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  #1  
Unread 18th of May, 2005, 02:08
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itches - ramblings of a freeform

To be turned into an IC post at some point
--------

"Do you know how many people you have killed?" He asked the question quietly, while washing the blood from his hand.

"I don't," he continues without waiting for an answer. "I used to. Keep count that is. At first it was a macho type of thing, something to be proud of. I've killed someone, I would think to myself. I fought them, they tried to kill me but I beat them and killed them. Two people, five people, a dozen people. I kept track of them out of the pride of what I had done at first."

His voice remained calm, and quite, as if he were merely speaking of what the weather would be like tomorrow, or what they had planned for dinner that night. Something mundane, something normal. Something innocent.

"It didn't take me very long to loose that notion. I was seeking out the battles at first, angry with myself, and ... the world. I would look at the bodies and silently scream at them. I'm better then you. I survived where you died. I win. But it wasn't long at all before I stopped seeing people who had tried to kill me, and found people who once had a family. People would never have a chance at redemption."

A small trail of blood made it's way down the stream from the bard's hand, while his eyes remained fixed intently on the washing.

"I didn't blame myself for what had happened; mostly they were trying to kill me anyway. But I didn't hate them anymore either. I kept count then not out of pride, but as a way of remembered the fallen. A silent homage to a life gone wrong, and ended in violence. But that didn't last either. I had been ambushed by a pair of starving bandits. Competent enough and desperate enough to be dangerous. I was cleaning my hands off afterwards when I found I couldn't remember anymore. I had lost track, lost count, forgotten. Just one little number and I couldn't recall it to mind."

He pulled his hand out of the water, and looked at it, white from the cold, and wrinkled from its prolonged dunking.

"Something seems wrong about that, fundamentally wrong. Not being able to remember how many people I've killed."

Looking at his companion for the first time, Nicos flashed a smile as his tone became jovial.

"I'm going to go and try and find my pack, I hope nothing in there broke."

Silence accompanied him as he left.
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Unread 22nd of October, 2005, 03:27
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This one could do with a little more editing, but oh well.
---
Nicos looked at the man before him. Hair style, clothing, lack of weapons, even the way he moved pointed towards him being a monk from one of the various monasteries that crop up across the land. Renowned for their prowess at fighting while unarmed, monks have a reputation for being quick, and efficient. This man didn't put lie to the stereotype.

Moving before Nicos had a change to make an opening quip, the monk kicked at his opponents left hip. Twisting with the blow to rob it off power, Nicos slapped the offending leg down to the ground. Stepping back the unnamed monk grunted a quick comment.

"You have training."

Having been rased in a monastery, Nicos had mastered the basic forms of the unique unarmed combat that they taught. This alone had been enough to give him an edge over most people who engaged him in a fist fight or brawl. However, against someone who had studied the higher forms, the odds quickly shifted in the other direction. Add in the crippling injury which had cost Nicos the use of his left arm and it quickly became a fool's fight. Nicos was many things, not all of them positive, but a fool he was not.

As the unnamed monk closed again, the bard grasped the hilt of his sword and in one smooth move - a move that had taken took hours of practice to perfect - drew his blade and slashed out. It was only reflexes that boarded on the preternatural that allowed the monk to save his leg, as it was a bloody gash now decorated the limb.

"I have a sword."

Mocking the man's tones Nicos grinned and brought his weapon up to guard, the odds had just became more to his liking. The following minutes consisted furious game of feints, slashes and parries, the monk trying to get close enough to counter the swords reach while Nicos did all that he could to react faster then his foe.

It ended suddenly when Nicos fell for a feint and the unnamed monk grabbed his wrist in a grip of steal. With a simple yet painful twist the monk forced the bard to release the sword and then a swift head butt knocked him backwards to the ground.

Laying upon the ground Nicos clutched for the dagger in his belt as his eyes struggled to refocus on his foe. His hand found the empty scabbard at the same time as his eyes found the monk standing over him. In the unnnamed monk's left hand was the recently captured sword and in his right, the dagger that had but moments ago rested at the bard's waist.

"You also seem to have a dagger."

The man's tone was absently curious as he looked the blade. Then with a studied indifference he tossed both weapons out of reach, stepped forward and viciously kicked Nicos as the bard attempted to rise.

His breath knocked out of him, Nicos felt a quick succession of blows land on his face and chest. As the first landed his hand floated down to his knee. When the second hit it was at his boot, grasping at the second dagger secreted there. By the third blow the blade was free and before the fourth had a chance the bard thrust it deep into the monk's stomach.

"Two ... daggers ... actually."

Nicos spoke through heaving gasps and slit, bloody lips to the monk, who for his part gazed in shock at the knife handle protruding from his belly. Then with a sudden yank the bard pulled the knife to the side, setting the contents free and finishing the fight.
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Last edited by itches; 22nd of October, 2005 at 04:55.
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Unread 20th of May, 2006, 00:00
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Decided to write a post that takes place before this one goes up. Until then this goes here.
---------

It wasn't until later in the day that Nicos finally found what he was looking for. It hadn't been easy - his body felt like one giant bruise, his lip was split in a couple of places, his left eye was darkening noticeable and come morning his jaw would be swelling nicely - but he finally managed to get an answer from the bar trio and soon was on his way, which lead him here, just outside a small chapel dedicated to Pelor.

Once inside the bard quickly found himself sitting before a minor 'cleric' of the church. Nicos sat in his chair and eyed the man sitting opposite him, slightly unkempt and slightly more unclean; nothing about the man spoke like those who had been blessed with a god's power. That told the bard everything he needed to know on how to approach the situation.

"A good day to you," the cleric began. "What can the church of Pelor do for you today?"

"I came seeking Pelor's blessing," Nicos began. "I was told the easiest way to find it was to ask you."

"It's true that I deal with those not normally considered of Pelor's flock, but our god welcomes all with pure heart into his-"

The man was cut off by Nicos dropping a sizable bag onto the desk between them, a bag that gave a metallic clink as it landed and set a greedy cast to the man's eyes.

"You'll have to forgive if I cut through the normal playing around, I had to deal with some unpleasant people to get your name and it has put me in a less then grand mood. Light 'blessings', 4."

"Ah of course," the man of Pelor said reaching out for the bag. "I'll just-"

"Not quite," Nicos interjected again, pulling the gold filled bag back towards him. "Potions first, then you get the count it."

The man gave a shrug then departed the room, quickly returning with 4 vials marked with blue wax. The pair exchanged items and the bard waited while the cleric assured himself that the asking price was in the bag.

"Excellent," he said once he had finished. "It was a pleasure doing business with you Mr...?"

Nicos ignored him as he made his way out.
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Last edited by itches; 21st of May, 2006 at 00:25.
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Unread 2nd of April, 2007, 17:55
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Very basic draft of a fight in Nicos' pre bard days.

--------------
The thugs were spread out, the leader closest directly in front of him, the burly one off to the side on Nicos' right, while the short shifty looking one was too the left and behind the first thug. Only the leader stood within reach and it was he who threw the first punch, a solid blow swung from the shoulder designed to end the fight quickly. It was also the most likely way to start a fight and Nicos was ready, stepping back a foot back wards and shifting his weight as the fist whistled just past his face.

The man's response came swiftly, swinging his arm forward as if to land a blow, the bard's hand held flat palm down caught the leader in the throat between the thumb and fingers. Something in the man's throat gave way, but Nicos didn't let the man fall, grabbing hold and using his forward momentum to swing the thug around and shove him at the burly thug who had just been about to clock Nicos from behind. The pair collided and stumbled away, not falling but giving the young monk a few precious seconds unhanded.

Spinning back Nicos caught sight of the shifty man rushing towards him, a knife held low with one hand. Not waiting, the monk lunged forward unexpectedly, his elbow catching the shorter man in the face. The impact sent a wave of pain, then numbness through his arm, but he ignored it, halting his forward momentum and swinging a flat chopping blow with all his might at the shifty man as he stumbled back. The edge of his hand encountered the portion of the neck that met the shoulder and the thug fell to the ground with a grunt, out of the fight.

Turning back Nicos was just in time to the leader near again, launching a badly aimed blow at his midsection. Catching it with both hands, the monk let the force bend him backwards as he twisted with a small amount of contempt. None of the men were particularly skilled at combat, it was only their numbers that even gave them a chance at defeating him. When the hand wouldn't twist any further, Nicos straightened and bent the wrist in a direction nature had not intended to the sound of several satisfying crunches. Then, just to add insult to injury, the monk swiftly kneed the injured thug twice in the ribs, letting him fall away with the last.

It was only then that Nicos realised how close the burly thug had managed to get, and then as man grabbed his upper-arms and pinned them to his side that the monk realised his mistake. In the ease with which the fight had progressed, he had relaxed his guard and became overconfident, forgetting that even the most inept man can can kill giving the right chance. The thug that held him shouted something over Nicos' shoulder, but the monk didn't pay attention to the words. He had only a few seconds to escape from the hold before the leader recovered and brought the fight to a swift and ill-fated end.

The bruising strength of the hands that pinned his arms ruled out any attempt to overpower the thug, so Nicos did the unexpected. He lifted his legs and pressed them tight against his chest. The sudden weight in his hands destroyed the burly man's balance, his grip slipping but not letting go. The difference wasn't much, but it was enough, as the monk found himself tilting back with his head dropping towards the ground and his legs raising. Without waiting for the thug to get used to the burden of extra weight, Nicos kicked out, the soles of his feet landing firmly in the armpits of his captor. The jolt was enough to break him free and the monk dropped heavily on the ground, the impact sending a throbbing back through his shoulders and neck.

From his prone position, Nicos reached out with a foot and hooked it around the ankles of his foe, and in a move that he had spent many tedious hours practising, pulled his legs out from under him while using the resisting to stand up. Once on his feet the monk lashed out with a savage kick to the thug's head, a new pain in his foot informing him he had sprained or even fractured a toe even as the burly man's eyes glazed over.

The fight had started less then 60 intense seconds ago and already two men were down, with the remaining pair each harbouring a collecting of injuries. Favouring his hurt foot, Nicos hobbles a few feet away from the bodies, waiting for the remaining thug to make his move. The leader held his broken hand tightly against his chest, wheezing for breath through a throat apparently more damaged then the monk had realised.

Glancing from his two fallen companions to the monk standing, waiting, the man raised his unhurt hand palm out and then backed away.
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Unread 14th of July, 2009, 16:47
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With the immediate danger gone, Nicos became aware of his heart beating staccato rythem within his chest. A sudden urge to laugh welled within him at having faced an imtimate voilence and escaped, an urge he repressed under his normal facade.

"It is amusing to see you sway a mob away from voilence," the bard made no move to move on while summoning the memory of his first encounter with serious sellsword in Karthes, when his trial had ended in a general riot. Less then a year had passed yet it seemed a lifetime ago.

"We still have a slight problem. We were meant to meet people here a few days ago, Shade and some others-" Nicos used the name out of curiosity. He had suspected Shade and Cadrius of a trist when he had last known them, but couldn't read anything from the man's face in reaction so continued "- but something clearly went wrong. Even if it were just a cooncidence that the rabble found us, and I doubt that, Issac there looks like personification of death.
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