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Favors
Posted: Mon Nov 14, 2022 8:33 pm
by Masagh
5th Day of Ash, 122nd Year of the Age of Steel
It was raining softly in the wide street just outside of Triforge Square where the Weaponmaster and Masagh were walking. He liked the rain. It masked all manner of sins from public view. It meant cloudy skies and empty streets. So what if they were a bit wet at the end of the night. In a pinch he had even been able to pull his hood up and pass living undetected. It was the perfect night for whatever shenanigans Sabrione had planned.
It wasn’t a patrol or delivery night. It wasn’t a sanctioned mission by Lady Emerande Creth. Otherwise more than just her brother would be here. No, this was some sort of favor Sabrione had called in with him for the many he owed her.
The young knight had no issue with its either. He knew she had saved his unlike many times, and trained him enough so that he could do it himself. Why, just the other day she had gifted him a Cardinal Rune for nothing more than the asking. Sabrione deserved an assist if this was how she called it in.
She hadn’t mentioned it, but it was implied this would not be discussed with their mother either.
That alone made Masagh interested.
“Where we going, Sabrione?” Masagh asked, eyeing the street with practiced proficiency. “You can tell me now that we’re away from prying eyes.”
Sabrione grunted. She wore a wide-brimmed hat of black. Rain water ran down the edge and trickled onto the cobbles below in a semi-steady stream. Her burning eyes gazed out at him from below the rim.
“Well, you know how we have that thing with the Goblin King?” Sabrione asked.
“Right, yes. Our only weekly task that actually accomplishes anything tangible. Is that the thing you mean?” Masagh confirmed mockingly.
“Yes, that’s the one. Well not strictly for him. But being Weaponmaster I spend more time on those outings than anyone else. So I get to know the goblins that come to take the cargo.” Sabrione explained further, clearly not in any hurry to get to the point as they left the Triforge Square neighborhood.
They turned north and Sabrione lead the way down the street. No one was out in the rain but they kept their blades hidden beneath their cloaks anyway.
“I got to talking to the officer whose been making deliveries, you know the guy with the bunch of earrings?”
“Yes, I think I recall.” Masagh said, frowning. This was not indicative of a fun evening jaunt. It was leaning more towards ‘end up in a gutter with a knife in your back’.
“Well apparently that human family, the Grims.” Sabrione paused, gesturing superficiously with her hand. As if to indicate the Grims were some small, unimportant family. Masagh knew this to not be the case. The Grims owned Northside. They influenced businesses on almost every street and had politicians in the pocket. They were a dangerous family to get involved with. It was becoming clearer why Sabrione had waited until they were wet away from the Compound to say anything.
“The Grims what?” Masagh asked.
“They’ve been screwing with a few of the fronts the goblins keep for surface goods.” Sabrione said. “There’s some goons that keep coming around, trying to pressure their merchants to come round to sitting in the Grim pocket.”
“We should not start throwing fists at the Grims, Sabrione. That could bring all kinds of attention down on the House…” Masagh was surprised to be the one urging caution for once.
“We aren’t going to hit anything the Grims care about!” Sabrione said quickly. “There are just a few goons who think they are high enough up on the Grims payroll of knuckle draggers that they can start throwing the name around. They aren’t even real muscle for them. Just the goblins can’t come up and take care of it themselves because then Grims will know. We’ve just got to knock them around a bit in an alley or something and make sure they don’t bother anyone else, that’s all.”
Masagh continued to frown into the rain. “Seems like an unneeded risk.”
“We only have the one ally, Masagh. And the more they lose their grasp on topside, the more we suffer too.” Sabrione said with agitation. She must have known it was a reckless favor to agree to, on her part and his.
“Look, I get that this feels good and tactically, yea, we want the Goblins to have a foothold in the Northside… But Sabrione.” He grabbed her arm, stopping her from walking and turning her around. “We screw this up and maybe it rolls down on the Compound and House Creth. We survive by flying under the radar.”
She ground her teeth. The decayed flesh of her jaw bulging with the grip. “Look, I’m going. You don’t have to.” She said finally. “They lose these shops and Grims own the entirety of Northside. We’d have to depend completely on the Mausoleum… that’s not enough.” The Weaponmaster of House Creth stomped off, stepping onto one of the many wide bridges that cross the long and wide bridge to cross the Gash.
Masagh watched her for a moment. Her adamant refusal to budge meant Sabrione thought this would be enough of an issue for them that the risk was worth it. And he had been the one person she trusted with it. He sped up to catch up to his sister. For a few minutes they crossed that huge dark scar on the face of Gel’Grandal. It was a constant reminder of the violence of the past. Masagh turned to her.
“So what’s the plan?”
“They hang around a tavern called Mad Goat Saloon.” Sabrione said, her voice still gruff. “We wait for them to head out and we break a few bones, bang some heads. Then we’re back in the Compound in no time.”
He said nothing. Going with her was enough.
Re: Favors
Posted: Mon Nov 14, 2022 8:33 pm
by Masagh
It took them quite a while to find the right tavern in the now heavy rainfall. That was fine, since they needed to wait around until whoever it was came out of the tavern to jump them. Sabrione took charge of tracking the place down and Masagh just followed his sister’s lead.
Mad Goat Saloon had a brass lined sign hanging out front. The goat on it was dancing on its hindlegs and held a tankard in one front hoof. Its eyes were wide and bulging and its tongue hung out. “That’s got to be it, eh?” Masagh muttered.
“Hardly think there can be two like it.” Sabrione said, leaning back against the stone wall of the opposite building. They were in an area of more pedestrian traffic, meaning they had passed a few people walking on the much narrower streets of the Northside. People generally didn’t stare top hard at you on the Northside, though. Came from years of survival instincts probably.
“So what, we just wait here?” Masagh asked, slipping back against the wall with her. A broken window shutter above them on the second floor hung out awkwardly, providing them with a bit of reprieve from the rain.
“Yep.”
“You know who you are looking to gift a beat down to?” Masagh asked.
“Yea, one Siltori half-blood and a ork.” Sabrione said, crossing her arms and frowning at the tavern.
“You know they’re in there too?” Masagh prompted after a moment.
“Yes, they’re in there every night.” Sabrione turned and held a hand up defensively to illustrate her point. “Look I know it’s half baked, but I wouldn’t drag you out here blind, alright?”
“You’re right, it’s half baked.” Masagh crossed his arms too. “I don’t even know how late these day taverns stay open…”
The rain fell and they got wetter, although neither really noticed. Being a cold, unfeeling undead had its perks. Twice someone entered the tavern in the dark but none came out. A faint glow of illumination came from within the tavern and the rough notes of a fiddle and lute. That was something of a surprise. It didn’t look like the type of place to have live entertainment. Granted, a socialite he was not, by any definition of the word.
He was just about to nag Sabrione about maybe leaving and coming back a different day when she reached her arm around and tapped him on the shoulder. “That’s them.” She said, still watching the entrance. Two men had exited the tavern.
The first was tall and lean, with dark ashen skin and pointed ears. He wore his hair in a loose braid down the back of a leather trench coat. Silver eyes were focused on the pipe he was now trying to light under the awning of the bar. At his waist was a pair of long knives and Masagh could see the curling ink that could be a tattoo or a Rune on the side of his neck.
The other was big and burly. He had a brutish face and small tusks protruding up from his lip. Wide, thick shoulders were covered in tattoos and a cudgel hung from his waist on a string. He too was smoking, though he pinched a thick cigar between two fingers.
The pair were huddled close conversing while they smokes. Masagh couldn’t hear what they were saying but saw the elf laugh.
“We doing this now?” He asked. Sabrione didn’t respond right away. She watched them puff away at their tobacco. “Sabrione?”
“They could run back in and get friends.” She said finally, not turning her gaze from her quarry.
“Yes, but I’m really wet.”
“That’s true.” She pushed herself off the wall.
Masagh eyed her and then the men. Something was off. Sabrione was usually this casual when it came to violence, but she seemed too fixated on the two. Her stare too focused. Her stance too aggressive. She had been anticipating the task.
Normal for most who deal in the trade of violence, but Sabrione had been a killer of the Creth for hundreds of years. Rarely did he see her get this way. Nevertheless, he followed her lead and stepped out of the shadow.
Sabrione didn’t say anything, but her gait became uneven and less sure. She stumbled a bit and shuffled towards the tavern, pulling her hood deeper over her head. She was a drunk seeking shelter in the nearest tavern. Masagh tried to follow suit, imitating her as best he could.
The Siltori half turned his head, eying Sabrione with a slight frown. Both their hands seemed to drift towards their weapons a bit. Sabrione crossed the street and then appeared to have noticed them for the first time.
“Hey got a light?” She asked in a voice they might just have been years of smoking tobacco rather than the rasp of undeath.
The Siltori turned then, facing them with a more distinct frown just incase they had missed the more subtle one. “Not for you, get lost.” He said shortly, taking a long drag and breathing out of his nostrils.
Sabrione raised her hands in mock defense. “Hey hey, sorry. No trouble intended.” She said. As the pair mean mugged her she continued on in a careless affectation of a drunkard. “Just thought you had enough to spare, seeing as you’ve been squeezing my friends recently.”
The Ork casually slipped the cudgel off its belt loop. The Siltori wrapped thin grey fingers around the hilts of his daggers. He slid his foot back slightly, an angry look coming over his face.
Re: Favors
Posted: Mon Nov 14, 2022 8:34 pm
by Masagh
The Orkhan, like a thunder cloud, spoke in a low rumble. “What the fuck’s that mean, then?”
“You pinching new shops for the Grims?” Sabrione asked, still holding her hands up.
Masagh wrapped his own fingers around the hilt of his sword. He was no longer attempting the drunken ruse. Neither was Sabrione. They both stood straight and unbent in the rain. The other two stared back at them, grim faced and a shadow of understanding beginning to cross their faces.
“Who the hell are you, and what’s it to you?” The Siltori asked, sliding the knives out of their sheaths.
Without missing a beat, Masagh still the claymore from his scabbard and held it tip towards the ground in front of himself. He did not assume a combative stance, just held the sword ready for something, meeting escalation with escalation.
“If we was Grims, you’d dead for trying to screw with us.” The Ork said, pointing the cudgel at Sabrione. He took a step to the side.
The rain began to beat down harder. Masagh matched his step. He slid into a wider, more secure stance. “Answer the question.” He grated at them.
“We don’t answer to anybody.” The Siltori said back. “Grims own this side of town, if you got a death wish, we can oblige you for ‘em.” He moved then. It was a quick flash and he was thrusting at Masagh, past Sabrione. Masagh saw her reach out to grab him, but the Siltori was quick. In a blur of rain and limbs he was attacking Masagh.
Raising the blade across the path of the knife wielding elf, motion suddenly shifted through the rain. The elf blocked the blade with one dagger and rolled to the side. His second blade sliced through the air towards Masagh. The ghoul stepped also, bringing the blade back between them. He feinted low and whipped the tip of his blade up and across the Siltori’s brow in a practiced move.
It was meant to draw blood and obscure his vision. The Siltori was singularly fast though, and yanked his head back in time for Masagh to only prick a fraction of what he meant. As the elf shuffled back, a line of blood ran down his face. It was not enough to obscure his vision, but it seemed enough to make him irate.
Behind Masagh the Ork was beating at Sabrione’s sword with his cudgel. The brute seemed to meet out vicious blows with strength and pigheaded destruction where his partner was precise and quick. It was a deadly combination.
The Siltori lunged again, bringing the knives in from either side in a blatantly confident offensive move. Masagh flicked his blade to the side and twisted. The claymore lashed out, surprisingly agile and found resistance in the elf’s shoulder. With a cry of pain the Siltori dropped his left arm, blood welling from the wound. It ran down his arm and was diluted by the heavy rain.
Such telegraphed moved were particularly idiotic in the rain. Not because the elf was not skilled enough to execute them, rather, the rain obscured the minute movements that would key an opponent into ones intentions. To telegraph in the rain when you could take advantage of the obscurity to trick meant he was either highly skilled and inexperienced, or drastically underestimated his opponents. If he underestimated his opponents, it meant he had never fought for real and thus was inexperienced.
Despite the elf’s quick and deadly blades, Masagh drew comfort from the analysis. He raised his blade violently, distracting from his forward step. He feinted a huge downward strike and drew back as the elf raised both blades to block, the wounded arm slightly slower. Sliding the claymore low again, Masagh almost caused some real damage. Before he could put his weight behind it though, something hit him in the side with velocity.
Sabrione. They both went stumbling into the now muddy street. Masagh had experienced unfortunate tumbles before in combat. He tucked his shoulder and rolled. Almost able to gain his feet, his left slipped in the mud as he rose. Instead he was forced to meet the cudgel swing on one knee. The blow shook the pact blade in his hands. The pact price would be steep once the combat had ended and his blade came to collect. That was for sure.
The Orkhan’s face was set in a disappointed snarl when he realized Masagh’s head was still intact. His muscles rippled in the rain and his dark eyes almost glowed with an internal fury. As they had fallen, though, Masagh’s hood had come down and now rain ran down his bare, decaying face. The Ork’s eyes widened in shock, though he did not retreat.
“Corpse-walkers!” He shouted to the Siltori. “They’re corpse-walkers!”
Masagh shoved and slid the point of his blade between them. His thrust was poor and the Ork easily side-stepped it but it gave him the time he needed to stand. Masagh pressed the attack. He remembered Sabrione saying they were just going to break a few bones. His next strike was twisted so the flat of the blade would impact. The Orkhan threw his beefy arm up and took the brunt of the attack with the meat and scales of it.
Masagh drew back with a hiss of frustration. He had heard of Orkhan being able to do such things, but to see it done in person was staggering. The Ork’s snarl turned into a knowing grin. He stepped forward and growled, spreading his feet and hunching. Masagh spread his feet slightly in anticipation of the charge.
“Dead walkers!” The Siltori said, thwacking a fist against the tavern window.
“Shit, Sabrione!” Masagh said, raising his blade again as the Ork charged him. To Lyren’s realm with trying to use the flat of his blade. He cut viciously down in front of him as the Ork neared. The blade met the cudgel and ricocheted. Masagh sacrificed the moment he could have blocked the charge to angel his blade around. It cut deep into the flesh of the Ork’s back. Masagh felt a moment of victory before the thug’s wide, thick shoulder met his gut. The impact knocked the wind out of him. Then his back slammed into the wall of the tavern behind him with a resounding thud. Masagh’s head slammed back and lights erupted across his vision.
Re: Favors
Posted: Mon Nov 14, 2022 8:35 pm
by Masagh
The Ork stepped back with a roar and Masagh slid down the wall onto his ass. He blinked up at his opponent, still dazed and gasping. The Ork smirked and raised his cudgel. His confidence faced into confusion. He turned his thick face down and found Masagh’s claymore embedded in his torso to the hilt.
Sighing the ghoul dropped his hand to the ground again, the Reaving rune gleaming in the rain. The Dancing spell fell apart as he focused his attention on catching his breath. The Ork slumped onto his knees at the same moment the door to the tavern opened.
Sabrione was still cutting and dodging her way across the muddy road, paired with the Siltori now.
“Oi, what the hell is going on out here?” A voice said from the doorway.
As whoever it was stepped out of the doorway Masagh did the only thing he had the presence of mind to do. He stuck his leg out.
It was a grey haired human who went tumbling over his leg. For a brief moment the man was still trying to run forward, caught completely in midair. Then with a squelch he hit the mud face down and slid forward a few inches. Immediately the man began trying to push himself up in the mud. Masagh kicked him hard again in the ass as more faces appeared in the doorway.
The ghoul rolled over and gripped the sword sticking out of the still kneeling Ork. He could not tell if he was dead yet or just dazed in his final moments. Masagh yanked hard on the sword and shuffled around. As the first of the reinforcements began to stand again, Masagh slapped him on the back with the flat of his blade, sending him sprawling again for the third time.
“Sabrione, we got to go.” He yelled at his sister, hearing an edge of urgency in his voice. There was a small crowd of what could only be regulars at the Mad Goat Saloon and they had hate in their eyes. Perhaps if they fled now the drunks would convince themselves they had been seeing things, but if enough got a good look at the two of them a cry of undead would rise again. What would happen if a few of them weren’t drunk? “Let’s get pout of here!” He moved to join her in the fray as a few people stumbled out of the tavern. They were helping the first man to his feet. His front was a uniform coat of mud now.
“Hey, Drollock’s dead! He’s dead!” Someone yelled, a shrill note of fear in their voice. This was more than some drunken tavern dispute already.
Sabrion had her back to him and the elf was a whirlwind of motion assailing her. Masagh sent his pact blade dancing. It wove over Sabrione’s shoulder and slid between the elf’s unsuspecting blades. Slicing him across his left shoulder again, the elf barely dodged a severed head. He tumbled back and Sabrione made to chase.
Masagh grabbed her around the waist and instead pulled her towards the mouth of the alley. “Come on.” He said in her ear. His blade sent pain and a myriad of impacts through his body as he chose to disperse it rather than maintain the dancing spell.
Sabrione followed him down the alley as the pair sprinted away from the fray. Her claymore was dripping rain, although free of blood. Masagh led her through street after street, turning and obstructing them from the view of any would be pursuers. They moved recklessly and quickly, vaguely directed towards the Grey River. When they finally came out at the great bridge that crossed the Gash, Masagh rounded on her.
“What the fuck was that, Sabrione?” He asked in barely checked anger.
“A job unfinished.” She replied coolly, staring back at him.
“What about secrecy? What about stealth?” Masagh snarled. “What about the fucking responsibility we have to survive and all that? We almost got skewered back there, for what? Some goblin asked you a favor. When I see that little pointy eared bastard I’ve got a favor coming.”
She looked down and shifted uncomfortably. The rain beat down around them, making the whole scene more chaotic. She said nothing.
“What?” Masagh asked, his voice calm and cool now. He found himself stepping towards her. “What?” He repeated.
“They didn’t ask me a favor.” Sabrione said finally, turning her gaze defiantly back up at him. “They just told me about them. I decided to do something about it.”
Her jaw was set, her gaze unwavering. Shit, she was telling the truth. Masagh blinked at her.
“Why?”
She swallowed and looked down without lowering her chin. Then she returned her fierce gaze to his and said without emotion. “I hate the Grim family. Any loss of theirs is a victory of ours. Them controlling more of the Northside than they already do weakens our position. Everything I said before is true… except that the goblins didn’t ask me to handle it.”
“Oh but you did handle it, didn’t you.” It was not a question. “Why are we out here risking our asses and the Compound for a favor no one asked you for? That doesn’t sound like the sister I know. That doesn’t sound like the Weaponmaster I serve.”
“They killed Adrielle.” Sabrione said simply. She wasn’t looking at him. Hey eyes had dropped again when she said the name.
Masagh was silent. He did not recognize the name.
“Who?”
“Adrielle was a… friend. A Knight who trained with me.” Sabrione had never looked this uncomfortable before. It was as though she was just a woman, not a centuries old warrior, not the noble daughter of an undead line that went back millennia, not an officer in charge of killers. Just Sabrione the sister, who carried pain like anyone else. “She and I learned from Cynfael together. She didn’t make it long after the initiation, but she was brave. Braver than me.”
It was a personal vendetta, he realized. He had never heard the name, which meant Sabrione had guarded it and the others either didn’t know it or carried her grief with her. It had been a rash and half baked plan from the start, and he hadn’t questioned it because Sabrione had never acted so rashly. Whatever pain this Adrielle had shackled to her memory, it drifted about just behind Sabrione’s eyes. So his sister did experience feelings. A surge of empathy welled up in his chest.
“She must has been something, to have you picking bar fights with redveins like this.” Masagh said finally, relaxing and sighing. He had been so full of indignation at her lack of professionalism a moment ago, now he walked to her and touched her shoulder, it all gone from him.
“She was.” Sabrione said, turning to set out back across the bridge.
Masagh set out after her, easily falling into stride next to her. A long silence in which both seemed lost in their thoughts followed. Finally Masagh broke it with a question. “Did it help?”
She continued to avoid looking at him, watching her own feet slap into the muddy cobbles. A slight frown creased her marred and battered corpse face.
“No.” A bitter truth.
Re: Favors
Posted: Wed Dec 21, 2022 3:57 pm
by Rune
R E V I E W
Lore: 12, you had for in your request, remember you can add lore for actions not performed in the thread, and even use the points for generic lores.
Reaving: Dancing behind opponent's back
Reaving: Controlling a dancing blade in the rain
Two-Handed Blades: Obscuring vision with blood
Two-Handed Blades: Fighting a Orkhan with scales
Points: 16, may be used for Reaving
Injuries/Ailments: None
Loot: None
Notes: Since this was long enough to be two solos I doubled the XP. It's nice to see NPCs with back stories =)