• Graded • What's Yours is Mine

[Noth]

Saun 26, 717

Hunting was something quite familiar to the twilight hybrid. It had been the labor by which he had kept himself fed for the past few Arcs, and thus he had grown fairly proficient at it. That proficiency had taught him valuable lessons which had further improved his abilities, and made him a far better hunter than when he had only just begun the craft. Those lessons had proved invaluable as he focused upon bigger and meaner game, gradually moving up from hunting basic squirrels and rabbits to bagging stags and deer. Interestingly enough, though his current situation took place in a wildly different context than those prior hunting expeditions, he could see similarities in how the hunt was going to carry out even here within Etzos.

The first step was to identify the prey and find out where it lurked. That step had been fairly easy, all things considered. His prey was one of the local crime bosses, not one of the ones with particularly wide-access, but someone who had marked a couple of blocks of the city as his territory, and who had drawn together a clustered assortment of scattered youth together to form some semblance of a gang. Identifying and locating the person in charge had been as simple as finding some of his thugs in the middle of a particularly brutish mugging. He had been accompanied by his closest ally, and had managed to individually defeat the thugs, thereby asserting his dominance over them. Once that had been completed, and the seeming ‘protection’ offered by the group had been shattered in their minds, it was quite easy to gather the information he desired from them.

His name according to the thugs was Jag, though Noth was unsure whether that was his birth name, or whether it was a moniker that he had been given for his personality. The hybrid had released the thugs from his presence after they revealed the fellow’s name and location, but that did not mean he had stopped his investigation there. Which brought him to the next step of hunting: Learning your prey. Jag was a rather big and brutish fellow, and according to some of the local residents of the neighborhood, he had been born ‘swingin’ and had kept at it until they had thrown him out of the orphanage. He’d went on to get into a dozen brawls in the Underground, gradually gaining a reputation for himself as a bruiser until he had managed to secure the loyalty of a few younger twerps looking up to him as an example of what they could become.

What they became were petty thugs and thieves, pulling minor racketeering schemes on smaller stores located around their turf, and etching out ridiculously poor graffiti signs around what they considered to be theirs: “Finders Keepers” they called it. They were not nearly as powerful as the Don’s organization had been when it was assimilated into the group, but their youth made them easier to control, and their already being organized made it far simpler to assimilate them as a whole as opposed to attempting to individually recruit each one of them. The best way to take down a gang was to eliminate its boss, and whilst the hybrid fully intended to offer the fellow the easy way out; simply accepting his proposal to serve under him as soldiers of Al’Angyryl, he highly doubted the offer would be accepted if the stories about the man were anything to base his personality upon.

Thus, with information in mind and a scheme brewing in his mind on how he would actually pop the question to the aspiring gang leader, Noth strolled down the street, flanked by a massive Aukari and a much smaller, but quite serious-faced fellow. Thane and Oxy had been his choices for companions upon the trip for two reasons: One, they were the most combat proficient out of his small retinue, and Two: They had both been on the streets for quite some time, and likely had some information on how things ran in the Underground of Etzos.

He turned a final corner, staring at the ramshackle headquarters of the ‘Jagged Blade’ headquarters; a sure-fire sign of an overworked sense of pride if ever the hybrid had gazed upon one, and promptly moved forward to rap upon the door.

Was there a guard sitting outside of the building, keeping a careful watch in case any intruders decided to barge in on their boss? Absolutely. Did he yell a cry of alarm to his comrades before rushing the trio with what appeared to be a makeshift knife? Of course. Did Noth kill him in the span of only a couple of trills? No. He settled instead for simply ramming his head into the doorway hard enough to snap it off of its hinges and send it toppling to the ground.

One could never say that the Prince of Eternal Mercies didn’t know how to make an entrance.

[Kyin]

Saun 26th, 717

Kyin had spent the last few days on a bit of a binge, but not drinking as a normal person might be prone to do. Kyin was on a detective binge, he found the work interesting at least for the time being. He was entertaining himself by going into the underground and 'investigating' by investigating he mostly meant either looking for trouble or going on wild goose chases (where the goose didn't exist, and if it did it would not be wild). He had been looking into what was in his mind 'a prostitution ring, catering only to the highest class nobility and politician' but was in all actuality just some dumpy looking women that liked hanging out in front of a dingy little tavern called the Rusted Spoon.

Kyin was staking out the alleged prostitution ring, he had taken to calling The Whore Corps, as he was sitting in a kind of disgusting back alley when he saw a strange one-winged Avriel break down a door. Intrigued he carefully approached, not so much worried about himself, but mostly worried he wouldn't be able to catch the Avriel red handed if he knew Kyin was there.

Kyin poked his head into the doorway and immediately removed it as a chair was flung at the intruder, it missed and went straight through the door only to crash against the wall of the adjacent building. As it shattered Kyin picked up one of it's legs just in case things got rough for him.

Kyin wasn't going to interrupt, this was a fight between trained professionals and a one-winged Avriel that was slicing through the trained professionals like a hot knife through butter. This was when Kyin decided he needed to learn to fight, at least defensively. "If I leave now, I can always approach Flyboy here, and ask to buy his services. If that fails I can blackmail him. This is Breaking and Entering, Assault and Battery, and likely Homocide soon." Kyin schemed to himself. Kyin left the fight to happen, needing to set a few things up.

Kyin hightailed it to the surface city, and went to Sauncraft Shop and Salvage, where Daran Porter his boss and closest thing to a friend Kyin had slept in the apartment above. Kyin ran up the stairs, and knocked on the door. after a few moments Daran responded, wiping the sleep out of his eyes he asked "Kyin, what are you doing here at this hour?"

"Hey. Daran, I need a favor, there is a slight possibility I might go missing soon, and if I do I need you to do me a favor." Kyin said, cutting to the chase.

"Wait, what? Missing? Why?" Daran asked groggily.

"I saw something I shouldn't have. It is no big deal, I will have leverage if you do this for me." Kyin said, waving away his worry.

"What do you need?" Daran sighed.

"I just need you to go find a parcel, if I go missing in the next few days. I will hide 3 copies of it around the city, one in the shop inside an anvil, One in Skin Deep Crafting adhered to the bottom of Drenick Laszlow's chair and One in my house set on top of the third rafter from the door." said Kyin, "You got that?"

"Yes, can I go to sleep now?" Daran asked tiredly.

"Go ahead." Kyin said, as he took of at a full sprint for his house.

When Kyin got to his house, he began writing three copies of a note
"There is a one winged Avriel standing at about 5'8", with bright red eyes. He broke into a building called the Jagged Blade in the underground, and assaulted at least 4 men. It is very likely he is a murderer, although I didn't stay to find out.

Signed, Kyin"

Kyin seeded these notes in their designated locations, asking Drenick for entry into the shop under the lie that he left some tools there, and then he left for the underground to find the one winged Avriel.

[Noth]

Sometimes, Noth forgot just how far above the average person he came in terms of martial ability. He had brought along his companions, because he thought he would be outnumbered, and that there was a chance that overconfidence would lead to him being killed on his gallivant through the Jagged Blade. Instead, he quickly discovered that the retainers of the gang leader were just a bunch of young fellows with slightly more experience than their peers in the art of fighting. As he entered, they pounced, apparently having already been alerted to their presence by the lookout outside.

Admittedly, slamming someone hard enough into the door to knock it over had given most of the people in the battered down storehouse pause, but a few of them, perhaps five came forward nonetheless, intent on proving their worth to their criminal king. The first came to the hybrid, his hand raised high in the air, holding onto a short dagger as if though it were a pick, he swung it downward, slamming it against Noth’s pauldron… wherein it accomplished nothing. It was almost as if though people didn’t understand that armor was capable of stopping bladed instruments almost entirely, and that if they were unable to perform an incredibly accurate or forceful blow, their strikes would amount to nothing. The twilight hybrid took hold of the fellow’s outstretched arm, and promptly smashed their heads together, his own being covered in an armet, and thusly breaking the nose of his opponent and sending him squealing to the ground.

Others came, a couple tried to fight with Thane, but the swordsman held them back with vicious arcing swings of his chosen weapon, forcing them to retreat whenever they thought they were capable of drawing close. One eventually rushed him, and promptly received a rough pommel in his forehead for his trouble, dropping him like a sack of rocks. The other took advantage, clinging tightly to Thane, but the hybrid yanked him off of his companion by the collar, tossed him onto the ground, and promptly kneed the punk in the sternum, driving the wind from his lungs and the fight from his heart.

Their form was entirely too sloppy to make them efficient warriors, and they didn’t move with the cohesion necessary to be efficient soldiers. That made them utterly useless in a true fight except that they could be used for the sake of their bodies, to act as flesh-shields for more important allies, or they could perform menial labors, perhaps even becoming specialized in the future. Despite their current limitations, Noth remembered a time when even he had possessed almost no martial prowess, and so it stood to reason that those gathered could be forged into a weapon for the Al’Angyryl given time and a good instructor.

Showing remarkable insight into the situation, the remaining pair of thugs who had actually come to fight them vanished back into the crowd. There were probably around twenty-five of them in total throughout the building, mostly seedy looking young men, though there were a handful of women as well among them, most covered in the grime and filth indicative of a life in the Underground. A couple of older sorts seemed to operate most of the logistics of the building, directing the younger ones to ‘Go get Jag’.

A messenger was dispatched from the crowd, sliding off past the doors to a side-room and disappearing from their sight.

He heard the somewhat distant sound of someone sprinting down one of the alleyways, and began to question whether someone had gone to dispatch the Black Guard to their position, but if they had, he doubted they would deign to show. After all, the Black Guard had bigger issues to deal with than alleged criminals fighting other criminals, and it probably made their job far easier if they thought that some of the former would kill some of the latter, or vice versa. In fact, Noth had made it excessively clear to his retinue that they would not be killing anyone, except perhaps the leader should he deny them. They were here to assimilate new soldiers into their ranks, not plunder and pillage and lay waste to them.

The twilight hybrid glared upon the crowd, every eye in the room doing the same to the three intruders. He could have introduced himself, but it was a bother to repeat information, and he only really wanted to talk with Jag after all. The man in question came bursting through the side-door a couple of trills later, in an apparent rage at the idea of someone having broken into his headquarters. He was an inch or two taller than Noth, his hair was black and greasy, and he wore a set of scars upon his face that said he had never learned how to dodge an incoming fist; the poor idiot probably thought himself tough for tanking through so many blows. A young woman dressed in vibrantly colored clothes of shoddy quality was attached to Jag like a tail, but she quickly vanished into the crowd when he gestured to it angrily.

“Gots ‘um nerve comin’ ‘ere, flap’a.” He yelled out at the Avriel, his eyes taking notice of the tall Aukari beside him before adding on, “An’ ya brought a fireheaded fod-sack too!” A couple of nervous laughs erupted out in the crowd, though they were silenced when Noth lay his piercing gaze upon them.

“Jag. You’re exactly what I pictured.” He began in response, mentally recalling the list he had made before coming: Ugly, broken nose, scarred face, poor accent. “I’ve come to make you a proposition.”

“Oh, is it ‘ta put yer foul born body in t’e ground?” He challenged, strutting forward with a confidence tainted with the scent of stupidity, popping his knuckles and his neck as though he genuinely expected to get into a fist-fight with someone in plate armor. The insults he threw about were for the most part ignored, easily tossed away by the hybrid, because he was well-aware that there was a good chance Jag would be dead by the end of the night, and he could insult him in full-view of everyone then.

“No. There is a rising power here in Etzos. You know of the Don?” He questioned.

Jag tilted his head to the side slightly as he considered the question, recalling old memories before giving a quick and jerky nod. “Aye, I know ‘im.”

“Mine now.” He smiled hatefully behind his armet, hoping that the expression could reach his eyes just so that the gangster could see it. Even if it was not visible, it painted his voice in a cheerful and giddy way, like a child having happily informed another that the toy they were enjoying so much was actually theirs. That was a concept he hoped even the idiot before him could understand. Possession, ownership, control.

Instead, Jag simply snorted in derisive amusement, as though the news of the Don’s criminal empire falling apart and being eaten up was something meaningless. “Aight, happens. What’d you want?”

“For you to join us, of course. You will become soldiers of Al’Angyryl. Some of the first of many to fight in our name. To gain the benefits inherent in such a partnership, the protection you desire, and the support you require for the sake of your enterprises. We will combine… and soon we shall rule over Etzos. Come. Join us, Jag.” He finished his recruitment speech, hoping that the black-haired man before him would make the right decision, though he had an inkling from the beginning of what his answer became:

“Nah, sod off, birdman.”

“Very well. Jag. I challenge you before all of your people for your position.” It was stupid, it was blatantly a ridiculous idea to surrender a position of potential advantage; twenty-five to three were pretty good odds, for the sake of redeeming ones honor and value to their soldiers. Soldiers weren’t there to be impressed, they were there to fight battles so that one did not have to fight them all by themselves.

Jag had clearly never heard of the concept, because he immediately riled himself once more, strode forward, his head nodding in acceptance before his lips had ever ruled.

“Aye, knew I’d getta’ put ya down.”

[Kyin]

Saun 26th, 717

Kyin found himself wandering through the Underground at a measured pace, thinking that the one-winged marauder would have moved on by this point in the night, or have been killed by the people in the group. The former being much more likely than the latter, considering how the one-winged guy cut through the others effortlessly. Kyin walked straight past the dank, grubby alley that the Jagged Blade was situated in, with it's door bashed in, there was light coming through the doorway casting the shadows of moving shapes going by. Carefully Kyin approached, stepping as silently as he could, but still making a racket compared to what one more experienced in the ways of stealth might make. He peeked into the doorway to find the one-winged marauder seemingly ordering some of the other gang members to 'properly' dispose of the corpse. A sight that would make any normal man at least a bit uncomfortable, angry, or squeamish. Kyin was none of those things.

Kyin quite loudly cleared his throat and walked through the doorway "Hey guys, I need to talk to your leader." That statement was immediately met with a collective hissing sound of weapons being unsheathed.

"Woah, woah, the weapons are hardly necessary, do you see me carrying any?" Kyin chuckled, finally getting some entertainment out of this.

"I assume that you are the leader, huh?" Kyin pointed at Noth.

"I am here on a simple blackmailing racket, which will take effect if I go missing. So maybe put away the weapons and talk to me?" Kyin turned his back, seemingly trustingly, but more likely stupidly, and walked out the door to wait for the 'one winged marauder'. There could be heard a muttering coming form Kyin outside the doorway, Kyin being in his usual state of muttering out loud to himself. Kyin quickly got impatient waiting for the leader or for his death and said through the door way, "Either kill me or talk to me, just don't make me wait!"

[Noth]

The fight with Jag had taken far more time than the murderous Avriel had originally anticipated, though it had concluded in the same manner which he had predicted; the former gangster splayed out upon the floor in a pool of his own blood, the crimson substance gradually becoming coagulated as his heart rested for the first time since his conception. Battered and depraved though it was, the room had been constructed well enough to keep out the whistling breezes which occasionally blew even underground, and thus without the ambience which naturally accompanied most people’s trial to trial lives, the entirety of the room was completely silent. The thugs and gangsters who had fought with he and his earlier had long since been retrieved by their companions, and whilst they had a few more bruises and bloodied noses than before, they had also made it rather apparent through their inaction that they would not attempt such assaults any further, especially after their leader had been made into such a rent carcass.

Indeed, Noth had not used his mace throughout the fight, though he knew he probably could have ended in a couple of heartbeats if he had simply equipped the familiar weapon. No, instead he had decided to fight against the brutish Jag using only his hands, and the giant claws attached to his feet; technically, he had fought unarmed, but fighting without using his natural advantages was stupid, and he despised stupidity with a passion. Nevertheless, it seemed more fitting both in a dramatic sense and in a somewhat political one if he fought against Jag without a weapon. It showcased his own natural physical strength to those who might have doubted his earlier display of power, and it also highlighted to each of those present that the murderous Avriel could kill them without his equipment, showing that he was a versatile warrior.

The fight had taken several bits due to his personal restrictions, and though Jag had managed to get in a fair few blows, the Avriel found himself mostly undamaged and altogether in good condition. He had never taken off his armor, though he had ensured that he was without his armet so that the other man could at least have a target to strike towards. If you knew where an attack was going, it was far easier to dodge, and so it was easily worth the risk of having a tooth knocked loose or a busted lip in exchange for being able to counter and parry almost every attack. Jag had been a natural brawler, and the Avriel had at times found his own attacks dodged hastily or his limbs stricken by parrying kicks, but in the end, having armor in a fistfight effectively made those movements pointless, and the occasional swell of pain which did erupt along his face when he missed his own counters did little to slow his onslaught. Noth for his part in the fighting fought heavily with his talons, using his hands to grapple onto the outstretched body parts of the enemy before raking the wicked claws down his legs. They shredded through cloth like it was nothing, and flesh was torn and blood spilled within the first bit. After that, it had simply become a battle of attrition, the hybrid biding his time as the man before him bled to death, the process sped up in part by the addition of new rivulets in his flesh whenever the opportunity presided itself.

Now, the hybrid found himself standing over the body, suckling in another refreshing breath of air into his lungs before allowing it to exhale in a suspiciously loud sigh, as though its entire purpose was to draw attention away from the corpse and towards the man who had created it.

“Right. Back to business then.” He smiled pleasantly towards the crowd of shocked and astonished youth, his crimson eyes scanning them for the presence of one of the older gentlemen from earlier. A feathered finger outstretched, directing itself towards one of the greybeards, and his voice raised once more above the silent clamor. “You, are you a ranking member of the Jagged Blades?”

“Aye” The older man nodded in acceptance of the role.

“Very well. There is a rising power here in Etzos, and so on, and so forth.” He waved his hand in a circular motion to capitalize on the fact that he had already given his recruitment offer. “We would like to assimilate you, the members of the Jagged Blade into Al’Angyryl wherein you will act as soldiers, and be granted the benefits inherent in membership within the organization. Now, I’m sure you understand that I’m very pressed for time, so please, your response?” He casually raked his bloody talons across the ground, painting a line of the liquid across the stone and criss-crossing over it when he had finished with a secondary line.

“O’ course we’ll join.” The fellow answered rather quickly, nodding his ascent to the change of regime and prodding his aged hands into the backs of the nearest youth.

“Good. In that case, congratulations. You’ve been appointed to be in charge of this particular rabble. Continue as you were. Orders will come eventually from myself, the Prince of Eternal Mercies.” He turned his back on the fellow, aiming to simply leave the establishment before adding with a finger extended to the air as if to emphasize his point. “Naturally, fail in obeying, and there will be disciplinary action.”

It was at about this moment that a certain Qi’Ora burst through the doorway with all of the stealth of a startled possum, taking in the scene for a few moments before loudly shattering the silence with an eruption from his throat befitting a small volcano. He spoke in a voice which immediately annoyed the hybrid with its unrepentant casualness, asking for the leader of the gang to step forward. He supposed that was now him, and so the hybrid strode forward to face the Qi’Ora, crimson eyes glaring into him like cruel daggers, the threat of violence laying heavy upon his visage.

He proceeded to act the part of the court idiot, stating that he was there for the sake of blackmailing the establishment, and he quickly strode out of the door, just as quickly as he had come. The idea of having the notes revealed to the local Black Guard were not in themselves catastrophic, especially given the basic understanding he had that the news would eventually out that he was a criminal and a serial killer, but if he could at all control the situation, then it would be in his favor to do so. Nonetheless, the hybrid was not simply going to allow an intrusion into his recently conquered territory to go unanswered, because that would spell to the new recruits that they could behave in like manner, and such attitudes would simply not be tolerated under his dread regime.

He released an agitated noise that he did not even know he had been holding in, turning to Oxy and Thane for a moment.

“Wait here. Inform them more of their duties and things of that sort. I have to go break someone’s fingers” He strode out of the structure and into the open tunnels of the Underground, his deathly eyes locking themselves upon the Qi’Ora.

“Speak.” He uttered, and he felt his hand clench in frustration at having to even remotely converse with so puny a creature.

[Kyin]

Kyin looked at the hybrid for a second after he heard the words, "speak." and thought to himself 'Well, fuck. I think I made a miscalculation. Meh, might as well spit it out, and either die, get hurt or get what I want.' Kyin sighed and began to do as the one-winged Avriel asked.

"I am Kyin, I have an offer. The blackmail is simply to ensure you will here me out. I just have your description a portion of your crimes, to get the blackguard started on your trail, in packets hidden around Etzos... If I go missing or don't show up to work they will be brought to the blackguard." Kyin said in his bored monotone.

"I want two simple things from you, firstly you to teach me a method of defending myself, secondly to provide my skills to this Al'Angyryl thing, it seems interesting..." Kyin continued.

"I am of course willing to pay for your time spent teaching me, in both nels and products. I am a blacksmith and leather worker, I am sure I could be of some amount of service to you." Kyin finished his monologue and waited for an answer and/or bodily harm. Just a fraction of a second later Kyin had a though, 'If dying is a possibility, might as well go out mocking my killer.' Kyin thought and then followed up with "Oh! You guys totally need some matching leather bracelets, lemme think... Evil organization... Killers... Gangs... Snakes! You need snakes on them! I can whip up a couple score of those in no time!" Kyin chuckled.

[Noth]

The twilight hybrid continued to eye the annoyance before him with a predatory gaze honed by long breaks spent hunting down creatures so that he might consume their flesh. The man before him was taller than he was, though he seemed thin and wiry in a way that made him appear almost stretched to the hybrid, as if though he were not really as tall as he was perceived to be, and Noth quickly came to the conclusion that he did not have the body type to be a warrior. That wasn’t to say that it was completely beyond belief for a thin and wiry sort to become a soldier, but it seemed far more likely that he had chosen a differing career path.

His hands seemed somewhat rough in their complexion, hinting at the fact that the fellow before him likely engaged in some semblance of hard labor, but that was far too broad a detection for the hybrid to suddenly perceive anything beyond that very basic fact. He was also quite clearly a Qi’Ora, but the Avriel knew quite little about their culture or their physiology in general beyond the slight traits which would mark one as different from the standard human; the slight texture to his flesh, the coloring of his skin.

Without a word, the hybrid shut the door behind himself, silencing the voices from within the structure, the orders being given by his minions dying into a stillness as hardy as the stones which made up the Underground. He had issued a command, and the foolish dog before him obeyed immediately, identifying himself as ‘Kyin’, and reiterating that his business was indeed to blackmail the twilight hybrid. He proceeded to further describe the methods that he had undertaken in his blackmail, which; whilst necessary for the sake of threatening Noth, identified an exact counter to the problem at hand.

Wicked thoughts flickered into existence in the hybrid’s mind, and a cruel grin crept across his visage as he stepped closer to the Qi’Ora, allowing himself to bear down upon him despite their size difference. His was a dominance of personality more so than physicality, though his horrendous appearance certainly lent itself towards a portrayal of violence and power. The fellow before him for all of his care-free attitudes had certainly made a mistake in his planning, and the hybrid had immediately latched onto his failures, preying upon his weakness, like a parasite suckling upon the bloody wound of its prey, sliding into meat which had already been rent asunder.

Before a malicious action could be committed, however, he allowed the man to continue his speech, declaring what he desired out of the blackmail. He very nearly denied him on the basis that he fully intended to annihilate him only moments later, but he paused as his mind whirred over the idea of having the Qi’Ora work for him. It was legitimately unheard of for someone to seek him out for the sake of joining the organization, which meant that they must have done something correctly for the veiny fellow before him to attempt to confederate with them. He went on further, declaring that he was fully willing to pay for the services of his first wish, and stating that he was also a leatherworker and a blacksmith; both quite useful crafts that the organization as a whole was desperately lacking. Certainly, they could not afford as of now to arm every person within their growing ranks, but those weapons that they did possess would eventually require maintenance, and having someone skilled enough to do perform such duties upon their arms and armament would save them from having to seek out some form of middleman for the same goals.

The Qi’Ora proceeded to make a mockery of the faction, stating that they needed matching bracelets as though they were some sort of orphanage youth group as opposed to a force of criminals and ambitious individuals. The murderous Avriel spoke, his voice echoing outwards with a harsh command,

“Silence.” He uttered angrily, his feathers bristling slightly at the insolence being so purposefully displayed by the man. He calmed a moment afterwards, coming to the conclusion that his words were simply those of someone who was afraid or nervous for their fate.

Without a word, he snatched his feathered fingers forward, clutching at the Qi’Ora’s hand and harshly drawing it near to him, wrapping his phalanges around Kyin’s, and attempting rather roughly to force his hand into a fist where it could be easier clutched. He would proceed to run his thumb along the surface of the other man’s hand, pausing at the first knuckle before speaking,

“Your terms are acceptable, but I want you to recognize something, because you seem to think yourself clever, and in reality, you are a fool. The only reason whatsoever that I would even contemplate acquiring your services is because it would be useful to have a craftsman with us.” He paused for a few moments, nodding towards the man’s restricted hand.

“Now then. Here’s a lesson for you, wretch, courtesy of the Prince of Eternal Mercies. Do you really think the Black Guard care that I’m mopping up the Underground for them? No. Let’s assume they did though, and that somehow your paltry claims actually amounted to any threat at all. I would take your hands, just like this…”

He pressed the thumb down roughly upon the knuckle, though not enough to cause any significant pain. “And then, I’d break your fingers, one at a time, until you decided to tell me what I wanted to know.” He intensified the pressure for a moment, before shifting to the next finger and repeating the process, iterating each movement with a descriptive “Crack”.

“And, if that didn’t make you talk, then I’d grab onto your pinky finger.” He kneaded the aforementioned bone beneath a pair of his fingers. “Then, I’d pull to the side until the flesh had ripped between that finger and the next, and I’d keep pulling until the bone separated from the flesh, and it had been torn off of your hand.”

“Do you understand now? This isn’t some game for you to play.” He released his grip upon the hand, taking a step backward and chuckling in a mirthless and cruel manner. “I accept your offer. You are mine now, and if you ever speak to me like that again, then I will drive a stake through your legs and burn you alive just so that the others will know what happens if they ever cross me.”

“I’ll find you. Dismissed.”

[Kyin]

"Silence." The Avriel's voice rang with finality, Kyin doesn't do silence. Well, at least not for long. Kyin didn't realize the man's hand was fly toward him until it latched onto his wrist. “Your terms are acceptable, but I want you to recognize something, because you seem to think yourself clever, and in reality, you are a fool. The only reason whatsoever that I would even contemplate acquiring your services is because it would be useful to have a craftsman with us.” Kyin's expression still has yet to change. Kyin had learned in his so far fairly short stay on earth that to truly irritate someone so serious (preferably without bodily harm done to you) you need to know at least a small amount about them. You don't learn about someone while you speak.

“Now then. Here’s a lesson for you, wretch, courtesy of the Prince of Eternal Mercies. Do you really think the Black Guard care that I’m mopping up the Underground for them? No. Let’s assume they did though, and that somehow your paltry claims actually amounted to any threat at all. I would take your hands, just like this…” Kyin smiled at this, when the Prince of Eternal Pomp said each "Crack." his smile widened. "And, if that didn’t make you talk, then I’d grab onto your pinky finger. Then, I’d pull to the side until the flesh had ripped between that finger and the next, and I’d keep pulling until the bone separated from the flesh, and it had been torn off of your hand. Do you understand now? This isn’t some game for you to play. I accept your offer. You are mine now, and if you ever speak to me like that again, then I will drive a stake through your legs and burn you alive just so that the others will know what happens if they ever cross me."

"You called me a fool previously." Kyin stated and waited to see an amount of recognition on the prince's face as if what Kyin had said meant something... It didn't, at least not until he continued his thought with a sigh, "Is the fool a fool for being a fool, or is the fool calling him a fool the fool for not realizing the fool's foolishness?"

Kyin waited a moment more before continuing, "I would assume that someone of your position would understand that while the Blackguard wouldn't have any issue with you 'mopping up the Underground for them', I promise you they would with you forming an army with the moppings. I am no detective, but I saw enough to know that is what you are attempting... I haven't heard of your organization, gang's live in the in between, not in the light but not fully in the dark. They are far too blunt an instrument for that, full anonymity doesn't inspire the same fear as a gang's partial anonymity. That means Al'Angyryl is no gang, and this wasn't a gang war. You are practiced and able to order the ex-gangsters around meaning you took them over, instead of taking them out, that is an issue with the Blackguard. Not one I intend to bring to them, but it definitely is existent. I am sorry I did not make my blackmail material clearer to you, it isn't about them knowing you exist, it is about them poking around and finding what you are up to." Kyin's facial expression did not change for his whole speech. Perhaps the gravity of what he said was lessened when he followed it up with, "Oh! I almost forgot, if I join your faction or whatever, can I have a pseudonym? I want to be called Hemlock Bones!"

Kyin decided not to push further and took the Avriel's advice, he left. Kyin smiled as he left, quite happy with the prospect of working with whatever Al'Angyryl was.

[Gangui]

NOTH

Knowledge:

Tactics: Kill the Head to Assimilate
Tactics: Make a Harsh Entrance to Deter Retaliation
Intimidation: Making Phonetic Noises to Emphasize Bodily Destruction
Intimidation: The Power of Touching Someone
Unarmed: Using Armor to Deflect Punches
Unarmed: Detecting where a Punch will Travel.

Skill Points:

15/15
NOT magic skill

Loot:

Deferred to Maltruism.

Injuries:

Noth's bruises heal 2 trials later. Later in the evening Noth notices he chipped one of his talons, inconsequential though extremely annoying I am sure.

Fame:

-3 Killing the gang leader Jag

Kyrin

Knowledge:

Investigation: Realize When a Hunch is Wrong
Investigation: Note a Person of Interest
Investigation: Don't Directly Interfere (Until You Have Dirt on Them)
Investigation: Know When a Suspect Plans to Stay
Investigation: Tail a Suspect
Stealth: Avoid Person of Interest's Sight
Noth: One Winged Avriel
Noth: Sensitive to Dumbassery
Al'Angyryl: It Exists and is Not for Good People

Skill Points:

15/15
NOT for magic skill

Comments:

Fun thread to read. Noth your narrative for the acquiring the gang is very well written, that is to be sure, however it was so good I was left wanting more! I'd like to read AA acquiring a more powerful gang over a longer plot line regardless I really enjoyed it. Kyrin, it is very invigorating to read about an investigator with the foresight to play games with Noth. I really didn't like the fact you didn't acknowledge Noth's Grandmaster Intimidation, coupled with his actions and his capstone ability, he should have left a brown stain on the floor where Kyrin was standing I apologize pre-emptively if there was already an understand between you to, but it's important we stay true to the skill system other wise

[Maltruism]

Thank you Gangui, for the bulk of the grade.
Thank you as well, for deferring this portion to me.
LOOT:
Noth, Al'Angyryl gains 15 nameless thugs, that are really not much more than Neronin's risen thralls as far as identity goes.
They do not contribute to your Fame level, they have no skill level to speak of, so it can not be raised by seasonal use.
They are simply the background muscle that will help intimidate your victims with their numbers.
They can be part of a big fight and be responsible for the general mayhem necessary to further a plot.
They are assumed to do menial labor like carry away loot, or round up horses, or set fire to evidence.
But they are unnamed thugs, unlike the NPCs you pay for or have due to your Fame.
Think of them as Star Trek red shirts .