Eyes handed him a skin of weak wine, half-empty of course.

Around them, the camp either drank or ate or talked or slumbered. The caravan had found a field clearly frequented by similar expeditions, all the long grass worn down by wheels and hooves and trampling feet. The bones of old fires were dotted here and there, and after a few chimes scanning the bare hills and woods surrounding them, Fangor had just nodded, and that was the signal.

Circle 'em up. Make fire. Water the animals. Bed down.

It had been just after sunset when they did, and the camp was at peace... or as much as one populated by mercenaries, murderers and human chattel could be. The animals seemed fine enough, braying or whinnying at their posts in the night. The slaves had quit what little whining they bothered with. Begging and promises purchased them naught but scorn from the mercenaries. Better to just eat their meager rations and stay quiet. Stay alive.

Konrad ran his lips around the inside of his mouth as he looked in the direction of that black, shapeless boxes. In front of each one was a row or two of shackled slaves, all chained together and then chained to the wheels of their carts. There were women there. Some weren't that bad to look at... and Konrad had been a while without getting it wet, too.

After all, they were only slaves.

Nah, he tells himself, hefting his crossbow over his shoulder and starting to tramp over the turf away from the sellswords' fire. Not tonight. Gotta be on watch and then sleep. Better to be sharp tomorrow then get my-

Yuk.

He stopped. Yeah, he'd definitely heard that. He'd heard plenty of strange and eerie things riding that damn cart and sitting around the campfire, but that was new. Konrad frowned and gripped the crossbow a little tighter. Gods, it almost sounded... no, that was just-

Yuk-Yuk.

"You hear that?"

He was answered by rustling, shuffling, men rising to their feet and swords coming out of their scabbards. He cast a look behind him and saw the sellswords divided. Some wore the same face as him: curious, confused, almost disbelieving. But the rest, including Mister Lacking Cunny...

"Oh, gods."

Fear. Konrad could feel the stink of it on his skin. Whatever was out there, it was enough have hard men shaking with but a sound, men who didn't flinch or panic when desperate Denvali came howling out of the rocks at them. Konrad started backing up. Whatever was out there, and getting closer, he wanted these bastards next to him.

Or in front of him, preferably.

"ON YOUR FEET, YOU FUCKIN' SCUM! UUUUUUP!"

Fangor roared like the wrath of the gods and everything with a pulse that slept for half-a-league around was instantly awake. The man himself was strolling through the sellswords, warhammer grinned in his hands, grim look of unholy irritation on his face.

"You know what's coming!"

"Do we?"

Yuk-Yuk-Yuk!

Konrad's head snapped back and his crossbow went up. That was close. Barely beyond the ring of light the campfire cast about. Something... shuffling. Shambling. Dragging its feet and making that weird, throaty hooting. As he stared he saw the shadows gain... edges. Too many edges.

And stars shining on the ground.

A man tottered out of the darkness, but Konrad corrected himself within a moment. Not a strand of hair anywhere on it, nor clothing. Every inch covered in mud and... no... not covered in mud, it's skin was mud. Growths and tumors seemed to pulse under its skin and its mouth hung slack and loose, low moaning crawling out over teeth like a ruined mountaintop.

Eyes that were like pits in a coalmine. Sucking in all light, reflecting nothing, staring at them all, these armed and rough men, with naught but hunger.

Stars in its skin. Gleaming. Glinting.

Spreading.

Konrad stepped back again as the sellswords steeled themselves. Nightmare after nightmare lurched into the light of the fire, constellations of gems and stones jutting out of their skin, so many the horizon seemed choked with them.

"What the petch is-"

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What The Petch Is THAT?! [Job Thread]

Postby Konrad Venger on January 26th, 2016, 4:12 am

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YUKYUYKYUKYUKYUKYUKYUK!

The end of that sadly predictable sentence was drowned out in a tick by the demented braying of those... whatever the fuck they were. Konrad's last word morphed into a cursed snarl as his eardrums were battered by that inhuman chanting, aiming quickly down the crossbow, firing-

-spearing the first creature that appeared through the chest with the bolt, knocking it back and-

Not off it's feet. Just off-balance. A tick later it righted itself, black slime oozing in thick gobs from the hole in its chest. It looked from it... then up to Konrad... and roared.

"Fuck me," Konrad spat, voice somewhere between panicked and just pissed, throwing down the bow and drawing his sword instead. "Don't these petching things die?"

"Aye, but not easy,"
Fangor shouted over the din of that single word, if it was even that, screamed and rasped and hissed and gargled from dozens of throats. "Don't let the bastards swamp ye, there's always morea' them than there are a' youse."

"What the fuck are-"


Konrad was not destined to get an answer. As one the horde of filthy, deformed monstrosities went from shambling to sprinting, charging forwards and screeching in tones no human throat could produce. Konrad could see the were human-shaped, but rough proportions were all they had in common. The skin, the lack of hair, the growths, the stones, the chanting-

The eyes. Ravenous. Starved. Mad and insatiable. Konrad had seen poverty and deprivation and the desperation that could drive folk good and evil to, but this... this was deep-in-the-bones hungry. And it could never be sated.

"COME 'EAD, YA BASTARDS!"

Konrad yelled alongside Fangor and the others, one last burst of humanity, damn it, before the filthy tide crashed into them-

-bringing his kopis down vertically on the bolt-pierced monster he'd first targeted. He felt the blade shiver and dance and sparks flew briefly as its ground against the rocks studded across its skin. But they weren't enough. To deflect, maybe, but save it entirely?

Not a chance. The blade sunk in deep and buried under the creature's neck, impacting knocking it down and Konrad kicked it away in disgust, pulling the blade back to-

-thrust it two-handed into the stomach of one practically leaping over its dying comrade, not even glancing at it, let alone trying to help. It's eagerness was it's undoing: it ran headlong onto his sword and suddenly his vision was nothing but wildly snapping jaws and a stink like a graveyard shoved into his face, teeth cracking together like a rockslide-

"Fuck off!"

Konrad twisted to the side and the monster slid off his kopis and down, hole wide enough for his hand to fit through torn through it. But as he watched, it tried to get back up, ignoring the mortal wound, the black slime pouring from him-

-until Konrad slashed down one-handed, kopis flashing like a pendulum, laying open it's throat so deep that the weight of it's hairless head snapped it back, slime a fresh fountain in the air-

YUKYUKYUKYUK!

The noise was like a battering ram, bearing down on his senses from behind. He span back to face the horde, yet another monster bearing down upon him, swinging his kopis at lung height-

-blade smashing straight through the beast's ribcage, one lung nearly cut in half. That monotonous chant morphed into a howl of agony, replaced a moment later by rage, fury-

Come on, you bastard!

He pulled and yanks but its ribs and the rocks held his kopis there, stalling him-

-long enough for nails like a wolf's claws to rake down his chest, scourging fresh scars to match the healing one that-

-they ripped open and now Konrad was howling, falling back as his legs spasmed, half-dissected monster falling on top of him, snapping wildly. One arm was trapped at his side and Konrad pushed back at the thing's neck with his other, feeling a heavy, thick rock implanted-

That'll do!

He snarled worthy of a monster himself, black drool and blood spattering onto his face, and gripped the fist-sized rock jammed into the thing's neck, between shoulder and ear. He forced his fingers in around it, between rock and flesh, felt his fingers strain and soak as they-

The monster roared again, this time choked with pain, as Konrad started to pull. His grip was tightening now, hand trembling as he held the rock like a ball, straining, pulling, feeling tendons snap and flesh tear-

The monster snapped at him again but its aim was thrown of by the rock ripped clean from its body, opening up its next from the side and drenching Konrad's coat with yet more black, vomitous slime. The creature shudder and shook and stil snapped still-

CRACK!

"Die, you ugly-"

CRACK!

The next blow caved on half the monster's face, knocking it clear off Konrad and he straddled it instead, rock raised him like the two of them were prehistoric rivals, swinging rocks and clubs.

"Fucking-"

CRACK!

An eyeball burst. Teeth spun and hissed to a halt in the mud and grass. The yukking and roaring and screeching and snarling died as life finally began to flee from the ravaged monster.

"Bastard!"

CRACK!


He left the rock buried in what used to be the thing's face, then pulled his dagger from his boot as he got up into a crouch. Around him the sellswords ragged line had been swamped, sheer numbers of these... things, overwhelming any attempt at a firm line of defense. There were a score of hideous carcasses at their feet but more were streaming from the darkness. Unarmed, unarmored, no skill or finesse, just insane strength and a rage that killed their senses to any pain short of mortal.

Konrad spat as he saw Three Eyes rolling around with his knives, sawing through one monster's throat even as it clawed at his face, his other dagger stabbing madly into a chest seemingly equal parts quartz and flesh. Fangor never ceased bellowing, snorting, cursing, and endless stream of wind and foulness bursting from him as his warhammer arced and fell and crushed bone and stone every time it landed.

Rake-Thin would never need to worry about getting his balls drained again. Konrad saw him vanish under a tide of rabid flesh, screams dying away as torn, bloody scraps of cloth and flesh were pulled of him like he was a well-done ham. Others were falling, and the monsters were not breaking like the Denvali.

Didn't come this far to die in a field covered with cowshit.

Something loped towards him and Konrad sprang forwards from his crouch to met it, blade held in reverse as if he were about to stab, not thrust or slash. The monster was knocked back by his weight and he braced a hand on its shoulder-

-stabbing his dagger into its face. It bounced off the nose and slid by it, past it, finding the soft tissue around the eye instead-

-and as they fell back, Konrad felt the blade sink deep and true, until the hilt of the dagger was sloshing in burst ocular fluid and blood, the creature twitching and gasping mechanically, purposelessly, brain dead, body not quite getting the idea.

Still there were more. The flow had stemmed to a trickle but still they were outnumbered. A handful were running low and urgent towards the wailing slaves, some of them so twisted and misshapen they were knuckling forwards with their hands, and Konrad darted towards them.

"Eyes?!" He shouted out the name without looking, hoping his voice and that word would be all he'd need. "Wi' me!"

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What The Petch Is THAT?! [Job Thread]

Postby Konrad Venger on January 26th, 2016, 5:06 am

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What in Fuck's fuckin' FUCK, man?!

Three Eyes would have dearly loved to scream that out loud. To say it would have felt cathartic would have been putting it light as a feather in a hurricane. He didn't have a problem killing men; he didn't pursue the notion as enthusiastically as Konrad did, but he didn't lose sleep over slit throats and spilled blood. That went the same from women and children, well... sometimes they were children, sometimes they were aspects of the contract.

Konrad taught him that. But this? This was campfire horror story shite and he wanted the fuck out of it. However, since he couldn't just run, like he wanted to, instead he-

"Shyke!"

-jerked back his head like a tortoise retreating into its shell, just missing the long, black claws that would have cut has face into sausage meat. Instnicts, honed by decades of bar brawling, sent his arm flashing out in a quick stab before the monster had finished slashing-

-impaling its throat, twisting the blade as he pulled it out without even thinking about it. Gotta love memory; especially when it resulted in a monster with it's throat ripped open, toppling down and away from him-

"Eyes?!"

He looked over and took some measure of heart from the sight of a battered, bleeding but moving Konrad calling him over. Better to stay next to him, the lethal, miserable sod. Besides, he might do Eyes a favor and get in the way of a few monsters.

YUKYUKYUKYUKYUKYUK!

"Here!"

Konrad couldn't believe he was actually drawing attention to himself, but necessity can be a tricksy cunt sometimes. If what they'd done so far was the usual, if those things got to the slaves, they'd eat half the reason Konrad, Three Eyes, Fangor and everyone else was even out there in the wilds. They could still sell the booze, sure, but they'd see their pay slashed accordingly after losing that much product.

And he hadn't slept out in the freezing air for scores of days to take a fucking pay cut.

The first one flew at him and he slid to the side, avoiding its grasp and stabbing out and sideways, jamming the double-bladed dagger in the things neck-

-and promptly getting it stuck there as it kept falling. First his kopis, now his dagger-

"Goddit!" Three Eyes yelled as he fell on the wounded monster, finishing the job with a slash across its throat. "Next!"

"Easy fer youse t'say!"
Last edited by Konrad Venger on January 31st, 2016, 12:26 pm, edited 1 time in total.

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Note: As of Fall 517AV, Konrad is known only as "Hansel" in Endrykas
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What The Petch Is THAT?! [Job Thread]

Postby Konrad Venger on January 26th, 2016, 7:11 am

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Konrad drew Option C from his back sheath, his curved and honed kukri. Another monster slashed out at him and Konrad gritted his teeth, throwing up his free arm and knowing this would hurt like petch-

-claws biting through cloth and into flesh but stopping there-

-giving him an opening to hack diagonally down with the kukri, almost splitting the thing's face in two with a blade designed to chop and swing. Sparks again. Stone, quartz... gems? The thought ran through Konrad's head like an escaping slave and then was gone.

Gods. Of all the ways to try and get ri-

No time to daydream. The second monster fell back, spiting blood and shattered teeth, but two more were left, and one-

-fell to the shrieking Three Eyes, leaping at him like a monkey in stolen clothes, looted blades and a maniac's own mind. The beast almost looked confused for a second, right before Three Eyes landed, blades first-

-and the last thing jerks its face at Konrad, the two of them looking eerily similar for just a minute. Splattered in frozen mud and black and crimson blood, panting, high and rushing through every vein on the addiction of battle.

The thing screamed a challenge. Konrad screamed one back and-

-swung out at it, aiming to lay its head open just like the other one, but it was swift, agile, ducked under it and-

-tackled him, bearing them both to the ground. Konrad felt horror crawl and creep and threaten to paralyze him as he felt teeth nipping and probing through his breeches, the fucking abomination trying to tear chunks out of anywhere it could reach-

Oh, fuck this-

He reversed his grip on the kukri again and stabbed it over and over into the creature's back, not paying attention that every thrust ground against stone, blunting the strike, dulling the blade. Black blood spurted with every blow and finally the creature reared back up to slash again-

-and Konrad, flat on his back, jerked his knee up hard betwen the monster's legs-

-crushing something he assumed with a cock and some balls attached.

The monster crossed it's eyes and looked like it was about to purge. More like men than I thought, Konrad thought briefly, then finished the job by stabbing the blade straight through its chest, free hand braced behind the hand holding the kukri and pushing-

-cracking through its breastbone, piercing the evil and stinking organ beating behind it. The thing spasmed and Konrad had to crane back his neck to avoid that last, desperate lunge from its jaws, snapping., cracking... then weakly clacking... finally stilling...

Konrad grunted and foisted the corpse off him, getting back to his feet, shaky and not just from his wounds. Gods, he had those, didn't he? He touched his chest and felt fresh blood there, yet more future scars. His arm was a mess, too, bloody and dripping... gods, were those teeth marks in his breeches?!

"You a'right?"

Konrad shrugged, and immediately regretted doing so. "Thereabouts."

Three Eyes waited a handful of ticks for Konrad to act like a human and ask the same question, then realized that was a fool's errand. Then he realized, somewhat belatedly, that they weren't under attack. Anywhere. The sellswords were a panting, retching, bleeding, sometimes motionless mess of swaying sons-of-mothers, but the monsters? Gone. Three Eyes fought to catch his breath and walked with Konrad back to their (so-called) comrades.

"There some sorta'... leader, d'ya think?"

"How the fuck would-"


The two men stopped. Three Eyes' jaw actually creaked open. Konrad actually and unbelievably looked... almost impressed.

"Fuck me," he said woodenly. "How'd we miss that?"

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Note: As of Fall 517AV, Konrad is known only as "Hansel" in Endrykas
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Konrad Venger
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What The Petch Is THAT?! [Job Thread]

Postby Konrad Venger on January 31st, 2016, 12:27 pm

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Nine times out of ten, it was the big one. With a few variations.

Squatting on the ground, getting wind back in his lungs, Fangor surveyed the latest example. Well over a foot taller than its smaller, hunched brethren, the Alpha Yukman was brawny... in some places. One arm was a withered, vestigial talon; the other was twice the size of his own, slabs of muscle packed under tawny brown skin. Both legs were thick but swollen with tumors and growths. The head was a hairless orb, glimmers of quartz in the cranium like some sort of chaotic crown.

Or it had been, anyway. Now half of it was splattered across the grass. The warhammer across his lap was the reason.

Around him, the veteran caravan boss heard the same, familiar sounds of a battle's aftermath that he always did. Men wounded and pleading for aid, or just cursing their shyke luck. Inhuman groans, cut off abruptly by a falling blade or the thud of a mace. Unseen voices corralling animals back to the fold, the scent of the Yukmen driving their horses and oxen so mad they'd broken their poles.

"Fucking typical," he muttered, hawking a fat, stinking load into the dripping crater that had been the Alpha's skull. "An' we're not barely halfway there."

He took a long pull from the wineskin and whatever was in there, it burned commendably on the way down. Ugly fuck had fought like a bastard, he had to admit. The big ones, the leaders, usually did. They had some experience, an ember of strategy when it came to the fight... but ultimately, it was still, well, an it. Fangor wore it down and outlasted it, warhammer whooshing around until it shattered first a leg, then an arm and then...

The moment that brain was wet paste across his hammer, the pack had broken. Not for long, but long enough that Fangor could see it. More than a dozen frantically fighting figures sudenly stalled, jaws slack and eyes blank while whatever wyrd they used tried to find a new leader, work out a new-

It didn't matter. His sellswords were alive because they took every advantage they could get. A handful of ticks was enough to butcher the rest of the monsters and then, then Fangor had sat his arse down.

"Gods," he grunted as he straightened his legs and got to his feet, using his hammer as a crutch. "Fuckin' hate gettin' old..."

Crayden walked up to him and he nodded briefly to his old second, relieved the brawny, efficient mercenary wasn't dead yet.

"Gimme the numbers."

"Four dead, six wounded, all can travel,"
Crayden reported crisply, knowing his master of old. Numbers. Figures. The caravan didn't move on faith or grit or even mizas, but on numbers. Pounds of feed and skins of water, numbers of drivers and cooks and sellswords and, yes, slaves. "Some of the monsters made a break for the slaves but they didn't make it."

He nodded over Fangor's shoulder and the big man turned to see... ah, yes. Three Eyes and Venger. Both were new, and they'd proven their worth a couple of times over. But tonight, protecting the livestock? That was enough to make Fangor bob his head with mild approval.

He watched the two men, one wolfish and tall, the other squat and inked about the face, shuffle stiffly around the battlefield. Now and then a twitching Yukman got a blade to the head; more rarely, they stooped sharply, heedless of their wounds, and rifled through the pockets of a dead sellsword. Slim pickings, though...

"How many swords do we still have?"

Crayden sighed and Fangor imagined him running a hand through his thinning hair, as he was wont to do when he had to run the numbers and break bad news at the same time.

"We left the Berth with thirty-two. Lost seven to the Denvali, 'nother four tonight. So, twenty-one sellswords, not counting the drivers and-"

"We lose any of them?"

"Nah. They hid, of course,"
Crayden said, irritation plain but there was an undercurrent of understanding. They weren't getting paid to swing steel, after all. "We got most of the horses, the oxen didn't go far. Just means more men on the carts, less outriders. Food looks unspoiled, so..."

Konrad paused in his listening to reach down and finally reclaim his kopis. He'd already found his dagger and slipped it back into his boot; now he had to twist and jimmy the curved sword until he cut drag it out of the wrecked ribcage he'd left it in. Three Eyes was busy pawing over one of the dead mercenaries, making odd little noises of satisfaction when he found something good.

He wanted to do the same, but the gashes on his chest didn't permit much in the way of bending over. Then he saw Fangor turn his way and flick a glance at his chest.

"You fit to move?"

"Aye. "
Konrad didn't even hesitate. He knew what a negative answer would mean. "Good to go."

"Good."
His boss turned to Crayden, the second of the caravan as far as he'd worked out. "Get the healer to stitch him up and anyone else. Not losing anymore useful men tonight."

"Might be a problem with that. Healer got his petching face eaten off."

"Gods, man, couldn't you've told me that before?"

"Sorry, I didn't-"

"Ain't a worry,"
Three Eyes said suddenly, grinning as he patted the inside of his jacket. "Dab 'and with a needle and thread, me. Jus' gimme something strong to clean the wound an' I'll handle it."

Fangor gave him a rare smile, and only meant half of it. "Lookin' for extra wages, mendin' bones and swinging a sword."

"He don't know shyke about bones,"
Konrad cut in, settling down by the fire with a hiss and starting to peel his bloody clothes off. "But he knows how t'use a needle. See?"

Both men took a look at Konrad's bare torso, and needed no more convincing. Crayden winced and nodded.

"Aye. F'you say so."

Once he was finished with his scavenging, Three Eyes scuttled over, curved metal needle already between his teeth, spool of thread around two fingers. Konrad rooted around until he found a skin of something that smelled gos-awful, which was usually a good smile.

"Just try," he said before Three Eyes got to work, "and keep the stitches small this time, will ya?"

"Hey, no promises."

"S'what I thought..."

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Note: As of Fall 517AV, Konrad is known only as "Hansel" in Endrykas
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Konrad Venger
Long is The Way and Hard
 
Posts: 923
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What The Petch Is THAT?! [Job Thread]

Postby Royal on February 25th, 2016, 5:16 pm

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You have pleased your Queen. Now reap the rewards!

Konrad
Skills
  • Rhetoric +1
  • Endurance +4
  • Weapon: Crossbow +1
  • Intimidation +1
  • Weapon: Kopis +1
  • Tactics +2
  • Bodybuilding +2
  • Stealth +1
  • Weapon: Dagger +2
  • Running +1
  • Acrobatics +1
  • Brawling +1
  • Weapon: Kukri +1
  • Logic +1
Lores
  • The sexual frustration of travelling
  • Monster: Yukmen
  • Yukmen: Almost impossible to kill
  • Yukmen: Lead by an Alpha
Other
  • Injury: Four scars running down the centre of Konrad’s chest. Will heal in 8 days.
  • Injury: Reopening of an old wound on Konrad’s torso. Will heal in 12 days.
  • Injury: A bite mark on the left thigh. Will heal in 5 days.
  • Injuries: Various cuts and bruises, particularly on Konrad’s arms.


Questions? Comments? Please don't hesitate to PM me!
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Royal
You can call me Queen Bee
 
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Joined roleplay: September 2nd, 2015, 9:27 am
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