A Lesson in Pride
Posted: Sat Aug 18, 2007 6:39 pm
Kuro walks through the market of Daggerfalls as the busy patrons and shopkeepers bustle about on their daily business. He walks up to one of the stalls and pulls a rather odd-looking package from his pack, holding it out to the man.
“What’s this?”
“Some leftover fishing bait, Mirndt-san,” Kuro replies, a smile on his face, “My rod has broken and I was hoping that I could exchange what remains of my bait for a few coins, since I will no longer be needing it.”
Mirndt gives Kuro a scrupulous looks followed by a gruff grunt as he trades the fishing bait for a few copper coins. Kuro bows slightly in thanks and walks off.
Good. Now if a drink is needed I will be able to provide, he thinks as he tosses the coins once into the air, catching them before tucking them into his empty coin purse.
Kuro leaves the market, weaving through the dalesmen and makes his way to the houses the skirt its perimeter. He ducks behind one and quietly makes his way toward an empty portion of town. It is not long before he comes upon his destination. The ground is simply dirt now, the ruins of the old inn still standing in lasting remembrance of the dalesmens’ love of the Zhentarim.
He smiles at the thought as he makes his way toward the center of the rubble and a door hidden in plain sight that once lead to the basement. Stealthfully he ducks into the opening and makes his way down the darkened stairs. A faint light flickers from the end of the stairwell and the rowdy voices of people can be heard echoing against the cold stone. Tipping his hat low to hide his face more, Kuro steps into the underground tavern and takes a quick survey of the room.
The small taproom is nothing more than the refurbished basement of the old inn. Vomit, urine, and other piles of bile and excrement litter the floor while blood, both fresh and old, paints the walls in spatters of color. His slight frown shows that he has not found what he was looking for and so he settles against a wall facing the doorway, opting for the dirty floor over the makeshift “seats” comprised of unconscious patrons.
Kuro settles down, shifting a bit to find a comfortable position against the hard stone floor, and holds his staff out before him, not daring to take his hands from it. He bows his head in thought and pulls his cloak around him a bit to guard against the damp cellar of a taproom. Reaching into his robes, he produces a small bottle of sake and takes a quick swig to help lighten the sheet disgust he holds for this place. As he tucks it away, the sound of the door opening catches his ears. He turns to face the doorway, peering out through the weave of his hat as a darkly-clad woman steps into the dim light of the tavern.
The woman strides in gracefully and looks around a moment, her hooded face shadowed in the dim light of the room. Seeing Kuro, she makes her way towards him, her graceful steps easily avoiding the human refuse on the floor. Kuro turns his head toward her without lifting it as she approaches and stands against the wall next to him.
“I see the brown kimono does come in handy,” she speaks, her words light.
“I have a black one as well,” he smirks, “but it is for more… formal occasions.”
He shifts again on the hard ground, “Your riddle was not difficult, Gorotsuki-otome, and I must admit that our conversation caught my interest.”
“No, it was not meant to be difficult,” she replies, pausing a moment, “Interesting people speak of you.....so I have been looking forward to talking to you.”
“Oh?” he smiles, “I do hope they are saying good things.”
“They do,” she answers quickly, “How far does this interest extend?”
“Far enough to bring me here,” Kuro replies with a smirk in his voice, “Our conversation will show if it brings it further.”
They sit in silence a moment before the woman speaks.
“Helstaff speaks highly of you.”
Kuro bows slightly, “It honors me to hear so. I appreciate his tutelage.”
“You are interested in his art......perhaps I have something to teach as well.”
He replies only with a smirk.
“Oh? You think not?”
“And what is it you could teach me, Gorotsuki-otome?” he asks, his smirk still evident in his voice.
The woman draws a stiletto, nimbly twirling it between her fingers as she speaks.
“I am not unskilled,” she states plainly.
Pulling his cloak aside, Kuro bares his katana and wakizashi, both neatly strapped in the proper fashion to his side.
“Neither am I,” he says, pulling his cloak back around to hide his blades.
“Which is why I offered,” she sheathes her stiletto, “If you do not need such, then I will withdrawal it.”
“I have been practicing on my own, but it would be beneficial to have someone to spar,” he states, genuinely interested in what this woman might be able to offer, “If only to see if I am in need of your assistance.”
“Where and when?”
“There is no time like the present. It should be dark by now; the guards will not be alarmed.”
“Oh, I do not think we need go that far,” she answers as she begins to walk toward the bar.
Kuro plants his staff firmly and rises slowly with its assistance as he moves to follow her lead. He dusts himself off quickly and moves to the bar as well. The woman stands before the bartender, a half-ogre with a face only a mother could love, and speak with politeness in her voice.
“Open please, Dynter,” she commands nicely, motioning to the door leading into a back room.
The half-ogre looks her over a moment and simply grunts as he turns to the door. Pulling a key which seems miniscule in his mighty hands, he unlocks and opens the door, stepping out of the way so the two people may pass.
As Kuro makes his way into the room, he looks around. He has been here before, with another regular of the underground, but this time it looked different. A large, round table had been placed at the center of the room, taking up a lot of the open space. Random items were littered upon it, showing that it had been used recently, or that there were plans for its use in the near future.
The woman rounds the table, moving to the far side of the room before stopping. Kuro follows, reaching for the clasp of his cloak and looking for a nook in which to rest his staff. The woman flicks her hood back, letting her raven hair fall about her shoulders.
“Blades only?”
“I will leave the stipulations to you,” Kuro replies, as he leans his staff against a corner of the wall and removes his cloak, resting it over the staff like a coat rack.
The woman carefully removes her cloak and folds it neatly before placing it on the large table. She turns to face Kuro and draws her long knife. Kuro slowly draws his wakizashi, holding it casually at his side.
“If you wish to spar as the dalesmen do, I would ask that you provide healing afterwards,” Kuro speaks, uncertain at her reluctance to name the terms of the match.
He frowns at the thought of what he just suggested, his mind going to the match we witnessed between Zuna and Elise. They went at each other like animals, raw steel drawn, blood flying like the savage barbarians they are. He shakes the thought from his head as quickly as he can.
“I wish your respect, not your death. I will do what I can,” she replies, standing at ready.
“I suggest first blood then.”
No sooner does Kuro stand at ready than the woman pounces. Her knife flashes quickly toward Kuro’s blade and a sharp pain courses through his body. The pain moves up his arm instantly; a blinding sting that leaves him numb. As his vision returns he looks down at his limp arm, frowning. The woman stands victorious in the same place where she started. Kuro cringes a bit, fighting the intense throbbing of his broken hand and wrist as he helps his arm into his robes, using them as a sling.
He slowly walks over to where his sword now lay, sprawled across the floor as if knocked from the hand of a child. As he stoops down and picks it up with his left hand he hears a soft chanting coming from the woman. He knows the sound of a healing spell when he hears it, but he hides his contempt, remembering what he had asked earlier as the pain in his hand and wrist subside. The blade is sheathed as carefully as he can with his off hand and he walks over to collect his other things.
“A fine tactic,” he says, accompanied only by a nod.
“Well,” she says, holding out a potion to him, “The first lesson was free.”
Kuro waves his hand dismissively at the bottle, “The scroll was enough. I need not your charity,” he moves toward his items leaning in the corner, “And all of life’s lessons are free.”
“I understand you like poisons,” she says, “but I could teach you much in the way of the blade.”
Kuro says nothing as he takes his cloak and tosses it over his right shoulder. He grabs up his staff with his good hand and turns to face the woman.
“That is,” she says, “if you wish.”
He regards her a moment, “I see that you can. I would appreciate it.”
“Then we will be most pleased,” she says as she picks up her cloak, shaking it off before donning it.
“We?” Kuro asks, a smirk playing on his lips.
She smiles as she fastens her cloak, “I have… associates.”
“I see,” Kuro says plainly.
The talk of “associates” brings back memories of the Enclave and the dealings he had there. His mind if flooded with contradictory thoughts of security and at the same time worry. An unsure expression falls over him as he contemplates her words.
“Will this be a problem?” she asks as she pulls up her hood.
“That is for your ryu to decide,” he says, letting his cloak drape over his nursed arm, “I am certain that if it is, the point will be made quite sharply.”
“It is not a problem for me,” she says, pausing a moment,” but for many in this land they would be.”
“I am not unknown to the other end of society, Gorotsuki-otome, I assure you,” he says, his impatience growing, “My people do what need be to accomplish our goals.”
“As do mine,” she replies with a smile, “I will see you soon.”
“I am sure that you will,” he says as they both leave the back room, thanking Dynter as they pass him.
They leave together without a word, the woman disappearing into the night. Kuro smiles, however, for while she may not be seen he still is able to track her movement with his keen ears as she makes her way through the rubble to wherever her destination may be. Likewise, the kozakuran moves deftly amid the crumbled tavern on his way back to his room, keeping to the shadows where he can in the hope that none may see him in his current state.
Entering the boardinghouse, he makes his way up to his room without even a nod to the headmistress. As soon as he enters his room, his cloak, hat, and staff find themselves thrown into a corner as he plops down on the bed. Slowly, he removes his hand from his robes and attempts to pull the glove from his hand. The fit is tight and what he sees when he removes it brings a deep frown to his face. The hand and wrist both are swollen and a large bruise can be seen where the flat of the woman’s blade struck his hand, making him drop his blade.
Holding his arm steady with his other hand, he takes a quick breath and holds it, fighting the pain that courses through his arm and body as he flexes his hand slowly, popping each bone back into its proper place. He groans low and long as his eyes begin to well up with tears at the powerful sting. The magic may have healed it some, but even a healed wound is sore if forced. As the last bone pops into place he gasps, letting his arm fall limp at his side and falling back onto the bed himself. His breathing is shallow and sharp and he wrestles with the throbbing of his wrist and hand.
After a few, long, steadying breaths, he wipes the pain from his eyes and sits up. He pulls his pack around and produces a roll of bandages from it. Holding the end of them steady in his crippled hand, he wraps the roll tightly around, keeping his hand and wrist stiff. He will not be using it for some time now, and though the magic may have healed the bones, his pride will be broken for a good while. With a sigh, he lights a candle and begins meditating, hoping to be able to clear his mind of this utter defeat.
“What’s this?”
“Some leftover fishing bait, Mirndt-san,” Kuro replies, a smile on his face, “My rod has broken and I was hoping that I could exchange what remains of my bait for a few coins, since I will no longer be needing it.”
Mirndt gives Kuro a scrupulous looks followed by a gruff grunt as he trades the fishing bait for a few copper coins. Kuro bows slightly in thanks and walks off.
Good. Now if a drink is needed I will be able to provide, he thinks as he tosses the coins once into the air, catching them before tucking them into his empty coin purse.
Kuro leaves the market, weaving through the dalesmen and makes his way to the houses the skirt its perimeter. He ducks behind one and quietly makes his way toward an empty portion of town. It is not long before he comes upon his destination. The ground is simply dirt now, the ruins of the old inn still standing in lasting remembrance of the dalesmens’ love of the Zhentarim.
He smiles at the thought as he makes his way toward the center of the rubble and a door hidden in plain sight that once lead to the basement. Stealthfully he ducks into the opening and makes his way down the darkened stairs. A faint light flickers from the end of the stairwell and the rowdy voices of people can be heard echoing against the cold stone. Tipping his hat low to hide his face more, Kuro steps into the underground tavern and takes a quick survey of the room.
The small taproom is nothing more than the refurbished basement of the old inn. Vomit, urine, and other piles of bile and excrement litter the floor while blood, both fresh and old, paints the walls in spatters of color. His slight frown shows that he has not found what he was looking for and so he settles against a wall facing the doorway, opting for the dirty floor over the makeshift “seats” comprised of unconscious patrons.
Kuro settles down, shifting a bit to find a comfortable position against the hard stone floor, and holds his staff out before him, not daring to take his hands from it. He bows his head in thought and pulls his cloak around him a bit to guard against the damp cellar of a taproom. Reaching into his robes, he produces a small bottle of sake and takes a quick swig to help lighten the sheet disgust he holds for this place. As he tucks it away, the sound of the door opening catches his ears. He turns to face the doorway, peering out through the weave of his hat as a darkly-clad woman steps into the dim light of the tavern.
The woman strides in gracefully and looks around a moment, her hooded face shadowed in the dim light of the room. Seeing Kuro, she makes her way towards him, her graceful steps easily avoiding the human refuse on the floor. Kuro turns his head toward her without lifting it as she approaches and stands against the wall next to him.
“I see the brown kimono does come in handy,” she speaks, her words light.
“I have a black one as well,” he smirks, “but it is for more… formal occasions.”
He shifts again on the hard ground, “Your riddle was not difficult, Gorotsuki-otome, and I must admit that our conversation caught my interest.”
“No, it was not meant to be difficult,” she replies, pausing a moment, “Interesting people speak of you.....so I have been looking forward to talking to you.”
“Oh?” he smiles, “I do hope they are saying good things.”
“They do,” she answers quickly, “How far does this interest extend?”
“Far enough to bring me here,” Kuro replies with a smirk in his voice, “Our conversation will show if it brings it further.”
They sit in silence a moment before the woman speaks.
“Helstaff speaks highly of you.”
Kuro bows slightly, “It honors me to hear so. I appreciate his tutelage.”
“You are interested in his art......perhaps I have something to teach as well.”
He replies only with a smirk.
“Oh? You think not?”
“And what is it you could teach me, Gorotsuki-otome?” he asks, his smirk still evident in his voice.
The woman draws a stiletto, nimbly twirling it between her fingers as she speaks.
“I am not unskilled,” she states plainly.
Pulling his cloak aside, Kuro bares his katana and wakizashi, both neatly strapped in the proper fashion to his side.
“Neither am I,” he says, pulling his cloak back around to hide his blades.
“Which is why I offered,” she sheathes her stiletto, “If you do not need such, then I will withdrawal it.”
“I have been practicing on my own, but it would be beneficial to have someone to spar,” he states, genuinely interested in what this woman might be able to offer, “If only to see if I am in need of your assistance.”
“Where and when?”
“There is no time like the present. It should be dark by now; the guards will not be alarmed.”
“Oh, I do not think we need go that far,” she answers as she begins to walk toward the bar.
Kuro plants his staff firmly and rises slowly with its assistance as he moves to follow her lead. He dusts himself off quickly and moves to the bar as well. The woman stands before the bartender, a half-ogre with a face only a mother could love, and speak with politeness in her voice.
“Open please, Dynter,” she commands nicely, motioning to the door leading into a back room.
The half-ogre looks her over a moment and simply grunts as he turns to the door. Pulling a key which seems miniscule in his mighty hands, he unlocks and opens the door, stepping out of the way so the two people may pass.
As Kuro makes his way into the room, he looks around. He has been here before, with another regular of the underground, but this time it looked different. A large, round table had been placed at the center of the room, taking up a lot of the open space. Random items were littered upon it, showing that it had been used recently, or that there were plans for its use in the near future.
The woman rounds the table, moving to the far side of the room before stopping. Kuro follows, reaching for the clasp of his cloak and looking for a nook in which to rest his staff. The woman flicks her hood back, letting her raven hair fall about her shoulders.
“Blades only?”
“I will leave the stipulations to you,” Kuro replies, as he leans his staff against a corner of the wall and removes his cloak, resting it over the staff like a coat rack.
The woman carefully removes her cloak and folds it neatly before placing it on the large table. She turns to face Kuro and draws her long knife. Kuro slowly draws his wakizashi, holding it casually at his side.
“If you wish to spar as the dalesmen do, I would ask that you provide healing afterwards,” Kuro speaks, uncertain at her reluctance to name the terms of the match.
He frowns at the thought of what he just suggested, his mind going to the match we witnessed between Zuna and Elise. They went at each other like animals, raw steel drawn, blood flying like the savage barbarians they are. He shakes the thought from his head as quickly as he can.
“I wish your respect, not your death. I will do what I can,” she replies, standing at ready.
“I suggest first blood then.”
No sooner does Kuro stand at ready than the woman pounces. Her knife flashes quickly toward Kuro’s blade and a sharp pain courses through his body. The pain moves up his arm instantly; a blinding sting that leaves him numb. As his vision returns he looks down at his limp arm, frowning. The woman stands victorious in the same place where she started. Kuro cringes a bit, fighting the intense throbbing of his broken hand and wrist as he helps his arm into his robes, using them as a sling.
He slowly walks over to where his sword now lay, sprawled across the floor as if knocked from the hand of a child. As he stoops down and picks it up with his left hand he hears a soft chanting coming from the woman. He knows the sound of a healing spell when he hears it, but he hides his contempt, remembering what he had asked earlier as the pain in his hand and wrist subside. The blade is sheathed as carefully as he can with his off hand and he walks over to collect his other things.
“A fine tactic,” he says, accompanied only by a nod.
“Well,” she says, holding out a potion to him, “The first lesson was free.”
Kuro waves his hand dismissively at the bottle, “The scroll was enough. I need not your charity,” he moves toward his items leaning in the corner, “And all of life’s lessons are free.”
“I understand you like poisons,” she says, “but I could teach you much in the way of the blade.”
Kuro says nothing as he takes his cloak and tosses it over his right shoulder. He grabs up his staff with his good hand and turns to face the woman.
“That is,” she says, “if you wish.”
He regards her a moment, “I see that you can. I would appreciate it.”
“Then we will be most pleased,” she says as she picks up her cloak, shaking it off before donning it.
“We?” Kuro asks, a smirk playing on his lips.
She smiles as she fastens her cloak, “I have… associates.”
“I see,” Kuro says plainly.
The talk of “associates” brings back memories of the Enclave and the dealings he had there. His mind if flooded with contradictory thoughts of security and at the same time worry. An unsure expression falls over him as he contemplates her words.
“Will this be a problem?” she asks as she pulls up her hood.
“That is for your ryu to decide,” he says, letting his cloak drape over his nursed arm, “I am certain that if it is, the point will be made quite sharply.”
“It is not a problem for me,” she says, pausing a moment,” but for many in this land they would be.”
“I am not unknown to the other end of society, Gorotsuki-otome, I assure you,” he says, his impatience growing, “My people do what need be to accomplish our goals.”
“As do mine,” she replies with a smile, “I will see you soon.”
“I am sure that you will,” he says as they both leave the back room, thanking Dynter as they pass him.
They leave together without a word, the woman disappearing into the night. Kuro smiles, however, for while she may not be seen he still is able to track her movement with his keen ears as she makes her way through the rubble to wherever her destination may be. Likewise, the kozakuran moves deftly amid the crumbled tavern on his way back to his room, keeping to the shadows where he can in the hope that none may see him in his current state.
Entering the boardinghouse, he makes his way up to his room without even a nod to the headmistress. As soon as he enters his room, his cloak, hat, and staff find themselves thrown into a corner as he plops down on the bed. Slowly, he removes his hand from his robes and attempts to pull the glove from his hand. The fit is tight and what he sees when he removes it brings a deep frown to his face. The hand and wrist both are swollen and a large bruise can be seen where the flat of the woman’s blade struck his hand, making him drop his blade.
Holding his arm steady with his other hand, he takes a quick breath and holds it, fighting the pain that courses through his arm and body as he flexes his hand slowly, popping each bone back into its proper place. He groans low and long as his eyes begin to well up with tears at the powerful sting. The magic may have healed it some, but even a healed wound is sore if forced. As the last bone pops into place he gasps, letting his arm fall limp at his side and falling back onto the bed himself. His breathing is shallow and sharp and he wrestles with the throbbing of his wrist and hand.
After a few, long, steadying breaths, he wipes the pain from his eyes and sits up. He pulls his pack around and produces a roll of bandages from it. Holding the end of them steady in his crippled hand, he wraps the roll tightly around, keeping his hand and wrist stiff. He will not be using it for some time now, and though the magic may have healed the bones, his pride will be broken for a good while. With a sigh, he lights a candle and begins meditating, hoping to be able to clear his mind of this utter defeat.