Flashback Ride Across The River (Lo'Campo)

[Konrad Venger]

8th Bell - 48th Day of Winter, 511AV - Robern's Reaches

Calendar Entry47th: Daggerhand and Sun's Birth clash in the Northwest Section of the city.

"On your feet, you sons of bastards!"

He'd had plenty ruder awakenings in his three decades of Winters, so the barked command that snapped him from his dreams was hardly enough to stoke his ire. Truth be told, he'd prefer harsh, cursing reality to the uncertain world of dreams. He couldn't control what he did there. The past came back to him in waves, sharper and nastier than ever it was in the flesh.

Konrad didn't scream in his sleep any longer, but he still hated nights where his mind was active, wandered, drew into his past and threw up things he didn't want. He longed for oblivion, every night. Sweet and quiet and dark and over in what seemed like ticks.

Then he opened his eyes and Syna smacked him around the head like the ornery bitch she was.

"Fuuuuuckin' 'ell..."

"No time t'dawdle, mate," a floating voice said, seemingly all around him, prodding at his bleary mind with a lilting accent. "Big Sister's sayin' we gotta be on the move an' sharpish."

Memories more recent and mortal surfaced as Konrad blinked at the sunlight made filthy by windows that hadn't been cleaned in perhaps years. Around him men were rousing, strewn around ancient mattresses piles of clothes, shuffling and rolling and sitting up like a battlefield risen from the dead.

Konrad didn't quite understand what irony was, but he would have seen it in that analogy. He'd been there for the actual battle, after all.

"Up! Up, you shyke-faced cunnies! Our work ain't over and by Rhysol's swollen cock, we're not restin' until it is!"

Hardly ladylike language. The sound of that voice, like a cat being castrated, was enough to banish any thought of flopping back with his eyes closed for a few minutes. Instead Konrad hacked and retched like an old man as all the poison of the night before seemed to fester in his mouth, scrambling around for-

Ah, there we go.

He took a long and grateful pull from the bottle, one of many scattered around the floor. No label, no warning, no problem. When did they ever ask, anyway? It burned like flaming oil and popped Konrad's eyes open as he sucked it down and that was what he wanted. More than that, too.

They'd survived, and celebrated the night before. Fires had burned in the streets in Robern's Reaches; ancient derelicts became pyres for the dead and beacons of defiance for the bastards across the river. Whores and vendors of anything a man could snort, smoke, shoot, swallow and chug were thick in the streets and bloodstained killers were carousing from house to tavern to brothel to bed.

Konrad squatted on his flat mattress and took a leisurely pull. His body ached. His arms stung. Cunt with a mace. His back twinged. Fell back on the cobbles. His hand was a bloody raw mess on the back and that, well, he had fonder memories of that.

Fucker won't be doing that twice. Or ever again.

A head poked around the corner, female by default if not by clear observation. She sneered and twin ranks of metal teeth gleamed like dirty knives.

"Ready to make some fuckin' mizas?"

Konrad jeered along with them: it was too early for flat out cheering. But he did yank himself to his feet, finishing the bottle, getting enough poison in his blood to steady himself. He patted down his coat and found the squashed little box that... fuck, and it was squashed, too. When did that happen?

"Think we're goin' back t'the square?"

The kid was a carrot-topped brat with hard eyes in a soft face. Wanted to be a street daemon and maybe he'd seen some harshness, some blood splatter on that face from throats he'd cut, but he wasn't yet fit for a proper street war. Konrad spared him half an eye as he fished out a battered and bruised wrap of Temper from the box, lighting it was a bruised little match, inhaling-

Gods and all their bastards, that was so much better than tobacco...

"It was a nightmare yesterday," the kid continued, Konrad holding in the smoke and letting it seep through his veins and muscles, loosening them up, packing his head in cotton wool. "So many bodies. Never seen Riverside like that a'fore, y'know? Have you?"

Konrad didn't answer. He was crouching down and tossing over his mattress, ignoring the kid and the nose-less ganger the mattress smacked into, who gave him the Evil Eye like he gave a fuck. His weapons were there, waiting for him and eager for awakening, too.

Sword at his hip. Kukri at his back. Dagger in his boot. All that weighted metal on him, holding him down, feeling all the more real and nasty with the smoke oozing out of his nose. Tapered cone of burning narcotic dangling from his lips, he turned a languid eye at the kid.

Sitting on the floor with his mace across his knee. Little more than a fat-headed plank with leather wrapped around it, studded with metal. Konrad leaned over and dragged the boy up by his collar, fixing him in that glossy, careless glare of a man too fucked up and far gone and far along to care about green boys and their prattling.

"Youse not gonna go?"

"I... I didnae say that-"

"Good." Konrad took a heavy pull, enough to send crackling fragments sizzling and flaring down off the wrap and tumbling into the dust. He took another one, leaving only the dregs of a smoke... then crushed the dead cone under his boot. "Gedout the door and do what ya did yesterday. Any more'n that, I couldn't give a fuck..."

Konrad didn't wait for an answer. He wasn't the one the kid would have to answer to, after all. The ink on his neck said he was with Drolneer's Dregs, so Drol would handle him. He walked past another room where Breccia and his crew were waking up, the man himself kicking and snarling at a few smoked-out gangers to get them up-

his feet were fleet and every step was a bounce, pushing away the ground so he could fly, fly, fly down the corridor and there was that smell, oozing from pores and eyes and mouth and ready hands loaded with weapons

-and Big Sister, the Daggerhand's representative for this building, was in the front room down the stairs. Konrad tipped up the little box and cursed quite blasphemously as a patter of dust fell into his palm. He was hoping for more of a deluge, not a shower. Gods, how much had he been into last night?

"Sound off, you cunts! Top to bottom!"

Big Sister gave the order and hard, fierce, proven men around the room and up the stairs began to shout back at her. Breccia. Drol. Gavner. Rutak. Petty street bosses and gang chieftains and alley runners all. Half a dozen in one house; far more than that across the whole neighborhood. An army of disparate scum that would happily butcher each other, all raised under the banner of the Daggerhands today. And the day before.

Parts of Riverside was still smoking. Mainly the parts that the Daggerhands and their hired, private army of street trash had taken the day before.

"We're headin' back over the river," Big Sister said without preamble, already gripping her sword tight even though the walk would take half a bell at least. "Meet up with the lads we left last night and push deeper into Riverside. Fuckin' Dragoons'll be there to greet us, an' wada'we fuckin' say t'that!"

"No mercy!"

"Again!"

"NO MERCY!"

Konrad focused on leaning against the wall and coaxing the Slammer into a rough mound in his palm. Let the kids and the dreamers and dregs shout out that crap, like they were really an army, really soldiers. He'd seen banners and heard chants - more from the Dragoons, of course, but that was their way - and he'd ignored the lot. He was here for the gold.

A hundred mizas for a few days work, and whatever he could loot. His purse was already fat from the latter, and they were only a day into the battle for Riverside.

"A'right, lads! March!"

Konrad crabbed his way to the side and avoided the landslide of human garbage coming from upstairs. He wasn't there as part of some posse or crew, though Breccia and bis lads gave him quick nods, remembering him from Way Back When. He barely looked back, focused on bending down, stopping up one nostril and0

HNNNNNFFF!

Half a dose of Slammer coated his nostrils in a second and started zipping through his brain, soaking and zapping and sinking into his brain, his mind, his nerves. Konrad shuddered and shook as his muscles trembled around his bones. He felt his arms and legs tingle, his chest dance and then... and then...

Nothing. No feeling, no pain, no aches, and Konrad chuckled at the ceiling with his teeth chattering and dancing in his mouth. Slammer. Good brawling drug. Numbed up your arms and legs a treat, so you'd barely feel bones break or flesh laid open. Not something you'd want to dose up on too regular, but for days like that day?

He flexed his fingers and felt... yes, he'd been lucky in his lack of luck, it seemed. A full dose would make his hands useless; half a dose with the Temper evening it out was... something else.

That and the booze. There was enough sensation in his fingers for him to grip his sword proper and draw it, toss it from hand to hand and swing it experimentally as the house emptied around him. Weapons clattering and held high, from crude maces and studded gauntlets to polearms. All the men were fit to go and fight and bleed for the Daggers and for coin and, really, for any reason they chose.

Konrad joined the flow heading out the door, into the light, a grumbling, growling gang marching across the cobbles, heading for the bridge over the river and back into enemy territory.

OOCMy thanks to Erik Murphy for inspiring me to use past Calendars for inspiration.

[Lo'campo]

He was starting to get annoyed with all of the talking going about, he was hired on to kill, not to sit and listen to people talk and jeer. He disliked the noise anyway. He didn't even know why he was here. He had left Riverfall in an attempt to better himself mentally, and not kill. Yet here he was with a dozen other brutes readying themselves to go slay a rival gang. What was this city called again? Sunberth? It didn't surprise him, that there were gangs and killing going around. He could tell when he saw that the city didn't even have a wall to defend itself that it would be a dangerous place to be. The streets were dirty, there was no form of law, everyone looked poor and desperate enough to put their own mother into slavery, and bodies, dead bodies everywhere whether it was done by the weather, or some lowly scum looking to rob someone. He like this place though. Yes they were all stupid con-artist, thieves, whorish, warmongering brutes that had no goals or self-worth, but given the right amount of time, effort, and organization, the city could become a pretty good place to get rich. He wasn't even here for the money...partially. Yes even though his coins were looking pretty low, he was itching to kill. He knew that he had promised his father that he wouldn't take a life that wasn't out of self defense, but man it had been a while since he felt the warmth of someone else's blood fall unto his hands, he had longed to feel the muscles of a body twitch as his victim struggled, to hear the screams of those too afraid to fight back or run, frozen in fear with the only amount of warmth in their bodies being from pissing themselves. He took a deep breath with the feeling of enlightenment and ecstasy running through his body. The most killing he had done since he had left home were small animals and once when he had thrown someone out of the ship and into the sea, and that's if they didn't drown or become food for what ever sea-beast swam below. So for him to touch ground in a city that allowed a person to kill without any consequences from the law was pure heaven for him. With another shout, he noticed that some people were starting to move out. He had not paid attention to anything, not that he needed to. His job was to kill anybody or thing that wasn't associated with the Daggermans....Or was it Daggerhands? He didn't know or care for that matter, as long as he got to feed his addiction. He stood watching the first group of men exit onto the street. He didn't even know what group he was supposed to be in. Deciding to just wait it out and wait for every one to clear out he leaned against the wall twiddling with his lakan.

[Konrad Venger]

Konrad decided that if he was walking into a fight, he'd want the blue bastard with him. He knew that wasn't his name - or even a favorable description - but fuck it, he didn't have time to remember people that could be dead by sundown.

"Oi!?!" He snapped, eyes fuzzy and pupils pinpricks as he swiveled them over to the towering figure with impossibly long, silver hair. "Yer with us! Getcha arse movin'!"

Some corner of his Temper-addled mind hoped the Akalak wouldn't question just who the hells he was to be ordering him around, but from what he could see, Blue Bastard was waiting for such an order. He jerked his head around and could see Big Sister far ahead, leading the front ranks, the mob joining up with one coming up from another street.

The Razkilt Bridge was to their left, and soon hundreds of feet were stomping across the cobbles towards it.

Beyond the bricks and carved beasts lining the bridge, Riverside was smoldering. Not all of it, of course, with the snow and ice and cold keeping the flames subdued, but plenty of damage had been meted out by all yesterday. Businesses looted, tenements ransacked, anyone getting in the way cut down and bludgeoned into the stones... and that was before the Sun's Birth arrived.

Not even their fucking territory.

"Once we're over," Big Sister shouted as they tramped across the bridge, "Split up by yer mobs! We're not just raidin', we're takin' territory today, lads and lassies! Youse see any cunt with the star on 'em, you cut 'em down and rip their fuckin' hearts out!"

Again, there was that roar of craven approval. Laughs and jeers and "can't wait to get stuck in" and elbows jostling and Konrad ignored the petching lot of it. He was here for the loot and the blood, not the greater glory of whoever-the-fuck. But that didn't mean he couldn't read the streets.

The Night Eyes. Those were the ones Robern hated above all others, those that killed his woman and scarred his child. Riverside was their home and the Daggerhand lord had marshaled all his strength to shake the pillars of the district until some came loose. But all day and the only ones that had wriggled out of the woodwork had been-

"The stars! The stars!"

Konrad spat to the side, hefty gob sizzling with rancid booze and fresh Temper. A drugged grin split his face as he saw men rushing from the street over the bridge, tattooed gangers slipping on the ice in their rush. He recognized a few of them; they'd been left behind to "hold" the buildings flanking the bridge, their foothold in the district.

They'd offered him the job. He turned it down. Everyone with a brain knew the Dragoons would be back and now-

"They're coming! They're coming!"

No-one needed ask who "they" was. The mob of thugs, mercs and killers was vomited over the bridge and started to spread out, sliding into alleys and doorways like filthy water. Konrad moved over to the side of the street, closer to cover, and heard-

Hooves. Many hooves. A tick later, a rank of armored horsemen came around the corner. Jogging behind them were chainmail-clad foot-sloggers, polearms and swords held ready and above it all, clutched in the center of the cavalry?

Twin banners of white with yellow suns, each with eight spiky points to them, but one with a straight, thick sword in the center. The symbols of the Sun's Birth and their army, the Dragoons. Now bearing down on the Daggerhands rabble and, predictably, Konrad felt them start to waver, mutters and trembles he could feel through the ground despite his half-numb limbs.

"Long arms to the front! Now!"

Big Sister screamed the rider at the head of the Dragoons raised his sword high... then swung it from vertical to horizontal, leveled at the mob.

"Chaaaaaaarge!"

Creeeeeeak

Konrad barely heard it over the sound of thundering horse flesh suddenly going from trotting to galloping, but the slither of movement was enough to draw his eye. An old and frightened face was peering out from behind a door, cracked just an inch or two. At the sight of Konrad its went wide, the door closed again-

Not fast enough.

The Daggerhand killer whirled and slammed his boot against the door, knocking it open and sending the old woman sprawling. Around him men with rough pikes and crude spears were shoving forwards, trying to rally into something resembling ranks.

Konrad thought it a good idea... but for the moment, he ducked into the shadows of the door and waited for the armored wave to crash into the Daggerhands invaders.

Can't spend shyke when yer dead.

[Lo'campo]

It wasn't long before someone had approached him. Did he really stick out so easily? It was a human who had wild eyes and a heavy accent, and by the smell of his clothing, was a native to the city. Lo'campo couldn't make much out of what the man was saying, but he had gotten the most part of it when the man motioned for the door. Giving his lakan a final twirl, he released himself from the wall and followed his new chaperon out of the door. It was quite humorous to watch the bunch. The air filled with the sounds of hundreds of feet stomping against the ground. The cheers and songs coming from the mouths of some of the soldiers, if they could be called that. He wished not to take part in he marching or singing, slowly walking parallel with the group as if he were walking with a parade. He was here to kill, nothing more, nothing less. He had seen them before anyone else, given his height of course, but everyone one had heard the sound of hoofs galloping across the stony ground. Who ever they were fighting came prepared, charging into the front lines swinging their weapons from side to side cutting into the soldiers as if they were forest brush. A command was given as bodies moved to the front to defend the onslaught. Lo'campo knew that this was not a good place to be, turning to see that the man he had been following apparently thought the same and scurried somewhere to avoid being slashed, blunted, or trampled by the enemy. The order to charge had been given and he was beginning to be pushed forward by those not smart enough to realize it would be suicidal to rush a squadron of horseman swing weapons at their heads. Lo'campo pushed through the mob at a horizontal angle, Shoving his shorter allies out of the way as he found cover in an ally opening. He hugged the wall with his back as the rest of them charged forward, some of them meeting their fate upon arriving to their target. Blood already spilled onto the ground. The cries and final grunts of soldiers dying, the sound of armor and weapons made of iron and steel hitting the ground. It was a sad sight to see yes, but it just meant more money for him. He looked to see if he could find anyone else who had sense enough not to charge head on. He wasn't one to work in a group, but there were strength in numbers.

[Konrad Venger]

Konrad knew that the thing about a cavalry charge, was that it was only really dangerous when it was charging. Once that first clash had dissipated, the first few moments of impact and terror and shock had worn away, a cavalryman was just someone on a horse, hacking around at those around him.

He jerked his head out of the doorway and saw that was what was happening now. Those Daggerhand mercs and killers and scum that hadn't run at the first sign, nor trampled or hacked down, but actually stood and faced the storm, were nor surrounding the horsemen like ants around larger prey. The Sun's Birth Dragoons were laying about but now there was a thicket of pikes and poles and spears around each man.

Horses were rearing, screaming, flanks and chests pierced, throwing their riders into the bramble patch of merciless Daggerhand killers. Others were dragged off and down, helpless as they were butchered. Some were digging their spurs deep into the sides of their steeds, powering away from the battle, back to-

The foot soldiers of the Sun's Birth. Konrad didn't know what their name was. He only knew what he could see, and saw them jogging up and lagging behind the cavalry that had charged ahead. But they were getting closer, ranks of them in nice, neat uniforms.

Konrad grinned at the pretty chain-mail, feeling blood pump through his limbs even as their muscles and flesh went nerveless as stone.

He liked uniforms. Made it much easier to know who to kill.

The scarred man stepped out and searched around for some scum to back up up... and found himself looking at a tree-sized blue bastard who apparently had more brains than he'd originally thought. Whoever the Akalak was, he wasn't an idiot. He'd weathered the cavalry storm and looked down - way down - at Konrad, as if for instruction.

Well, if yer gonna have anyone at yer back, best off to be that.

"C'mon," he said, fixing a fake devil-may-care grin on his face, "Les' make our ancestors proud, eh?"

He'd heard Akalaks loved that shit. Maybe it'd pep him up, or some such shyke. Konrad darted past him and screamed, getting loud, getting attention, hoping to get some followers as he charged towards the ranks of mercs playing at soldiers. The cobbles rang with the chaos of pounding feet and Konrad knew he couldn't risk a glance behind him to check. The Sun's Birth infantry were closing fast, and he picked one out, a fresh face under a weathered helmet, holding a bastard sword-

-that swung out at Konrad as he got close, a simple, predictable blow-

-that Konrad met the blow as the sword crashed towards him, metal clanging into metal, pushing the other sword back and away, leaving the Toy Soldier's chest open-

-for his backhanded diagonal slash that bit through chainmail and sent the kid staggering back, front cleaved open, blood spewing from the silver edges of the ruined chain-mail shirt-

"Bastard!"

Another was already there, eager to avenge his friend. Konrad sidestepped as a short sword stabbed out at him, face glaring from above a shield. Now time for sizing each other up or fancy circling: other Daggerhands were joining the fray, crashing into the ranks of Suns Birth foot-soldiers. All was chaos, shouts without words, all mingled together with metal and horses and blood and death.

Konrad spat to the side and slashed high, drawing the shield up to block-

-leaving his chest open to the sword-

As bloody expected.

The soldier stabbed out and Konrad twisted to the side, hand not holding his kopis his shooting out and grabbing the wrist thrusting out at him-

-bringing that kopis down hard as he held it there-

-and the soldier shrieked and drew back a fucking stump, bloody and spurting, shield forgotten as he stared and stared and screamed and-

-Konrad ended his horror with a diagonal slash that split his face nearly in two, and continued on to lay open his throat and neck, blood spurting and cascading over his fellows even as he fell back.

Still they came. Still the commanders on both side fed meat into the grinder and Konrad checked to make sure the Akalak was close.

Worse came to worse, he wanted a reliable meat shield to get behind.

[Lo'campo]

It had seemed that things were evening out between the two sides. After loosing a handful of men, the Daggerhands had managed to overpower the horsemen, who now retreated as the infantry replaced them. Now this was his kind of speed. He watched from his cover as the men and women made their way down the street armed and armored ready for battle. He had to give it to them, they were pretty impressive, if he didn't know any better, he would have thought this was an invasion from Syliras. In the midst of admiring the opposing gang, a familiar smell tickled his nose. He was surprised to see that the man from before had made it this far into the fight. He would have guessed that the man would have been killed or high tailed it home by now, guess one shouldn't judge a book by it's cover. Another earful of words from the man before he moved out of the ally and onto the battlefield. Only guessing that he wanted him to follow, Lo'campo removed the hood from his head and slid his way out behind him. The ground was splattered with blood and bodies spread out like a child who had not put their toys away. He had no feelings for the fallen, they were people he did not recognize. They were just bodies that would be looted, scavenged and picked over by thieves and animals alike. Some of them looked young enough to be children. Death did not discriminate, and all is far in war. He trailed his shield brother a few feet to give him room for the onslaught that he gave with his sword. Slashing through enemies with ease and agile footwork. He commended the man for his skill, he himself knew the years of practice and dedication one would have to endure to become skilled in their weapon. Focusing on his own well-being, he prepared as a mace wielding man moved in for an attack. Lo'campo stood on his toes, shifting his weight foot to foot ready for what was to come. A swing of the mace, heavier than his lakan, a deadly blow if he were to get hit, but a great advantage if the man were to miss. A quick step to the right leaving the mace nothing to hit but the air leaving the soldier wide open. Muscles tightened in the Akalak's leg, power becoming solid in his thigh as he brought his knee into his opponents abdomen doubling him over. A flick of the wrist twisting his lakan blade down, beams of sunlight bouncing off the tip of the dagger before it burrowed its way into the back of the unlucky fellow. The second soldier nearly caught him off guard, quickly pulling his lakan up to clash with a sword. If he wasn't as big as he was, the blow would have knocked him down. Digging his feet in, he pushed back overpowering if not matching the force of his attacker. The two separated, Lo'campo went in for the kill, lakan held sideways to meet with the swordsmen fleshy side. A flicker of light. The Akalak broke into a roll, dodging the blade of the sword by an inch. Back on his feet, he saw the swordsman rush in. He knew that he wouldn't be able to move fast enough. This was why he loved battles like this, it was kill or be killed. It didn't matter how big a man or his weapon was, it all came down to skill and natural ability. The silver haired man leaned forward into the swordsman's attack, positioning his lakan at vertical at his side and letting the sword slide into the opening between his arm and the lakan. The sound of steel on steel filled his ears. A risky thing to do, but now he was in close range with his attacker. A powerful uppercut connected with the man's chin. Head up, sword dropped. Metal on stone whispered in his ears. A quick glance exposed another enemy coming from the side, eyes filled with the intent to kill. This was not a good position. Even if he were able to block the incoming attack, he would not be fast enough to disable the second attacker and finish off the swordsman before one or both of them gathered themselves. Thinking out of the box, he waited for the spear-man to be only a few feet away. Feet sturdy, arms back, the head of the spear ready to go through the Akalak's chest. A quick movement of his body Lo'campo turned the dazed man he was already dealing with towards the incoming spear, pushing him into the weapon, blood spraying upon his clothes. The spear went straight through, a cry as the air and life left the fatally wounded man. Shock and fear covered the spear holding man's face. This must have been someone that he knew. A friend? A brother? Someone that meant something in the hell bound city. It didn't matter to Lo'campo. Everyone one here was just a number added to the coin he'll be getting paid. Taking advantage of the moment, he moved around the slumped body. Lakan sideways, arm wide, strong, fast. He and his victim both knew that this was it. This is what separated the boys from the men, the hunters from the hunted, predator and prey. Blade connected to flesh, neck bent sideways, bones snapping and petruding from the inside. Blood covered the blade and the killer's face mixing with the blue, causing a purple hue. Lo'campo looked over to see the his smelly heavy accented ally, giving a nod before joining him for battle. This was war, this was life.

[Konrad Venger]

There was no time to think, just react. Everything around Konrad was moving fast, urgent, swinging and flashing and most of it intent to do him harm. Years of surviving street scraps, bar brawls and gang feuds took control of his limbs and he let his memories move them-

-ducked under an ax that would have taken half his head off, heavy blade swooping a bare inch above his skull, momentum dragging the wielder off balance for a tick-

-time enough for Konrad to lunge up and out from his crouch, stabbing his curved kopis through his torso, impaling him as the blade burst out his back-

-then yanking it free and kicking the dying man into his fellows, ranks of Sun's Birth minions still pressing forwards.

A press. A scrum. That's what it was becoming. Cavalry to their back retreating through their own lines, the rest of the Daggerhands sortie was at Konrad's back, and the Birth's men were in front... and it was just sheer physics. The air around him became close, not enough room to swing or even stab, apart from...

"Fuck me, look adim' fuckin' go."

The Akalak was a whirling, stabbing, slashing monster, laying waste to the everything in front of him. Konrad saw him trick one man into running through his fellow, then put the stunned idiot out of his misery... before looking over at him, giving a nod.

The chaos and the bedlam stalled for a broken tick. Konrad blinked. Well, he was never one to look a gift horse in the mouth.

"To the Akalak!" He roared, slashing his way past another soldier, biting through his leg before slamming a fist into the helmeted head. His hand was probably a bruised mess from the blow but he barely felt it thanks to the slammer. "To him! Break the line!"

It seemed to do the trick. The Akalak was making a pretty dent in the Sun Birth's lines, seemingly by sheer size alone. Most of them had never seen one of the Riverfall monster's in battle before, looming a clear foot over most of them, all blue muscle and curved, ornate blades that were sending tendrils of fresh blood spattering through the air.

They were falling back in front of him. Giving them an opening.

Which Konrad was not going to ignore.

He roared again and the pitch of it trembled and shook his own ears, Temper fuzzing his ears to the point where all seemed to be a buzzing drone in his ear. Coming in fast and low from the Akalak's flank, he slashed out and made the killing zone around the big blue sod a little wider, forcing a soldier back to avoid his blade-

-following it up with a swinging kick between the man's leg. His boot smashed into the soft, lumpen flesh there and the soldier dropped to his knees with a yell far higher than he was probably used to. His sword clattered to the ground and Konrad swung down like an executioner, kopis hammering through cranium and grey matter and spilling both onto the already-slick cobbles when he yanked it free.

Others were following his lead, exploiting the opening the Akalak had given them. The giant was wading back into the fray and Konrad stuck close to him, minding his flanks and his back. The... thing, was too valuable to let some sneaky cunt (like Konrad, really) shank him from an exposed side, just like-

-one crafty sod tried, lunging forward at the Akalak's exposed back with a polearm-

-that was suddenly chopped off the oaken staff it topped when Konrad brought his kopis down on it, useless metal spike falling to the ground and Konrad swung up and back at the wielder-

-ripping open his throat and sending him toppling back, second mouth splitting his throat open vomiting gore everywhere.

THUNK

He felt it, but didn't, as it were. The impact registered, in the same way a wind or a drop of rain would. But there was no pain, just his body telling him something had hit him and Konrad looked to his side-

-and saw the arrow sticking out of his arm. He blinked dumbly at it, wasting precious moments until it all clicked, Slammer-numbed limb protecting him from the pain of the blow, and he looked up-

Seeing figures in the windows above, slinking on the rooftops.

Bastards, his mind slurred, dragging his gaze along the other side of the street and seeing the same thing. Letting us get this far, drawing us in... then let the archers pick us off like fish in a-

"Cover!" He shouted, needing to keep as many of these Daggerhands alive as he could. Every man at his side increased his chances of surviving the day, and going about the more pleasurable business of looting and pillaging. "Akalak?! Archers!"

A fresh squall of arrows rained down as he started running, grabbing the nearest figure close to him, a tattooed ganger frozen in surprise until Konrad grasped him by the shoulder and-

-swung him around in the path of the arrows, a trio of them burying in his chest, arrows that would have done the same to him a tick before. Konrad let the dying, twitching man fall and ran onward, diving through the nearest window and hoping the Akalak had the sense to do the same.

[Lo'campo]

Hi muscles tense, senses wild. He smelled nothing but blood, tasted nothing but metal as large amounts of saliva filled his mouth. The battle at reach it's mid point as both sides where jumbled together now. Man against man, steel against steel. He had killed about four or five more men after his first three, yet there still seemed to be more coming from the woodwork. He wasn't fighting one man at a time now, his presence had been known, his strength and skill tested and analyzed. They were coming two and three at a time, giving him a run for his money. One of the petching bastards managed to even nip him a bit. He wasn't using his lakan anymore. It wouldn't have been enough to take on mulitple opponents and defend his flank and backside. He stood ready, cornered, but ready for anyone who felt bold enough to take him on. Great sword in hand ready to spill blood. He couldn't go on the offensive, he knew that he wasn't skilled enough for it. Hell he barely could even hold the damned thing up correctly. Why didn't he train with this thing more often? For the moment, it was just for show. Intimidation purposes, all he had to do was hold it up, look like he knew what he was doing, and pray that the mean look on his face would be enough to scare someone away. Three swordsman advanced looking to call the Akalak's bluff. All at once the brought their blades down ready to spill the red from the blue creature. Sword up, his right hand holding onto the hilt of the blade, his left the base. The three swords clashed with the one causing sparks and pushing the attackers back. There was space now. Moving his left hand down the blade, he changed his grip on the hilt to where he was to properly hold it. Blade tip tilting down. Muscles bulged in all parts of his arm as he brought the sword upward and diagonally slashing at the three men. He missed one, and left the second with a cut, nothing fatal but something to tend to if he were to make it through the battle. The third was not as lucky, his grip slipped, the blade tipped changing direction and hacking a good portion of the man's leg, rendering him immobile, calling for his comrades to come for him only to gain no help. He lay there in front of the Akalak who was surprised that he had even gotten a hit with the enlarged sword. Lifting the great-sword, Lo'campo brought the blade down. Sending it through the chest and giving it a twist, the sound of bones breaking as blood filled the man's mouth. Straight through the ribs damaging the lungs, filling them with blood. The poor sap was going to choke to death on his own blood. His eyes were still filled with some form of life that begged for mercy, for the blue giant to have some form of pitty for his soul. Lifting the sword once more, he watched as the fallen soldier's eyes twitched. A twitch of fear, a twitch of one's life flashing before their eyes. A twitch of knowing that you had the choice to stay home, to not get involved with a gang war, to not run into battle with people that you barely knew only t be slain down and ditched by those you thought were your friends, left to the mercy of a man who just like you ran into battle, not knowing that he would bring down a son, maybe even a father someday, grandfather even. Giving a grunt, Lo'campo brought the sword down into the man's shoulder, leaving a large gash in his chest. The man's body lay lifeless as the sword was removed with a loud "slosh" There was another command. This voice all to familiar with the heavy accent. A quick glance showed his shield brother gathering other allies and charging to his aide. A grin crept upon his face. "The bastard is still alive. He beat the time I gave him." Lo'campo thought to himself before raising his sword and cheering along with the others. "Lo'campo" He introduced himself as his ally stood back to back with him. He blocked an attack, so the shorter human could end the man's life swiftly. Letting the blade fall, the tip hit the ground blocking another attack so his ally could make due of their rival. The glimmer of the enemies armor caught the corner of his eye. Using the blade for a crutch he kicked out, stunning the fighter for a short time. Grip tightened, the blade came up from the ground, in the air, downward chopping the man in the neck breaking clean through the collar bone crippling if not killing him. A whistle. Then another as the smelly man jolted. A stick protruding from his arm. Not a stick, a bolt? An arrow? The enemy had arrows? How far over the line had they gotten? Another bolt whipped through the air taking down a fellow warrior adjacent to himself. Petch it was a trick. They let them get the far, sacrificed a handful of their men to let their moral get boosted, only to take them out from long range. "Run! They have arrows. Retreat!" His baritone like voice bellowed over the fighting. Those closer to him heard and began to backtrack out of range. Those that were too far, or locked in battle weren't as lucky. Another bolt came past as he turned his head cutting him across his face. He felt the warmth of the blood trickle down. It wasn't his eye, but it was damned close. Things were moving way to fast to try and figure out what to do. Looking back toward enemy lines, he saw them. They had darkened the skies as the flew through the air like birds of prey. Looking to sink their tips into the bodies of those not fast enough to take cover. Arrow....Petching arrows. He turned to look to his shield brother who was already kicking up dust running for cover. "Legs, don't fail me now" He thought as he followed suit. Lo'campo wasn't one to retreat, but there was an acceptation to certain situations, this was one of them. He ran as fast as his legs would carry him.A sharp ping in his back. He was hit. Not letting that stop him he pushed forward. The sound of bodies falling behind him, some even at his side. The sound of the arrows hitting the ground behind him got louder. He could see where his shield brother was hiding. Just a few more feet. Both eyes clenched he slid across the ground. Another ping, this was not going to be the day he was going to die. He spat as dirt and dust kissed his face before he felt the weight of another body against his. He opened his eyes, chest heaving searching for air but relieved that he could breath. Unable to speak yet, he looked to his ally for words on what to do next.

[Konrad Venger]

Well, it could have been worse, Konrad thought as he shook the grass and woof fragments from his head, and found a giant Akalak skidding to a halt between his legs. He could have landed atop of me.

That said, he made a note to tell no-one about this.

Then he looked further up and saw a big problem sticking out of a huge man: the arrow that had taken the Akalak in the back. It seemed so small compared to such a broad boy, but Konrad knew from experience how-

Shyke, nearly forgot.

He grunted as he snapped off the arrow in his arm, leaving the head buried in there but... no, he still couldn't feel it. The Slammer was still coursing through him, letting him know what was happening to his limbs without actually causing him pain. He tossed the shaft to one side and gripped the one in the Akalak's back-

"Hold still."

-before snapping the shaft. He didn't want to risk yanking it all the way out and find the head was barbed, ripping an even larger hole for the big bastard to deal with. He was still useful, after all, and wouldn't be after bleeding out.

"C'mon," Konrad snarled, getting to his feet and switching his kopis for his kukri, which looked like the curved sword's smaller, undernourished twin. Konrad giggled at the idea out of nowhere, Temper loosening his wits even as he used them. Undernourished? Let any bastard speak that shite and find out how wrong they were about his kukri. "Ain't come this far t'fuck off now."

That sounded suitably determined, he hoped. It helped that it was true. If they retreated now, letting the archers and crossbowmen push them back, the morning was wasted and Konrad would get fuck-all booty from their excursions. Just wasted drugs, spent energy and a fucking arrow in his arm.

Bollocks to that.

Instead he got to his feet and his eyes flashed to the stairs, leading upstairs. Pounding feet and shouting voices bounced and shook the floor above their heads. Clearly men with mortal work on their minds, not timid homeowners.

Konrad looked quickly around. A simple enough affair. A small hearth burning, stew bubbling over, left to spoil as the men inhabiting the house were called to arms. Mattresses and bedrolls strewn around... the stink of unwashed bodies and alcohol... no drugs that Konrad could name. Unsurprising: the Birth took a dim view on substance abuse.

The brawler gritted his teeth and forced the aimless musings away. Instead he started up the stairs, kukri held close to his side, ready to cut or stab or parry as he went. He walked soft until he realized that whoever was up there, all their attention was on the windows, the roof, the street, the battle and slaughter below. They probably didn't even hear them-

-then a figure rushed onto the landing, looking down at the two men sneaking up the stairs.

Yellow and black star on his tunic, below a face that was young and frightened, bundle of arrows in his arms shaking and knocking together like wind chimes. He locked eyes with the hulking blue monster and the scarred, bloody beast in the black hat... both without the armor of his order.

"... shyke!"

"Gedim!"

He bolted, they pursued. Konrad's feet pounded up the stairs and he swung around the corner into the room the kid had vanished into. More voices from inside, joined by his high squeak of horror, and Konrad saw in a flash the-

Boy with his back to him.

The bowman craning their heads around, turning their attention from the windows.

Bolts and arrows and swords and knives scattered around.

Another boy by the bed, yanking back on a crossbow and getting it notched, ready to fire.

Konrad didn't wait for that frozen moment again. He let them have it, of course, that shock and surprise and sheer "what the petch are they doing in here?" look stilling their limbs and-

-in that moment, he acted.

"T-There's men comUMF!"

The boy's last words were cut off as Konrad smacked his hand over his mouth and with the other stabbed the kukri deep into his back. He knew how, after years of use: he held the blade horizontally, so the broad, curved blade could slide between ribs, impale and dissect organs and whne he twisted and pulled it back out-

-it crunched a rib and tore a hole in the boy's back. He sliumped, dribbling blood down a hairless chin and one of the archers cried out, turning-

-Konrad didn't stop moving, leaping over and past the boy, not bothering to use the kukri and just-

-kicking out at the man in front of the window as he jumped forward, body weight behind the blow, knocking the man back as he fumbled with the knife at his belt-

But there was no "back" to go to, save the open window and the empty air. He toppled over the edge and fell out with a thin screech trailing behind him. Konrad didn't hear him land, and it didn't matter. If the fall didn't end him, either to Dira or a crippling, the frenzied swarm below would get round to it. Besides, he had other bus-

His leg collapsed under him, right after he felt that familiar impact again... only much harder. If it had been a tap from the arrow, it was a hammer blow from the-

-crossbow bolt that impaled his thigh, right through the meat of it. No feeling, no pain, that was Slammer for you, but that didn't make his body immune to the simple physics of losing most of a limb. Konrad crunched down to the ground and glared at the boy, terror thick across his face, who'd still found the wherewithal to load the crossbow, aim it and fire it, even with a black-hatted daemon tearing apart his friends.

Konrad could respect courage like that. It was a fine thing. And now he was done respectin', we was gonna tear his fucking throat out.

He lurched upright just as the boy in the room tossed his weapon at the Akalak, distracting him as he went for Konrad with his dagger-

Just as the trapdoor to the roof opened up and more faces and bodies appeared to join the fray.

[Lo'campo]

He had made it, the salty metallic taste of sweat and blood confirmed that he was all but dead. His shield brother was saying something that the Akalak didn't hear before there was a small sense of pain in his back and an arrow thrown onto the ground. He didn't even feel when he got hit by the petching thing with all the adrenaline coursing through his veins. Using the sleeve of his robe, he cleaned the gooey, crusted blood from his brow. The arrow had caught him good leaving a noticeable cut across his face. Not a deep cut, but it still stung as sweat moved over it. He took a quick glance around the room that they had taken cover in. Abandoned, clothing and furniture flipped about as if it were hit by strong winds, there was even something still cooking over the fire. The people here probably were forced to leave when the battle had begun, leaving their home to be raided and ransacked by what ever thug, thief, or random person to stumble inside the empty place. Footsteps moved across the ceiling above. Maybe not so empty after all as the Akalak gave a look to his companion. He sheathed his great-sword. Swinging the large 5 foot blade up and behind him where it rested on his back, and pulling his lakan out from his robe. He treaded lightly behind the black hatted man, taken the time to realize that through the entire fight, not once did this man loose his hat. The blue giant began to wonder what was under the head garment. Another set of footsteps moved above their heads as the slowly crept up the stairs. They could hear grunts, and the sound of crossbows letting bolts fly which meant there was still some form of fighting going on outside. It was then that they came to an abrupt stop. A small lanky figure standing at the top of stairs where they only were a few steps from themselves. The boy stood there in fear and shock of the two as crossbow bolts tumbled out of his hands. He could tell that the lad wasn't built for this kind of thing. War, to raise your sword up against another man. To see blood run from the bodies of those screaming their last words before death swooped in and took them. No, this boy was probably a momma's boy, still sucking from the teat. Probably seen a couple of muggings or fights, maybe even stole something before, but Lo'campo could tell by the look in his eyes that this boy had never seen death nor war. He was just another hyped up lad brainwashed by whomever to think that he was capable of being in something on this scale. "Don't do it." He thought to himself mere ticks before the boy shot around the corner to whomever be in the room above them. He gave haste along with the black hatted man behind the boy before he could go warn his fellow soldiers. The boy came to a stop, arm extended pointing from which they just came, mouth open ready to make sound before it was covered by the man in the black hat. A movement from his hand, and his weapon moved it's way into the boy's back, leaving a gaping hole as it exited. There was a loud "THUMP" as the lifeless body hit the floor, gaining the attention of the crossbow wielding men that sat in the windows. The first turned, the dirty human reacting faster than the Akalak taking out the men in a bloody rampage kicking one man out of the window down into the fight below, before collapsing himself from an arrow to the thigh. Lo'campo seen the boy rush the downed man, tossing his crossbow at the Akalak in an attempt to distract him. Things slowed. He could hear his heart beating in his ears. He was hot, body filled with enough adrenaline to jumpstart a dead man's heart. What was all this for? Fighting, killing, for what purpose? Land? Territory? To say that you and an influence in a part of a dirty run down city. It didn't matter, because at the end of the day, you would always be the same little speck of dirt that you were from the beginning. Catching the weapon and having no knowledge on how to use it, Lo'campo took it by it's handle, throwing it back at the boy with massive power hitting the boy in the side. I wasn't effective enough to kill the boy, or even do damage. It did give the blue behemoth enough to reach the lad, locking up with him as more men came from upstairs, crossbows and daggers at the ready looking at the two struggling with an injured man on the floor. This was bad. Thoughts and ideas rushed through his head as the armed men looked at the trio trying to figure what was going on. "Shoot them!" the boy cried out, Lo'campo's head looking at him in a frantic. "No, shoot him. We are with you guys." He countered the boy's request for assistance. " Lies! Don't you see, I wear the mark of the Sun's Birth. Shoot them now!" The crossbows raised. "No! I am pretty sure your commander will be highly upset if they found out that you killed two of the best mercenaries that they hired for a pretty large amount of miza. This man clearly killed one of our own and stole his armor." The boy gave a laugh "Ha blue man, if that lie is as true as you claimed, who is the commander?" Petch. Lo'campo looked to the boy, then to the man in the hat, then to the bowmen who now aimed for his head. They were surrounded with no way out, the breeze from the outside was the only thing keeping him cool in this heated moment. Bolts locked with a "click". The palm of the Akalak upon the boy's back. Powerful arm muscles shoved the boy forward, bolts released. A massive blue hand gripped his ally's wrist, yanking him up and out through the window, bolts flying past him. He knew the ground was coming hard, the sound of the fighting getting louder as gravity took control. He braced for impact.