Flashback The Climb Is All There Is

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A lawless town of anarchists, built on the ruins of an ancient mining city. [Lore]

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The Climb Is All There Is

Postby Konrad Venger on February 5th, 2016, 7:29 am

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21st Bell - 51st Day of Spring, 495AV - Robern's Reaches, North End


His fate came to him in a flash. One decision, in the midst and through the bloody opening of a ganger scrap. Hardly a departure, for one weaned off Sunberth's streets, alleys and sewers.

The boy was big, but still not a man. His body was still twisting and swelling with the sudden growth of one coming of age. The bartender noted his awkward gait when he entered, the way his voice was hoarse from hard living and bad hygiene, not his vocal chords strangled and straining against a rebellious body. A couple of filthy coppers in his palm and he dismissed the youth. His money was ripe, that was for sure.

So the boy sat at the end of the bar and drank his pisswater beer and smoked his foul little cigarillo, more like a stick of bark covered in tobacco than anything else. He brooded and stared into the steadily-decreasing mug. He didn't think of much, save his next meal, his next foray into theft and burglary and murder, if it came to that.

More and more, it did. Some nights his brooding focused on why that was. But most, he didn't.

It kicked off fast and nasty; enough to tell him it wasn't just a brawl. There was not raised voices, shoves, recriminations and threats preceding the real violence. The knot of men behind him in their booth were talking and laughing one tick, and the next, the three who'd just arrived were on them.

Daggers and dirks in the dingy gloom. The boy saw the gleam, the wink of steel, before he heard the first cries, and was up and away down the bar in ticks.

"Youse're fuckin'-"

He didn't know who the bearded man was, but he'd seen him around his patch. Slightly better clothes, better grooming, than the men who trailed after him like dogs. The vendors and storekeepers were afraid of him. They smiled at him, they shook his hand, but the boy didn't see a glimmer of respect in their eyes. Their smiles died the moment he moved on, leaving naught but seething resentment in their place.

It was a warm Spring. He'd seen the man in short sleeves and the dagger tattoo across one tanned arm. He knew what it meant.

The Daggerhands. One of the Big Three, the lords of the city.

But then, that night, he was a man fighting a losing battle. Shock turned to anger turned to fear, the same fear he'd always conjured in those merchants. His friends were butchered in ticks, only taking one of their assailants with them, dagger through his eye, bleeding out a weeping mess on a dirty tavern floor.

The boy watched from the bar. The violence, the horror, the brutal speed of it... that didn't disturb him. He was numb to it, both the sight and feel of it. His mind wasn't blank, either. Freezing fear aside, it whirred and ticked instead. Gauged his options and wondered.

He'd rolled drunks in the wee hours for pennies, fighting off other packs of upright rats with the same intent. He broke into stores and houses when they were closed and pilfered anything he could sell or trade. Sometimes he partnered up with another wild-eyed street urchin for a similar caper. But until that night, the next rung on the Sunberth ladder had been beyond it.

Now he saw it plain. And his dagger was in his hand right quick.

One thing he'd learned about brawling, was the best time to hit a man was when he wasn't looking. The Knights and Guard and Wardens could keep that fair fighting, honorable shite. They didn't live in Sunberth. The boy didn't blink as he darted forward and drove the blade into the nearest man's back. The bastard bucked and cursed and tried to whirl around, ripping the dagger out of the boy's hand-

-swinging with his other arm, making the boy duck down to avoid the bloody metal in his hand-

-driving a knee up into his balls instead, griping him by the lapels as he choked with his soft parts suddenly crushed-

-throwing him against the bottom of the bar where it met the floor, splintering the ancient, rotting wood.

Tazloor didn't give the other man a chance to finish him off. The distraction of the kid suddenly getting involved was all he needed, a gift from the gods themselves. Two men trying to kill him and utterly set on the task, became one man down and another looking away-

-enough for him to shatter a mug across his head, blinding him in an explosion of clay and booze-

He reeled back with a howl, and Tazloor was on him with his blade in a moment, lurching over those two dead cunts who'd fucked up so badly in protecting him. Gods, what the fuck was he paying them for? A few quick thrusts into some important organs and the would-be assassin was choking on blood and pawing at his arm, at least until he batted it away with a growl. Dumb kid. Dumb move. Dumb way to die.

Speaking of kids...?

It was still noisy over by the bar. But not it was a steady, rhythmic pounding, cheap leather on wet flesh, cut up by spurts of breath and snarls barely human. Tazloor looked over and the kid was kicking and kicking and kicking and he didn't care the stabbed man wasn't moving. Never would again. Back against the bar, blood already trickling down the floorboards, the kid was smearing his face off with his boot, one stomp at a time.

Tazloor winced. Petch the gods. Smeared. Definitely past tense.

"Hey... Hey?!"

The second one finally broke through that insane, crimson concentration. The pounding stopped, the beat skipped and wild eyes snapped to him through a curtain of lank, unwashed hair. Tazloor appraised the kid with a quick look.

Took in the hands steady even after bludgeoning a man to death. The hunger and the hate and the animal joy all over his face. The nightmare of scar tissue across one side of his mouth, hinted at but not revealed by his hair. The outfit parceled together from a dozen styles, boots kept on tight by rags, jacket torn and faded.

Most of all? The way he bent down and retrieved his dagger without looking away, cleaning and sheathing it in three smooth movements.

Practiced movements. Experienced.

"... y'wanna drink?"

Konrad spat to the side and nodded. That was how it began.
Last edited by Konrad Venger on February 12th, 2016, 2:06 am, 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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Konrad Venger
Long is The Way and Hard
 
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Baby Steps

Postby Konrad Venger on February 11th, 2016, 4:47 am

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"Make him pay."

It was maybe a fortnight before Tazloor gave him that specifically vague order. Konrad turned his head to him and that time, no veil of hair got in his way. Past his shoulders but now done up in a neat ponytail; his new look. It extended past his hair, too. Once his belly was full and he had a cot to sleep in, Konrad turned his thoughts to clothes. At Tazloor's insistence, actually.

"Look, yer gonna be watchin' my back, representin' me," the older thug had told him, walking down the street with Konrad and a squat thug with an oft-broken nose. He wasn't looking where he was going because everyone moved out of his way regardless. "Y'gotta look the part. These... they're just not gonna do."

Konrad looked down and could hardly disagree. Calling them "clothes" was being overly generous. It was the day after his rescue (and fucked if Konrad could remember the last time he'd done something worth that word, either) and the scally was keenly aware of how he looked compared to the well-tailored Daggerhand. His clothes were clean, they didn't smell, they weren't rumpled or torn or ragged... the buttons were shiny. Konrad couldn't remember having buttons.

"Here." There was a minor, tinkling rain in his palm, fingers quickly closing over the metal. Didn't pay to advertise you had coin in Sunberth. "Get something a little more suitable, yeah?"

Konrad did as he was told. When they stood in the butcher's back yard, he was clad in his new outfit. Black, soft leather breeches; soft not by design, but by wear. They were supply and flexible and he could crouch, squat, slide and dive in them. White shirt, not quite spotless, but that was something Konrad would never be, and compared to the black-

Coat. Long. It hung down his body from shoulders to hips to his knees. Some sort of cloth he couldn't remember the name of, but it felt good. Warm. Comfortable. He could do up the buttons - yes, he had buttons again! - and go to sleep in it.

If it wasn't for his head getting cold. He still had to find a decent hat.

He blinked and looked from his boss to the shaking ball of sweaty butter backed against the wall. Eredu. From the far south, apparently. Black, black eyes, all the way through, not a hint of white, but even with those spookies, he couldn't hide his terror. His mouth was quivering along with the rest of him, hands up defensively as if they would somehow recognize how weak he was, not worthy of a fight.

Konrad knew that, anyway. He wasn't. But he was worth eighty-six gold mizas at a rate of one-fifth interest a week, and this was the second week he'd been late. Tazloor got upset after one. But now...?

"How?"

"You decide."


A smile followed the words, and Konrad suspected he was being tested. Honest work was hardly unknown in Sunberth: the fact the man in front of him made a living selling meat was testament to that. But for the urchins and gutter runners like him, the quickest entry-level position was one with a knife in your hand.

Funny thing was, he rarely had to pull it out. Being seen was often enough. He was big, getting bigger all the time, filling out from full meals and a quick appraisal would tell a complete stranger he was no stranger to violence.

My face, he thought, adding to the list with only a shred of that old, embarrassed shame. That's what sells it. They take a look at me, and...

Someone entered the front of the store with a cheery "hey-ho!" and Broken Nose slid out the backdoor to handle it. Private matters and all that. Konrad heard him go but didn't see it. His eyes were flickering from the composed Daggerhand, to the sweating butcher, and back...

It's all about the mizas, he told himself, cold and clinical street logic bleeding all worry or anxiety out of him. He's worth a purse of them. Could kill him, but you'd lose that. Could take of a hand, a finger... but then it'd be harder for him to work.

So what doesn't he need?


Eredu prayed to gods of the sand, far from this evil place and most likely deaf to his pleas. He should never have left home. The dunes were harsh and brutal but adventure was not worth this. And since when had he been "adventuring", anyway? Six years in Sunberth, hacking apart hogs, barely scraping even. One failed attempt at something more after another, until he'd finally borrowed money from the wrong person and-

Konrad's hand shot out and snapped around his throat like a vice. Kid was strong. Barely even snarled as his arm tensed and pushed him against the brick, scraping the back of his head against it, holding him steady as-

-his other hand drew a long, broad dagger from inside his coat. His throat seized in on itself, and not just because of this hard fingers. He started to panic, trying to beg without air, without hope, and then the hand was gone-

It returned swiftly: folded into a fist and smashing into his gut.

Eredu lost what little breath he had left and doubled over in pain, bowels already on the verge of loosening, vision blurry... but he could still feel just fine, like when the bastard grabbed his ear and yanked him straight up by it-

His eyes focused really fucking quick when he felt that sharp, biting ice under his earlobe. He dared not move, or think, but he saw in the kid's eyes before he did it that all he could do was-

Scream.

Tazloor pursed his lips and nodded his approval as blood sprayed and Konrad stepped away with a bloody hunk of holey gristly in one hand, and a freshly-wet blade in the other. Eredu didn't stop screaming. He couldn't. He was staring at the ear and his legs failed him, sending him sliding, scraping, slithering down the wall and he would wake up soon, yes, gods, please just-

Konrad kicked him in the face and the screaming stopped, choked off by blood and teeth. He bent over, choking, coughing, vomiting, red and brown and black and beige and chunks of food all mingling in the gutter. Shadows fell over him and he looked up through tear-streaked eyes.

"Next time," Tazloor said, utterly unaffected. "It'll be an eye. Kid?"

They left him there in blood and puke and shame and horror. The last thing he heard before he touched his ear and felt not it but its absence, was that Daggerhand cunt. Talking like he hadn't a care or a whiff of concern. In fact, he sounded downright happy.

"Not bad, kid."

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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
 
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Baby Steps

Postby Konrad Venger on February 12th, 2016, 1:11 am

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"This the one?"

"Aye."

CRACK!

Old hinges, shitty wood, hardly the stuff the portal to a den of narcotic wonder was made of. Konrad felt the wood splinter and snap, heard the rusty metalwork ping out from the door-frame and clatter onto the floor as it swung open-

-revealing a bunch of wide-eyed idiots who definitely should not have been there.

"Clean 'em up, lads."

They didn't need to be told twice. Konrad stepped in the doorway already swinging, brass knuckles gripped tight in his "off" hand, dagger in his right. The stout, bald bouncer with a paunch the size of a breadbasket got his hand around the blade of his own before-

-Konrad slammed a metal-toothed fist into his face, teeth shattering, scattering, sprinkling across the filthy floorboards. He smacked back against the wall and Konrad's hand was a silver blur, going from tight at his side to thrusting at that big, bulbous target.

Little Gerald felt the bile and blood fill his throat as he saw his gut ripped open from love handle to love handle, and all the things he used to enjoy his lunch spill out onto his feet. He opened his mouth to scream and Konrad's hook shattered his jaw, his vision, his balance, and he went down to the ground to die among his customers.

"Wankers!"

The rest of Tazloor's "associates" swarmed in like wolves into a sheep pen. The ragged druggies were hardly sport; in fact, the "hardly" was being generous. Skinny hands thrown up in supplication, prayers and pleas blurting incomprehensibly from their lips. Rags. Less than that, in some cases. Even rags could buy a bent copper, and a bent copper could get them a taste.

Tazloor lit his pipe and leaned against the (comparatively) clean corridor outside. He watched the show with bemused irritation. How many times did people need to be told? How many times was enough? You want to set up shop on my patch, you pay the price, and the price is every week. You can't, fuck off somewhere else, or you fuck off and die.

Honestly. Did I petching stutter?

Konrad knew the reason without giving much of a shit. Debtors, chancers, rivals, enemies, troublemakers, traitors, what did it matter to him? Who would care when in his moment, when he was a whirl of brutal energy that didn't cease, barely distinguished? Spring had since been devoured by Summer, and he Tazloor was rarely seen without him. The dapper gangster and the stoic, scarred attack dog at his side... Tazloor said it was a good image.

"You gotta cultivate that do," he'd told the kid one day, who'd since grown more into manhood, weight- and width-wise. "Yer look. The way people remember ya. It matters."

Konrad assumed he was right. In the long-term. But in the short-term...

"Pu-Please, please-!"

The pill-eater didn't get any further. He tried to scramble away like a roach, clambering clear over a screaming woman curled up in a ball, and Konrad kicked him hard in the arse as he tried to get to his feet. Almost made it to the door, too. But with a snarl and stoop Konrad was on him, stabbing down through a shoulder more bone than flesh-

-drawing out a scream like a damned thing, screeching through polluted lungs-

-cut off wetly as Konrad slammed his fist into the back of his head. Twice. Three times. With a fourth, there were more wet chunks under his metal knuckles than solid, sweaty bone and hair. The scum twitched and made no more noise, save a sucking sound as Konrad reclaimed his blade.

"L-Lemme go!"

Fear gives men wings. Konrad had heard his father tell him that once, one night he decided to actually talk to him with words rather than a belt. Well, it gave dead-headers petching spine, too, one of them rushed him, trying to get to the door.

Slashing out at him with a dagger, a shiv, some piece of shit that was basically a sharp nail half-wrapped in a sock at one end. Madly, desperately, no form, just trying to clear a path to freedom. Konrad could smell the piss and vomit and sweet, smoky spice of some narcotic on him, making his eyes terrified, bouncing pinpricks as he came on.

No-one gets out. Those were the orders.

Orders. He'd been so long without them on the streets. Now he relished them.

The deader swung once more, backhanded, leaving his chest open-

-Konrad snapped out a short, brutal jab into the center of his emaciated chest. The knuckles were what did it: not just bruise flesh and bone, but split the former and break the latter. He felt the snap under the shock of the punch, deader reeling, choking, clutching his chest even as he held a knife.

Konrad closed the distance quick and lifted him off his feet with a boot in the balls.

"Cunt ain't gettin' back up, eh?"

He looked around and saw his boss calmly smoking, utterly at peace, neither joyous nor nauseated by what he observed. Just... satisfied. There was a mess to be cleared up, a loose thread on a fine tapestry, and now Konrad was cleaning it up. Beyond him a trio of other raised-from-the-gutters bastards were hammering away at the deaders, but Konrad had the door.

It took ticks. Less than that. Until the only one left was crawling for the door and spitting curses as he left a trail of blood, like a snail left slime. Tazloor took that as his cue.

"I did tell you," he said with a sigh, and Konrad's lips twitched at the mockery of concern in his voice. "Shame you didn't listen, lad. What? You thought I'd never find out? That you could twitch houses every few days and that'd save you?"

"F... Fuck-"


The smack of the kick and the bite of the snarl blended together as Tazloor kicked him over onto his back. Konrad liked that, too. That ember of street fire that was burning under the fine tunic and manicured nails. Every now and then, it paid to get your hands dirty. Remind you how you got those threads, that manicure, this territory, your whole little legend.

Or feet, anyway.

"Now-now, don't interrupt. Well... interrupt all you want, I suppose." He winced and mugged as he inspected the gaping, pulsing wound someone had carved into the dealer's chest. Deep enough that Konrad could see fleshy things moving in there, or trying to. Failing to. "Not like anyone's gonna hear. And not for long." He straightened up with a quick, spry jerk and a slap of his knees, nodding to his boys. "Alright, lads. Out the window. Nice and public, hmm?"

Konrad wiped his blade clean and stooped down to obey. The dealer was still mumbling, gurgling, threatening and swallowing down blood all at once. Between him and Urak, they wrestled him over to the window, each grabbed a shoulder and one side of his breeches, and with a "one-two-three"-

More splintering wood and a throaty thing that failed to be a scream. A splash of sunlight against their eyes, room dark and dank enough to make them all wince at the suddenness of it. The dealer - Konrad was still trying to remember his name - hung in the air for about a third of a tick, and then...

"C'mon," Tazloor said, tapping his pipe empty of embers and sauntering to the door. "Probably didn't kill him, if we're lucky, anyway. Chance for the street to see what happens why y'don't pay yer dues."

He set that smooth, broad black hat on his head, wiggling it a little like always to settle it just right. Konrad watched him. He liked the hat, too.

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Note: As of Fall 517AV, Konrad is known only as "Hansel" in Endrykas
User avatar
Konrad Venger
Long is The Way and Hard
 
Posts: 923
Words: 1060755
Joined roleplay: November 23rd, 2015, 4:05 pm
Location: Endrykas
Race: Human, Mixed
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The Climb Is All There Is

Postby Konrad Venger on February 13th, 2016, 7:49 am

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They came full circle a few days shy of a year after Konrad had stomped a man to death to save him. Considering what happened, the irony was pretty amusing. Not that Konrad ever knew what that was.

"Shyke!"

But what he did know was how fucking infuriating mages were.

Konrad jerked his head back around the corner as a ball of flame as big as a pig's head screamed and whooshed down the corridor, torching the air as it went, leaving him breathless and choking. He watched it slam into the wall, fiery tendrils splashing across it, eating at plaster and wood.

"Fucking mages."

Tazloor spoke and his trio of killers agreed with grunts and nodding heads. Fucking mages. Troublesome and arrogant and stupid and that was before they got their hands on any Funkus. This one, apparently, had.

"Y'won't peshin' tek meh!" That reed, forever-cracking voice screeched down the hall again and another roaring sphere crashed into another wall. "Tink I dun' peshin' sez ya?! Fink I'z fukin' don'?! Fukin' monstuz, yiz! Fuck ya!"

Konrad was getting fucking tired of hearing this drivel.

Down the other end of the hall, watching the Daggerhand and his muscle, Mister Vool peeked around and watched the show from a safe distance. He ran the tenement block, a nondescript man with a nondescript family who ran, really, the most nondescript of business. Shelter. Roofs over heads, beds under bodies. He forked over a nice wedge every fortnight to do so and Tazloor made good on his reference to "protection".

So when he sent his boy scampering over to the local tavern to rouse the tattooed ganger about "some dead-header wanker flinging fire", Tazloor was obliged to show up. Bad for business if he didn't. And besides, no-one liked fucking mages.

It was practically a civic duty.

"Hell's fuck-!"

Konrad ducked reflexively as what looked like spears of ice rocketed down the hallways instead. At his feet were a pair of likely lads who didn't think things through. One's face was now once massive stick of charcoal; the other had a shaft of gleaming, dripping ice through his heart.

Not as easy as it sounded, is it?

"Gotta get around him," Tazloor said from behind him. "Keep him looking this way and hit the cunt from the other apartment."

Konrad nodded at a solid strategy voiced. Not the first time they'd played it out, either, but that was with gangers and hoods, not a drug-addled lunatic who'd decided to alternately burn down and freeze solid a whole building. Still it, would work, but for it to work...

Shit... has to be me.

Boss needs me.


"I'll give you a chime," he said after a few moments, looking his boss in the eyes as he did. "To get ready, like. I'll count. When I get to sixty ticks, I'll keep 'im looking this way, dont'cha worry. Then you kill 'im."

He wasn't expecting an argument, but part of the boy was hoping for it. Probably because that's what much of him still was: a boy, seeking approval, seeking the warmth of one he saw as older and wiser. He would have exposed himself happily for a smile or a clasp on his shoulder, but in the moment, he didn't realize that.

He only felt some mild, nameless drop in his stomach when Tazloor just stared for a tick and then nodded, taking the other two with him. As soon as they were around the corner, Konrad started to count.

One Robern Mansion, two Robern Mansion, three Robern Mansion...

He pulled his dagger, for all the good it would do him. The mage's room was at least thirty feet away, down the hallway, a big, old door giving him the perfect view and the ganger no cover. He wouldn't get close. The last two who tried, well...

Fifteen Robern Mansion, Sixteen Robern Mansion...

Konrad craned his head back and rested it against the wall with the peeling plaster and charcoal graffiti. He stared at the ceiling and thought he could see the stars through it. They were the gods, his mother told him, long ago. The eyes of all the gods, good and otherwise, watching on their faithful.

Twenty-seven Robern Mansion, twenty-eight Robern Mansion, Twenty-nine Robern Mansion...

Konrad sent out a silent pleas, from his mind and to the sky. Not for mercy or peace or wisdom. But for quick feet and bright eyes. For the wit and will enough to survive this madman with flames and spears for fingers.

"Oi?! Fuckweasel?!"

The man was so fucking wasted that it took a few ticks for him to realize the words weren't coming from his own head. His fingers were already blackened by the constant, burning balls swaying and shimmering across his forearms. One of fire, one of ice. Curious how, whether insane heat or unbelievable cold, they both did the same thing.

The mage with black lines under his skin and no pupils in his eyes swung his head around and saw an insect giving him the finger.

"Fuckin' best you can do?! Haven't hit shyke for chimes! C'mon-" he patted his chest and spread his arms wide "-free shot! See if you can hiddit from this petching dist-"

"DAEMON!"


Konrad would never forget it. The sheer, unbelievable perversity of it. Fire was to be controlled and feared, not worn like a glove. But the mage threw back his arm as if for a punch, with his hand open... and Konrad saw a pinprick become a ball become a sphere, circular and perfect in a way fire simply was not meant to be, and then he-

Fuck, here were go.

He threw himself to the side of the hallway as the fireball careened past him. It didn't touch him, or his clothes, and didn't need to. Konrad gasped and felt the breath ripped clean out of his mouth even as he tried to suck it back down. Flames sprouted across the front of his clothes out of thin air, he fell forward, batting away at them-

A new nightmare flared into life with an unholy scream. Konrad had stopped counting.

He rolled to the side and the floor he should have been turned into a black, smoking nightmare. Konrad smacked into the side of the narrow hallway and saw the mage rage, shriek, scream with smoke and sparks crackling from his tongue as he did. He held up his other hand, smoking with blue ice, and a spear grew from it, as if he was holding a stick growing at both ends.

Konrad managed to bully his body upright, legs and arms groaning, lungs not working properly, amidst the remains of the two gangers who came before him.

Several things happened at once.

The mage screamed one more time.

He threw the spear of ice and it moved fast as falling rain, just as inescapable.

The door next to him blew open and a rank of blades and fists and brutal men rushed the clueless mage.

Konrad used what little strength he had left-

-to jerk the corpse of Balthus upright in front of him-

-and it nearly worked, too.

The tubby, scorched ganger's body stopped most of the momentum of the ice spear, but the fact it was still a spear was the problem. It smashed through bone and muscle like a huge needle, ripping clean through him-

-and into Konrad's chest.

Tanroa snapped his fingers, and everything stopped. He heard the squeals and smack and slide of metal on flesh as the mage found out just how useful godlike power was when you didn't have the time to use it, and that was all you had. Tazloor and his brutes overwhelmed him like they had countless others, hacking him down, impaling him in cruel knives, and Konrad fell back with the corpse he'd used as a shield to that melody.

He felt some satisfaction. He'd done a good job. It didn't even hurt.

It will.

He tried to breath and ah, yes, there was the pain. A great, sharp weight pressing down on him, hands he couldn't see around his throat. Instead of a gulp he got a sip, just enough to keep his eyes open.

A face hovered into view. Gods, his eyes were already petched. He blinked and they cleared, seeing a neatly-trimmed face and a black hat he could never mistake.

"B... Boss...?"

Nothing.

"Did you... is he-"

"Yeah. He's dead."


Something was wrong. A year of violence and broken bodies and all the bloody, brutal confidence they'd grown in Konrad was obliterated. He was a boy again, and he was so tired, so thirsty, so cold and it was getting dark. He was in the sewers again, and his hand trembled as he raised it.

"Boss... I... needa'... need a-"

"Yeah. Looks bad."


He found a hand. It was warm. Tazloor's. He tried to squeeze and looked into those flat brown eyes, emotive and warm as a sculpture. Konrad tried to find, to force, to coax some sprig of care out of them. Hadn't he been a good man? A loyal fighter? A good... a good-

"Please... Please, b-"

Tazloor lifted his hand off his own with a small, busy sigh. A businessman with a fresh lament, and nothing more. Personnel problems. Urgh. Such a botheration. He stood up and his face became a blur again, all save the bulbous mound of hat atop him.

"Uruk? Finish Kon off before you go." Konrad shook his head and tried to think, to talk, to beg, but the words wouldn't come anymore. He could breath, barely, but his mind wasn't working. Np. No, no, no, he wasn't like this, he was different! He'd proven himself! "Make it quick. He's earned that, at least."

"B... Boss..."

"Wish it could be different, kid,"
Tazloor said as he started to walk away, tone not quite matching his words. "But you're petched, and t'ain't good business to keep around a dog without teeth. So long."

And like that, he left. Konrad was alone, but not for long. Footsteps. Heavy and slow, and not yet approaching. Broke-Nose had gone with Tazloor, but Uruk was still around, picking over the mage's corpse and his room for all he could. But he'd remember. He'd get around to that loose end.

Konrad gasped and sputtered on the floor. Now the pain was flooding him, pouring through his body from that melting spear through his chest, pooling between his ribs and spreading, with the fear and the loss and the-

Something hotter. Something that curled back his lips and opened his eyes. They would never close again.

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The Climb Is All There Is

Postby Konrad Venger on February 13th, 2016, 8:24 am

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It was turning into a pretty good night for Uruk. Well, his cousin was dead, but aside from that?

The mage's scalp came away with a wet, ripping scrape through the air and the boulder-headed enforcer whipped it in the air a few times to get the excess strands off. That would be a good sale. The hands, too. Maybe his pintle, as well. Plenty of fools thought if you consumed a mage's, ahem, "potency" once it was dried and ground up and mixed in a drink, it did everything from put oak in your cock to wisdom in your head.

All Uruk knew, was that it put coin in his purse.

The ghost of a cough in the hallway told him that the fun part of the job - i.e. scavenging, looting, pillaging and trophy-taking - was not quite all he to look forward to. Kon. Dumb little bastard. Volunteering? In Sunberth? Where did he expect that to lead?

He looked over his shoulder and worked the stubby cheroot from one side of his mouth to the other. He could see the corpse of Cousin Balthus trembling and twitching, but it wasn't his departing spirit doing that. It was the one under him. Uruk rolled his eyes and got to his feet. Better to handle that now, or the noise would bug him the rest of the night.

"Nuffin' purse-null, Kon," he said, words sliding out of his lips as a formality. He drew his dagger and walked over, kneeling next to the boy under his cousin, almost covered by him. "Shoulda' seen this comin' though, yeah? Fuckin' volunteerin'. Askin' f'shit, y'ask me. Still, I-"

The boy's cracked lips moved and a strange whisper came out. Words were one it. Uruk supposed he could indulge a dying man. He leaned closer.

"What was that?"

[b]"Your cousin... had a nice..."


"What?"[/b] He leaned even closer, head tilted to one side, almost touching those pale lips with his ear. "My cousin had what?"

"A nice.. blade-"


Konrad didn't give him time to decipher that. Balthus blinked and before his eyes snapped back up, he realized he hadn't seen that big, curved bastard of a dagger that Balthus was so proud of. It was a queer one, but it did the damn business. Began with a k-something, he thought. Fucking daemon when it came to slashing and hacking. He didn't see it on the ground-

-but felt it in his side as Konrad buried it between his ribs.

Good for stabbing, too.

Uruk's grunted and the spittle-covered cheroot felt from his lips and bounced off Konrad's face. Not so weak or pale now. Uruk saw rage hotter than Syna herself flush his feature, give him strength born of undying hate as his other hand gripped Uruk's head from the back and hold him close-

-twist the blade and shove it deeper, that evil, vicious internal pain flowering like a root of Krysus in the middle of his chest. He tried to push himself up, free hand groping, clawing at Konrad's face.

"Fuck... you!"

Konrad twisted and ripped and chomped all at once. Uruk screamed until his throat filled with blood and Konrad spat out a finger he was never going to need again. The kukri had opened up a whole big enough to spill steaming crimson al over the floor, and Konrad ripped it clear and pushed the dying, sputtering Uruk off him. Didn't need two fat bastards pressing down on him, did he?

"Fucking... shit-!"

CRUNCH!


Thing about ice is, it melts. Especially when the air around it isn't even close to Winter. Flames and scorch marks and charcoal and smoke, the mage had made it all that night, and the air was thick and close and choking. The spear hadn't a chance. It snapped as Konrad pushed Balthus off him and he lay there for what seemed like an age. Gasping. Choking. Wondering how long the chunk of ice in him would last before it melted and the blood it was holding back poured out of him.

Long enough, he told himself in a voice he barely recognized. I can't die yet. I have much to do.

Konrad spent a chime getting to his knees. Less than that to get to his feet. The first few steps with a nightmare, every twitch of his muscles sending fresh dimensions of pain ripping through him. But eventually... he adjusted. Pain was pain was pain. He was raised with it, knew it, dealt it, survived it. He would survive this, he swore it as he staggered down the hall, down the stairs, bloody kukri leaving a red trail as he went.

The night was cold and he welcomed it. Kept his body, his blood, still in his chest. He kept to the darkness and the alleys, dangerous as they were, but he didn't have far to go. He just hoped the old bitch hadn't died yet.

His footsteps came with a grunt or a gasp, every time, but words, too. Echoing in his head. Reverberating and redoubling with every blink. Words he'd almost forgotten, and added to upon remembrance.

Fuck Rufus. Fuck Vect. Fuck Taz.

Fuck loyalty. Fuck friends. Fuck family.

Fuck everyone. Everyone but me.

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The Climb Is All There Is

Postby Konrad Venger on February 13th, 2016, 9:24 am

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Her name was Bessy, and since she'd been both a seamstress and worked on a farm throughout her life, she was referred to as a "healer" in the slums. Which was Sunberth in a nutshell for you.

Konrad had known her lodgings for as long as he could remember. Back when they lived in the Quarter - "they" being him and his parents - he'd known about the lady with the lined face and a penchant for pills and powders, who would work on a paying customer when herbs and ointments weren't enough. Sometimes he and the other children would see her on the streets, reeling and cackling with some concoction or another coursing through her veins.

He knew Bess. She knew him, too.

She recognized her handiwork when she finally reached the door and the unending pounding on it ceased with her opening. It was past midnight and she was tired, wasted and getting old. She didn't want to go down the stairs but the banging hadn't stopped, someone insistent and, she guessed, wounded.

Who else knocked on your door at three past midnight with good news?

She flung it open and in the tick before that tall, bloody body flopped onto her floor, she saw that face in a flash. The scars. The sunken stitches, gnawing at one corner of his mouth and part of his cheek, his jaw. She blinked and gasped and remembered that night, said a name she'd not spoken in years as Konrad fell forward and then, it was over.

"Gold..." he mumbled, will finally giving out with the fluid leaking out of him. "Got gold... sew me... heal... sew me an' s'all... s'all yours."

Konrad. Konrad Venger. He'd stood there, years before, a foot shorter and holding his face together with one hand, covered in blood and tears. He'd dropped a handful of dirty coins in her hand and she'd worked on him. He'd winced and hissed and yelped, but it was all just... cosmetic. Poke a body and it will react. But it doesn't mean the soul is there.

Konrad had stared at her wall when he was ten years old and not uttered a word. He'd paid her, she'd worked, he'd slept, then he'd left. She found out later what had happened to him. The horror of what his father had done to his mother, and his son, and then vanished.

Konrad. Konrad Venger. Who'd done the same for years, apart from snatched gossip she'd heard... and then reappeared working for a Daggerhand in the Reaches. A hard, scarred young man that was charged with scaring people and enjoyed his profession.

Now back on her doorstep, mumbling with a hole in his chest... and his hand fisted around a half-dozen gold coins. Bessy rested her hands on her knees and rubbed her craggy face. Well... a job was a job.

She dragged him inside, closed the door and spread him out on the floor. Petch getting him onto a bed or the couch. This would have to do.

Konrad woke when Syna was falling. He could tell by the shadows outside the window. Bessy was sitting in one corner, watching him with half an eye as she worked on her needlepoint. Some garment or another. He focused on it with eyes that seemed to take forever to blink. His body was numb. Weak. But when he breathed... he could breath. Deep. Gulping again, praise the gods.

There was a strange, rattling sound that made Bessy look up. She realized after a moment it was laughter. Or an attempt at it. But his eyes were open, at least.

"Wouldn't do that, f'I was you," she said, voice bored and fearless as always. "Too hard an' yer chest'll open back up. Want me t'sew you up again, you can pay me again."

Konrad believed her, and stuck to grinning stupidly. Alive again. Surviving again. It was almost addictive. He imagined Dira kicking the dust and cursing, so sure that this time she'd be collecting that stubborn little turd from Sunset that had eluded him.

It amused him, but his rumbling stomach bought him back to reality. He had things to do. Priories. First of all? Food.

"Bread an' cheese next to yer arm. Finish it an' geddout." Konrad craned his head around the floor like a puppy twisting to look at it's owner as it begged for a bely stroke. Bessy glared at him without mercy. "Don't want yeh here, Venger. Don't know why yeh came. What yeh did. Can't be good."

"You... You talk to anyone... 'bout me?"


The fire crackled, water dripped, and the street roared and rambled beyond the dirty windows and closed doors. Old, broken crone and young, battered youth stared each other down, hearing what was not said. Eventually, Bessy shook her head, not breaking her stare.

"I had a patient, remember? Stayed put. All day."

Konrad nodded to himself. That made things... more agreeable. If laughing would open his stitches, fuck-alone-knew what strangling the old woman to death would do to him. And if they did, who would he have to close them up again? No. It was impractical. For now.

The ganger flopped a hand around blindly until her found the plate. He pushed himself up into a sitting position and ate on Besy's floor as she mended her dress. Stared at the fire and the strange symmetry reminded him of things he didn't want to. A boy eating on the floor, a woman mending clothes by the fire...

No. That was long ago. That can't happen again.

"Lemme eat," he said between mouthfuls. "Rest until Leth's up. Then I'll be gone."

"S'what I expected."

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The Climb Is All There Is

Postby Konrad Venger on February 13th, 2016, 5:58 pm

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"What the petch do I pay you people for, anyway?"

Broke-Nose was hardly an accomplished conversationalist, but he knew his boss well enough not to answer that. Instead he bit his tongue and let Tazloor keep on railing as he stamped out of the tavern. He'd been in a bad mood all day, all week, but seemed better that night... until someone mentioned that fucking ugly cunt who'd vanished from (literally) under one of his men.

Uruk, you godsdamned idiot. How'd you let a man with a fucking spike through him kill you?

"You sure you're looking in all the usual places?"

Ah, now, that was a question he could answer. He nodded and kept his head on a swivel, noting the hooded figure of Wendo holding the reins of Tazloor's horse at the corner before answering, studying shadows as he did.

"The docks, the slums, the commons, even the streets he used t'beg on, boss. We've put money about, made promises-"

"And you're still fucking useless, apparently. Typical."


Again, Nose knew not to answer, and again, Tazloor was left simmering with his sullen silence. Eight days, and Kon still hadn't surfaced. He'd got word a few bells after they'd left Vool's that Uruk wouldn't be coming back, but one of his men had left that building. Just not the one he was expecting. He cursed himself for not seeing the strength in the little bastard, the will to live.

Too quick to write him off, he chided himself, and now you have to look over your shoulder. Both of them.

"When we get home, send a letter to the Big Brother," he said, grinding out the words reluctantly. Gods. Having to kick it up higher... they wouldn't appreciate that. "Tell them there's a... situation, and their... assistance, would be gratefully received."

"They'll make you pay for-"


They were at Lazar's side when Tazloor whirled and cracked his knuckles across the gorilla's skull. Oh, that was fucking it-

"You think I don't know that?! Everything costs! Everything! This'll be no exception but since I can't even trust my own men to find one crippled fucking kid, then what choice do I have?"

Silence. Again. He shook his head in disgust. Wendo was being smart and staying quiet, hidden in his hood. Lazar snuffled and snorted and focused on chewing at his own teeth. Gods, at least Konrad would be out there trying, not standing there like six feet of useless shyke in a hat.

"Just do it. Follow me home and fucking do it."

"Yes, boss."


Taz turned and nodded at Wendo... who was moving. Why was he-?

He saw it all and knew he couldn't do anything about it. Like that night a year ago, when those bastards had come at him with blades drawn and his own boys had their backs to them. Tazloor saw the curved steel inexplicably in Wendo's hand. He saw it rise up as he closed on Broke-Nose.

He saw that he wasn't wearing the leather boots Wendo was so proud of.

And when the hood slipped away, he saw it wasn't Wendo.

"Fu-"

Konrad didn't waste time with words. He slashed backhanded with the kukri and Broke-Nose spun sideways with his throat laid open, gushing arc steaming and spurting onto the cobbles. Lazar reared up in horror, sheer stink of mortality spooking him, and Konrad moved fast-

-but Tazloor didn't get where he did by being a petching pushover.

He pushed the boy away, trying to gain some space, some room, hand snatching the dagger from his belt in a moment and slashing with it in the same movement, a reverse grip that would have been nasty-

-if Konrad wasn't already moving backward from that push. He kept up the momentum, getting away from the blade, horse whinnying and shucking behind them all. Taz didn't rush him. He moved slowly. Patiently. Face stone but eyes turgid, not believing what he was seeing.

"Kon. Kon, I know you're-"

Konrad didn't give him time. He lunged in mid-sentence, feinting with a slash at his former master's side, drawing his knife down there to block-

-snapping out his leg to kick at the older man's knee from the side, making him yelp and stagger with the impact-

-then howling as he didn't pull his limb back quite fast enough and got a slash across the shin for it. Not deep. Just painful. Enough to goad him, not stop him.

"Kon! Fuck's sake just-"

No. No words. No lies. No bullshit.

Konrad growled and spat out a curse with a voice so gravelly it was barely decipherable. Then he lunged again, almost ignoring the blade, willing to take the pain if it got him closer-

-driving Tazloor back, dancing away and then coming in for another slash at him-

Not good enough, that time. Konrad twisted around and the thrust aimed at his kidneys bounced off his ribs instead, sliding past him-

-giving him an opening to smash his knee between the older man's legs, knocking the air out of him, bending him over-

-and Konrad bore him the rest of the way down, dropping his kukri to use both hands, on his neck and shoulder, driving Tazloor down faster-

CRUNCH!

The gangster's face crashed into the cobbles like he'd been tossed from a window. His beard, his nose, his cheeks... they were all thoroughly ruined with a single blow. But he was still sensible, even through the mask of agony he now wore, trying to move, grip his knife-

The impact again. Harder but... less painful. Taz knew why. He fought it; warred and raged against the darkness choking out his vision. He'd trained Kon well. The kid didn't stop. Knew the signs. The tells. He slammed him down again, his forehead bouncing off the cobbles and when it touched them again...

Konrad squatted, panting, over his old master. He'd looked up to him. Been loyal, been observant. Tazloor was smooth and successful, the walking, talking future he wanted for himself. He was a giant, even though Konrad topped him by a fair few inches... and now, he was a ragged pile of torn fabric, broken bones and bloody flesh. Like the scores he'd stood over before.

He hooked his arms under the man's armpits and dragged the dead weight up so he could throw him across the back of Lazar. The night wasn't yet over.

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The Climb Is All There Is

Postby Konrad Venger on February 13th, 2016, 6:55 pm

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He woke to fire and heat and thought he was dead. Then he saw Kon squatting in front of him and understood it wouldn't be that easy.

But the boy was there, so he could work his magic. Yet when he tried to speak, he found and tasted the gag in his mouth. He tried to move and ropes held fast around his wrists and ankles. The vague, blurry form of Lazar was off to one side, grazing peaceably and avoiding the clouds of smoke and colossal mound of flaming refuse.

The Slag Heap.

"You're awake. Good. I was about to piss on you."


Tazloor didn't doubt it. He could taste the rage steaming off Kon, but it wasn't hot or frothing, coming at him with screams and yells and berzerker tears. No, this was a cold, slow anger. The kind that thought, and planned, and patiently waited for the right time.

"You're going to die now. Very badly. I just wanted you to know who. And why."

Robbed of his voice, Tazloor shook his head instead, swatting it back and forth against the dead grass. He clasped his hands together and tried to pull the gag free, until-

-Kon snapped his foot out and ground his heel in his gut. That put paid to any attempts to speak. For now.

"I forgot, Taz. I forgot how dangerous it is t'trust someone. To put 'em ahead of you. Jus' gets y'killed. Nearly 'appened a few night ago. I made the mistake, and you shoulda' made me pay for it. But you didn't. You wuz sloppy. Now I'm showin' y'why that was your mistake."

The gangster was shaking his head and trying to speak, slowly and loudly, defeat the gag in his mouth. Konrad could imagine the lies and the excuses; he could feel how convincing they'd be, how much he'd want to hear some of them. That Taz didn't know, he was just playing the odds, how he loved him like a son, an heir, hadn't he shown him that before? How sorry he was, that he begged forgiveness and a second chance. For what? Money, jewels, food, clothes, horses, women, boys, anything Konrad wanted.

Anything I want, he mused. Anything.

He only wanted one thing. He reached forward and pulled the gag out.

"-tuff, K-Konrad, d'don' be s-stupid, yeah? Just-Just lemme go and-"

"You were right above me."
Konrad leaned forward. "[i]This far. You could have ended me, right there. But you were lazy. You pawned it off instead and now, here you are."[/i] He straightened up and drank in that fear. Let it fill his belly and sate all the darkness sloshing in his soul. "You fucked up, boss. But you taught me something important, too."

"Kon, wait-wait-wait-!"


He could have left the gag on, but Taz had to suffer. That was the point. He had to feel that same loss, that impotent, betrayed rage, that utter hopelessness that Konrad had felt. Death was a moment; Dira slid her hand into yours and it was done. Tazloor wasn't getting off so easily.

Konrad didn't speak as he stepped behind the bound man on the ground. He gripped his shoulders and sat in front of him, and as he laid further back... he dragged Taz upright with his grip... and braced his bent legs under the begging, threatening, cursing, sobbing, pissing gangster's body.

"K-Kon, don't please it's fucking stupid you know it'll give you-"

"Nothing you can give me."
Konrad said as he "aimed" as well as was possible, leveling the man's back towards the fire. "Except... maybe this."

One hand let go and took Tazloor's black hat off his head... and transferred it to his own. Then he winked from it's shadows and flexed his legs.

"Fare thee well, and burn in hell-"

His legs burst out under him, a surge of strength he knew his battered body would pay him back for later. But it was worth it: just for the sight of Tazloor's eyes going wide as his body hurtled backwards into the slag pile, smashing into the mountain of burning waste-

-and vanishing into it.

Konrad sat on the slope and watched for some time. He listened to the screaming, audible but faint above the crackling of the flames. He thought he saw snatches of movement, like a man gagged and bound like fat, fashionable grub flailing and struggling inside a giant kiln. He pushed his new hat tighter into his head as the rain began to fall softly, drops pooling and racing around the expanse of his brim before pouring off the most southerly part of the rim.

Konrad watched, and reminded himself. He hear the words and edited them down without even know what that meant. The wisdom was the same in any case: the conclusion never wavered.

Fuck everyone. Everyone but you.

He waited a bell. No movement. No life. No miracle. Then he got up and went to find Lazar, and spend quite a hefty pocket of coin.

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The Climb Is All There Is

Postby Devi on May 2nd, 2016, 6:19 pm


Your Grades have arrived!


Konrad

Skills:
  • Brawling: 4
  • Dagger: 3
  • Kukri: 2
  • Endurance: 2
  • Intimidation: 3
  • Torture: 2
  • Observation: 1
  • Tactics: 2
  • Persuasion: 2
Lores:
  • Intimidation: Image is important
  • Tazloor: Taught me I can only rely on myself
  • Tactics: Distraction
  • Event: Killing Tazloor
Items Gained: Tazloor's hat.

Comments: Interesting to see a little more about where Konrad came from and what's shaped the hard edge of his more recent personality. Good work!


Let me know if you have any questions or feedback. Don't forget to edit your post in the Grade Request Thread to say it's graded and leave a link in there for the Storytellers.

Happy Writing!

Devi
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