Flashback Petch You, It Ain't Compensating!

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

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Petch You, It Ain't Compensating!

Postby Konrad Venger on February 15th, 2016, 1:15 am

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13th Bell - 14th Day of Fall, 497AV - The Knight's Armoury


He should have cut the fuckers balls off. Cunt nearly did the same to him.

Every step through the Commons sent a twinge up his leg, through his guts and up his spine to set his teeth clenching. He'd need to change the dressing again, and soon. Bessy had told him the wound wasn't deep, but so close to an artery, he could bet his freckled arse it's bleed like a bastard.

Even with his face neutral, Konrad couldn't suppress a sneer. He could feel a wetness under his breeches. Soaking the dressing. Shyke.

He focused on the task at hand, instead. The sounds and sights of the Commons, since the smells... well, they were nothing to write home about. The same congealed mishmash of human waste and rain-soaked stones, grilled meat and rotting garbage. There was something to satisfy him whenever he turned a corner - sweet or sour, pungent or tangy, rich and flavorful - and they weren't just foods. But beneath it all, just one deep inhale away, was the corruption underneath it all.

Ain't much better with your eyes.

The Commons were neutral territory, in theory. Every big gang had a stake in it, a business, a company, a physical fortress of brick and stone that proclaimed them as not the transient, formless mobs of street life that rose and fell every season in Sunberth. As a result, a lot of legitimate sorts (relatively) flocked there, too. Grocers and butchers, furriers and furniture-dealers, builders and bakers and all other kinds of makers... Konrad had to look hard to find a grog shop or note the telltale signs of a drug house a few floors up.

Blacked out windows. Always a tell.

He felt out of place but not particularly nervous. Going on a shopping trip wasn't ordinary for him; picking up some food from a stall, yes, but nothing so... high-end. The steel he carried had been looted from dead men; one of whom had been his first. But after last night? He was rethinking if he carried enough. That was too close, and it came down to one simple fact: not that he was outmatched, but out-steeled.

Which was why he came there.

"Hell's fuck...!"

He found the door he was looking for but when he opened it, the lowest cavern of hell seems to be waiting beyond it. A blast of steam and heat, burning metal and an ungodly clanging, the numeracy of which he couldn't hope to work out yet. One hammer? Five? Ten? Fifty? It filled the store like a devil's dirge and when Konrad cleared his eyes and peered inside...

Exploding sparks in the darkness at the rear. Stars crashing down with every hammer-fall, like the gods at work, sweaty, swarthy, sooty figures with arms like hinged barrels rising and falling. Ranks of steel like skeletal soldiers lined the walls, high and low, in barrels and hanging from the ceiling. As his eyes focused and grew accustomed, Konrad could see that the Armoury wasn't that big... but what it lacked in size...

Makes up for in... in... vent'ry? Something like that.

"I help ya?"

Lawrence didn't even need to try and hide his suspicious glares anymore: he'd been doing this racket and living in Sunberth long enough to politely mask any misgivings he might have. Customers didn't like it when your eyes pinned them like daggers and they half-expected you to beak out the manacles. Karos was the prodigy with metal; Lawrence wasn't bad himself. But one of them had to be a... people person.

Necessity had forced that role on the middle-aged man with perpetually-tanned skin an a high forehead, eyes brighter and white in the gloom of the Armoury. He looked the newcomer up and down, pegging him in moments.

Ganger. Reaches. Daggerhand? Too young. Any purse that can buy him... and no sword on his belt.

"You need a sword, do ya?"

Konrad blinked as Shrooms' eyes came back to him out of another man's mouth. The night replayed again before his eyes, and ended with him sighing, nodding.

"Too bloody right, I do..."
Last edited by Konrad Venger on February 15th, 2016, 6:25 am, edited 1 time in total.

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Petch You, It Ain't Compensating!

Postby Konrad Venger on February 15th, 2016, 6:24 am

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Last Night - The Quays


Occasionally, not to mention completely by accident, Konrad ended up doing a good thing. In the narrowest context, anyway. Explaining to him why it was "good" would have been met with confused blinking as concepts he'd long-since abandoned went over his head. What was good? That he got paid for his efforts. What was bad? Not getting paid. Or dying. That would be a cunt, too.

That night, being a good man (remember: narrow context) nearly got him those last two.

"Fuckin' little shit!"

The big bastard with blue hair was swinging a sword the size of a fucking Spring-Pole, and he seemed to know how. The others in Konrad's ragged little band of opportunist gutter-merks and accidental heroes were occupied with the other Scrags, their gang allegiance made plain by the scraps of soiled dressing wrapped around their arms. Each one was worn with pride: the Scrags only wore bandages that had been used to save their lives, showing all watching that they had been bloodied in service to the gang, and been tough or nasty enough to survive.

Konrad knew about the Scrags. Not a bunch of big-timers, but big enough to cause trouble and maybe, one shining day, grab their own piece of the pie. But that day, this group's ambitions went too far.

Kidnapping from Sunset Quarter? Steps on too many toes.

Konrad forced the what and why out of his mind as he danced away from that sword, and-

"Fuck!"

-the tip still nicked his arm as it swung. Not bad, considering it could have easily ripped his stomach open, but it still hurt, and the big sod was still moving, raising the sword high and bringing it down-

-Konrad threw himself to the side and staggered, backing away fast and away from the whole scene unfolding in front of him.

The Scrags were at a disadvantage, but only until the man in the wagon decided to ditch his friends and make off with the cargo. Which were squealing and wriggling inside a pair of burlap sacks in the back of it. A trio of other Scrags, rust-black bandages flying, were going at the other sellswords who'd taken the job at The Establishment earlier that day.

But Big Boy? For some reason, he'd taken exception to Konrad.

Lucky fucking m-

He swung again with that massive thing and this time, Konrad was ready. He threw up his kukri to parry the blow, ready to come in close when he did and-

-the impact nearly knocked him off his feet. His hand went numb. The kukri dropped. It wasn't a sword that hit; it was a fucking anvil with a man attached! Konrad yelped as he smashed down to the ground and the brawny fuck reversed his grip, raising up his sword again to stab it clean through him, and he scooted, moved fast-

-not quite fast enough.

Konrad screamed the sword missed the "best" of him and struck sparks against the cobbles between his legs instead, slicing through the meat of his thigh as it did. Blood spurted out of him like a burst fruit and right away Konrad felt his face freeze, his voice with it.

He'd seen a man cut down there, that spot. No dressing could stop the flow. No healer could mend it fast enough. You were dead and then some, and petching quick, too. The kukri was forgotten, base fear seizing him like he seized the wound, squeezing so hard he nearly blacked out from the pain, ignoring it-

Please, please, fuck please no, fuck, please!

"Shoulda' bought a real fuckin' blade, boy," the giant said with a sneer, twirling that beast of a sword in his hand with the easy, cock grace of a practiced killer. "Might've made this a lil' more inner'estin'. But for-"

"Banx?! We gotta-"


Big Boy looked away. Konrad blinked and couldn't believe it. Then again, by that accent... no, didn't seem like a local boy. Probably just a drifter, swept into town and into the Scrags because the coin was good. If he was a native lad, well, he never would have turned his back on-

-a boy who seized his one and only chance like he seized the dagger in his boot, just below where he was squeezing his fresh wound. He pulled it free and lunged clumsily, but this close, and without anyone watching-

Big Boy screamed, high and shrill enough to send flocks flying in surprise, as Konrad sank the dagger deep into his thigh with both hands. He was staggering, tree-trunk leg already failing him, and Konrad gripped a little more, braced his weight behind it and-

-ripped the dagger downward, laying open as much of his thigh for as long as he could, hoping he could-

The world turned red.

A faucet had it's head broken off in Big Boy's leg. An unknown geyser broke the surface. A waterfall facing the wrong way with the wrong water roared into life with an evil-sounding hiss and suddenly Konrad's face was a mire of choking, steaming red.

The screaming got higher, keening now like a dying animal. Which was exactly what he was.

Konrad scrambled blindly away as best he could with one good leg and one hand, other one mopping frantically at his face. Red shadows were all he could see, roaring and shrieking alternately, like two figures warring and trying to drag him into their conflict.

But when his vision cleared, there was only one. A rather stupid one, actually.

Big Boy bled out in moments. The pool of blood around him was... well, all of it, probably. He died reaching out for Konrad, hate thick on his face, stamped on its lines and carried to wherever the petch his gods sent him. His sword was useless at his side, wet with Konrad's blood and now touched by it's dead master's, spreading out like a slick across the water.

"P-Please-!"

Whoever had shouted out for his help didn't get it. Shrooms, Teli and Rayz finished off the Scrags after a good deal of hackin' and thrustin', the skinny Shrooms spitting out a gob of his namesake after doing in the last one. Stuff turned to shite after a few minutes, but it was a fuckin' gods-send for keeping you numbed up in a brawl. He barely even noticed the visions anymore.

"Fuck me," he mumbled to himself, trying to sheath his sword and dig around for another mouthful with the same hand. "Black Hat got petched..."

He walked over and found the kid with the scarred face and nice hat cursing non-stop as he ripped a sleeve off the big dead guy and made it into a press for his thigh. Shrooms studied the wound briefly, critically. Like every Sunberth lad, he knew about stabs and cuts and slashes by the time he could run without falling over. That time, the boy had gotten lucky.

"Where's yer sword?"

"W-What?"

"Yer sword. Where is it?"

"Ain't got one,"
the kid said, and Shrooms gawped as he wriggled over to reclaim his kukri after pocketing (booting?) his dagger. "Got this... 'n this."

Shrooms spat a line of black juice out the side of his mouth. Konrad watched it splat onto Big Boy's dead, stiff face and heard the tut-tut-tut that came after it.

"Youse need a sword, boy. Not a bloody butter knife."

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Petch You, It Ain't Compensating!

Postby Konrad Venger on February 15th, 2016, 10:08 am

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Konrad didn't much know swords from a sharp stick made of metal, but just a casual jaunt down one row in the Armoury told him that whatever he was looking for, he could find it there. Every few steps brought another strange revelation to his eyes.

Swords short and straight as over-sized knives, but wider, thicker. Others even larger than the ones that big blue-haired petcher had wielded; so long they needed a second grip just above the cross-guard.

Swords that were thick but wavy, like he was seeing the blade through running water. Swords with two blades, running parallel. Swords with blades coming out in all four directions. Axes and maces, too, shields and suits of armor ranged against one wall like a company of ghostly warriors on parade.

Talk about spoiled for... hell-o-o-o...

He stopped in front of one that caught his eye, and picked it up experimentally. He'd never much thought of his kukri as a "butter knife". It had served him well the two years he'd carried it, and saved his life more than once. But that dead-header Shrooms was right: it wasn't enough when faced with a man carrying a petch-off huge sword who knew how to use it. Still, he liked the feel of it. The weight, the odd, inverted balance... just like the one he was holding now.

"It's called a 'kopis'," the co-owner said at his side, watching the scarred thug with the limp swish the sword through the air. "The way the blade curves down, instead of up? It's called a 'recurve'. Starts off thinner near the hilt, then gets thicker as it curves. But..."

He put out his hand and after a moment of sudden, irrational possessiveness, Konrad handed it over. Wasn't his sword yet, was it? And he'd heard stories of what happened to scallies like him who tried to filch goods from the Armoury. Making swords wasn't the owners' only skill: they knew how to swing 'em, too, and they had friends who could do much worse.

Lawrence parted the air between them with a whoosh and a whomp with every graceful slice of his arms. His words were clear but there was a loving, passionate edge to them, too. A man talking about that which gave his life purpose.

"The blade doesn't curve enough that you can't use it to thrust-"

The sword stopped, went to his side as the hand gripping it touched his hip and then burst forward in a jutting thrust... and Konrad didn't see any waver or shake. Curved blade like that, you wouldn't expect it to be so balanced, but-

"-as well as cut and slash and parry. The balance is good enough for all three, and the curve isn't so fierce that you can't stab with it."

The armorer handed it back and the gutter-merk held the sword in both hands, studying it, turning it over with the scrutiny and care that only a man who lived by violence could. Konrad listened and understood some, but his own interpretation was just as persuasive. He saw a larger, heavier, longer cousin of his kukri, only not as curved at the end. He chopped downward again and was surprised at how much pressure he had to exert to stop the momentum.

Lawrence smiled as the kid's eyes lit up. He knew mizas in his pocket when he saw them.

"It'll chop like an ax, cut like a cleaver and stab like a dagger," he said with a smile, broadening to show Konrad unusually white teeth for a man that lived in soot and smoke. "That ain't me throwing you a pitch, neither. That's what I've seen it do."

Konrad felt a question form on his tongue, but quashed it before his lips could move. No, you didn't ask where things came from in Sunberth. It wasn't a town of guarantees or reliable suppliers; if the goods were solid, you purchased or you walked on. Asking questions? Shyke got you killed.

He tossed it from hand to hand. Good balance, he supposed. Sharp edge, but just as much, it looked sodding mean, too. Not like every other short sword, bastard sword or gladius every other Berth Bastard carried on their hip. This set him apart with it's curved, claw-like appearance.

The thug smiled softly as he remembered what Tazloor had told him, years before he'd thrown him into the Slag Heap. Back when he was the closest thing to a father he'd known.

Reputation. Image. Appearance. It all matters.

"Sold. How much?"

"Gonna want a scabbard for it?"

"Y'mean a sheath?"

"Scabbard."

"Whichever, and yeah, and..."
Konrad paused. Well, he'd taken care of one issue, but now he felt the kukri resting uneasily down the back of his pants, another pushed forward to the front of his mind. "Might need somethin' moren' that."

"Oh?"


Konrad reached back and pulled his kukri, gesturing to the small of his back. "You got something that'd keep this there... and have this-" he held up the kopis "-on my hip?"

"Oh, aye. We'll sort ya."


Lawrence led the way to the other side of the store and Konrad was presented with the very inviting site of his bare back. He blinked at it. The lack of armor. The open target. He judged the distance to the target, then the running time to the door. Aye... he could make it. Wouldn't be too-

CLANG!

A hammer the size of a horse's head split the air inside the Armoury like bottled thunder. Konrad nearly jumped out of his boots and snapped his head around to see-

Karos. Bearded and brooding and glaring like a furnace daemon from the mess of anvils, furnaces and molten metal at the back of the store. He pinned the street killer down with eyes that had seen far worse than Konrad Petching Venger throughout his long life. The hammering seemed to vanish in the smithy's, the air seemed to part just for them, and no words were necessary.

The big man shook his head. Just once. Konrad lowered his weapons.

"Ah, here we go!"

He turned back to find Lawrence pulling some mess of leather and brass buckles from a bin in one corner. The blacksmith turned around with a grin and presented it to a slack-jawed Konrad, but before the kid could start-

"Don't worry! We'll cut it down a little. Leave this part... and this part... and here. Wear it under your jacket and you'll have your scabbard clipped at the clasp by your waist and one for the small of your back."

"And how much for... everything, I guess?"

"Gonna want a whetstone, too."

"A what?"

"Sharpening stone... like this."


Lawrence said a number. Konrad winced and imagined his healthy purse becoming suddenly and decidedly starved. But the job for Sunset had paid well, and what was money for if not spending? Especially when it came to something essential, professional-

And pretty. Gotta admit that.

"Done," Konrad said with a sigh, handing over a little mound of gold rims into a ready palm. "One uver thing: where can I go to, you know, learn how t'use it?"

Lawrence pursed his lips and did some leisurely thinking as he mechanically counted out a few dozen coins. A profitable morning, most definitely. He could have thrown the whetstone in for free, but since when did that make sense in Sunberth? A couple of men sloped through the door and his movements became faster, a little more urgent. Personal service was important, true, but not at the expense of-

"Proving Grounds'd be your your best bet," he said, pocketing his profits and already sliding past the loaded-down ganger with the fucked up face. "Got any brands or tats from yer gang?"

"How... No, never got that-"

"Then you'll be fine,"
Lawrence said over his shoulder, putting on his best "Salesman Smile" as he approached the new meat. "Sun's Birth own it; they ain't gotta train the competition. Wait there, I'll get yer harness cut to size."

Konrad raised a hand to protest but Lawrence had already launched into fresh greetings, a ripe pitch tumbling from his lips. So he just toed the floor and waited with his arms full of his new gear, waiting impatiently and studiously avoiding the magma-bright glare of Karos.

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Petch You, It Ain't Compensating!

Postby Konrad Venger on February 15th, 2016, 11:22 am

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A Bell Later - The Proving Grounds


"Again! One! Two! Three! Four! Five! Gods, fuckin' useless, the lotta' ya!"

Konrad wasn't one for praising the gods, except maybe for Lhex and Ovek. The patrons of fate and luck seemed like the most applicable to his world, mainly because they favored none and denigrated whomever they liked. Chance and chaos had been the driving forces in Konrad's life, not the benevolent or even malevolent hands of any great, ethereal super-being.

Luck got him out of that sewer where Niles should have killed him. Blind chance saw that ice spear from a mage nick his lung instead of impale his heart. And most recently, uncaring fate had seen his leg cut but not gouged where that evil little artery was-

-and turned his decision not to get inked with the Daggerhands into a profit, not a loss.

The Sun's Refuge wasn't clearly marked, but he heard the name often enough when asking for directions. Sun's Birth, Sun's Refuge... he didn't need to be a man of letters to put that together. But unlike the Commons, where the Birth ran a business or two, the Refuge was their territory. They owned it, just like the Daggers ran the Reaches. If Konrad wanted proof of that, he had only to look around.

Figures skulked on the roofs, crossbows held notched and ready, scanning the streets ceaselessly. Armored Dragoons trotted down the paved roads and every corner sported a clutch of their infantry sweeping their gaze over all.

They're acting like they're under siege, Konrad thought to himself, after getting past the checkpoint to enter that part of town. They've already got the Gated Community and half of Riverside. What are they worried about?

It's Sunberth
, he reminded himself. There's always cause to be worried.

That said, once he got past that first and heaviest line of defense, it was just glowers and glares that tracked him, not leveled steel. He walked through the Refuge until he found the long, broad buildings he'd been told about. A multitude of clashing swords and shouting voices echoed around the stones like a warrior heaven. Konrad decided that was the place Lawrence had told him about, the place he could become familiar with his new friend.

Much like Lawrence, however, expertise didn't come for free.

"Are we gonna have to go through this again?" The half-breed was practically spewing her words into their faces as she walked down their ranks, daring any of them to show a glimmer, a hint, a shadow of defiance as she cut them down. "Been out here for a damn hour and what have you got to show for it? Still arses and elbows!"

Konrad ground his teeth (but not too loudly) and let the dull ache in his shoulder emind him what mouthing off would purchase. Itzel was not one to take talk-back lightly. He'd done it once, and he'd be sore for days. He'd seen another actually lean forward and shout in her face.

They'd dragged him out of the training yard a dozen ticks later. By the looks of it, he'd be eating a lot of soup from now on.

He focused on what he was there for: training. An alien concept to a gutter boy, but he'd seen the Dragoons fight a couple of times. It wasn't brawling, carousing, desperate, clawing violence. No, it was efficient and well-drilled violence. Individually, Konrad thought them a little stiff, but in a group? They were lethal. And as far as he knew, no-one else was offering him lessons.

"Watch me, for fuck's sake!"

Itzel took her stance in front of them and Konrad shifted his feet to mimic them. Knees bent. One foot leading, back foot a little cocked. She said it allowed them to move in any direction and quick. Free hand at their hip, but the one holding the sword grasping it firm but not so hard it shook.

Holding it... what was that word... purple-dicking-lar? Well, either way, he knew what it looked like. Itzel was doing the same, until.

"One!"

The sword went from guard to spinning low and to the side, as if guarding from a blow coming at her right leg-

"Two!"

-then jerked across her front, doing the same for her left leg-

"Three!"

Now the rest of the group was beginning to follow her form, or try to. They snapped their arms up to mirror hers, blades of a dozen kinds going from low to high, Third Guard protecting from a blow from the right to the torso and shoulder-

"Four!"

-Konrad jerked his sword across his chest and did the same for the left, tensing his arm for-

"Five!"

-half-swinging, half-lifting the kopis from horizontal to vertical, above his head, blocking a blow from the cooling sky aimed at his head. The muffled multitude of rustling limbs and fabrics stopped as the final of the Five Guards was completed.

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"On guard!"

After a bell of careful, painful listening, without water or talk to distract any of them, Konrad had noticed that special emphasis to "on". That was the... purply-dick guard. Neutral, she'd said. Ready to go anywhere. Feet ready. Other hand, yep, right there-

"One!"

Right leg, down.

"Two!"

Left leg, down and across.

"Three!"

Right side, up and across.

"Four!"

Left side, across.

"Five!"

Head, up and straight.

"Again!"

So it went, with little difference. The blade was heavier, and Konrad's aching limbs were starting to tremble ever so slightly as the chimes crept by. The same five movements, the same starting stance, over and over until Konrad stopped trying to keep count of the number of times they'd gone through it.

But he was keeping count of who was leaving.

"Useless! Yes, you! Out, f'fuck's sake!"

The mumbling, sputtering ganger with the cockatoo haircut got out six words before Itzel's practice sword snapped up in a short, precise blow and nearly crushed his throat. The dumb shyke toppled over, choking, pawing at his throat, and two Dragoons carried him away as he tried to force air back into his lungs. Itzel just walked away, resumed her pacing...

Konrad liked his neck just as it was. So he kept moving.

Right leg... left leg... right side... left side... head...

Syna wasn't giving them any respite; maybe even less than Itzel. All around them similar groups were being drilled without mercy, everything from wrestling contests to pike ranks to archery. A miniature army, crammed into a couple of renovated farming yards, now ringing with the sounds of war. Konrad licked his lips and wondered idly what the Daggers might pay for a few titbits about what he'd seen in here. Hells, maybe just on the way here-

SMACK!

His elbow was suddenly on fire and the flames raced up his arm so fast he dropped his sword, yelping. Itzel was at his side, appearing like a wraith with lank, dark hair and furious eyes set into a pale face.

"Focus, idiot! Where're you drifting off to? Didn't even see me coming, didja?"

She'd struck him. She'd hit him. Konrad knew only one way to respond, his very blood and every slap he'd ever taken screamed for it and stiffened his limbs and-

No... No... We need this place. For now. It all serves a purpose. The pain. The repeating. The movements. Look at what the Dragoons can do. You could do that. It could be yours. Swallow it. Swallow it and say-

"N-No, mistres-"

"Marshal, t'you, scum!"

"Marshal,"
Konrad managed to squeak as he bent down and picked up his kopis, elbow screeching inside his skin. "Lesson learned, Marshal!"

"Petching well better be! Again!"


And so it went. With sweat running in rivers from his scalp down to his dressing, every inch of him begging for respite, so did Konrad.

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Petch You, It Ain't Compensating!

Postby Konrad Venger on February 15th, 2016, 11:44 am

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"Alright, ya dogs! Practice swords on the right! Pair off and let's see what ya learned!"

Thank fuckery for that.

Konrad ached in places he didn't know he had, but anything would be better than this endless, mindless, rote repetition. He was sure he'd be swinging his arms about in his sleep tonight. He sheathed his kopis and half-walked, half-flopped over to the row of dull wooden weapons of all kinds. One was even curved like his own blade, and he wondered how-

"Mind yer step, boy."

-something large and foul-smelling in the skin of a man shoved past him, and Konrad decided very quickly who his partner would be. He hustled back to the training circle and tapped the man on the shoulder with his blade.

"Eh?"

"Partner up?"
He said with a smile that simply didn't match his brutalized face, nor his eyes that had about as much twinkle as a black hole. "Don't see anyone else."

"Find someone else, boy."

"Yer right, probably end up hurtin' ya-"

"Fugwazad?"


Always works.

"On guard!"

Before their little war of words could go any further, Itzel's voice brought them to heel. All around them the ten surviving members of their group (down from sixteen) faced each other across the mud, grass and sand. Swords ranging from two-handers to gladii were leveled in that same, predictable guard-

Predictable. Could be a problem.

-but Konrad did the same, managing a smirk against the glowering mook in front of him. He looked like a farmer, big dirty hands and the stink of manure on him. Pig, by the smell of it. He held a big bastard sword, straight and long, longer than his kopis.

See if this was worth the money.

"And... fight!"

"Grrrrah!"


Farmer struck first, like he knew he would, slashing at his side with his wooden bastard sword-

Right side, up and across!

-his arm crackled with the impact as his kopis blocked the blow that would have staved in a rib, shoving it further away as he gripped it, replying with a hack at Farmer's head-

Big fuck moved fast, though. He slid to his side and Konrad's slash crunched into his sword instead, raised up in a snake-fast Number Five block above his head. Konrad ripped the weapon away from him and stepped back, hand on his hip, sword purply-dick...

Gotta find out what the-

Farmer roared again, and Konrad knew if anything was gonna help him there, it would be that anger. That wounded pride. Farmer knew how to use a sword, but he was impatient. Not expecting this kid with the petched up face to learn so fast-

Left leg, down and side!

He swept the wooden kopis low and knocked away the thrust at his crotch, feeling his balls tingle a little in gratitude. But the Farmer was still moving, shoulder down-

-tackling him back with a burst of air escaping his lungs, staggering and barely keeping on his feet, let along gripping his sword-

Farmer grinned, feral and victorious, closed in and swung flat at Konrad's skull, looking to lay him out quick and-

More the fool you.

It wasn't fancy, or flashy. It was simple, and desperate. Konrad was already bent over; crouching down further was the work of a broken tick. The sword sailed over his head and before the big bastard could pull it back-

-Konrad damned his wounded leg and petched elbow and darted forward, at Farmer's side, bringing his sword in low and flat-

-smashing it into his stomach. Were it real, it would have opening him up when he pulled it away. As it was, it doubled him over, and Konrad ripped it away from his torso folding in on itself, raising it high and-

"RAAAAAH!"

-Farmer's backhand was a reflex, not trained, but that didn't much matter when it hit you. He was just lucky it was his knuckles, not the wooden shaft the hand held. Stars danced and crowded into Konrad's vision, blinding pain their accompaniement, and he tottered away like a broken toy, shaking his head, hat falling off his head, knowing the Farmer wouldn't be long in-

Another roar. He blinked and barely saw it coming, just the fall arm and-

Repetition works. That's why trainers use it. The mind can lie, because it thinks too much. Muscles can betray you, yes, but in battle, in the whirl and rush of mortal contest, thinking can kill you. Acting is what keeps you alive.

-the wooden kopis jerked up and blocked the shattering blow. It nearly knocked it out of Konrad's grip but he held on, and the Farmer was snarling in front of him, ready to-

Oh, fuck this-

With a yell Konrad swung his boot up between the man's legs. The Farmer's face went from a mask of fury to a picture of pain, knees knocking together as he bent forwards, so obligingly-

-for Konrad's free hand to snap out and grab a handful of his shirt under the chin, jerking him forward at the same time as he stepped closer-

-slamming the crown of his skull into his nose like a hammer into a brick, hearing something break when he did-

It felt great. So much so that he reared back and did it again.

Farmer slid down to the floor of the training yard with his nose spread across his face and his practice sword limp in his hand. A few of the sparring couples stopped and watched him go down, impressed and envious in equal measure... then got back to it when Itzel came sauntering by.

She looked at them both. Then down. Sniffed. Back up at Konrad.

The half-blood nodded, and walked on. Good start. Let's hope he keeps it up...

||Common||Thoughts||Pavi||Fratava||Myrian||Other's Speaking||
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Note: As of Fall 517AV, Konrad is known only as "Hansel" in Endrykas
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Konrad Venger
Long is The Way and Hard
 
Posts: 923
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Location: Endrykas
Race: Human, Mixed
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Petch You, It Ain't Compensating!

Postby Anarkhos on May 12th, 2016, 11:42 am

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Name:Konrad Venger
XP Award:
  • Kopis-3
    Brawling-1
    Dagger-1
    Kurki-1
    Observation-4
Lore:
    Bringing a knife to a sword fight
    Catching a glimpse of death
    A Kurki doubles as a butter-knife
    The Knights Armoury: Entering may include singed eyebrows and open pores
    The Knights Armoury: Steal and steel will make you still.
    Kopis: A blade made for me
    The Knights Armoury: Love in every blade
    Lawrence: A people person, a business man, a lover of his craft
    The proving grounds: Behind enemy lines
    Itzel: A harsh woman
    Itzel: Follow the ropes or a chop to the throat
    Itzel: Daydreaming grants you a sore elbow
    Kopis: Keeping one's feet perpendicular
    Kopis: The best offense is a good defense
    A boot to the crotch will immobilize a man
    Gaining respect of an enemy


Notes:
Congratulations you're the first person to ever recieve a grade from me. Hopefully it's a blessing and not a curse haha. I really liked this thread. I also like Konrads beautiful vocabulary. Good job. Keep up the good work. Any questions or concerns concerning this grade please feel free to pm me or message me on aim @Anarkhosisnow. I am always available Please mark this thread as graded so it can be removed from the grade thread.
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Anarkhos
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Joined roleplay: April 19th, 2016, 11:48 am
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