Flashback Sararīman

[Konrad Venger]

23rd Bell - 16th Day of Spring, 515AV - Baroque Bay

Calendar16th - The Daggerhands push their troops deeper into nearby territories, gaining footholds in the Wolf's Den, Baroque Bay, and the Sunset Quarter.

He knew they were coming back. They had to. After the beating they'd taken that day, if they didn't try to get back what they'd lost, then by dawn every rat on the streets would be pissing on their name. Their muscle would vanish, any useful friends would forget their names, and the merchants they "protected" would be miraculously cured of their fears.

Of the Baroque Bay Buckers, anyway. The Daggerhands would be taking up collections instead by the end of the week.

If we survive the night, Konrad reminded himself as he kept up his watch by the window.

Beyond it, the corpses he'd helped create were stripped and even naked across the street. Flaring torches cast dancing shadows over them all, from the far gutters to the doorway. Squint just right and Konrad could see them twitching, imagine moans and pleas. But the time for that was long gone.

They'd fought, and lost. A separate pile was outside the front door of the townhouse, everyone inside butchered and fashioned into a barricade against the inevitable. Konrad took a long pull from an actual glass bottle, not clay or tin or some animal bladder fashioned into a skin. The liquor inside was potent but fruity, a distraction from the booze Konrad was used to: cheap, dirty and barely fit for consumption.

"Gods, these fucks knew how to live," Teague said from across the room, voicing Konrad's thoughts perfectly. The shaven-headed thug took a lion-sized rip out of the ham bone in his filthy hands. "Best grub I've 'ad in fuck-knows-how-long."

"Aye, well, they should've invested in more swords and less fine eatin'."

Invested. Samson was always peppering his words with stuff like that. Thought it made him sound more... worldly, or something. Like anyone would look at a man who had scalps braided into his coat and see anything but an animal. Across the room, watching the street behind them, Three Eyes gave a quick whistle and Konrad stoppered the bottle and tossed it over.

"Considerin' that made it an easy gig for us," he said as he yanked it out with his teeth. "I'd say, don't knock it."

Konrad left the others to their musings and observations without comment. Their job wasn't over, even if they were eating Bucker food, drinking Bucker grog and occupying the house of one of their leaders. Bottom of the barricade, if he remembered correctly. A man with a fastidious mustache and grey eyes. He'd fought bravely, knowing his family was upstairs. It didn't help him. Or them.

His flexed his back and the wound there growled through his flesh. He'd got worse, sure, but it was stupid. He turned his back on a room he hadn't checked was clear, and some wild-eyed bitch nearly put her dagger through his back. Three Eyes had torn up a blouse and wound it around him, but he still couldn't reach too high.

Not bad, though, he thought as his eyes moved up and down the street. Hammer and tongs all day, and all you get is a scratch.

"Wonder what's takin' 'em?"

Konrad resisted the urge to shrug. Every word, every gesture he made took his focus off what mattered, which was the view outside. He could see them... like they were actually there. Men massing in taverns and alleys, weapons readied, then moving, swarming through the shadows and headed their way.

The four of them up in that room. Five more below. All Daggerhands, all bloodied and proven over the years. But this wasn't their neighborhood. They didn't know it, didn't have friends down here, and when they were hit... there'd be no cavalry thundering to the rescue.

He leaned forwards so his face was nearly pressing against the glass, the only way he could see the other townhouse down the street. Like there's, lights were blazing in every window. Candles and hearths, torches outside. Daggerhands on guard with weapons in their hands, snapping and growling at passing urchins like hounds on leashes. That house, and his, they held this street.

If we last the night, he told himself, and sighed. Gods... what is taking them?

Konrad felt a top on his shoulder and jerked his head around to-

-see Three Eyes offering the bottle-

-and the window exploded behind him.

"Shyke!"

His body knew what to do ticks before his mind made the decision: cut his legs out from under him and dropped him flat to the floor. Three Eyes went down, too, staring slack-jawed at the crossbow bolt wobbling faintly in the wall.

Both men looked at the bottle. If Konrad hadn't turned...

"Fuck me, someone taking pot-"

The rest of Teague's words died when he heard the noise outside. Pounding feet and shouted curses. Steel meeting steel below, animal grunts and inhuman screams as men died.

Right below them. At the barricade.

"Arm yerselves," Konrad snarled, pulling his kopis free, ignoring his burning back... staying low the whole time. "And keep away from the fuckin' windows!"

[Konrad Venger]

Yanson was in no mood for mercy that night. That was his brother's house they were attacking. His niece and sister-in-law piled in front of the door like fucking sand bags underneath him. Granted, Dobson was a tight-fisted prick who should have let his loyal little brother move up with him years before, but blood was blood.

Besides, he thought as he slit the choking Daggerhands' throat and cast a quick look at his brother's corpse, woulda' like the pleasure myself. One day.

After all, today was an opportunity for him, as well. Dobson was dead, the Buckers were decimated... but Yan and his little crew had gotten away almost unscathed. If they wiped out these Daggerhand bastards tonight, they'd slide right on into the vacuum left behind. All of Baroque Bay, the shipping, the dockworkers, the street taxes, gambling, pit fights, pills and plants and powders... all of it could be his.

But first?

"Wipe 'em out, lads!"

His boys needed no encouraging: they knew what was at stake tonight, and they'd lost friends today, too. They swarmed in from the shadows and butchered the two men out front, their bowmen on the far roof splitting the night with blink-fast bolts and the thick, heavy twangs of crossbow strings. At the other end of the street, Stagoi and his bastards were charging at the other house the Daggers had occupied. They were going for sheer numbers, no crossbows or marksmen.

Yanson snorted. No imagination, that half-breed cunt. All muscle, no finesse, and in Sunberth, that wasn't enough.

He proved it a moment later when he leaped over his dead family members and launched into the fray, gladius swinging and stabbing left and right. He watched his enemies; didn't just react to them. One man came in fast, to his left, aimed to take him down quick with a downward slash-

-Yanson swayed backward and let him cut into air, swinging jup his own gladius-

-to strike clean and deep through his chest, impaling vital, throbbing organs he could almost feel through the metal-

-then push him off the blade and into the man behind him, sending corpse and struggling, cursing Dagger down to the ground-

Yanson was the last thing that second man saw, grinning above him as he struggled under the dead weight of his fellow. The Bucker middle-ranker finished him with a quick stab through the throat, deep enough to thud into the wooden floor under him, before twisting it out and getting back to business.

All around him, men died. His own. The Daggers. Didn't matter. Long as it wasn't him. More importantly, long as it was down here. Feet thudded down the stairs and four more bodies threw themselves into the fray downstairs, swords and daggers all swinging-

Konrad braced himself with one hand on the banister, bent his knees and jumped over it, down into the scrum of bodies down below. He could tell his own, the red-and-black, dagger-and-thorns symbol of the Daggerhands emblazoned on the bandannas they wore, like the one wrapped around his own hat.

Which he reminded himself to remind later. It ruined the look of it.

He landed feet first on the shoulders of one of the invaders, hearing something shift and dislocate as they both crashed to the ground. The man yelled dropped the short sword he was carrying; Konrad wasted no time in slashing down at him with his kopis, laying open his back-

-twice-

-a third time, curves steel smashing off a section of his skull and ending his misery. Then Konrad whirled up to both feet, in a crouch, turning to face the tide and-

-getting a fist in the face as a result. His nose broke under the blow (hardly a worry; not like it was the first time) and he collapsed back, vision swimming but solid enough to see the shadow monster rearing above him-

Move!

-and he rolled to the side, before a sledgehammer demolished the plank his head had just been occupying. The bastard kicked out and Konrad kept rolling, until he hit the wall and got up to one knee.

Hammer snarled and raised his weapon high again, determined to end it. Konrad couldn't run, couldn't dodge, a parry or block would smash his weapon, so what did that leave him?

He lunged at him, shooting forward just as the tattooed monster brought his sledgehammer down-

-bronze head smashing through the wall-

-as Konrad bought his kopis around in a low, horizontal swing, burying it in the leather armor over his stomach. It bit, he felt it, in the man's bubbling, pained cry. Blood dripped to the ground. Konrad tightened his grip with both hands and ripped the blade free-

-silver turned to crimson by the blow; Hammer's stomach torn open in a long, lazy smile of red and pink and tanned flesh split and marred-

Konrad returned the punch with gusto, hammering his knuckles into the side of the man's head and watching him fall like a dead tree. Hammer was so big he shook the floor as he fell, fresh squirts of blood pulsing out of him to make a pond on the floor. Konrad knew he'd never wake, and was no longer a problem.

No. The problem was still at the doorway. The Buckers watched the black hat, the tattooed nose, the shaved skull and the scalp shoulder form up as they finished their butchery. Tight in the hallway, all of a sudden. Gone down from seven to four, including Yanson, and he knew they expected them to run.

No finesse. Bloody waste.

Konrad's lips parted in surprise as the center man, clearly the leader, winked at him and licked his lips.

"Comen' gedit, whore-spawn," Yanson said.

Then with a whoop and a cackle he was back out the door and into the night, his men laughing behind him and leaving the Daggers staring in shock. But not for long.

"... cheeky wee cunt!"

[Konrad Venger]

Konrad was about to pelt out of the door along with Teague and the others when his mind burned bright with shattering glass and flying, metal-tipped weaponry. He reached out and managed to put an arm on Samson's shoulder, but Teague was bounding ahead-

"Fuckin' glad to ya sh-"

Back to them as he was, Konrad and his fellows didn't se the impact. But they heard it. A couple of wet, meaty thunks and then a higher whistle, cut off as Teague jerked once and looked down at his chest, like he was trying to pray on his feet.

Which he couldn't quite keep. He fell forwards, penitent and bowed and with a bubbly groan slithering from his lips. Konrad started to back up. Behind him, the others did the same. Teague fell forward and the impact against the cobbles rammed the bolts further in-

-until two of them burst out of his back.

"Shyke..."

They want us outside. They want us in the firing line. Trying to push us into coming out. Fuck that, we're stay-

Something heavy and seemingly made of rock and plaster pounded and crashed onto the boards two floors up. The Daggerhands looked up uncertainly and half-expected to see the building fall over. Was that a wall caving in? What had made it do that? Who-

"Ah... fuck."

Konrad blinked and an awful eel of realization started gnawing at his guts. They didn't want them outside; that was just a bonus, if they really were that stupid. They wanted them downstairs, occupied on the bottom, so they'd be fre to-

"Bastards comin' in through the wall," he snarled, sheathing his kopis and opting for his dagger instead. The higher they went, the narrow the space, and he needed something quick and nasty. "Samson, Eyes, wi' me! Resta' youse, stay 'ere and watch the door."

He was hardly a Brother, let along a Big Brother, but the Daggerhands knew a sound plan when they heard it. They held the gate while he plugged the gag. Not that Konrad was waiting for their fucking agreement, anyway. A tick after speaking he was moving fast up the stairs, not bothering to hide his movements. The wankers had dumped a whole fucking wall onto the floor: they knew they'd been heard, and knew there'd be trouble coming for them.

"Move, move it, through the 'ole!"

That's when Konrad slowed, and the duo behind him did the same. They were one floor up, and a short ladder-staircase led the way up to the attic. They could hear feet kicking aside bricks and plaster, voices grousing and growling low, choking and coughing on dust. Konrad tried to listen, make out individual voices, count them-

More'n us. All y'need to know.

"C'mon, c'mon!" He peered up the hole from the side and saw a Bucker standing at the top of the wooden stairs, facing downward but looking over his shoulder, gesturing with his free hand for his men to hurry. The other held a hand ax. "Stop fuckin' around and-"

It would be unfair to say that Konrad didn't think, though you'd be forgiven for thinking so. He moved so fast from still and listening to moving and grasping that an observer would think he'd just snapped. But Konrad knew that hesitation killed in a street fight. The willingness to fuck someone up beyond recognition, that's what won these brawls, not technique or form or steel.

There could have been other ways to kill Ax, but this one was the fastest from where he was standing.

Ax was dead even before he jerked his head around and down when he felt a strong grip fasten around his wrist. Just as he did and saw the scarred gargoyle in a nice hat below him, reaching up the stairs for him, Konrad yanked hard-

"Shyk-"

-pulling him down with his ax-hand, defenseless, off-balance-

-ramming his dagger into his chest with his other hand. Steel bit through flesh and against bone, scraping and crunching and the blade quivered in his hand as blood drenched it. Konrad stepped back and let the dying man fall the rest of the way down the stairs, body smacking onto the floor down the stairs with a splat.

"Fuck, they godim-!"

The rest of his boys woke up and Konrad nodded to his men. They nodded back, and Konrad faced the black hole above, just as-

-a new outrage downstairs heralded the return of the bastards who'd came through before. Squeezed above and below, Konrad spat again and squared his hat on his head.

The things I do for three coins-a-day salary...

[Konrad Venger]

Konrad didn't do much thinking after the scum started spilling from the staircase and battle was joined. The choking confines of the corridors meant numbers were shit, easily nullified by space, but that also didn't give him much time for strategy. It was all instincts, brutal and merciless, without a shred of honor.

Anything else in Sunberth would get you killed.

A roaring thing spewing tobacco juice lunged at him madly, pupils seeming to fill his sockets as he swung his sword. Konrad jerked back slashed at him with the dagger, carving a red line across his chest-

-as expected, it didn't even slow him down.

Fucking Slammer.

The thug surged onward, powerful narcotic numbing every sense he had, especially in his limbs. He must have had to be on a double dose up each nostril for his torso to be just as immune. But his protection was his curse: he was so numbed up he had no subtlety, swaying on his feet, swinging his sword like a club instead of stabbing, thrusting, cutting.

He swung again and Konrad parried it away with his dagger-

-other hand shooting out, gripping the side of his head-

-smashing it sideways into the wall, twice, three times, the man's eyes going from raging to dull, but still fighting-

-kicking out and nearly sending Konrad's balls into his pelvis, knocking him down to one knee-

-throwing out a sloppy punch and Konrad bit down on his pain, lunging forward-

He tackled the man back and into the Bucker behind him, sudden counter-attack not what he was expecting. They went down in a flailing heap, tangled up in the carpet on the floor, but Konrad kept his dagger close to his side, and there was no room to swing the bastard sword-

"Fucking! Fucking! Cunt!"

The dagger flashed forward, over and over, until the silver sheen was nothing but a crimson bar he was pulling back and forth, in and out, into and out of the druggie's body. A hand gripped his throat but even Slammer couldn't handle an eight inch blade perforating heart and lungs. Eyes went glassy. Fading. Life seeping away and-

-a boot swung like a meteor from above and nearly broke Konrad's jaw.

He flew back and the impact on the floor seemed to chase away the stars filling his eyes. The Bucker strode over his dying friend without even glancing down. A pair of daggers filled his hands and he flipped one theatrically, grinning as he did. Enjoying the sight of Konrad on his back before him.

Fuck this!

The dagger wasn't meant to be throw, but Konrad did it anyway. He didn't need a hit, just time, a few precious ticks. The knifeman swayed away, surprise skittering across his pockmarked face for a tick before recovering. Konrad scrambled upright, pulling himself up on the little table in the hallway-

That'll do.

The knifeman's smile faltered when he saw Konrad pick up the table and throw it down the hallways at him. Too tired to manage head-height, but he still backpedaled as the furniture bounced and splintered towards him-

-Konrad right behind it, pulling his kukri from his back.

"Wanker!"

The knifeman reacted quickly, and with two weapons to face, Konrad knew he was getting cut no matter what. He kept slashing and hacking, forcing the bastard back, torso bouncing and jerking on his hips as he tried to avoid the blows that were coming back-

-hissed as a slash scraped against his ribs-

-another furrowing his cheek-

He dropped low, one knee smacking into the floor jabbing straight up between the knifeman's legs as he slashed again at where his throat used to be. The man screeched, all cockiness gone, staring down at his now-useless, mutilated balls. Konrad figured he had a tick, maybe two, before sheer, unstoppable rage overrode his horror, and he would try to-

He didn't get the chance. Konrad jerked upright and brought the kukri with it, gripping with two hands as he-

-ripping upward from cock and balls, through pelvis and hips, bone and gristle pushing back until the blade found guts, intestines, sinking deep into the soft mass and whatever vengeance Knifeman was imagining, it vanished in an ocean of wordless pain.

Konrad yanked his weapon free with a snarl. Behind him, Three Eyes with busily slicing open the throat of another Bucker, Samson yanking his short sword from another-

-but the screaming downstairs didn't sound encouraging. Konrad stuck his head over the top of the stairs and saw red-and-black bandannas fall to the floor, spitting blood and curses but still dying all the same. That cunt with the gladius looked up, as if feeling Konrad's eyes... and smirked.

Now he's got numbers. Fuck knows how many more are coming down below, and from above, and we're in the middle.

Konrad licked his lips and came to a decision. No time to think. Just make a move, and pray it was the right one. If Konrad prayed, anyway.

"C'mon!" He snarled, heading back to the staircase to the attic, shoving Three Eyes ahead of him and beckoning to Samson. "Oi?! Grab that lamp!"

"What?!"

"Fucking do it!"

Samson did as he was told and didn't sound happy about it. He grabbed the oil lamp and Konrad snatched it away as the man passed him, grumbling, bloody Daggerhand sellsword vanishing up the stairs-

-revealing Yanson and his friends charging up the stairs, murder stark in their eyes. They filled the corridor like a wave of leather, stained life and grinning victory, steel teeth and war cries from the gutters. Konrad shoved Samson the rest of the way and followed them up.

"Don't let them get across!" Yanson yelled wildly, already guessing the Black Hat cunt's plan. "Miller?! Rez?! Don't let them-"

All the noises came at once. Clashing metal. Surprised yells. Bodies falling and shaking the house... more falling masonry crashing down. Then Yanson's eyes were fire and flickering, greasy flame as the oil lamp came falling down through the thin air from above. His jaw dropped in surprise.

He looked up into the eyes of a man willing to burn down his defenses to keep them.

Konrad looked down. He didn't smile. He winked.

Right before the lamp shattered on the boards, fire igniting the oil the next tick, liquid flame like splashing lava whooshing into life, soaking his feet, his legs, the floor, splatters of it flying onto the walls, his boys behind and around him.

Much to his regret, Konrad slammed to trapdoor shut before he could watch the inferno begin its meal in earnest.

[Konrad Venger]

Do the unexpected. A golden rule in impossible situations. When your enemies had you penned in, come at them. When they have you on the run, stop running. When they think you're weak, show your strength.

When they knock down a wall to get to you, charge through it.

"Shyke!"

Whatever else the Bucker had to say was lost to the unknown when Three Eyes buried his dagger in his chest. Leaping out of the ragged hole through brick and plaster, the tattooed Daggerhand help didn't waste time. Him, Samson, then Konrad, all of them spilled through the same entrance used to ambush them and fell on the second wave of Buckers who thought they were so clever, so sneaky, so unexpected.

Not today.

Nose still sizzling from burnt flesh and oily smoke, Konrad lashed out and bought the first man he saw down with a boot to the knee. The Bucker yelped and threw up his sword, only for Konrad to back it away with his kukri backhanded-

-then bring the blade slashing back down to rip open his face, destroying his nose, cutting half his tongue out and leaving it flopping on the floor-

-then ran onward, trying to hear over the shouts filling the room, the din of mettle. The house was almost quiet: the Buckers inside had concentrated on the top floor. Most had come through the hole they'd made with hammers and picks, and been butchered. The rest were waiting to go through... and never got the chance.

"They're in! They're here!"

The Bucker was terrified. They were meant to be a knife in the back of the Dagger Bastards next door; now they were the prey. He looked up and saw a bloodied Black Hat tear down the stairs, curved blade in his hand, murder in his eyes-

"F-Fuck this!"

The good name of the Buckers was not worth Marcel getting gutted. He threw down his weapon, turned, and he ran. Konrad didn't accept his surrender. He chased him through the modest little home, ignored the elderly couple holding tight to each other in a bedroom, as much as their bonds would allow. Konrad saw it all in a flash.

Take over the house. Wait for them below to distract us. Then make a hole in the top, hit us from above and behind while that gladius-holding fuck took us from the front.

He had to admit, it was a good plan. He'd have to remember it. They just didn't plan on Konrad.

Marcel tripped on the last stair and went flying into the woodpile in the hallway. In front of him, Bennie and Weits were in the doorway. Young, smooth faces. Weapons held like talismans, not instruments of death. Konrad took them in with a scowl and kicked Marcel in his arse just as he tried to rise.

"P-Please, man, we-"

"Rules of the game, boy," Konrad growled, voice low and eerily calm, as he stooped to pick up a thick, solid piece of firewood. "And you-"

CRACK

"-fucking-"

CRACK

"-lost-"

CRACK

"-didn' ya?!"

CRUNCH

The wood rose and fell, over and over, and they could but watch. Watch as the Black Hat knocked Marcel down and made his face a crushed ruin. Watched as he spoke, words inexorable as his blows, wood making that wet, meaty sound as they pounded bone and pulped flesh. Watched as the last blow blew apart his head like a melon, grey matter splattering over a lovingly scrubbed floor and over a keepsake, a charcoal picture, mother and father and baby boy.

Konrad looked up at them. Red things dripped from his face. Their breathing and the faint crackling from next door was all they heard. Until Konrad tossed the bloodied firewood on the ground between them.

"... next?"

They ran.

[Konrad Venger]

"Gods. Look ad'the fuckin' state a' youse."

Harry Dogs was not a pleasant man to look at first thing in the morning, and that was before you learned why he had that name. Metal hoops and studs made up more of his face than, well, his face did, and whenever he smiled, all you could see was yellow and black and brown. His paunch was like a flabby barrel poking out from under his shirt, and his arms were scarred masses of flesh. All in all, unappetizing and intimidating; perfectly sensible choice to be a Big Brother in the Daggerhands.

That morning, Konrad could have sighed with relief. It meant he could fucking sleep.

"Aye."

He barely had the strength to say more. Next to him, on the other side of the doorway, Three Eyes was practically sleeping on his feet, biting down on his tongue every few chimes just to stay awake. Samson was in the kitchen, pilfered crossbow resting on an upturned table, leveled at the backdoor.

Every now and then he'd pass his hand over a flame, and the twing of pain would shoot through him, revitalize him, snap his eyelids to the top of his eyes and keep them there.

Seven bells, they'd stayed their posts. Like good little sellswords.

"Ain't this the wrong house?"

"Aye."

Harry scowled up at the house where that prick Dobson lived. It was much changed. The top of it was gutted and blackened from smoke and flames. The fires had eaten and glutted until there was no more to devour, but the stone wall between the houses had kept most of it spreading.

Konrad knew they were lucky. If the fire had spread outside, if the thatch had caught, the whole street would have been ablaze. And then some.

He took a pull from his pipe and the smoke coated his dry throat. Wads of torn shirt were pressed against his cheek and side. They ached, but lack of sleep had dulled them to a slow, hidden ache. His eyes slid over Harry and rested on the squadron of Daggerhand, all bearing the red-and-black, come to relieve them.

Down the road, the other house was still taken. Bodies were strewn around like dead leaves around a tree in Fall, but still, the Daggers held it.

"Done our job, aye?"

"Youse were meant to hold that house," Harry said, nodding at the half-destroyed ruin next door. "Not this one."

"Had to move. They were swampin' us."

"Wasn't yer orders though."

"Our orders," Konrad said, straightening up but keeping his voice level with some effort. "Were t'help hold the street. Yer standin' in it, an' you ain't dead. So we did. When're we gettin' paid."

Harry grinned. He drew it out. He liked making ripe little moments like this last. Konrad was hardly surprised. Once he got his dose of power and ego, the Big Brother would get down to business. Finally the man scratched his chin, jingling a half-dozen piercings as he did.

"Yeah, 'spose," he said, tossing a little purse over to Konrad like he was giving away scraps. A pitiful purse. Yet to even be split three ways. "Yer lucky to get thatn' all."

Konrad was too tired and too clever to pick a fight with a Daggerhand big noise. Touch a Big Brother, ever Dagger in the city will be looking for you. More importantly, every sellsword and bounty killer will be doing the same. So he took his purse, looked at Three Eyes and jerked his head down the street. Time to go.

"Get Samson. We're findin' a healer."

"Aye."

A chime later they pushed through the throng of fresh bodies, their own filthy and stinking and torn, and walked back to the Reaches without looking back. Just another dawn, another day, another purse in their pockets.

[Alexander Faircroft]

Behold The Journey's Spoils!

 

Konrad

Skills

• Observation 3
• Socialisation 1
• Acrobatics 1
• Kopis 2
• Endurance 2
• Tactics 3
• Running 1
• Dagger 2
• Brawling 4
• Kukri 2
• Leadership 1

Lores

• Always check your corners.
• Sometimes, dumb luck is just awesome.
• A punch in the face, nothing new.
• Walls in sunberth, just boarded doorways.
• Tactics: Small space, small weapon.
• Brawling: Off balance spells death.
• Soft spots… Are soft.
• Unexpected plans yield great results.
• A long night is a long night.
• Knowing when to pick a fight.

Miscellaneous

• 2 Inch scar on the cheek
• 4 Inch scar on the side
• Small puncture scar on the back just above the right shoulder blade.

Notes:

Lovely and horrific at the same time. Just enough to let you know what's going on without going into too much vivid description and double dagger dude...Just...Dude...X.X

Any issues with the grade Please feel free to PM me

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