Solo Gone!

[Konrad Venger]

66th Day of Spring, 516AV - The Traveler's Complex

The sight of Konrad Venger bearing gifts was not one that had been experienced by man a living soul in Mizahar. It was a thing rare and suspicious, for a gift implied gratitude, affection, selflessness and empathy. Konrad possessed none of these things, or if he did, never revealed thus.

Imagine, then, Trevin's surprise, when he answered the swift rapping on his chamber door, and found the scarred sellsword bearing a box. And smiling, no less.

"Er... what's that?"

"S'a gift for ya."

There was a pause. "A gift?"

"Yes. For yer help an' all that."

Another pause. A flurry of blinks. "You are giving me... a gift?"

"Yeah. S'what folk do, innit?"

One could probably guessed that followed. So long, in fact, that Konrad's good humor quickly fell to a scowl and an awkward shuffle.

"What? Petch're you starin' at?"

"Nothin', it's... well..."

"What?" I can't show my 'preciation fer my teacher? Man who gave me power?"

Trevin held up his hands in the wake of words not so much laced with offense as soaked in them. Grateful or not, strange as it was, Konrad was not a man you wanted to offend, and that's what he was doing. So the mage stood clear of the doorway and let the younger man in, gift and all.

"No, no, it's... well... you've got something of a reputation, lad. I didn't mean-"

"What're people sayin', then?"

"That don't matter-"

"Bloody well does-"

"But my point," Trein continued, leaning on the last word so hard he could have broken it. "Is that it's rare... so I suppose it's even more noteworthy. So how could I say no?"

Aye, that'll do it.

The words seemed to mollify the beast, at least. The challenge was stripped from his face, lips uncurled from his teeth and he nodded... still holding the box. Trvin took it and almost grunted with the surprising weight.

"What is it?"

"Have a look," Konrad said as he closed the door, and locked it. Trevin paid no mind; such was the routine for their lessons, and this was to be the last. "Saw it yesterday an' thought you'd like it. Bein' a traveler an' all..."

He stared. Trevin soon realized he would keep staring until he opened the damn box and humored him. So he fixed a smile back on his face and did as what was expected. If wasn't hard to fashion; in two days he'd be rid of Kenash, maybe forever, and with an extra few hundred mizas in his purse thanks to Konrad Venger. Adding a "gift" to the list didn't seem too bad.

"Oh, it's a... what is it?"

"S'the world."

Trevin turned the stone orb over in his hand. That had to be what it was made out of: little else could be so heavy. He turned the sphere around and studied the carvings into it. When he did... yes... he could see there was method to them. It wasn't just a stone ball kicked and hammered and slashed with swords until it was a mass of bumps and gouges. There were coastlines he recognized, the curve and swell of the Suvan Sea, the way Falyndar seemed to hang from Kalea like a plump fruit. He peered closer and there were... not holes, but perfect little circles, here and there, and he recognized them as... cities. Riverfall, Syliras, Sunberth, even lost locales like Hai and the mythical Zinrah.

Though how the craftsman knew where those places were was a question that Trevin was sure would nag at him.

"It's... quite nice, Konrad," he said, voice choked with surprise, and when he smiled again, it was genuine. "More than nice, actually. Bloody beautiful!"

"Aye, figured you'd like it."

"Cost ya a few coppers though, am I right?"

By way of an answer, Konrad sat down in his accustomed seat and raised his hand. His fingers contracted slightly and he breathed out easily, not breaking eye contact with Trevin... and as he did a cloud of green-black res slid from his fingers, congealing together into a ball... and then he snapped the fingers on his right hand-

He mouthed "Burn" as well. Crafty boy.

-and the room was lit by a fresh flame to join the meager candles. A blazing ball that whirled above Konrad's palm like Syna, and as he opened up his left hand-

Concentrate, the sellsword told himself, just like a few nights ago...

He breathed deep and felt a throb deeper than his heart, the pump of his blood or creak of his ribs as he inhaled. The first night, he could barely sleep with the knowledge of this strange new wyrd pulsing through him, dogging his thoughts and sparse dreams. But then, he could peer into it. Dip his hands into it. Take out a handful and work it to his will-

-gently flicking his fingers and the ball wafted from one hand to the other... and then he closed his eyes as he mouthed-

"Out."

The flame died and Konrad felt a twinge in his hand, like a bee sting. He flexed it and still it gnawed at his palm, but it would not last long. Small price to pay, after all.

"Last season, I couldn't even hope a' doing that. Now? Jus' fun. Cuz a' you, Trev. Thought that was worth a present, aye?"

Trevin shook his head softly. Gods. Thirty years rolling across mud and cobble and gravel, a hundred sights and a thousand breeds of people, and they still surprised him. He set the stone globe on the dresser, next to his wash bowl, and bowed for a tick.

"Thought as much... not too much, though, eh...?"

... and his hand was out again. Five mizas was five mizas, after all, and this was a lesson to be paid for. Konrad rolled his eyes and dug around until he'd dumped five coins into the mage's hand, swiftly pocketed. He interlaced his fingers and cracked them out in front of him, a sound like branches breaking in quick succession crackling around the room.

"Right! Let's make it a good one."

"Aye," Konrad said with that same smile. "S'what I was thinking."

[Konrad Venger]

There was nothing but the glow at the end of his fingers. Index and middle, pressed together with his thumb tucked to his palm, and at the end of them, a burning little ball. It was the size of a marble, his first Reimancy effort, and now, nearly thirty days after his initiation, Konrad felt like he could maintain it forever.

Or close to it.

He focused, he willed, and that alone was becoming easier. He knew the djed, the wyrd, the magic, all of it was inside him. He simply had to tap into it, like a miner finding a seam of coal. His temples throbbed a little as he concentrated on keeping the ball so small, and so well-placed.

He'd moved it from his palm to his fingers. He didn't want to "drop" it now.

"Can you see the candles?"

The voice was from a figure with only the barest form. Trevin's voice had only shadows to house it, a faint outline beyond the sphere of light cast by his fire-marble. His eyes glowed like pools, focused on Konrad, ever-ready to spring into action. The sellsword glanced briefly at the fat, heavy stone globe next to the candles and smirked softly to himself.

Nearly there... nearly...

"Remember, it's flame like any other, now. It can burn anything, even you. So touch it to the candles... then end it."

Konrad moved the ball to the first candle. He just extended his hand and... poof! There it was, just as promised. It was like touching a taper to the wick, only the taper was smoldering just beyond his fingernails. Konrad smiled wider, face hellish in the fluttering glow of the low flames, then made that glow even bigger.

At the third one, he winced again, deep enough that Trevin could see it. Sweat lay across the sellsword's face in a thin sheen; his thumb was pressing so hard against his palm that the nail was biting into his flesh. He was straining. Hurting.

"A'wright, put it-"

"W... Wait..."

Konrad swallowed deep and tried not to taste. Unsuccessfully. Gods, he petching hated how his mouth was flavored when he was doing this. But he still held tight to his djed, lighting the third candle and then raising his finger closer to his lips and-

-blew softly, thought traveling with the breeze, and as they both hit the marble, it vanished in a blink. But the darkness did not return; now they had the cadles blazing and throwing light everywhere. Trevin applauded softly and Konrad did a mock bow, fluttering hand loose at his wrist.

"Thank you, thank you."

"Yer getting better, lad. Ready fer something else, I think."

"Aye?"

"Oh, aye," Trevin said with a friendly wink. "Something interesting for our last lesson."

[Konrad Venger]

"You're joking."

"No, I am assuredly not."

"It'll taste like-"

"Lightning, really. And apples."

"Really?"

"Does for me. For you, eh..."

Trevin's shouldered undulated in the classic shrug for unknowing indifference, which didn't put Konrad at ease. He was asking the impossible, the insane, and Konrad was already massaging his throat and thinking about how much he liked it, and wanted to keep it just like it was.

"Ah, I know what yer thinking," Trevin said, pouring himself a cup of water. "You'll burn your throat out. Your mouth. Everything."

"It did petching occur to me."

"Well, that's rot, son. Res don't burn until you put your thought to it, remember? On the way out, it's just... cloud. Mist. Water. You shape it up with your mind and then you make it into flame. You've done that before, now it' just... coming out of somewhere different."

Oh, it sounded reasonable enough, but Trevin wasn't the one about to do it. Konrad scratched his chin and felt the scrape of stubble against his fingers. The grooves of old scars, so familiar they were as normal to him as unmarred flesh on others. He'd seen it, though. That night, in the Sea of Grass. A man, a mere mortal, breathing fire into the sky and seeing off a horde of monsters.

"I wouldn't ask you to do what I did," Trevin said, and Konrad's eyes bugged. "No, I can't read minds, but where else would ya have seen that? Been doing this a long time, lad. Years of practice. Decades. You? You're just starting off. So deep breath, and when you breath out... make me a ball."

Konrad nodded and composed himself. It was all will. Focus and imagination. He made his hands into fists by his side, denying himself their aid. Instead he focused on... his inside... the pool of djed he knew was there, what could be an ocean if he tried hard enough. He breathed a few times, and imagined the pool stirring, like a pond ruffled by a breeze. Finally be breathed out, and imagined... a green water... rising up...

He opened his eyes as he breathed and tasted-

Cherry?

No, it was something more. More as the res spilled out of his mouth like he was blowing a bowl of Taloba Grey out from his lungs after a nice, stupefying hold.

Banana, maybe?

No, too sweet. More of it poured from his lips and it started to spread, as a cloud is wont to do when it's not controlled by the air around it. Konrad's brow furrowed and the res started to whirl in a circle, close and closer until-

"Good. See? Same as before."

Konrad glanced up and-

-saw the look of concentration on Trevin's face. The utter immersion in what he was doing. The world did not exist to the carter-mage, save this room and his student. Konrad thought he was a good teacher. Attentive and careful. A fine instructor.

Ah, well.

He decided it was time.

"Gods, boy-!"

In the space of a tick, Trevin's approval was obliterated by shock, even confusion. He was doing so well! The res was forming well, seeping from his mouth like pipe smoke and forming into a nice little ball for the flame. But then Konrad had retched, choked, coughed, heaving like an old man and his throat made sounds like a bellows being punctured even as someone tried to use it.

His right arm flailed out and gripped the edge of the table. His left went out and-

-gripped his lapel, pulling him closer as his face flushed-

"P... Petch!"

"S'a'right, lad," Trevin said, patting his hand and deciding the most important thing was not to let the boy panic. Just a little something down the wrong tube. Happened a lot with this trick. "I'll getcha some water and-"

There was a slight, tiny grinding sound. It was an ant fart. A mouse guffaw. A titmouse scratching itself. So small that one would doubt it even happened, but Trevin heard it. He heard the sound of stone moving just a fraction on wood, and realized he wasn't looking at Konrad's other hand. He was too intent upon the boy, who was "choking".

A lot happened in that last tick. He realized that the quotation marks were warranted. He realized that contorted, anguished as his face was, Konrad's eyes were just... watching. Waiting.

And he realized, last of all, that the globe, though heavy, was just large enough for Konrad to almost get his hand around.

Unfortunately for Trevin, Konrad had realized this long before that particular tick. Which was why he was far, far faster.

[Konrad Venger]

He knew it would take cunning to get his moment. That would take thinking on, and Konrad had nearly thirty days to do it. But when the decision had been made, in his usual cold, bloodless way, Trevin was already dead. Konrad knew from countless street brawls and gutter fights that it was that lack of hesitation that marked a true brawler. The man who fixed the outcome before his hands had already began to move, and subtly moved the world around him to ensure the outcome.

Far from an eloquent man, was Konrad Venger. But in that last tick, much happened in his head, too.

Between coughs, he listened. No noise outside. No tramping transients or maid making her rounds. Just the slumbering silence of the Complex, bedded down for another long, sweaty night in Kenash. His hands moved where he wanted them to go, and when Trevin's stumbling, worried words hit the breeze, his hands grasped the globe.

He'd wanted to say something. Perhaps a simple "Nothing personal", for it truly wasn't. Trevin had his mizas and he wanted them back. The fact that fair trade had been enacted meant little to him. Part of him wanted to enjoy this feat, a Sunberth Bastard like him ending a mage, like a drunk that had dared to stand in his way in some grog house back home.

But he needed speed that night. He needed to do much, because this was a mage he was dealing with, and you didn't give those bastards the time to work their wyrd while you were waxing poetical.

Cunning. Speed. The rest was all Konrad.

CRUNCH

He swung the globe against Trevin's head, holding him steady by the lapel, and there was a sound like a melon being struck by a wooden beam. Ten pounds of millenia-old rock, lovingly sculpted by some enterprising artisan, slammed into the man's temple like a mace attached to Konrad's hand. Not his jaw, or his face. He wasn't trying to knock the man insensible; he was trying to kill him.

The carter went sprawling onto the floor of his room, eyes already glassy, body snatched away from him in a broken tick-

-fingers twitching, faint glow already building-

No, you don't-

CRUNCH

Konrad's globe fell again. He felt bones break under the second impact, and Trevin's whole body spasmed and jerked. He pulled it back and the man's craggy face looked like an avalanche of blood, broken teeth and busted bone. He tried to speak, hands shaking and-

CRUNCH

The last one was higher. Coming down with an animal grunt, Konrad's face contorted with effort and victory as he straddled his teacher-

SPLAT

The globe buried into the carter's face, and it was too much for mere human biology to take. The contents of his skull exploded out of his ears, the edges of the rock, his face crushed into his head and pushing everything out with a sudden, sickening implosion. The carter twitched, once more... then he was still.

Nothing living in the room, then, save for the panting Konrad. He looked upon his work for scant ticks, getting his breath back. The candles wavered indifferently as they watched the sellsword still his breathing, shoulders heaving under his white shirt now flecked with red and grey and tiny shards of bone. He cracked his neck from side to side... and stood.

That was just the means. The journey. The end, the destination, the reward, that was what it was all for.

He remembered the sounds he'd heard days before. The loose floorboards. The scrape of the bed against them. He stood and dragged Trevin's body into the corner, globe still lodged in his head, and heaved the bed away from the floorboards.

It took nearly a full chime of digging at the gaps between the boards before he found the loose one. Eyes gleaming in the candlelight, he pried it loose and found the musty, dusty, fetid space under the room. He pulled back his sleeve and tilted his head up as he stuck a hand inside, relying on touch...

Something moldy. Another furry... but still. Dead. A rat that could not even find Syna to die in. He kept pawing about and remembered stories about Kenash serpents, how they loved the warm spaces in houses and often...

Ticks went by. Chimes. No bites, no squeaks, nothing but his padding fingers in the musty mess of crap under the floor... and no purse.

"C'mon," he growled to himself, scraping his arm and shoulder to shove them deeper inside. "I know I petchin' heard ya..."

But no matter how much he searched, groped, scratched and cursed into the boards his nose was pressed against, he couldn't find it. Konrad could feel the anger start to boil in him now, hissing and spitting like tea from a kettle as he clambered to his feet and started to tear open drawers, rip through Trevin's traveling pack, anywhere...

But nowhere. That was where the money was. Petching nowhere.

In a fury he wheel around and sunk his boot once, twice, three times into Trevin's torso. So strange, kicking a dead man. No reaction, and thus no satisfaction. It was like kicking a stiff, soft bag, filled with wet cement. He felt a rib break on the third kick but there was no pain, no begging, no-

Telling. Shyke. His options boiled down and Konrad bore his teeth to the room and the world at large in frustration. Somewhere else. Another guest, another room... maybe even with the caravan he was going to be on. Either way, it's gone.

"So so do I..."

He mumbled the words with a sigh and pocketed it, sliding the floorboard back into place and then grimacing as he did the same with the bed.

Let them think it was something other than what it was.

Speaking of what things looked like, he remembered the other important thing. Without any qualm or even a change to his features, he stooped back down and pried the rock from what used to be Trevin's head. A gaping, grotesque crater was all that was left of his face, and Konrad spared it a fraction of a glance before returning the blood-soaked globe to its box.

Not many of these around, Konrad had thought when he bought it, and thought as he reclaimed it. Old fella might remember selling it, and if word gets around it was found in some sod's head...

Konrad Venger stood and snatched up his jacket, sliding it onto his arms and hiking it up over his shoulders. He spent a tick or two straightening his sleeves and then set his hat square on his skull, waggling it a little as usual, setting it juuuuuust right. He checked his reflection in the dresser's mirror and... no blood. Nothing obvious.

Then he moved to the door... and listened.

For a few chimes, actually. Once he heard a couple of jabbering voices pass, and moved to the side of the door, lest his shadow fall across the space under it. They kept walking... and no fresh denizens joined them.

The sellsword glanced around the room, wondering idly if he'd forgotten everything. But no: everything he needed, owned or wanted was in his pockets. So he opened the door... and peered into an empty hallway.

He stepped swiftly and closed the door behind him, walking swiftly through a building he knew well after nearly thirty days living within it.

A chime later he was slapped in the face by the warm, wet, flabby hand that was Kenash's air at night. His step was light and his mood matched it. A pair of listing drunks tottered by him and had they stomached his face for longer, they would have seen a glint in those snakes-skin eyes that was no counterfeit.

They watched the four men stroll past them with packages under their arms (for they were deep in their cups and their eyes doubled without their consent). One of them cocked his head comically as the black-clad figure walked over a bridge... then, without a qualm or a pause, hefted the box he carried over the side and into the water.

"Bloody odd, dat."

"Wus'odd?"

"Nuf... Nuffin', but youse, youse see, see dat guy?"

"... no."

"Oh."

He didn't look back. Trevin lay there alone and far from home, to be found the next morning and tossed away after the required amount of fretting and complaining about damn visitors and their damn squabbles.

On his way to his own dwelling, Konrad looked down in the darkness... and willed a sheen of green to cover his palm. For just a tick, the glow lit his face, and made his teeth shine as he grinned.

Last laugh was on me, you mage cunt, he whispered to the memory of Trevin, flexing his fingers and watching the res drip over them like green honey, before vanishing. But at least I'll be getting up tomorrow...

[Cocoon]

The final part of this series, and an acceptable conclusion to an interesting tale. Konrad's nature shined once again, and while I'm not very surprised from it (as I had a vague idea already), the way he did so is worthy of mention. Konrad has learned a lot about the arcane, and I've learned a bit about him.

Now, let's see what you've won...

 

Konrad Venger

XP

• Reimancy +2
  
• Acting +2
  
• Subterfuge +2
• Observation +2
• Brawling +2
• Meditation +1
• Stealth +1
• Unarmed combat +1

Lores

• Subterfuge: Gifts to ease suspicion
  
• Subterfuge: Faking distress
  
• Stealth: Concealing one’s shadow
• Konrad: Money above morals
• Reimancy: Partial Res Ignition
• Brawling: Waiting for the Opportunity
• Unarmed combat: Kicking (a dead body)

Miscellaneous

N/A

 

Notes

And so it ends. If only Konrad had gotten his money back, this series would be wonderful. Nevertheless, what you have right here is something quite good. Your vocabulary shined a bit more in this thread in my eyes, which is a good sign. However, I did miss some of the Reimancy descriptions that drug me so much to keep reading your threads. I've reread the second and third post a couple of times, and it feels a bit rushed in my personal opinion. I believe you got excited over the ending that you didn't quite focus on the magic itself - which is completely fine, as the ending was beautiful.

Konrad, despite being a seasoned shykebag and goon, still was conscious enough of the consequences to his actions, and took the time to properly conceal all evidence and secure his being from being accused. Thus, he shows that not only he's got the killer instinct in place, but also has some brains below that hat of his, which means that he has potential to reach high places. A good combination of force and brains is all that's required. That'd also be an advice worthy of mention: he's got the force, but now you should start to develop his mental skills. Skills like acting, rhetoric, and subterfuge could aid him greatly in his journey. Acting is a must for him I believe, not only to further hide his true nature, but also to give him some 'spice' while you write him. Just like you did in this thread, he can present himself as a smiling and thankful individual when instead he only sees blood.

As far as writing goes, you're as good as always. There's a few misplaced commas here and there, but nothing worth of mention. The way you depicted the gore, such as the blood pouring from the ears and the spasms was really immersive, so congratulations on that. Smashing a man's head with a piece of rock is always appropriate for a city like Kenash.

Keep writing! Kenash needs more rugged individuals and not only posh Dynasts. Looking forward to Konrad's next adventure - I know I won't be disappointed.

Please send me a PM if you've got doubts about the XP/Lores awarded in this grade, or if you feel I've missed something.

Happy writing!