• Mature • Ill Winds (Graded)

[Kasoria]

18th Trial, Ashan, 719
Orm'del Sea
Southwest of Volta

Continued from here

He was surrounded by enemies. Beset on all sides. Everywhere he turned were raised fists and scowling faces. The man in the circle was the smallest of their number, yet they felt the need to outnumber him seven times over. He had his arms up and his muscles tensed, glistening with sweat and spray as he wore breeches alone to allow as much flexibility as possible.

Kasoria smiled. "Well? Who's next, ladies?"

Big Beard came at him with a roar, swinging a haymaker capped with a knobbly fist half the side of the Etzori's head. In the split trill it took for the blow to hurtle towards him, Kasoria had time to mentally roll his eyes.

For fuck's sake. Half a bell we've been out here and he's still trying that shite.

Kasoria stepped into the punch with a yell, throwing up a forearm to block, stopping it dead with his left-

-as his right hammered out twice, two short and vicious jabs, kidney and ribs, making the barrel torso of the man tremble and twitch and Big Beard yelped-

-but didn't brace himself. Allowed himself to be distracted by the pain, not ready for when Kasoria latched onto his outstretched arm and right shoulder with both hands and twisted so hard his pelvis nearly cracked. The big sailor outweighed him by a few dozen pounds at least, but his balance was off, his momentum was against him and-

-the little man hurled him away to the other side of the circle, straight into a pair of other sailors who were intent upon a smarter plan: braining him while his back was turned. But now Kasoria was facing them again, and hurling a two hundred pound sailor at them. They had just enough time for an expletive before they went down in a crashing, cursing tangle of bodies. Three down, four standing, and these ones would be smarter.

"Accept yer gonna get hurt!" The little man said to those remaining, voice loud over the sound of crashing waves. "'specially against someone who knows what he's doin'!" He paused. They stood there. He rolled his eyes. "Fuck're youse waitin' for?! Y'think I'm givin' a sp-"

"Now!"

Clever boy.

He was a dark-skinned kid from the hotlands, over where the lizard people lived. His white eyes were sharp and fierce in his black skull. He was watchful. He was patient. He chose his moment well, and when he barked the word, the other three listened. Kasoria noted all of this, and braced himself-

-as they did the right thing, this time. Not attacking him one or two at a time. All four of them, coming in a rush, a charging semi-circle of flailing fists. Kasoria threw up his arms from one side to the other, knuckles and forearms hammering into them over and over. But he had no time to counter, no time to plan a way out of it. Impact after impact, block after block, a stalemate... but not quite. They were forcing him back. Back into the railing until his back hit it and they were still there, pressing closer-

Now.

He darted to the side, choosing one out of the four and resigning himself to the damage he'd take. Just like he taught them. In the fraction it took to get a hold of Mustache, a rain of blows hammered into him. His neck, his head, his arm, his shoulder, they all screamed and rang with pain. But he kept going. Grabbing Mustache by the collar of his shirt, yanking him down and forward-

CRACK

-as he bowed his head and did the same, driving the crown of his head into the sailor's nose. Not quite enough to break it - Kasoria was nothing if not precise, when it came to the application of pain - but enough to knock the man back, out of the cordon, giving Kasoria an exit-

-that he didn't take. Not yet. He didn't even let go of the dazed, gurgling sailor. Instead he pulled him closer until they were almost embracing, spun around and took Mustache with him-

"Ow, fuck'sake, lads?!"

-so it was him that was taking those blows instead, using Mustache as a living, yelping shield against his three friends. A rain of blows landed on the sailor's back before they realized what they were doing, and by then Kasoria had got his bearings back, let go of Mustache and leaped up into the air-

Captain Senter actually quirked an eyebrow at what he did next. Which was something all by itself. The little man jumped straight up, knees tucked up into his chest. When he was at the height of the jump, his legs exploded outwards, both feet crashing into Mustach'e chest, sending him flying back into yet another two men struggling to get around him, all three falling down and Mustache would not be rising anytime soon-

Leaving only The Black left. He'd backpedaled away from the melee, clearly knowing that Kasoria would have all the advantage in that chaos. Yet another point in his favor. Now he was the only one left standing. For a moment, man and boy regarded each other. Weighed their options. Finally, The Black's hand snapped to his belt, whipped out a dagger and with a shriek he came hard at Kasoria-

-swiping at his stomach, a pulled blow, but only barely, forcing the smaller man to jump away, belly sucked in as he did-

-following it up with a backhand aiming for his head-

-that Kasoria blocked with his right forearm, left shooting up to smash into his elbow, jarring his grip and sending the knife tumbling down-

-into The Black's other hand, which was already outstretched for the handle. Kasoria's eyes widened in shock. Just for a trill. Probably less than that. But it was all The Black needed to stab it towards his chest and-

-there it stopped. Barely an inch away from burying up to the hilt in the sellsword's guts. His hands were frozen above it, aiming to knock the blade down or away. Maybe he'd get lucky, take it in the leg... or he'd be unlucky, and get it in the groin. Neither was appealing. Had it been for real, well... he could tell from The Black's smile he knew the same.

"S'yer name, boy?"

"Otrar."

"Bringin' a knife to a fistfight?"

"We get pirates on us, they ain't gonna use fists. 'sides, best way t'win a fight with rules is-"

"-to break 'em."

The two exchanged a grin and Otrar flipped his dagger over in his hand and slid it back into its sheath. Kasoria nodded his approval and turned back to the groaning mess of men slowly getting back to their feet. "Learn from yer young friend here, ladies! Little shit may be young, but he knows how t'cheat, an' that'll help yeh when it comes to a fight. That, an' there's a big fuckin' downside to all comin' on at once..."

He leaned over and helped Mustache back to his feet, still wheezing and rubbing his bruised chest.

"Y'get in each other's way."

"Y... Yes, sir."

Kasoria opened his mouth to speak again but the Captain was already barking at them. Lesson over, chores to be done, come now, step to and lively-like! The sailors bustled away, some limping, some coughing, all a little wiser. Senter nodded his thanks to Kasoria. Giving his crew some pointers in case raiders swooped down upon them wasn't technically in his contract, but he didn't mind the job. It gave him something to do, and seven-to-one odds, well... he hadn't faced those in a while. He liked the challenge. Kasoria moved over to the barrel of fresh water and emptied a whole tankard of it down his throat. Thirsty work, was teaching. Then he looked up into the horizon, and found that he couldn't see it.

For a very good reason.

"Fuck me," he muttered, as Legonne glided up next to him. "That don't look good."

[Kasoria]

"Why don't we just go around it?"

Captain Senter didn't bother hiding his eye roll, his groan, or the palm slapped against his face. For all his ferocity and skill, Mister Thagoras was clearly not a seaman. But at least he didn't jabber incessantly like any other lubber might have. Peppering them with inane questions every few chimes. No, apparently he was content to deliver one after half a bell of discussion. He'd been standing there in silence as the captain and the crew talked about their options. The mage was heard from, and even Kilmain, with his motley handful of sellswords. But not Thagoras. He was a man apart, and stayed that way. He listened, but kept casting worried eyes at the source of all their troubles.

Vast and broad and tall and terrible. Implacable and undeniable as fate itself. Black as night and rising hundreds of feet into the sky until it blotted out the horizon and devoured the dawn.

"It's a storm, Mister Thagoras," Senter said from behind his hand. "Not a boulder in a road. The winds, the currents, everything this ship depends on to, y'know, sail, will be effected by it. We'd have to sail trials out of our way to avoid it, and by then the currents and winds won't be to our favor." He gestured to the chart on the table, marked and noted with all manner of nautical information. "They'll carry us south or east, not west. Even Legonne will only be able to do so much."

"It's true," Legonne said with a sigh, shrugging his robed shoulders. "I'd have to keep wind in the sails for bells, even trials at a time. Long enough to overstep."

Senter seemed to have been waiting for those words, jumping on the end of the sentence almost as it was spoken. "Well if you'd be willing to try, I'll happily-"

"No," Legonne said firmly, like this was a discussion they'd had many times before and he was tired to resurrecting. "I know what happens to Defiers who push their Spark too far. I've seen it, in detail. I'm not becoming those... those things."

Silence, awkward and heavy, settled over the meeting. Kasoria and Legonne exchanged a look, the only two mages on the vessel. Kasoria knew what Overstepping was, but he'd only felt moderate pangs of it through his own efforts. But he'd seen the other end of the spectrum. Been told lurid, grisly, impossible tales of mages who'd assumed far too much of their own strength. The things that had been done to them, the damage done to their bodies as their Sparks howled uncontrollably, went to war with their own flesh-

No. He's right. Better to spend more trials at sea than risk becoming a monster.

"So, Yaralon, innit?"

"Wait, what?!"

That indignant explosion was enough to have all eyes turning on him again. Kasoria felt a tremor of unease, as if a flock of raptors had chosen him as a meal, but he quickly beat the feeling back down. Instead he turned his gaze to the Captain and spoke slowly, and clearly. "Yaralon? The complete fucking opposite direction of where we're supposed to be going?"

"It's the closest major port on the coast, Mister Thagoras," Senter said, being sure to stress Kasoria's title, as if to clarify exactly where he stood on his ship. "We don't have enough food in the holds for a longer trip to the Western Continent, and I'm not turning back to Volta. So, we go east. We go to Yaralon. We stock up and wait a few days for the storms do move on-"

"Won't be as easy as that," Kilmain said with a wry smile, looking up from his dirty fingernails. He was cleaning them with a thin, sharp blade. "Word sez there's a blockade on. Blackbrine lads. Been that way fer a while."

Captain Senter's face darkened again, shoulders bunched up as he leaned over the table, hands splayed either side of the map. "Funny you'd wait this long to tell me that, Mister Kilmain."

"Wouldn't make much of a difference, would it? We still need a port t'go to, an' that's the nearest one." Kilmain shrugged as if a blockade of bloodthirsty buccaneers was but another squall to be navigated. "'sides, that's why y'hired me an' the lads... an' that one."

He gestured to Kasoria with the knife and the Etzori just snorted, without smiling. He'd heard of Blackbrine before. Not a vessel so much as a moving, sailing pirate cove. Hundreds of pirates, the dregs of the Orm'del Sea, all called it home. It was like some colossal wooden whale that prowled the ocean, surrounded by a horde of attendant raiding ships. If it had moved this far to the southeast that it had blockaded an entire city, what did that even mean?

Means you won't be getting home until much fucking later, he told himself bitterly. And that's all it'll ever mean.

"He's right," Kasoria said eventually, arms crossed and unhappy, but resigned. "If that's the only port close by, then fuck it, we'll have to make a run for it, aye?"

"Ain't just the sellswords, Mister Thagoras," said Otrar, white teeth brilliant and bright against his skin as he grinned. "You been teaching us too, yes?"

The Etzori finally smiled, a lopsided and jaded thing. Optimism and youthfulness. The sailor with black skin had them both, but he knew from sad experience these things did not make a killer, or a fighter. But his lessons might help, might even make a difference if they were boarded. He sighed and looked at the vast formation of clouds in the distance. Beyond them was home. Foster's Landing and the East Coast and Etzos Prime beyond them. Sights and sounds and smells that were all so familiar for him. Denied again, thanks to the weather, of all things.

The sellsword smiled and shrugged. He was not the man to make decisions. His words carried no weight. But he gave them anyway.

"Yaralon, then."

[Alistair]

Kasoria

Knowledges
Acrobatics: Landing After a Double Kick
Endurance: Fighting Tactically Even While Being Pummeled
Teaching: Instructing While Fighting
Teaching: Simplifying The Lesson into a Single Sentence (where possible)
Unarmed Combat (Ki'Enaq): Double Front Kick
Unarmed Combat (Ki'Enaq - Combo): Forearm Block, Kidney Shot, Rib Punch

Non-Skill Knowledge:
Blackbrine: Nomadic Pirate Stronghold of the Orm'del Sea
NPC Kilmain: Leader of the Luck Lady's Sellswords
NPC Legonne: Powerful Mage, But Not Willing to Overstep
NPC Otrar: Young, Dark-Skinned Sailor
NPC Otrar: Oddly Skilled with a Dagger
Yaralon - Ashan 719 Event: Blockaded By Blackbrine Ships

Loot: N/A
Injuries: N/A
Renown: +5

Points 10

Comments: Well-written (and violent) as always. Good stuff though - I enjoy your unarmed detail here, again though, as always.

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