Solo Upside Down

[Konrad Venger]

15th Bell - 31st Day of Summer, 517AV - Northern Sea of Grass, Just South of the Kabrin Road

"Boring bloody shykehole, or so I've heard."

Konrad was hardly fluent in Pavi, but was picking up the foul language pretty well. With the heat and thirst and hunger and general rising tensions in Endrykas being as they were, expletives were flying around his head like carrion flies. He could already sign and speak sentences of filthy dialogue, and now he apparently had another one to add to his lexicon.

Even if he didn't know what they were referring to. And more than that-

"They're all up their arses, s'all I saw of the place. No fun to be had for anyone with a scrote, and the big 'uns running the place? Pfft. Whiny bastards, the lot of 'em."

Something moved a head of them, or groaned, or creaked, but his ears were so full of the chatter behind him that Konrad couldn't make out what. His silent guessing game died instantly: this wasn't the place for loud, useless griping.

"'Whining about what?"

"Bugger all, far as I can tell. They live bloody centuries, they're built like brick outhouses, but they still act like they're cursed. Honestly, never goin' back to-"

The sheer violence of the movement in front of Rakesh was enough to still his tongue. The rest of his critique was lost forever as the walahk pinned him in a scared, twisted glare that was hot as the air choking them all. For a tick or two, the hunting party stalled, and apparently Sedon had the same thoughts as Konrad.

Now two sets of eyes, one withering and the other just plain intimidating, fixed him and his cousin in place. Their bare feet shifted uneasily on the dust; the javelins they carried suddenly seemed cumbersome and unwanted. Rakesh swallowed and mumbled something-

"Shut. You. Hole."

"I-"

Sedon's fingers snapped, and when Rakesh looked up, a quick and vulgar series of hand gestures were directed his way. Around them, the other handful of Pridesun hunters were leveling their own dry, hungry irritation on the pair of them, and Rakesh nodded.

Sign only. I understand.

Good, Konrad shot back, turning to the front and following Yacob, who was rolling his eyes. The scarred man did the same and snapped out a quick signal.

Young.

No excuse. Need food.

Konrad just nodded, uncaring as to what punishment Yacob had in mind for when they got back to Endrykas. They weren't his kin, or his friends, they just shared a tent a few dozen yards from his own. If they were forbidden to come on hunts and starved down to husks, well, all that meant was more food for him.

Way things are going, we'll need every scrap.

Again the Pridesun party moved off, following the first tracks they'd found since Endrykas had moved to this new location. They were old, and crumbling, sure signs that much time had past, but they were running out of options. Like every other pavilion, they'd scoured the plains and grasses for nuts, roots, berries, seeds, wild vegetables, anything that had a dram of use to man or beast.

That had only taken a few bells. The Sea of Grass was a desert. Life had become scarce, from roots to glassbeaks.

Konrad kept his eyes on Yacob, more and more the man leading the headless Pridesuns. He'd expected one of Jonas' musclehead proxies to have taken command, but no, apparently not. Little had happened, less had been said, and while life ticked on their seemed to be no leadership, and no real urge to take up the position. The ankal's role was cursed, some whispered. The gods themselves had decreed it.

Yacob didn't make speeches or threaten or scheme, the head of the pavilion his obvious dream for anyone who cared to look. He simply took people into the grass and fed his people. Konrad could respect that, if only because he was one of them, too.

Sometimes they ate, sometimes they didn't. The finest hunt of the season had brought back three fat piggies, meat enough to feed the pavilion for days and trade for other goods. But since then... too many days like that afternoon.

Flies and heat and dead grass and dead trails.

Yacob's hand went up. As one, the party stopped in their tracks. All eyes on the young man with the shortbow, peering into the faceless, featureless grass... then to the ground... picking something up and sniffing it... then turning his hand around and raising it high.

Konrad squinted... then his eyes widened.

Blood. Still wet.

He had just enough time to absorb how lucky they were, when something low and mournful and inhuman groaned from across the still grasses. Konrad's belly growled loud as theose gossiping morons, and his parched mouth was suddenly wet.

Sounds big. And wounded.

[Konrad Venger]

He should have known what was wrong with the set up. A thousand brawls and skirmishes and bitter, brutal street fights had given Konrad senses he wasn't even aware of half the time. But he was far away from stone and alleyways; more than that, he was so driven by his hunger that all he could see was the bloodied mass of meat in the destroyed clearing.

He should have seen it. Should have known they weren't the only ones.

Yacob whistled, low and then high and then low again, a bird not native to these parts. Around him, Konrad heard the replies, some taking longer than others. Dry mouths and stunned expressions, he assumed. Damn well was the case for him.

He didn't know the breed nor name, but it was big, hoofed, horned, and with a flat, snorting nose. So "wild cattle" seemed appropriate. Konrad scoured the hide for a brand, fervently praying like only a sinner can that he wouldn't find one. Hard to tell, though. What with all the blood.

Claw marks and teeth marks and tears from a struggle that had left it near-crippled. Off to one side was the trampled, mangled form of a wolf. So battered and crushed its pelt was a mess. The head was just crushed bone and pulped meat.

Konrad should have asked the obvious question. All three of them.

Rustling and whispering. The party was spreading out. Konrad stayed low and raised his bow. Aiming down the notched arrow, shaking away the beads of sweat from his eyes. Steaks. Chops. Sides. Ribs. Petch the gods, actual ribs. He could already taste them, see them already being sheared off the flanks of the buffalo bellowing and groaning on legs that wouldn't work, wallowing in a bed of torn up dirt and grass and blood.

Around the clearing, Drykas readied their weapons. Javelins were raised, bows drawn back, and all waited for Yacob to fire. Then, in a furious volley, their prey would die and they would eat, all of them. Konrad's eyes glanced down, and he could not figure why. Something pulled them down, part suspicion and part instinct, and he frowned as he saw tracks.

So many of them. Print after print, stalking and circling, gouging and dodging, a whole pack's worth, and yet there-

Where are the others?

A growl from the grass, behind the Drykas. A ripples of shock that would become terror, and far too late.

Where are they?

A scream, choked off in blood and a canine roar that was soon soaked in blood. A scarlet spray to his right, a figure tumbling from his hiding place, blood gushing, starved wolf biting down through his throat.

Why didn't they come back.

They never left.

Konrad turned and fired at once, and he was too slow.

Don't Make Me Repeat Myself.

[Konrad Venger]

No time for stance or balance, aiming or breathing. No time left for anything but whatever furious violence you could fill in the space of a tick. A mass of fur and claws hurtled at Konrad, and he saw little of it. Just comprehended in some nameless, animal fashion that told him if he didn't do something before it landed-

-loose the arrow trapped in the bow he held, arms bent, device held out before him like a talisman, not a weapon-

-no accuracy, no aiming, but so large a target so close and flying closer, it didn't need to be-

Still too slow for a killing shot.

The growl became a yelp in mid-lunge and Konrad went down with a scream as the starving wolf crashed into him, scrambling and scratching and biting even as they feel, even as the arrow was pushed further into its side by the landing. Every way they twisted and turned, Konrad felt more blood and skin gouged off him. Claws raking his torso, teeth trying to gnaw at his neck and face, bow shoved between them all that was keeping it back.

He fumbled at his sword, forgot it after less than a tick. Too big, too long, no room. Reached further around to his back instead, yanking something just as curved but smaller, better for the range-

Sedon was busy trying to keep himself alive, but saw much as it unfolded around him. Things that would be burned into his mind forever. Young Rakesh screaming and gurgling as two wolves bore him down and ripped off one of his arms, tore out his throat, start devouring him with frothy, bloody jaws even as he shrieked for his mother.

Saw his cousin stab at them with a javelin, impaling one before another flew at him, sinking his jaws into his shoulder as the cousin roared and stabbed madly at its side, both being of upright flesh and canine fur killing each other in the same demented fury.

All around, men and wolves died. More of the latter, of course, but enough of the former that Sedon knew the pavilion would take years to recover. He was busy enough, though. One rangy, one-eyed petcher was menacing him, fur bristling and shoulders arched, aching to lunge... but not with Sedon's carving knife held like that. His javelin was gone, sticking out the neck of the buffalo, now long dead.

Seemed like a long time, anyway. Always did when the violence kicked in and Tanroa slowed such horror to molasses.

"Petchin' DIE!"

He flicked a glance to his side and saw with no real surprise that Hansel was not going down easily. The wolf atop him suddenly went limp, pushed off with another shouted curse, Konrad's kukri dripping with blood as he shifted the dead weight. He was barely up on his knees before another was rushing over to him, and Sedon watched at-

Watch your own damn back, old man!

One-Eye seized his chance, and lunged, but Sedon was too old a hand to be so easily taken. His carving knife was not built for any kind of brawl, but it was a length of sharp steel and he'd been wielding it longer than anything else. It stabbed forward before his mind was even aware of it, and One-Eye died with its throat pierced through, tumbling and taking Sedon down as well, dragged down by one arm.

"Shyke!"

"My arm, my bloody arm-"

"Back to back, damnit, don't-"

"Geddaway from me, ya bastard!"

Konrad slashed at one emaciated but swift beast with a scarred snout, backing towards the sound of Yacob's voice. Back to back: the boy had the right idea. No blind spots, no place for the sodding hounds to sneak up on them. Present them only with steel and iron and arrows and keep doing so until they were all dead, or realized they soon would be.

A season or two ago, it would have been the latter. Hell, that long ago they wouldn't have dared attack a human hunting party. Men and fire and spears, they all scared off animals, no matter what they were. But the natural order as it was had been obliterated by the drought, the famine, the way life had been shrunken down to a desperate handful of animals, all hunting each other.

Konrad forced the idle thoughts away and bared his teeth at the half-dead, all-mad creature menacing him with broken teeth and red eyes. Petch him and his sodding pack. He wasn't going to die in some stupid field, far from the nearest pint of Berth Peculiar and Taloba Grey.

His shoulders smacked into another's, and he found Yacob. Around him, chaos had given way to grim, ruthless battle. Three, no, four of the Pridesuns were down, and the other five were backing up into a tight knot, shoulder-to-shoulder, weapons up. A dozen wolves were wounded or dying, and the ones that weren't down yet-

"Gods above!"

Their comrades, their fellows, even their very blood-kin fell on them in an insane hunger. Fur flew along with guts and blood as pitifully weak wolves were ripped to pieces, choked down eager throats until they vomited them up again. Konrad's lips curled up in disgust, and he caught Pavi being stuttered in prayer to his side.

"Shut you mouth," he growled, gripping his kukri tight in his left hand and fishing around until he slipped his other hand into... ah, yes. His brass knuckles. "Fight not end."

The wounded were dead and eaten. The rest were still hungry, and even if they weren't, they were far beyond backing off. They would kill and kill until all weaker than them were gone, and then they would turn on each other. They probably hadn't eaten until that day, long bells with angry stomachs driving sanity from them.

Konrad knew that look. He'd seen it plenty back home. Junkies and derelicts and blade-happy street daemons and djed-drunk mages... survival just wasn't on the cards for them anymore. Wasn't a factor. Didn't figure into the logic and processes that normal people made decisions with. Every moment was death or glory, and such it was with the wolves.

"Let's finish this, then."

Konrad smiled nastily. He was growing to like this boy, despite everything.

[Konrad Venger]

Prayer was new to Konrad. He understood the concept, but it was one no different to him than pleading with a thing that could not understand your words. Or if it did, cared not to aid you. The gods had no cares, no concerns, no love for mortals. Growing up in Sunberth, a man learned that very quickly.

Those you preached otherwise were either very stupid, very mad, or selling something.

Then he saw the gods, in person, close enough to feel their radiance warm his face, and he began to pray. But only to one, that he had deemed worthy of his attention. Because she did not care who prayed to her; because to his eyes, she was honest about what she was. Indifferent to morality, caring only for the strong, the smart, and the adaptable. Konrad tried to be all three, for himself and, to a lesser extent, for Her.

Now he looked around and saw twisted, starving, insane examples of Caiyha's children. Noble wolves, made into monsters. But he did not blame Her. She and her children were victims, as much as the Drykas and the animals. That useless she-bitch Morwen had wrought this madness, not Caiyha.

Konrad's lips moved quickly, and Sedon thought he heard the name of the Green Goddess on the breeze. If he wasn't so worried about being torn apart so soon, he might have been surprised.

"Keep them back as long as you can," Yacob bit out, as the wolves massed and seemed to tense for a leap, like one huge animal bracing to lunge. "Arrow and javelin. Then get in closer-"

"Think we close enough."

Konrad gripped his weapons tighter. Kukri and brass knuckles. Good, nasty, efficient close quarter weapons. He'd give a good account of himself, maybe even be the last to fall. He snorted. If he prayed to that jungle cunny of his father's, he'd mayhap have been happy at that thought. The last warrior to fall... but fall he would.

He braced himself, and thought no more of gods or prayer. There war mortal work to be done, and the wolves roared-

Barking. Not from wolves.

The sound of it, chopping through the air, was enough to shatter the cohesive, shared anger of the pack. They looked behind them, ears twitching, confused. The Drykas almost did the same, peering into the grass-line where the multitude of yipping, barking, howling voices was emanating from. That and crashing, movement, charging.

Konrad didn't know what was coming. But he did know the wolves weren't focused on them, so-

He didn't scream, or yell, or shout some nonsense to inspire the others. The wolf in front of him was looking behind it, and he didn't want the bastard turning back around sooner than it had to. So he lunged, charging forward and swinging his kukri-

-the wolf turned and snapped, but its jaws bit into swinging steel instead, growl becoming a strangled, high yelp, teeth shattered and flying-

-Konrad following the blow with a diagonal hook from his brass-encased fist, aiming higher-

Crack

-evil little brawling weapon shattering a skull thinner than a human's, or at least one side of it. The wolf was shrieking now, agonized and half-blind, twisting and turning in on itself, and Konrad was hacking down and down with the kukri, laying it open over and over-

"Now!"

-and around him the wounded, battered Drykas seized upon his example. Threw themselves on the stilted pack that was torn between the humans in front of them and the strange visitors coming from their rear. Sedon and Yacob and the rest, losing their last arrows and javelins, closing in with daggers and swords.

Konrad yanked his kukri from the skull of the wolf, and it finally dropped down. Dust scattered, splattered with blood, as through he saw the grasses part... and hounds leap out. Rangy beasts, needing a good meal or three, but slathering with joy at being on the hunt again. A half-dozen of them, breeds he did not know, but he recognized them. The Pridesuns kept them. Didn't send them out hunting often, since pickings were slim, but now... wait, who had brought-

Calls from behind the charging hounds. High. Shrill. But commands all the same, and Konrad almost groaned aloud. The women. The women had followed them, and brought reinforcements.

Shyke. We'll never hear the end of this.

[Konrad Venger]

The pack broke. If even desperate, unhinged men had their limits, then animals certainly did. Squeezed between the snapping jaws of their domesticated cousins, and the ruthless steel of their prey-turned-killers, the handful that were left ran for the grass and Konrad heard them crashing away into the distance.

Looking around, he saw a familiar sight, the same he'd seen after most skirmishes he'd been in. The mopping up. Finishing off. Men stepping between corpses, bending over to deliver that final cut or stab. Wounded men hunched over, tending to themselves or waiting to be tended. The merciful few without wounds doing much the same. Amazed to be alive, shaky and teeth chattering in their skulls with sheer, biological exuberance.

Only thing missing is going through their pockets and prying out their fillings.

"Lucky you came along."

"Forget 'luck', boy. We knew you'd need us."

The walahk watched silently as a woman older than Yacob came out of the clutch of women to meet him. There were a half-dozen of them, dressed and armed almost the same as the men, save for some... obvious additions to hide protect their feminine features. Which wasn't to say females weren't in the hunting party: in Endrykas, the sexes were equal when it came to chores and duties, especially when straits were dire.

But Konrad didn't see any swinging cocks in the party that had rescued him, and that annoyed him more than he knew was reasonable.

"You heard the pack?"

"Saw their work," the woman said, jutting her chin as the dead buffalo, the dead wolves, Dira and her works simply surrounding them. "Knew they weren't far, and were probably hunting. Way things have been... you could have been as much prey as that big horned bugger."

"Worried about me, huh?"

It was the first time Konrad had seen Yacob playful with a female. Just that last "huh?" was enough to show that. For her part, the woman reddened as she looked away, focusing on something... else, while her comrades and those she'd rescued started to-

Aye, keep your mind on the job.

"We've lost enough men."

"Yes. True enough. I thank you."

The boy and the woman were probably exchanging some Pavi platitudes with each other. All very fine and romantic. Konrad paid scant attention to it. All he knew was that now they had hundreds of pounds of slaughtered meat and fur at their feet, and he didn't mean to leave any for the worms. He went to the nearest wolf and bound its feet with rope, front to front and back to back, so it would be easier to-

"The walahk? Was he..."

Yacob's brows rose a touch as he saw Hansel go from a squat to standing with one powerful movement, wolf corpse splayed over his shoulder, bound feet laying down his chest. He was caked in dirt and blood, some of it his own, and yet all he did was turn and wait for the others to finish their own work.

"He didn't run, that's for sure. Didn't care much that we were about to die, either."

"They say he's cursed," Seraph said, voice a touch lower. "People are afraid of him. I mean... come now, he's clearly dangerous."

Yacob smiled, sadly. Seaph always thought it was quite the sight. It showed he had a heart and a soul beneath the stoic, dutiful exterior.

"He's not. Not to us."

[Samuel Longwell]

Grading Complete Please edit your grade request thread so that it's obvious that it's been graded. Feel free to PM me if you have any questions/problems with your grade. Name: Konrad XP Award: Hunting 2 Tracking 1 Shortbow 1 Kukri 2 Dual Wielding 1 Leadership 1 Endurance 1 Lore: Endrykas: Running low on food Hunting: Using sign to communicate noiselessly Kopis: Too long for groundwork. Notes: A nice thread to read, you write exciting violence. I hope you enjoy your grades, let me know if you think I missed anything.