Completed [The Slag Heap] Fires and Ice

Beside the monumental fire is wealth in many forms.

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

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[The Slag Heap] Fires and Ice

Postby Kynier on June 27th, 2018, 4:28 am

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Timestamp: 29th of Summer 518


Kynier coughed as he breathed in a bad whiff of air from the Slag Head. The putrid stench loomed around in an almost physical way. Today there was a haze of smoke lingering around. It didn’t stop the populace of the city from coming to the only real monument they acknowledged. Several crowds were gathered in various places to drink, gamble, or hawk their wares. Kynier stood just to the side of a small group of a gamblers. A woman was quickly yammering statistics as people placed bets on how the dice would roll. He didn’t participate, just watched the spectacle. The wealth he sought today was in knowledge. As a popular place for leisure, the Slag Heap often carried rumors more valuable, and reliable, than what one could find in a tavern.

Collectively the group groaned as the dice rolled a five and five for ten. The woman hosting laughed as she took all the mizzas laid out before her. “Better luck on the next roll lads!” she cackled. A few of those surrounding the game turned and left. The woman looked up at Kynier with displeasure in her eye. “Either place a bet or talk a walk down a mine shaft.” He arched an eyebrow and took out a silver mizza to toss into the pot.

“Eight.” He said. The woman didn’t seemed too pleased by his meager wager. But she couldn’t say anything about it now. After a half a chime she stopped taking bets and started shaking the dice in her claw like hands. When they had been cast from her hand silence quickly fell over them. The dice came up five and two.

“Seven!” one of the men cried out happily. He started trying to drag the pile towards him until the woman slapped his hands. As they argued over how much he actually won, Kynier leaned to the side. He nearly bumped into the man next to him as he discretely reached with a hand for the man’s pocket. Fingers brushed against the cloth blindly. Subtly he tried to search for the opening to the man’s coin but to no avail. After a few missed attempts of the man’s pocket Kynier leaned away and took out another silver from his own. He tossed it into the pile declaring eleven as his bet. He thought that after a few chimes he would go somewhere else. This crowd was too focused on the game to talk of anything else.

The woman called an end to bets and rolled the dice again. Five and three. Eight. Though he wasn’t really looking to win Kynier felt a wave of disappointment in that. The woman laughed extra hard at him and his bad luck. One more wager would probably suffice. A third silver for five left his pocket. When the dice turned up a six and a four Kynier just shook his head. This was why he never gambled before. All there ever seemed to be was discouragement. He walked away from the game and looked around for a group that he could probably actually gain something from.

For half a bell Kynier wondered around examining all the games and gatherings of comradery there were. What eventually caught his attention was an older man with a gaggle of chickens tucked behind a small fence. He wandered over to the place to see a few dozen of them huddled within a small conclave of sticks the old man made.
“Four coppers and egg, a silver for three.” The old man said. Not exactly a good price. Though the chickens did look strange to him. One in particular had a light blue tint to her feathers. It was the only one that did.

“How much for a chicken?” The old man just shook his head. Kynier understood why. Those eggs were his livelihood. Kynier stood there for a moment and listened to the chickens cluck. The strange blue one wandered to the fence and looked up at him. “I’ve never heard of a blue chicken before. Is it special?” The old man looked at the animal with forlorn eyes.

“She was supposed to be. A scheme for easy riches. Supposed to lay special eggs that I could sell for stacks of gold mizzas. A year ago I got Laurie, but no such eggs came from her.” Seemed like a wild tale. The coloration that Laurie had was probably the only reason anyone would believe it. After staring at the hen for a moment Kynier turned away to keep searching for what he really wanted.
Last edited by Kynier on June 28th, 2018, 12:35 pm, edited 1 time in total.
Sometimes the only way to win is by relinquishing a superior position.

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[The Slag Heap] Fires and Ice

Postby Kynier on June 27th, 2018, 5:57 pm

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Without travelling much further Kynier came across a large gathering of people that were seated on the ground. They were talking to each other as a large circular group. Kynier found a spot to be and sat down to listen.

“…don’t really matter all that much. Shyke is shyke no matter who says it’s theirs.” There was a grumble of agreement from the circle. “Sun Birth, Daggerhand, Vino, even the petching Vigilantes! Ain’t done a thing that’s been good for us!”

“Whadya call the park then? Tha Daggerhands built that back when Dalagner was in charge. Now that they claimed it back maybe they’ll do more with it.” Kynier arched an eyebrow. So they have laid claim to the park? That was a useful bit of information.

“With what money? Sun Birth’s got all the coin in the city. Ol’ Goldfinger got his hand in nearly every business.”

“Lotta good tha’s done ‘em. Done not’in’ but lose groun’ for a couple o’ years.”

“What about them Night Eyes?”

“They don’t exist ya twit.”

“Probably just a tale the Daggerhands made to cover a coup. That Stiletto’s probably the one that really killed Dalagner.”

Kynier raised his voice to the discussion, “The Daggerhands have been up to something though. But a couple of more kicks in the Sun Birth’s pride would probably escalate the conflict. Whatever they’re up to now is probably being kept quiet.”

“Just wish one o’ ‘em would put tha other Shyke down tha shaft.” There was a small murmur of agreement to the last man.

“I’d wager,” Kynier stated aloud, “the Sun Birth’s the first to go. They have all that money and they can’t even take care of themselves. Look at the Warmarshal’s son. A shyke that can’t do anything right, but still given command after multiple failures.” There were several that nodded their heads in agreement. From there Kynier listened to the conversation. After a bell nothing more of note had been said. He and a few others stood up to move on. Syna was on the descent. That meant little to the other people here. Some only drank or gambled more.

Kynier stalked close to the woman in front of him. A bag hung from the belt she wore. Took a few quick paces to move past her, reaching with his closer hand for the opening of the bag. His hand missed and grazed against the side of her leg. The woman turned and slapped him across the face in reaction. “Touch me again I’ll slice off your bits!” A few of the surrounding spectators laughed as Kynier rubbed his face. Pickpocketing was a lot harder than he expected. A hand slapped down hard on Kynier’s shoulder and shoved him around. A stout man, probably and Isur, glared up at him from stone brown eyes.

“Yer the one tha said tha Sun Birth be tha first ta go, ain’t cha?” Kynier quickly took in the man’s attire. It was of better than average quality. A silk cape hung from his shoulders and leather armor covered his body. From his belt hung a sword with the sunburst insignia on the pommel. As Kynier opened his mouth the Isur landed a hook on his jaw. Kynier stumbled but managed to not fall. Covering his jaw with a hand he rotated it around. Nothing felt broken, just extremely sore. “Seem ya need a lessin,” he hit Kynier in the abdomen with a fist that felt like rock, “in who’s ta be takin’ seriously.”

Kynier stood up and crescent stepped out of reach of another punch. The Isur brandished his fists and came forward. Still trying to recover his breath with short inhales. Breathing in too deeply was already uncomfortable. The thug tried to hit him in the face again but missed as Kynier crescent stepped to a place where he could quickly jab the Isur in the face. Despite causing his head to briefly snap back the Isur appeared to have shrugged off the attack. Kynier’s hand didn’t feel the same way. The fellow’s jaw felt like it was made from granite the way his knuckles throbbed. Kynier shook his fist to alleviate some of the pain.

People began to surround them as they realized a brawl was occurring. Several were whooping and cheering their picks as bets were being made. Kynier was too focused on his opponent to notice that they had been encircled with no means of getting out easily.


“Take this as a lesson, of when to listen, and when to shut up and listen.”
Sometimes the only way to win is by relinquishing a superior position.

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[The Slag Heap] Fires and Ice

Postby Kynier on June 27th, 2018, 5:59 pm

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How did he find himself here? Surrounded by bloodlust when he was trying to get some new information. Kynier’s adversary did not share the sporting nature of their audience. His eyes were hardened by an injured pride that sought reprisal. With a quick step the Isur threw out his knuckles. So intently was Kynier focused on trying to see which hand would launch the next attack that he failed to register it in time to evade. The dense muscles of the Isur propelled his head back and out of reach, making the follow through strike him in the sternum.

The second strike hurt like a Khur-va. Kynier came back to his senses in time to step out of the way of the third and fourth attack. Using the advantage of his reach Kynier threw a fist over the Isur’s extended arm. The fellow ducked his head in time but left his whole side exposed. With a step and a turn of his hip Kynier landed a blow below the ribcage from behind. The Sun Birth groaned in pain as his back straightened. Kynier quickly thrust his other fist and clipped the jaw. Part of the crowd cheered the spectacle as the Isur’s head whipped to the side.

When the Isur turned round he used the motion to throw a haymaker. It connected with the full weight of the Isur behind it across Kynier’s jaw. Spinning as he fell Kynier landed hard on the ground. His orientation completely lost he tried to prop himself up on all fours. Before he could his opponent started kicking him in the side. Kynier fell over onto his back, the cries of the audience getting louder. Pain radiated up his side as another kick to the ribs connected. Instead of balling up like most would, Kynier rolled away. As he did his fingers reached for his assassin’s dagger, but then stopped. If he did that the Isur would just draw his sword and he’d be in real trouble.

As Kynier got to his feet the Isur grabbed both his shoulders and raised a knee towards his head. It connected and sent Kynier stumbling again. The fellow was stronger and more experienced. As Kynier tried to blink his vision back to clearity another fist connected with his face. It wouldn’t have been enough drive him to the ground, but Kynier allowed himself to fall onto his hands and knees. Blood ran from his lips and nose which he spat on the ground. As the Isur approached Kynier raised a hand and waved to concede his defeat. That seemed to only enrage the Isur further. With a foot he pushed Kynier down by the ribs. “Get back up!” he roared. The crowd’s interested began to fade and they disperse. Rolling on his back Kynier shook his head and continued to wave.

Though he had the ability to fight further, the outcome already seemed determined. This way he could avoid some bad injuries. The Isur’s lip was also cut but not as badly. He licked the injury and spat the blood at Kynier. Slowly Kynier sat up and got to his feet. Once he was up he heard someone cry out in pain. Looking up the Isur was arching his back and reaching for a dagger that was imbedded between the ribs to the hilt. Kynier quickly looked around for who had placed it there. Several figures were walking away but none stood out to him as the culprit.

“Backstabber!” someone cried out. The Isur had fallen to the ground, weapon handle protruding from his back. People quickly began surrounding the scene. A hundred eyes soaked in the body and Kynier standing nearby. From the crowd several pointed accusingly at him. Until one called out that he was a Daggerhand. Then the crowd was lost to violence. Sun Birth sympathizers came forward at him while their counter parts came to his defense. Kynier hunched and drew his short sword before turning to run through the crowd.

Today was really going to shyke.
Sometimes the only way to win is by relinquishing a superior position.

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[The Slag Heap] Fires and Ice

Postby Kynier on June 28th, 2018, 4:06 am

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It was like trying to outrun a wildfire. The further out Kynier went the further the fighting spread. As though everyone present had been waiting for an excuse to ventilate some sort of aggression. Whether it was through the clouded mind of alcohol, the bitter loss of gambling, the slow creeping of Syna’s descent behind the horizon, or the political tension between gangs, everyone around had been set off. Having escaped ground zero Kynier sheathed his short sword and changed his pace to a brisk walk. It hurt to take a deep breath. Not a sharp stabbing pain but the throbbing ache of stretching an injury. With a hand he felt his ribs under his shirt. Tender skin flared in anger at his touch.

As he walked he weaved his way through the violence. The chaos of the city’s soul raged on around him. Kynier Ducked, stopped, and side stepped out of the way as the denizens tried to draw him into another altercation. “Worthless collection of Azmashe,” he grumbled as he pivoted around a pair of women wresting on the ground in a series of shrieks. Kynier took in the scene around him. There was no more wealth of knowledge to be gained here, only death and pain. He despised how they could just thrive off the sheer madness of it. To actively engage in it, and for what? What was to be gained?


“The simple revel in brutality, and never learn any better.”

From behind someone called something out that Kynier couldn’t hear. He turned to see two people dressed in leather armor and armed with swords, one pointing his tip at Kynier. Once they locked eyes with him the man and woman started cutting their way through the mob towards him. Instinctively he drew his short sword again but ran. His progress through the open battle was slow as people fell in his way or just tried to engage him as he ran by. Kynier glimpsed over his shoulder to see his pursuers gaining ground on him. “Shyke,” he panted. They must have been part of Sun Birth. No one else would give chase through this madness.

Kynier ignored the pain of breathing hard and just engaged in a full sprint. Taking a straight path he quickly encountered several obstacles. Kynier leapt up and rolled across the surface of a table that was still standing amidst the chaos, scattering the miscellaneous items on its surface. When another pair of brawlers fell in his way he vaulted over them. With another glance over his shoulder he could see the two thugs giving chase were losing ground. With their swords they cut down those that tried to do battle with them. Kynier realized that he couldn’t just run, he needed to hide so that they lost his trail.

Closer to the Slag Heap there were a couple of structures. Flimsy stacks of wood and stone piled together in a rudimentary style for shelter. Kynier veered his course in their direction. They rested about a quarter mile away at the edge of the massive mob.
Sometimes the only way to win is by relinquishing a superior position.

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[The Slag Heap] Fires and Ice

Postby Kynier on June 28th, 2018, 4:07 am

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The deep breaths of air from the Slag Heap’s smog were beginning to make him sick. The nausea and bile rose in his throat, threatening to violently expel itself. He shorted his already slowing strides as he checked the progress of his pursuers. Both were still a fair distance away but not far enough to comfortably relax the pace. Brow drenched in sweat he pushed further despite his discomfort. The adrenaline rush from before was wearing off, leaving him feeling a bit worn out. The denizens in this region of the Slag Heap seemed to ignore him for their own struggles. A trio of people wandered into his path.

“Move!” he demanded. They jumped out of the way just in time to avoid collision. Kynier didn’t listen to the obscenities they yelled but pressed on. Heavy and clearly audible gasps of air occurred every other step. Once he reached the small collection of shelters he slowed and stepped around a corner to stop. Doubled over he resisted the urge to vomit and worked on letting his breath catch up to him. His eyes looked around at the structures. They stood about ten feet apart from each other with stone reinforced with wood walls. As his breathing got quieter he could hear the sounds of what seemed to be petching. Kynier moved around to identify which structure it came from. Once he found it he sheathed his weapon and took several steps back, eyes on the edge of the flat roof.

Bouncing on the balls of his feet he launched himself forward in a sprint. Leaping as high as he could he tried to plant a foot against the wall and push himself further up. There wasn’t much purchase and his foot scrapped down the side. With both arms reaching up he just barely got his hands on the edge of the roof. The petching inside stopped as he heard muffled voices. Kynier stifled a groan as he maintained his grip. After a moment the petching continued. Then Kynier set the balls of his feet against the wall and pushed. He gained just enough leverage to pull himself up. He nearly threw himself onto the roof but managed to stop at the last instant. The roof consisted of several unfastened wooden planks. “Shyke,” he mouthed.

He was nearly out of time and too exhausted to challenge one, let alone two, well-armed Sun Birth thugs. Quietly as he could he pulled himself over the edge and onto the wooden planks.

Kynier tried to rest his weight across his four limbs, each on a different beam of wood. Shifting forward one limb at a time before slowly taking the weight off one and applying it to the other three allowed him to move more to the center. When he heard a series of heavy footfalls over the sensual noises below he stopped and lowered himself as much as he could.

“Where’d the shyke go?”
“I dunno. Check the shacks.” Kynier forced himself to breath quietly. But the smell of his blood, the retched fumes of the fire, and the running, and his injuries all made that difficult. Swallowing his own saliva helped to quell the nausea within. Listening to the steps below he could track about where the thugs were. They moved around the edges of the shacks. The petching noises stopped as a woman screamed and the sound of two men argued. Below Kynier heard them begin to struggle. It was brief as another scream pierced the air. Kynier tried to look through the gaps in the planks. There was no clear vantage point. A feeble groan could be heard as someone fell to the ground. “He’s not here!” Below the woman was sobbing loudly and he couldn’t hear their movements anymore. That was until the shrieking began again.

Kynier dared to move closer to the other side of the roof. Another female voice below began shouting, “What’re you doing! You pig!” Kynier didn’t have to try hard to imagine. As he approached the edge he noticed movement below. Kynier stopped and got low. The woman paced back and forth between the shacks in frustration. Distending his midsection Kynier drew his short sword quietly until the tips scrapped against the sheath. The woman stopped and looked around. Kynier quickly gaged the distance, brought a foot forward, and launched himself from the roof. The plank groaned as he took to the air, cold iron steel held in a reverse-hammer grip. The Sun Birth member looked up to see his descent upon her with eyes wide with fear. Holding the weapon with both hands Kynier crashed down on her, driving the tip down through her chest.

She made a single choked cry as they tumbled to the ground. Kynier fell beside her and groaned in pain for his midsection. He tried to get to his feet quickly, but his body was refusing to obey. When he got his feet under him he looked at the woman as her amber filled with death.
Sometimes the only way to win is by relinquishing a superior position.

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[The Slag Heap] Fires and Ice

Postby Kynier on June 28th, 2018, 4:07 am

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Noises of the woman’s violation continued from inside. Kynier set a foot down on the dead thug and pulled his short sword out. He set his eye on the wall that prevented him from seeing what it was that he heard. Now was the best time to run. By the time the brute finished Kynier would be gone before he even came out to see his comrade’s fate. It was the smarter thing to do, yet he heard the woman’s screams and his feet refused to move in the direction of his own safety. For reasons he couldn’t put to words he hunched and stalked over to the shack’s entrance.

Peeking around the opening he saw a man lying face down in a puddle of blood. Another man with his pants down around his heels was turned away. The woman being raped was forced face down with a wad of her hair gripped tightly in his hand. The sight made him feel sick as rage compelled him forward. Enough sense remained to step lightly around the corpse. The man was too involved to be aware of anything else. Kynier approached from behind holding the hilt of his blade at his hip. Rising up and stepping forward to drive it with more weight than his arm alone could do, the sword pierced the man’s flesh just below the armor, above his buttocks.

As he cried out in pain Kynier gripped the hair on the top of his head and pulled back. Warm blood dibbled over his fingers as he pressed the blade in deeper. He forced the man to rotate as he fell backwards. Kynier released his hold of his weapon and allowed the thugs squirming to maim him from the inside. The man reached around in desperation to pull the weapon out but couldn’t get a good enough grip. Kynier procured his assassin’s dagger and knelt on the man’s back. Once again gripping the hair he pulled the man’s head up and slid the dagger under his neck. With a violent cut he changed the man’s agonized cries into gurgles. In seconds the man was dead. Kynier cleaned off the blade of his dagger before putting it away.

Leaving the short sword where it was for a moment, Kynier turned to the naked woman lying on the ground behind him. “Are you…” he didn’t bother finishing his question. Instead he looked around for some sort of clothing. Nearby there was a pile of clothes available. Blindly he grabbed something to hand to her. The Chaktawe woman took it and tried to conceal herself, tears flowing from her dark eyes. Kynier took several steps away. He thought the last thing she would want if for a different strange man to come close to her. He took his short sword out from its resting place and cleaned it. Kynier started to leave when he heard a strange sound. He checked over his shoulder at the Chaktawe, but it wasn’t coming from her. When Kynier stepped outside the shack he saw a chicken wandering around. Blue flares decorated its feathers.

“Laurie?” the hen looked over at him and came over. Kynier arched an eyebrow. He didn’t know how intelligent chickens were supposed to be to determine if that was typical behavior. He bent down and picked her up with both hands. Kynier expected it to get unruly. To his surprise the chicken remained completely calm. “I suppose if you made it this far then something bad happened to your owner.” The chicken clucked complacently. “I could just take you I suppose.” Laurie turned her head towards him and blinked. She was an unusual creature in an interesting way. Kynier shrugged, tucked her under his arm, and made his way home.
Sometimes the only way to win is by relinquishing a superior position.

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[The Slag Heap] Fires and Ice

Postby Kynier on August 13th, 2018, 8:58 pm

Grades!


Skill Rewards
  • Acrobatics +3
  • Climbing +1
  • Endurance +3
  • Gambling +1
  • Intelligence +1
  • Interrogation +1
  • Larceny +2
  • Observation +5
  • Running +2
  • Socialization +1
  • Stealth +2
  • Subterfuge +1
  • Unarmed Combat +2
  • Weapon: Dagger +1
  • Weapon: Short Sword +2

Lores Learned
  • Daggerhand: Reclaimed Riverside Isle Park
  • Gambling: Only seems to have discouragement
  • Laurie: A strange colored chicken
  • Laurie: Supposed to lay special eggs
  • Subterfuge: Feigning defeat to end a fight


Rewards
Sometimes the only way to win is by relinquishing a superior position.

Character Sheet
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Kynier
Delves in Darkness
 
Posts: 629
Words: 841857
Joined roleplay: May 13th, 2018, 3:14 am
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