Watch it Burn, Then

[Karuka]

((Closed))

Dheathain. The last time she'd set foot in Dheathain, she'd been whisked off on the adventure that had ultimately led to the collapse of her faith. Last time she'd set foot in Dheathain, she'd seen proof that the old gods were dead in her native land. The last time she'd set foot in Dheathain, it had laid the path for her own damnation. And there was nothing to do about it but walk the path of the damned.

She didn't know why she'd come back. There was absolutely no reason to go back. She'd just taken the first boat out of Radasanth, and had landed here a few days later. It was rare for her to voluntarily turn to water as a means of escape; most times she'd go further inland.

It seemed that when she'd lost her faith, she'd lost her fear, too. Fear of what, exactly...was open to interpretation. Fear of death? Fear of fear? It hardly mattered; she was here now, and stepped off the creaky old boat and back into Talmhaidh after a mere four months away. She didn't know what she'd do here; there was neither a plan nor a need for one. She'd stay in Dheathain until she got bored of it, and then move on to the next place, wherever that wound up being.

She supposed she'd gotten bored of Radasanth. No...not bored. Frustrated. She'd kept trying to learn how to fight with her daggers at the Citadel, but had made so little progress that using them at all seemed like a waste. At least with her staff she could keep opponents at bay long enough to think of something. Granted, normally that entailed hitting them over and over again with the business end of a six foot long Nihon stick...but even when she'd been using mops, the idea had kept her alive.

She walked down the bustling Talmhaidh street, noting the colors, scents, and people. For some reason, the Fae and Draconians no longer struck her as wonderful, the signs seemed more cracked and faded, the scents in the air were not full of hope and wonder, just fresh bread and fish rotting in the noon-time sun. This was no longer a land of hopes and dreams, or of legends come to life. It was just...a place.

It wasn't until she almost passed him that she saw the old Draconian man who had given her her first potato, and a little nostalgia wormed its way around her belly. She went up to him, noting how leathery his skin was, how careworn his face...hard times were upon the old man, hard times, and some of the kindness and curiosity that she'd seen in his face the first time she'd seen him had been replaced worry and a need to survive, just survive.

Nothing was right since Ragnarok, it seemed. Not even hard-working old men could find any peace in their age. She pulled out a gold coin - enough to buy a dozen of the potatoes, if she'd wanted, and spoke to him, slipping all-but fluently into her native Gaelic.

"I'd like a potato, grandfather. With salt and pepper."

He handed it to her and took her coin, but when he looked back up to give her a handful of little silver coins, she was already gone. She didn't need the coin, she wanted for nothing save a reason to continue putting one foot in front of the other, rather than settling down into some mundanity that would become a "life."

She munched on the potato as she wandered aimlessly through the streets of the large city. It was coming to mid-afternoon, but she had nothing to do. It was too early to begin drinking, no matter how much a strong and bitter mug full of cold Dheath ale would have felt like a lover's embrace, and she had nothing that would define her direction for her. So she just wandered.

As she finished the potato, she took a swig of water from her old goatskin to bring some moisture back into her mouth and sat down. There was no where to go, no where she needed to be. The feeling was still strange, still new. Still uncomfortable. All her life, if she hadn't been told by some person to go here or do this, her runes and pendulum did it. Now she truly had free will, cut off from the dharma that made her life more than just a hollow mockery. She didn't quite like the feeling yet. She wanted a purpose, but knew that there wasn't one.

The sound of a scuffle nearby caught the red-head's attention, and she turned to watch what was happening. A pair of humans were dragging a little Fae girl out of her father's shop.

"When you pay, you'll get your girl back. Until then, she's ours."

The girl struggled, fluttered her wings, kicked her feet, cried piteously...but these men had no pity. She was property to them, collateral. That thought made Karuka more angry than she'd been since Kor had first appeared before her, threatening to kill her. She'd been property before. No more. And no more for the innocent. No more would these men enact their cruel terror.

Never again.

Standing up, the little Earthling girl strode boldly over to the scuffle, blue fire lighting her eyes; rage dancing at the front of those sky-kissed orbs.

"Let her go." The words were not request so much as command, and not command so much as threat. The man who had the girl looked up at her, a wiry fellow in a cotton suit who held a knife in his hand. Seeing what it was that challenged him, he let out a sadistic chuckle.

"Offering yourself as a trade, sweetcakes?"

Karuka's eyes narrowed and she gripped her staff in both hands.

"Let the child go, or die like the dogs you are."

At that, both men laughed, and flung the child back into her father's arms, meanwhile drawing their weapons. One held a long steel dagger, the other a steel short sword. Shadows moved around her, and boots scuffed on the cobblestone road as three more made themselves known. She was now surrounded, in what was, in all likelihood, a hopeless situation.

But at least she'd go down fighting.

"Come on, if that's the way you want it."

It was only a second before the first attacks began and she began batting at them again and again with her staff. She felt the hard pounding of weapons on her flesh as she wasn't able to protect herself all at once, but her vlince outfit held against the barrage.

How long her body would hold up, however...depended on willpower, sheer ferocity, and dumb, blind luck.

[Molotov]

Normally, Molotov knew better than to interfere in a conflict in a strange land. He had become unwelcome in enough places that he was running out of places where there wasn’t a bounty on his head. Dhethain, was one of the last places of relative safety for the mutant, and that characteristic about the continent made it quite endearing, despite all it’s over, obvious flaws.

Still, Molotov couldn’t watch a five on one fight without intervening. There was just something so incredibly wrong about the odds that it seemed almost insulting to legitimate ruffians everywhere. “Like I bloody needed five people to rob a sodding bird…” he thought scornfully. “What are they bloody going to get in the end, a half pint of liquor each?”

Molotov was surprised by the way that everyone else in the street seemed to pay no attention. He wondered if Dhethain was full of cowards, or if the local law enforcement were particularly strict about vigilantism. If the whole idea of a five on one beatdown had not offended his sensibilities that much, he may have been inclined to take the path of least resistance. However, given that circumstances had landed as they did, the lure of a bit of fun was too much to pass up.

The five men had practically surrounded the red haired girl. Molotov moved up to the closest one of them to him and tapped him on the shoulder. “Hello!” he said, a faux cheery grin appearing on his face. “Are you really that weak that you need four friends, or are you compensating for a poor bedroom performance?”

Molotov chuckled lightly at his own joke, and watched as the rouge pulled out a large liviol tonfa so as to make his position clear.

“I s’ppose you think you’re something special…” the rogue began. He began to tap the tonfa in his hand as if to suggest that Molotov better back away if he knew what was good for him. “An’ ye wanna know what… I bet that girlie there’d give me the time of day before you…”

Molotov let out another mild guffaw. “That’s nice…” he said. “I’d leave well enough alone now though, before you bloody found yourself in the middle of a row you didn’t want started, eh?”

The rogue replied by swinging his tonfa at Molotov. The mutant darted to the left, and then shot a quick burst of flame towards the wood. With a loud crackle, it began to burn.

“Yeah…” Molotov said. “And it’ll bloody cost you whatever that sodding thing cost you too…” he said. “Bloody hell man… blue wood, have some sodding respect now won’t you?”

The rogue was almost beside himself with anger. “YOU…. SET… MY… WEAPON… ON… FIRE,” he said, breathing heavily between every word.

“Watch it burn then,” Molotov replied. He delivered a swift kick to the rogue’s stomach, and then knocked him out cold with a well placed shot of his own. The rest of the rogue’s allies took notice. Molotov grinned.

“Any questions?” he asked them.

[Karuka]

Karuka stood still, ready, as the bandits around her took notice of a gruff intruder. The fact that he had callously burned an expensive piece of equipment was a warning not lost on the thugs, who lowered their weapons and backed away, glaring alternately at Molotov and the storekeep.

"We'll be back, old man. And then, if you don't pay..."

Their own ultimatum delivered, they turned tail and ran, leaving the terrified shopkeep to hustle his daughter back into the disrupted sanctuary that was their shop and glare accusatorily at the intruders.

Karuka sighed, stretching out. Lots of good that had done. No gratitude in exchange for so many welts and bruises she was sure that her golden skin would turn purple and green within a few hours. She hadn't gotten a beating that bad since she as sixteen and had struck her stepfather for striking her mother. But that was okay. If she hadn't bought the expensive vlince for her first real outfit, she'd have been more than slightly dead right now. The only blood they had shed was from a little cut on her cheek where one had been fortunate enough to almost take out her eye.

She then turned to look at her unlikely savoir. He couldn't really be called handsome, but then again, she'd never exactly been called beautiful. And he had been the only one that had the nerve to help her help the shopkeep, however badly that had turned out.

She stepped toward him, extending her hand. "Thank you. I'm Karuka."

[Molotov]

An amused smile escaped Molotov’s lips. There was something he liked about the red head, something that made rescuing her seem worthwhile. The mutant couldn’t explain it exactly, but he was glad that he had intervened.

“You’re Karuka?” he replied, confirming her answer. He refused to give his name. Even though he had committed no crimes in Dheathain, he assumed that his reputation had reached even this secluded eastern land. Wherever Molotov meant, wealthy nobles became nervous, and the nervousness often translated into the local constabulary bringing him in for questioning. The only result of the questions was a few police officers with bruises and Molotov leaving for another town.

Since he’s already been involved in one incident already that day, Molotov thought it better that he not reveal his identinty. “Too many people ‘round here looking...” he realized. The people in the bazaar may have been disinterested in a five on one roughhousing, but Molotov’s presence had brought the potential of a fair fight with it, and as a result, entertainment.

“These bloody sods would probably piss their knickers if they knew who I was,” he thought with a slight smile. He could practically hear the sound of objects falling to the ground in shock as he revealed his identity. The expressions on the crowd’s faces were almost enough incentive for Molotov, and on many other days, he might have been tempted enough to go after the attention. However, today, he just wanted peace. He wouldn’t have even gotten involved in Karuka’s matter if it hadn’t been for the way that the bullies had offended his sensibilities.

“Well, my name is Topper Headon,” he said. It was a different alias than he had used when registering for the Cell, but that one had already run its course. He had only wanted to keep his participation there a secret until he had entered. The Cell was supposed to be his coming out party, the mutant had intended to win it as a way of reminding the nobles of Radasanth that he was to be feared and not trifled with. However, he had lost, and been forced to go back into hiding. Now, he had even dyed his hair back to a more natural black and let it hang down from his head, instead of having it up in a brightly colored mohawk. His spiked jacket had been lost in Corone, and had been replaced by a dragonscale cloak that was far more discrete, despite its elegance. There was no way that Karuka would have known him to be anyone other than Topper Headon, and Molotov preferred it that way- at least for the time being.

He put a cigarette in his mouth but did not light in. Instead, he just looked at Karuka, gauging her reaction as he continued to speak. “If I were you, I’d probably fly out of here,” he said. “Love, those people know they have you five on one, and they’re not the kind that’ll take lightly to being upstaged, only reason they tried to take a piss on you was ‘cause they fancied they’d win... same reason they picked on a poor old sod of a shopkeeper...”

Molotov guessed Karuka would ask him for help. He figured he’d help her, at least for a while. He liked her accent and there was a certain air about her that felt both fresh and unique. With his slight smile still pasted across his face, he waited for Karuka’s response.

[Karuka]

"Perhaps you're right about that, Topper," was the red-head's replay. She knew he was lying about his name; no one in their right minds would give their child such a curse as that. But she'd met many people in her travels that had reason enough to hide their identities, and didn't pry into the matter. "I suppose that next time...well..give me a second."

Karuka then spent the next few minutes traveling back and forth among wary vendors, buying an assortment of needles from one, including a big boring needle, some six- and three- ounce vials from another, and a jar of oil from a third, before returning to Molotov.

"I guess next time I'll just have to be too much a threat to be worthwhile."

She'd seen a tactic when she'd been sucked into the Ragnarok that had been the undead siege of Eluriand, and it had been one of the most effective she'd ever seen. Jars of shrapnel had been filled with oil or wine and then had a wick inserted into them and thrown like grenades. While it had been intended to incinerate the highly flammable zombies, Karuka had seen a man lit on fire once. He hadn't been fit for fighting afterward. That was what the vials were for, all dozen or so of them.

"But for now, I don't think they're coming back."

She ran a golden hand through her dark red hair, feeling once more all the bruises and contusions, and that irritating scratch on her right cheek. It was incredibly wearisome, and she was definitely starting to feel the nearest tavern and mug of chilled ale calling her name. It wasn't more than a few minutes since she'd decided it was too early to start drinking, but a somewhat senseless fight can change your perspective that quickly.

"Come on. I'll buy ya a drink."

Waiting for his reply, she took out a small vial of a viscous liquid and shook a drop onto her finger, smearing it over the cut. She felt the harsh sting of the Liviol balm, and winced as it made her face feel like it was being shredded for the few moments that it took to heal. When the sting faded, the cut was gone, and she put the little vial - one of six - back into her bag.

[Molotov]

Molotov was never the type to pass up the opportunity for a drink. Especially when someone else was paying. Molotov wondered if he wanted to leave well enough alone, he might have been better off cutting ties with Karuka, but Molotov figured that the bullies woudn’t return as long as he was around. He had scared them off already, and they wouldn’t look for a fight that they didn’t think they could win.

“How ‘bout we go to this bar out by the weapons shop?” Molotov asked. “They have a bit more than the bloody piss water that the sods seem to love. It was called Airgead Cuach- I think. Can’t bloody keep these fuck names that these people have here straight. Anyways, if you want a drink, I’ll take one too.”

He smiled, and it was a genuine smile. Though Karuka wouldn’t have been able to appreciate the rarity of it, she had brought the mutant into a rare mood of good humor. With a snap of the fingers he lit his cigarette, and then began to walk over towards the bar with Karuka. As he moved, he could tell that he was the center of attention. He didn’t like it, but even so, he didn’t regret having helped the girl.

For a moment, he thought that he should do something for the shopkeeper, but he decided against it. If the bullies came back, it wouldn’t be until later, after they were sure the coast was clear. Molotov also figured whatever the common law enforcement Dhethain had would soon be on the scene. Average people might not be able to guess his identity, but Molotov didn’t doubt that the local constabulary would have been warned about his possible arrival. If so, being questioned about the fight would only lead to trouble.

Molotov decided that while he wouldn’t go into the details of his situation, he owed Karuka a bit more of an explanation. There was always the chance that she could get caught up in his past if she stayed around him for too long, and he didn’t want to have that happen to her. He felt that if she decided to stay around him, she needed to know what the risks were.

“Look,” Molotov began. He spoke in a hushed tone and kept his eyes focused on his destination and not on Karuka. “I haven’t done anything wrong here, but I’ve pissed off a lot of sods over the years... and I don’t know if any of them will want to come looking out for me. I don’t know how much you want excitement around your life now, but just be warned, things with me don’t always end out so good. I end up with the sharp end of the blade more times than not, okay?”

Molotov had been intentionally vague, and he hoped that Karuka wouldn’t press him on the subject any more than he was comfortable with. He didn’t want to talk about it, because the more he told her, the sooner he’d have to leave.

[Karuka]

Karuka could have laughed. She remembered saying a version of those words to Storm Veritas after they'd been attacked in Fallien. Being warned now that she was at risk of being damned by association seemed like a joke. Granted, she hadn't many enemies of her own, but she didn't doubt that the ones she'd made wouldn't hesitate to go after her if she ever crossed paths with them again.

"If I've gone a day of my life without getting into some sort of trouble or another," she explained to him with a chuckle, "then it's the exception to the rule."

He didn't care to share much of his past, so she'd spare him hers. Pirates, time travel, ancient monsters guarding equally ancient secrets... hers was an interesting tale, but only to an audience willing to believe that the well-dressed and equipped girl that told it had come with little more than the rags on her back and the spunk in her blood. She'd come a long way.

"Besides, I'm perfectly capable of stepping into trouble myself. I've been told it'll get me killed someday. But someday is vague, and I'll see it when I get there."

She shook out her hair, vaguely annoyed at how long it was getting, and then stepped from the dusty street into the dim coolness of the tavern, Molotov a step before her. As she crossed the threshhold, someone put a hand on her shoulder from behind, meanwhile slipping something into her bag. A soft, gravelly male voice murmured into her ear, somehow both setting her at ease and filling her stomach with a sort of queasy dread.

"Put a little of each into each bottle. If you're as brave a lass as you seem to be, it will aid you in your crusade."

She turned around to look for him once he let her go, but the sunlit street bustled busily, and there was no sign of who it might have been. Warily, she turned back around and settled in at a table, at a slight angle to her temporary companion.

The serving wench came over, looking from one to the other, and Karuka spoke up first.

"A dark ale, and as strong and bitter as you have it." The girl nodded, her eyes turning to Molotov.

[Molotov]

Molotov liked this bar. It was a bit more active than the ones on Corone, and it lacked the blowhard dwarves that insisted on inundating the rest of the tavern with their pointless war stories. The mutant had almost given up alcohol in Underwood because he had found them so intolerable. In Talmhaidh, the mutant didn’t run into as many of the people that he hated. The draconians mostly kept to themselves, the humans were shiftless, and the fae were quite attractive. Their current bar wench was just one example.

“Don’t think I could have you love, eh?” Molotov asked with a wink.

The wench was not amused.

“Fine then,” Molotov replied. He was not embarrassed by the rejection, but it was clear that he was frustrated. “Just get me a bloody ale. Whatever’s cheap, I don’t really care...”

The wench nodded and went off.

Molotov looked around the bar one last time to check for enemies. It might have seemed like he was being a bit paranoid, and perhaps he was. However, the mutant had faced so much trouble in the past that the difference between prudence and paranoia had been sufficiently burned. He took another drag off the cigarette he had been smoking casually and flicked the ash onto the floor.

“Keep an eye out for anything strange,” Molotov warned. “I don’t bloody care much for this place, and you never know who’s going to be coming after you...”

He didn’t elaborate. Elaboration would have meant he would have had to let Karuka in a bit more into his story, and that was something he wasn’t prepared for. The only people Molotov ever let in were his friends, and he sometimes wondered if he already had too many of them without adding this red haired girl to the list. Friends of his seemed to have unfortunate luck far too often.

[Karuka]

Karuka didn't respond to Molotov's cryptic cautions. To be perfectly honest, she didn't see the need to watch out for anyone in particular, and if it got her killed... well, everyone had to die someday. It was one of those things an adventurer had to accept if they ever wanted to go anywhere beyond their hometown.

Two big, frosty mugs of ale were set at the table, and Karuka set a coin on the wench's tray before taking her mug in both hands and lifting it to her lips. The drink tasted dark and almost burningly bitter, and had the smooth and slightly thick texture that any good ale was proud of. It shook the dust from her mouth and soothed the aches of the fight, which was all she ever asked of a drink.

Now that she was feeling more like herself, she looked around. The bar itself was pretty standard. Its oaken floors were covered with a mild layer of grime and a few blood stains, its tables were only mostly clean, and its bartender stood cleaning glasses while he had time between customers asking for their drinks. It was too early for rowdy drunks, and instead the few patrons created a dull murmur in the background.

"What's it matter," she finally responded to Molotov, "who comes after you? Life is Hel...and then you die. And death is silent and cold. A void. And once you get used to the cold and the silence, it's really quite restful."

She took another mouthful of ale. Why was it, then, that she fought so hard to survive? Why was there something that beat hard within her little heart that wouldn't let her accept that and take defeat? Why did she fight so hard, day in and day out, to remain in Hel when just beyond there was a resting place, and she kept growing wearier and wearier? She couldn't answer those questions.

Before Molotov could voice any of those questions for her, if he so chose, the doors banged open and the group of five hooligans from earlier pushed their way in, this time accompanied by a reedy looking man in a robe and a muscular Draconian with a heavy-set scowl.

Karuka just sighed, swirling her half-empty mug around and muttering a curse she'd learned in Fallien.

[Molotov]

Molotov took a large gulp of his ale, only to practically spit it out when he heard Karuka’s reply. The mutant had long been cynical, but he had never been that cynical. “Are you bloody serious?” he asked incredulously. He didn’t know how the girl would have ever seen a hell, and even if she had, he doubted it would have been like that. Too many years of private school in Corone had made him fear the afterlife.

However, Karuka had no chance to respond. A large group had entered the tavern, five of them the thugs that had ganged up on Molotov before. Immediately, the mutant got up. “Scuse me love,” he said to Karuka, though he took his mug with him.

With the exception of Molotov and the seven hooligans, there was no one moving in the tavern. Everyone, from the patrons to the wenches, had dropped what they were doing in a combination of surprise and fear.

“You think you’re a big bloody deal here now, don’t you?” Molotov asked. “You get some sod with scales and a stick inside a sheet and now think you’re going to impress someone? Who are you after, the wenches won’t sleep with you... they won’t sleep with me and I’m actually good looking.”

A few nervous chuckles escaped from the tavern, but Molotov could tell that no one else was going to get up to help him, with the possible exception of Karuka. He could hear a few people talking nearby, mentioning something about the “Spider-Monkey Kids.” “Probably some fuck gang for wankers who can’t get it done themselves,” he thought. “With a name they thought were somewhat impressive...”

He laughed a mild cackle as the draconian spoke. “I don’t like it when my people come back to me complaining,” he said. He unsheathed a long plynt scimitar, apparently unaware that plynt burned easily. “And I take action when they do.”

Molotov merely flicked a light spark towards the plynt sword, but it diffused almost immediately. The mutant pulled off his sunglasses in surprise. He had never seen a plynt weapon with that kind of an enchantment before.

“Surprise...” the draconian said. He punched Molotov right between the eyes. “And I don’t hit guys with glasses.”

Molotov staggered back a few steps, but he released flames from his hands as he fell. The draconian ducked underneath the fiery stream, but some of his men weren’t as lucky. Two of their clothes caught fire, and they ran screaming towards the kitchen to look for some water.

Blinking as tears began to form in his eyes, Molotov propped himself up against a barstool. “Another ale, quickly,” he said.

The bartender just looked on bug eyed like he had said something stupid.

Figuring he wasn’t going to get a response, Molotov grabbed a mug from one of the other patrons and took a large swig. He pulled his adze out from his belt and began to laugh maniacally.

[Karuka]

Two down. Five to go. To be honest, she wasn't in the mood for this sort of fight again today, but he'd helped her today, and she owed it to him. The flames had taken out two of the men, at least temporarily, but that wasn't likely to last more than a few minutes, and they still had someone that was probably a magic user in their midst. When he started muttering and twitching his fingers, that was enough confirmation for the red-head, and she picked up the ashtray that lay on the table.

She wasn't sure if it would fly right or not...but what the hell. It was kinda like a discus, throw it right, and it'd hit someone hard.

With a hard swing of her arm and a sharp flick of her wrist, she sent the thing spinning across the room. She didn't really think it'd hit, with her track record, but the ashtray flew straight and hit the man square in the face, breaking his nose, knocking him down and completely out. Karuka almost grinned at the sickly crack, but her action had drawn attention to herself, and the Draconian growled, gesturing to his men.

"Subdue her."

The remaining three broke away, leaving their leader to deal with the apparently insane Molotov, and for the first time, a grin slashed across Karuka's face.

"Subdue me? You can pog...mo...thoin."

The end of her staff hit the floor as she stood up, grinning at the men as they approached her.

Pog mo thoin = kiss my @$$

[Molotov]

Molotov laughed again. “You stupid sods.” He was thoroughly amused by Karuka’s strategy. He hit his adze head against the ground and then readied to wield the flaming weapon against the draconian. The draconian hissed. Smoke billowed out of the powerful creature’s nostrils.

The mutant was a bit surprised to see the draconian charge forwards. He had taken a huge slice at Molotov’s head, but the mutant managed to dodge it. Molotov could tell that he’d managed to get under the draconian’s skin. The Spider-Monkey’s leader hadn’t expected his men to have been withered so easily.

Molotov ducked underneath the scimitar and shoved his adze right in the draconian’s bread box. The draconian’s tight abs absorbed most of the impact, but that was hardly the point. The mutant had managed to set the draconian’s tunic ablaze. Wide eyed, the draconian dropped his scimitar and began to fan at his tunic. Molotov only snickered. He stood back up and took a deep exhale, blowing a cold icy breath straight at the draconian’s face.

The mutant watched as the draconian fell clutching his face, and it allowed Molotov to turn to the wounded mage and knock him out. Molotov smirked. He was thoroughly amused by how easy it was for him to take out this gang of supposed tough guys. They had never intimidated him. Any group of five men who had to go call two more before they could fight were going to be full of cowards. Molotov disrespected them all. He respected the first five for running, the stick thin hooded man for being a coward, and the draconian for letting any of them into his group.

“Won’t you learn?” Molotov said chidingly. “You are the people you hire.” The draconian was still struggling on the ground, so Molotov dealt him a swift kick to knock him out.

With the draconian knocked down, Molotov turned his attention to Karuka. He didn’t know how the girl would handle herself in combat. He had more faith in her than any of the hooligans, but even three incompetents could be dangerous against a less competent fighter.

“Watch out!” Moltov shouted at her. “Block first and use both ends! That’s the way you use a staff!”

He smiled and made his way over to the three remaining Spider-Monkey Kids. The mutant didn’t hurry at all. He was holding back, curious to see what Karuka could do. He was confident that he could intercede before things got too difficult for her.

[Karuka]

Karuka had never been given any real weapons training since she'd been visited two days in a row by the one-handed swordmaster when she was nine, and the sudden advice proved mildly distracting. She actually made the mistake of glancing at Molotov, letting the lead man get too close.

Reflexively, she lashed out with the upper end of her staff, hitting a glancing blow off of his skull, but her mistake had allowed the other two to flank her. The spacing of the tables put them too close for her to do any better than whack at them ineffectually, and they grabbed her by the arms, twisting her wrists and sending her Nihon staff to the floor with a loud clunk and series of soft thunks as it bounced.

She struggled against the grip, but couldn't break free from the iron-tight hands that gripped her arms mercilessly. Straight ahead of her, the highest ranking of the thugs grinned sadistically, pulling his fist back for a punch. She didn't see if Molotov was coming to help or not, and for a split second, she considered quitting. But before she could, something fierce and Celtic started roiling in her blood and she lashed out.

She stomped hard with her right foot, getting a snarling curse from that man as he involuntarily relaxed his grip, recoiling as her foot slammed his hard against the ground. That gave her just enough space to twist, serpentine, and bite into the cheek of the man to her left. She tasted flesh, then blood, and he yelled out, pulling away, as the center man's fist sailed past her head.

With one arm free, she grabbed a mythril dagger, whirling to stab the man on her right in the shoulder, which left her with only one opponent. She kicked him solidly, the ball of her foot connecting at the bottom of his abdomen while the heel ground viciously into his groin, and he went down to his knees, whimpering like a puppy.

She spat out the piece of flesh she'd been holding between her teeth and wiped blood from her mouth with the back of her hand.

"Get out," she snarled. "And take them with you."

[Molotov]

Molotov had sped up to reach Karuka when she had seen her in trouble, but by the time he could reach her, he was no longer necessarily. He wasn’t sure whether he should have been impressed with her, or utterly mortified. Finding no compromise between the two, he just laughed.

“Bloody hell, love!” he exclaimed. “You have to be the bloody worst fighter ever to win a fight against three wankers. I don’t know how to describe it, it was just bloody like something... like you were a sodding rabid squirrel.” Though Molotov had never felt all that threatened by the Spider-Monkey kids, he was now just laughing heartily. He called over to the wench to bring him another drink.

By now, the Spider-Monkey kids were picking up what they could of their pride and their equipment and skulking away. The threat of them was gone. The two that had run into the kitchen were trying to hide away as they moved out to the door. Molotov thought to call out and embarrass them, but he decided against it. The mutant felt as though they had lost even their entertainment value.

As the mutant sat back down, he expected that he would soon be congratulated by the bar patrons. After all, he had practically defeated the Spider-Monkey kids single handedly, and he had done so impressively. He wondered if the wench who had brushed him off earlier would spurn his advances if he made them again. As if to congratulate himself for a job well done, Molotov let his boots rest up on the table, and he grabbed a here to fore undrunk ale from the table next to his without even asking.

The reaction that the mutant received completely defied his expectations. Three of the bartenders had cocked crossbows and pointed them in his direction.

“Hey, dragon cloak! You don’t have to go home, but you can’t stay here,” one of them said.

Molotov shrugged. He downed the ale he’d snatched in a single gulp. “Don’t tell me what to do,” he replied callously. He shifted one foot over the other casually. A crossbow bolt flew near his head. The mutant decided to reevaluate his decision. Fighting was one thing, but he didn’t want to create an even bigger scene. Molotov still had the goal of not being arrested.

With a disappointed sigh, Molotov looked at Karuka. “Well love, I’m about to bugger off,” he said. “If you want, I’ll show you how to use that staff without looking like a rabbit on fire...”

And with that, the mutant paid the wench a wink, but his sunglasses back on, and headed out of the tavern.

[Karuka]

Karuka didn't have any notions of self-congratulation. Her weariness from before seemed to compound, and she bent down and picked up her staff to the barely heard tune of "rabid squirrel." Its weight seemed almost unbearable, so she propped it against the floor and grabbed her ale, using it to wash the taste of blood out of her mouth.

How she could beat three thugs when pinned seemed ridiculous, even to her, especially since it seemed that she couldn't even beat one decent fighter in the Citadel. Granted, it mattered more in real life, since no one brought you back...but why did she believe that it mattered more in real life, if she was so damn tired of it all?

She didn't listen to Molotov's astonished ranting, nor did she watch his triumphant antics. She'd gone and gotten herself into trouble again. She'd thought that without faith and dharma, she'd have been free to keep out of trouble, but apparently, she just dug deeper holes. Life wasn't more peaceful, nothing was better.

Reality sucked.

She looked up as the sound of whizzing crossbow bolts passed much closer to her than was comfortable, and saw Molotov skulking out of the bar, making her an offer that was probably the best she was likely to ever get. Any reason she'd have had to refuse vanished when the crossbolts were leveled at her. Taking the hint, she scooted out the door and looked around for Molotov. When she found him, she hurried a few steps to catch up.

"I figure there's no reason to let you walk alone after all of that. Still seeing double after that blow to the head? Or do you have an incredibly hard skull, like me?"

[Molotov]

Molotov smiled. “The draconian hits like a girl,” he replied. “And not a girl like you.” He smiled at her and lit another cigarette. He used his lighter this time and began to look around. The bazaar district didn’t have too many open spaces where he could teach Karuka a few things about the staff. They couldn’t very well practice in the street.

The mutant knew there was a bit of open space by the pier, but he wondered if that would be a good place to be. While he didn’t know enough about the politics of Dheathain, he knew enough about ports to know they attracted some of the worst people.

“Those dumb wankers might just have their base somewhere around there...” Molotov thought. Still, he figured that if he wanted to say in Talmaidh any longer, he was going to have to defeat the Spider-Monkey kids decisively. He had yet to kill any of them, and he really didn’t want to.

Every time Molotov killed someone, it always brought more problems for him than solutions. He looked at the yellow marking on his hand, a mark that had been left thanks to the serum that Mara Jade had injected him with. By now, he had figured out what the mark represented. It was the Tesla serum. If he were to unleash its power, then it would denature the cells in his body, and before it killed him, it would drive him insane.

Molotov had spent too much of his adult life a slave to the passions that his mutations encouraged, and that was why he could no longer approach combat with any reaction that remotely resembled the heat of battles. He had unleashed his fire magic a little while ago without thinking, and that had already caused him pause. The last time he had used fire was in Haidia, when he had witnessed the city of Vainta fall to the dwarves. He had been on a long streak of failures since, protecting the ice shield, the Cell, and now he wondered if he was at the end of his rope here in Dheathain.

For a moment, he wondered if he should explain everything to Karuka, but he wondered if she could even understand. She was a fun girl, and it seemed that her impulsiveness didn’t come with any of the dangers that his did. He just began to head towards the pier, moving in that direction because he had no real incentive to move anywhere else. If Karuka stopped him, and had another suggestion, then he would listen.

If they reached the pier, Molotov would make good on his promise and teach Karuka a thing or two about wielding a staff. If the Spider-Monkey kids interrupted, then he would fight them. As long as he survived, he would end that night taking the first boat out Talmaidh, no matter where it was heading. Whether Karuka knew his past or not, it could still rise up to hurt him.

[Karuka]

Karuka followed Molotov through the town, not really mindful of where they were going. She knew that she needed to get better with her forms of defense; she couldn't always depend on being grabbed in such a way that she could bite. Biting was a last resort defense, anyway. She'd rather have more options.

As they reached the pier, Karuka felt a slight tension behind her eyes, and braced herself against her staff as the tension exploded into agony. Her hands clenched around her staff until the golden skin turned white, and her entire body shook as she fought to remain standing.

She saw dancing flames surrounding a rapidly shifting scene. Fae mothers wept and human men sat alone at workshop tables holding abandoned toys. Dingy children sat huddled in cold cells, obviously slaves or worse. Men sat laughing around a game of cards as the Bazaar district of Talmhaidh became a blazing inferno, and in charge of it all stood a lone, proud Draconian.

"Watch it burn, then," he said, looking directly at her.

As the vision faded, a roiling nausea attacked her, and she staggered forward, gripping the edge of the pier as her ale and potato made their way into the sea. She sat up, panting, and took a swig of water before spitting it out to clean her mouth, muttering a curse as she did so.

"Things will only get worse from here on out," she said, standing up and retrieving her staff. A frown formed between her eyebrows, and she started talking aloud, more trying to explain the vision to herself than to persuade Molotov that there was a reason to believe her visions.

"I saw...slaves. Child slaves, and women slaves, and mothers, fathers, and husbands mourning them. And those...those men..benefited from it. And they lit the city on fire, and...and it burned...and burned. There was nothing anyone could do to put it out once it started. And he...that Draconian from the bar...he was watching it all. He was the king of chaos." The last part was murmured especially softly. The King of Chaos referred to the person that instigated an extremely horrific event that resulted in mass injury and death, at least in her own mind.

She then turned to Molotov, hoisting her staff to begin her training. Her bright blue eyes held a solemnity that belied the good-natured girl of before, and the full mouth set in a grim line.

"So we'd better work hard while there's still time."

[Molotov]

Molotov wasn’t sure what to make of Karuka as she wretched into the ocean. The mutant was too stunned to act until she had cleared her mouth. Her words were a second surprise. Molotov didn’t blink for a moment as he looked at her; he wasn’t sure what to make of what she said. The mutant had heard of visions like the ones Karuka seemed to have before, and he saw no reason not to believe her.

Yet, Molotov didn’t want to. He looked up at the sky and the sun. It was far past midday now. Closer to sunset than it was to noon. He scowled. Time was conspiring against him, especially if what he heard was true and boats didn’t leave until after sunset. At the same time, Molotov knew that he couldn’t leave if Karuka was telling the truth.

“Bloody Spider-Sods, coming and ruining the last damn place I can stay,” the mutant thought with a tired scowl on his face. “Though thing is, I can’t leave. If I’d have left well enough alone and let them take a piss on this poor bird ‘ere, then maybe things would have worked out different. Worse for her, but at least the whole bloody bazaar wouldn’t be up in flames.”

Molotov’s choices were apparent. He could either stay in Dheathain and clean up after himself, or leave it to Karuka to see what she could do. Molotov decided that he was going to have to stay, at least until he killed the Draconian. He didn’t want to kill, especially since he had been injected with the Tesla mutation, but now he knew he wouldn’t have a choice. If he stayed in Dheathain, the Spider-Monkey Kids would attack him until one of them was dead. Molotov knew if he gave the Spider-Monkeys enough reprieves, they would eventually get lucky.

For a moment, Molotov again entertained the thought that he should ignore Karuka. “She might just be trying to keep me here,” he realized. He soon rejected that thought. She would have had to have been a mind reader to know of his plans, and if she was a mind reader, it would have been unlikely that she’d have stayed around him that long.

“Alright love, let’s see what we can do,” he offered. He pulled his billy club from his belt and held it out so Karuka could see it. “With a staff like this, you want to block more than you attack,” he began. “It’s not a bloody sword. When you get the chance, hit hard, and hit the temple or some other sodding place where its gonna hurt like. Alright? Just be patient, not like some kind of Squire-child with his pants on fire? If you use a staff, you have to be better than most bastards. Now, I’ll come at you like I have a sword, let’s start working on your blocks…”

[Karuka]

[bunnies approved]

They worked for half an hour, Molotov striking at her repeatedly and only managing to hit her some of the time. Each blow taught her a lesson that words alone would not have taught her, and she learned how to watch for patterns in attacks and close some of the holes in her defense.

She also learned that it wasn't just the middle of the staff that could be used to block the blows aimed at her; if she moved right, she could use the entire thing as a massive shield. One such blow came at her left side, and she slammed the staff up, hitting him under the wrist with enough force to make him drop the club, right before a swift whipping of the other end of the staff hit him right above the ankles and sent him tumbling to the ground, the first real progress she felt she'd made all afternoon.

Laughing and rubbing a bruise on her cheek from one of his successful blows, she took a mouthful of water before setting the canteen back into her bag, where she felt the little cloth packages that the stranger had slipped in as she was entering the bar. She took them out, raising them to her nose to try and figure out what they were. One was definitely brimstone, and the other smelled faintly of ammonia. Together, they made a fairly explosive material.

She'd have to use that only if there wasn't any other choice, which there probably wouldn't be. A lit bottle filled with oil would light something on fire. One filled with shards of glass and needles might do some damage. One filled with fire and brimstone...would blow them all the way to Hel. Whoever the stranger was, he'd wanted the gang gone, and thought that she was the right vessel for it. It was almost a disturbing notion.

[Molotov]

Molotov had been a bit startled when Karuka had knocked him to the ground, but the pain of falling was far less than his pleasure at seeing his pupil learn. It had been a bit grueling, especially in the early going, and it had been more trying on the mutant’s patience than he had expected. He suddenly developed a degree of sympathy for the teachers he’d had at Jamison Academy.

Still, now Karuka could take care of herself with the staff without having to resort to biting. The mutant wasn’t completely convinced it was an improvement, especially from the perspective of his amusement, but it was progress. He put a cigarette in his mouth and lit it with his lighter before glancing over to the packets that had caught Karuka’s attention.

Immediately, Molotov recognized the chemicals. His experience as a chemistry student told him just how potent they could be. He grinned at Karuka, and chuckled lightly as smoke ran out his nostrils. “Bloody hell love, you can set this whole sodding place on fire if that’s what you want,” he said. He laughed lightly and took off his sunglasses. He looked up at the sky again, only to notice that the sun was getting far too close to setting. He exhaled smoke out of his mouth wistfully, as if to blow the sun back into a more favorable position.

The mutant smiled at that for a moment. He didn’t know what it was about that day, but he didn’t want to see it end. It was more than just the desire to catch a boat out of Dheathain, for he had given up on that pursuit for the immediate future. Instead, the day had been surprisingly refreshing, like a cold glass of water the morning after waking up from a few too many ales. A small tear ran down his cheek as he thought about how dying by nightfall would be the most bitterly poetic death he could have ever imagined for himself.

“Just my luck…” he thought to himself. “The whole bloody world’s against me some of these days…”

Molotov feared that time was slipping through his finger tips, but somehow it was a serene movement. If this was the end of his halcyon days, then so be it. If Karuka was right and Hel was a pit of nothingness, then it would be a whole lot less turbulent than the life Molotov had lived on Althanas.

“Let’s get back to work,” Molotov offered. “You’re getting good, but you’ll need to do something if you want to go on the offense for once…”

[Karuka]

Going on the offense was almost a new experience for Karuka, but she put her saltpeter and brimstone away and started trying to whack at her instructor. Granted, the first part of this proved very frustrating, as she knew no better than to take one end of the staff and try to hit him with the other.

Naturally, that method got her very bruised, very fast, and aggravated her earlier bruises.

She went back to using the staff as a shield, trying to whack at him with an end whenever she thought she saw an opening, but the mutant was too skilled for her to ever land a hit. That was frustrating, too. It was incredibly tempting to go back to trying to hit him the old way, but the one time she acted on that impulse, she just took a blow to the side.

More aggravating was the knowledge that he was holding back. Karuka hated it when people held back on her, and that made her try harder and harder to hit him, making him have to try harder and harder to defend against her.

The sun kept inching down as they worked, he to teach her how to hold her own in a fight, and her just trying to land a single blow on him.

Finally, she swung one end of the staff at Molotov's right shoulder, and when he blocked that, she shoved hard from the middle before suddenly letting up the pressure and aiming a hard strike at Molotov's left side, which hit with a surprising but satisfying thud.

The grin on Karuka's face wasn't as bright this time; the session was beginning to wear her down. She knew that she'd be grateful for the training after a bath, some food, and some rest, but right now she was tired, sore, and irritated. She'd known she wasn't good, but she hadn't known how bad she was until someone had actually taken the time to show her.

[Molotov]

Molotov had been a bit distant while he had been going through the motions of offense with Karuka, but by the time he had fallen down, he could tell that he had really tired her out. With a smile that was somewhere between weary and contented, he looked at Karuka and lit another cigarette. “Let’s take a bit of a breather, eh love?” he said.

He looked up at the sky. The sun was still defiantly remaining in the sky, despite Molotov’s sense of pessimism predicting that it would have fallen hours ago. He chuckled appreciatively, though he saw with the dark clouds that were beginning to loom overhead, there wouldn’t be too much light left. The clouds were heavy, laden with rain, ready to burst at any time. Molotov likened them to his life, just bubbling with circumstance.

Though his gaze was still pointed up at the sky, Molotov began to muse out loud to Karuka. “You know,” he said. “I was born in the slums of Radasanth. Just the son of two wankers who gave me up to private school…” He took a long drag of his cigarette and let the tobacco smoke ruminate in his nostrils before he exhaled. “Most kids where I was growing up, poor sods, they’ll live to be eighty five, doing back breaking labor in the mills and mines, and the farthest they’ll ever go is Concordia. Me, I might bloody die tomorrow, but if I do, it’ll be halfway around the world, in a land of giant lizard men and five foot fairies. That’s something, right?”

The mutant lay down in the sand. It encased his body, cradling him like his body was ready to be buried. Between the Tesla mutation that he couldn’t control and the Spider-Monkey Kids, it was likely that the sand’s intuition was accurate.

“Whenever you’re less tired, we’ll work on footwork,” Molotov said. “Then we can bugger off and find some places for the night, because I bet it’s about to rain…”

[Karuka]

Karuka sat down next to Molotov, chuckling wearily. While her own persistence would have never allowed her to call for a break, she was more than happy to take one when offered. It gave her a chance to start working on her explosives.

"I was born," she began, pouring some oil into a six ounce vial and then starting to drill through its cork with her boring needle, "on another world entirely, to a seer of a well-respected line and one of the holiest men of another country. My father left when I was five, and my mother married another man before I was seven. I spent a lot of time after that at the edge of the village with the other orphans."

Finished boring her hole, she took a short strip of bandage and tore it into a fuse, soaking it in oil and then slipping it snugly into the hole in the cork. "My mother died when I was sixteen, and my stepfather sent me out. I could have died at any time...and even after I came to Althanas, if I wasn't killed by something, I could have starved or frozen to death."

She laughed at the memory, starting on a second bottle, this one having oil along with some glass shards from a small vial and a few needles. "These bandages were actually once rags of clothing, and practically all I had when I came to Althanas."

She sighed, looking up at the sky, feeling the wind rake through her long red curls as it brought with it the scent of sea rain. "I don't fear death. I've been there before. But I won't go down without one Hel of a fight. Then, I figure, if I'm wrong and there's something beyond, I can at least say that I tried."

Finishing her second grenade, she started on the third, this time adding a little of each brimstone and saltpeter to the oil and fragments. "I used to think that it would be incredibly lonely to die on a foreign world where no one knows your name or would mourn your death...but then I realized that I didn't have anyone back on Earth, either. And at least here I have a chance to forge a destiny, rather than drudge an existence."

Finally, she corked her third and last grenade, checking the striker she'd gotten in the battle of Ragnarok to make sure it'd still spark, which it did. She'd have one grenade to light a fire under their feet as a warning, one to actually do some damage...and one to blow them all the way to Hel. That would probably be everyone's best bet.

"We'd probably better get back to work," she said, standing up and stretching sore muscles.

[Molotov]

(bunny approved)

Molotov smiled. Karuka was a peculiar girl, and for some reason, the things she had told the mutant made him understand her better. The one time Gisela champion picked himself up and stood in front of Karuka. He threw the remainder of his cigarette into the water and readied a grip on his adze. “You ‘re good with your hands now love, but you need to be good with your feet if you want to get this right,” Molotov said. “Stand behind me, and watch what I do. When I block, look at where my feet go, when I attack, look at where they are. We’ll go through all the ways you can move our feet and call it a night…”

With that, Molotov moved his adze into a position as if he was blocking with a staff. He kept his knees bent, and the balls of both feet hovered above the ground. “This is because I want flexibility, love,” Mololtov said. “If the hit is coming harder and you need to brace yourself, then dig your sodding feet into the sand and let the bastards know you’re gonna give it a go.”

He demonstrated that and a few other defensive techniques with Karuka. Unlike when they were going over blocks, Molotov had a considerable amount of patience, often stopping Karuka even when she was the slightest bit wrong. The mutant didn’t doubt that he was frustrating his tired pupil, but with the sunlight fading, the Molotov wanted to hold on to what he could.

After he couldn’t possibly belabor footwork on defensive techniques any longer, Molotov switched to offensive ones. He started just showing Karuka how to lunge forwards if she wanted to make a bold strike. “Remember when I told you not to use your staff like a bloody sword, love?” he asked. “Sometimes, that’s alright, but only if you’ve got a chance to really lay it in, you know?”

Molotov change the grip on his adze so he now held the weapon like an axe. He shifted all the weight onto his front foot as he moved forwards, and struck the air hard. “Try that,” he said. “Just make sure that you don’t hit me when you move forward.” The mutant figured Karuka would like that attack, it was probably the only kind of strike that she had mastered before the lessons had begun. “Make sure to move your hands properly too…” he warned. “In fights, people with staffs will go for your hands to see if they can’t get you to drop your weapon…”

As they finished the offensive drills, the sound of the first thunderclap hit the sky. Molotov looked up. The sun had almost set, and it barely peeped behind the heavy thunderclouds that now covered the sky. He sighed. The day was over.

“So how’s about that?” he asked. “Looks like you know what you’re doing round here now, don’t you?”

[Karuka]

Karuka focused intensely for the last part of her training, despite the fact that she was tired. She'd learned a lot so far, and now that she knew it was doing her actual good, she didn't want to miss a moment. She found that it wasn't actually much different than dancing, and she was fairly decent when it came to that field.

When it was finally done and darkness began to enshroud the land like a deathly gauze, Molotov finally called the training session to a close, and Karuka thanked him. He was the first person to give her useful advice with a useful weapon, and though tired, she was grateful.

"I think I know what I'm doing now," she said, flopping gracelessly onto the sand and letting the still-warm grains heat her back and imbed themselves in her hair like minute crystals. "But I suppose it'll just have to wait and be tested in time."

She sighed softly, wearily, listening to the rain begin to fall softly on the sea. She was looking forward to it making landfall. The rain would cleanse her and the sand would keep her warm, and it would be a good way to end a long and trying day. She could feel the sand almost actively trying to cradle her and give her a comfortable place to lie down and relax.

She wasn't quite sure what happened next, whether she heard a scuff of a boot on wood or heard the soft whistling wobble of the knife as it came, but she rolled over abruptly into a crouch as a throwing dagger embedded itself into the sand right where her throat had been a mere moment before.

She heard a curse from one direction, and a chuckle from another, and like rats more members of the street gang from earlier swarmed out of alleys to confront her and Molotov. She looked around, taking her staff back up as she stood. They numbered more than two dozen, and she felt her empty stomach sink.

"You like playing with fire?" rumbled the deep voice of the Draconian from the bar, "I like playing with rodents. Rodents that stick their noses into someone else's grain bin."

Karuka shifted her feet uneasily on the shifting sand. This situation looked worse than not good. She was already tired and they were outnumbered fifteen to one.

"Well, Topper Headon...I guess it's time to put up one Hel of a fight." She watched the thugs surround them like starving dogs, drooling at the prospect of bloodshed. Meanwhile, she grabbed the first of her three grenades and lit it with a quick spark. It would do no good to let them make the first move here, not when she might scare a couple off.

"Let's see if they really like playing with fire."

The fuse started burning down, and Karuka tossed it into the throng. The simple grenade shattered as it impacted against one man's leg, and the oil ignited immediately. The man's screams of agony were nearly drowned out, however, by a loud rumble of thunder as the rain made landfall.

Somehow the rain pouring cold upon her face and body revitalized the little spitfire, and it was all she could do to resist crowing out a warcry and rushing in to take them all on.

Glory is death in battle...and glory to the blood-stained victor.

[Molotov]

Molotov looked on the Spider-Monkey Kids as if he was welcoming an old friend. He reached into a pouch in his cloak, and pulled out an iron revolver that he had rarely used other than to point at people who irritated him. He smirked, but before he could have said anything about how he was impressed that the Spider-Monkey Kids had come to attack him without hiring the Scara Scourge for backup, Karuka had released the chemical bombs she had been working on.

Immediately, Molotov hit the ground. He didn’t want to take his chances as one of the Spider-Monkey Kids exploded in flame. The mutant tried hard not to chuckle, he knew he needed to be better than to take joy in any suffering, but the arrogance of his opponents made it hard for him not to enjoy their suffering at least a little bit.

“Bloody hell love…” Molotov told Karuka. “And you said that ponce over there was the real King of Chaos.” The mutant watched the Draconian’s reaction, and was pleased by the stupefied expression he saw on the gang leader’s face.

“How do you like that?” Molotov called out with a grin. He kept his revolver down against the sand, covered by his forearm, hidden so that if the Draconian hadn’t seen him pull out the weapon, it wouldn’t be noticed now.

At first, it seemed like the Draconian couldn’t come up with a phrase to express his unique mix of confusion and rage. Eventually, the giant gang leader settled on, “you set my man on fire.”

“Watch him burn, then” Molotov said with a laugh. He watched as the Draconian unsheathed a giant buster sword from his back and began to chant. The sword began to glow, and it grew brighter the closer the Draconian got.

For his own amusement, Molotov waited until the last moment before he planted a bullet in the Draconian’s chest. With that, he fired off the remainder of his chamber at the Spider-Monkey Kids. In the rain and darkness, it was a bit hard to see, but Molotov was confident with twenty eight gang members out there, his bullets had to connect just as a matter of probability. They did. Five more Spider-Monkeys fell to the ground.

With that, Molotov picked himself up. He didn’t even bother to dust himself off, his gaze was focused on whether the Spider-Monkey Kids were going to continue or retreat. Molotov didn’t care either way. He hadn’t expected the Draconian to have fallen as easily. It may had been dark now at the pier, but Molotov was beginning to wonder if he could expect to see a few more sunsets.

[Karuka]

There was some confusion among the Spider-Monkeys as they watched their leader and five more of their compatriots fall before the fight had ever begun. Karuka, meanwhile, was feeling the heat of battle flowing through her veins. She figured her maternal great grandfather would be proud of her; as a Berserker, he'd known the battlelust that made her flush hot even though the rain pelted cold.

"Him, the King of Chaos? No, caraid*. You're the King of Chaos."

The throng, shaken between rage and fear, started charging the two figures on the beach, and Karuka struck her second grenade, tossing it right before lighting and throwing her last.

The second flew and landed ineffectually, burning for a moment before being quenched by the rain, but the last one ignited the gunpowder and brimstone mix and that one exploded with a brilliant BOOM and a sun-bright flash before hitting the ground.

The concussive force hit in the middle of the swarm, blasting five men to pieces so they never knew what hit them. One more took a piece of shrapnel through the head, a chunk was ripped out of another's belly, and two limbs flew, dropping two men on top of a tenth so that he couldn't move.

Karuka stood aghast at the carnage, barely able to believe the effect of her grenade. If it hadn't been necessary, it might have made her sick. But she didn't have the time for that; thirteen remained and still charged the mutant and the alien.

Karuka took her staff from the crook of her arm, holding it up. It was time to see if those lessons had paid off.

caraid = friend or comrade

[Molotov]

Under different circumstances, Molotov would have been afraid of thirteen people. But here on this beach, in the rain, with thirteen members of a street gang charging at him, it didn’t feel like danger, it felt like destiny. Lightning clapped across the sky, adrenaline surged through his body, and Molotov put his now empty revolver away in favor of his adze. He smirked ever so lightly as he ignited the stone head by beating it against the ground, and waited, patiently as he manipulated the flames behind him to make them bigger and bigger.

The mutant was waiting, waiting for just the right moment. He knew that he had to finish off as many of the Spider-Monkeys as possible before they reached him. He had reached a point where he was adequate in melee combat, but the mutant still knew his advantage was in throwing projectiles at opponents from a distance. Normally, he used his gun to keep enemies at bay, but with his revolver chamber empty of bullets, he didn’t have that luxury any more. Plus, with the number of enemies having been reduced, Molotov didn’t know if more shots would have been guaranteed to hit.

“Let’s see some chaos then!” he said. A large wave of fire emerged behind the charging Spider-Monkeys, and it swept forwards, tearing through the sand and the carcasses of fallen gang members as it raced towards the battle. With a sweep, it ran straight through ten of the thirteen remaining Spider-Monkeys, and then kept chortling forward. With a single moment of his hand, Molotov made the flames disappear right before their cackling flames could have reached Karuka.

The ten Spider-Monkey Kids who had been hit by the attack had a variety of wounds. Three had fallen to the ground, burned to a crisp. Two others now lay rolling on the ground in pain, clutching severe burns desperately. These five were out of the fight for good. The other five, either by circumstance or the rain, had suffered only enough burns to wound them. Two had arms no longer of use, another’s back was still smoldering, and the other two looked no worse for the wear. Molotov looked at these five and the other three, and liked the odds now.

With the rain continuing to fall down all around him, Molotov created four ice spikes that hovered just before him. He had aimed them for the men leading the charge, but he had either missed or they had dodged. Only one of his shards caused a crippling blow, and that had been to the shoulder of one of the ones who had already been injured. The others missed their targets entirely, or just grazed shoulders in ways that would only lead to bruises.

Molotov got his adze ready, and blocked the first sword parry from one of the Spider-Monkey Kids. The sound of his weapon on the sword made a dull thwack, and the mutant knew that his adze had been damaged. Molotov kicked forwards, hitting the gang member in the bread basket, and then finished him with an adze blow to the head. Immediately, Molotov looked up to notice that now, the rest of the Spider-Monkeys had reached him and Karuka. The mutant took a few steps back, for his magic couldn’t save him now.

[Karuka]

While Molotov took steps backward, Karuka couldn't help but let out a loud whoop and move forward, boots thudding against the wet sand as the rain pelted down. Three men were charging toward her, but only one was uninjured and he came in faster than the other two.

That was folly, for as he came within range, Karuka set her feet hard on the sand and lashed out with blinding speed and fury. If she'd been stronger, no doubt the impact of the blow would have shattered the man's skull. As it was, the impact was hard enough to drop him. He wore brass knuckles; he'd have only had a chance if she'd been unarmed.

And even then, she thought with a smirk, I'm probably too scrappy for him.

The other two hesitated, and she could see them in the dim light fueled by burning corpses. One of them started backing away, but she wasn't about to let them go and run for help. Rather, she charged them, lightning shattering the weeping sky and giving her little brown face a demonic cast.

With no choice but to stand and fight, the two men brought their swords to bear. These were slightly better equipped than the ones earlier than the thugs in the middle of the day, having plynt weapons, but Karuka wasn't worried. There was no fear, not now. Right now she was the Queen of Chaos, and the storm that turned the sand into slush and sent lightning spinning through the skies only heightened the feeling as thunder boomed around her in a glorious symphony of fire and death.

One of the two slashed at her, trying to cut off her fingers while the other went around behind to try and flank her. She could have laughed at how foolish it was. That may have worked in a crowded tavern, but in the open air? No, here she had the space she needed to work.

Turning slightly and stepping back, she blocked the first blow with the left side of her staff held high, before snapping the left side up and into the groin of the man foolish enough to try stabbing her in the back. He fell to his knees as a high-pitched scream pierced the area, audible even over the thunder, and she hit him on the side of the head, silencing him. Only as he fell did she notice a bitemark on his cheek from earlier.

Turning square to the last man, she grinned viciously. He had no chance since she had the longer reach and quicker motions, and the cold rain was numbing his fingers while it prevented her from overheating.

Still, he slashed at her, coming with a hard overhead strike, which she blocked with the middle of her staff. Here, his greater strength came into play, pressing her backward a few steps before she dug in fiercely and gave him no more ground.

She tried shifting around to hit him in the head, but he shifted his sword over her staff in an attempt to stab her, forcing her to hop backward to avoid being impaled. She lashed out at his hands next, hitting hard enough to break a finger and force him to drop his sword.

Rather than going after it, he grabbed her staff, trying to wrestle it from her. Karuka could feel the wet wood slipping in her grip, and she ducked under the staff, letting it go while grabbing one of her daggers. She'd done a foolish thing in going into the enemy's embrace, but since he was holding her staff and she was in too close to defend, he'd been the stupid one for grabbing hold of it in the first place.

A quick, hard stab to the throat ensured the man a slow and agonizing death, and as he fell in defeat, she shoved him off her blade, stepping away as he let go of her staff.

Lightning glinted off the bloodied mythril as the rain washed it clean, but now that she had a chance to reflect on the gruesome battle scene, it unsettled her. The deaths had been necessary, not just for her own survival, but she was still unaccustomed to killing, let alone en masse.

I don't have the time to second guess myself. Sighing, she glanced over at Molotov to see how he was faring.

[Molotov]

Molotov knew he was going to have to act fast with three gang members on him at once in such short distance. The mutant blocked the first parry with his adze, and then threw the flaming weapon straight at his enemy’s face. The man fell down, hit right in the face by the weapon’s burning head. A second man sliced horizontally with a sword, but Molotov managed just to duck under it at the right moment. Had he still had his mohawk, then his head might have just about been shaved by the blow.

Without waiting for another moment, Molotov blew cold air upwards, straight into the man’s face. Molotov watched as this second man fell down to the ground, clutching the area around his eye sockets and howling in pain. “That just leaves one,” the mutant realized, noticing that the other three had been occupied with Karuka.

Before Molotov could manage a plan for the third, he felt a spiked mace embed itself in his shoulder. The mutant turned to see the third of the three men attacking him standing there. Molotov didn’t hesitate. Before the last of his enemies could dislodge his weapon from Molotov’s body, the mutant had already grasped his hand around the unwitting gang member’s throat. The mutant squeezed, and with an efficient brutality, choked the life right out of the Spider-Monkey Kid. Molotov blinked, and once he realized what he had done, he readily shuddered.

“Bloody hell…” he thought. “I killed the damn bastard right in my hand.” A yellow mark on the mutant’s hand was beginning to throb, as if it desperately wanted to be released from its prison within Molotov’s body. The mutant tried to ignore it, but he felt a sudden desire to shoot someone or something with a huge surge of electricity.

Then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw the man who had been hit with ice back among the wreckage. He was looking through the corpses, desperately searching for something. Molotov shook his head. “Run you stupid ponce!” he shouted. “If you don’t want me to kill you!”

The mutant didn’t want to hurt anyone else, and but this man seemed intent on fighting. He had stumbled through the corpses and flame to discover a large footman’s crossbow. His aim was not focused on Molotov, but on Karuka.

For a moment, Molotov thought to shoot an ice spike, but the yellow spot on his hand throbbed so violently that it seemed his mind had been blocked of anything but his tesla skills. The mutant’s hands shook violently, and knowing how little time there was, he ran straight through the rain, straight towards the fire.

As the mutant leapt into the mess of corpses and flame, he tightened the grip of the cloak around his body. The gang member managed to get his shot off right before Molotov had come to him, and had leapt up into the air to deliver a leaping kick. Molotov, acting on impulse alone, caught the man right in the air, and then dropped him straight down so that his head landed right on the mutant’s extended knee. The knee and foe collided, and after a few wobbling concussed steps, the Spider-Monkey kid fell down, straight onto a charred bayonet.

The mutant could only look on, helplessly, as the last of the Spider-Monkey Kids fell to his death. There were a few others among the living, but they were either wounded far beyond the point of fighting, or had already retreated. Molotov turned his attention to Karuka and the crossbow bolt. As he looked around, he saw her standing, and the bolt had to have already passed. He heaved a sigh of relief. Given the rain and the darkness, it would have been easy to miss.

A slight rustling among the corpses now caught Molotov’s attention. Another gang member, covered in soot and his comrades’ blood, but otherwise undamaged, looked out towards Molotov with a vacant expression.

“Do you want to die?” Molotov asked hollowly.

The man shook his head, terrified.

Molotov just looked at him with a somber expression. “Then run…” he said. The gang member complied.

Now, though the thunderstorm still rocked the sky, the battle back on the ground had ended. Molotov looked a bit uneasy and tired, and he didn’t know what to make of the situation in his hand. When he had seen the gang member rise out from the corpses, all the mutant had wanted to do was shoot the man with as much electricity as he could manage. He feared for himself, and for Karuka if she stayed with him.

“Well love,” Molotov said, speaking to her though he did not meet her eyes. “Looks like we’re done here. I’ll leave you to whatever business you had before we started this. You’ve been a bloody brick though… thanks love.”

[Karuka]

It was over. Against all seeming odds, it was over and she'd come out not only alive, but with a renewed sense of confidence. The last time she'd faced odds so great, she'd done very little while Seth Dahlios tore through the shipful of pirates.

This time, she had taken out a good many of the gang members herself. She'd meant what she'd said about trying to forge a destiny, but hadn't realized just how strong she'd become over the past two years. She'd been a girl with very little to go on but her natural spunk, and now...

She looked down at the dagger in her hand before sliding it back into its sheath. Now, not only was she capable of killing her fair share of opponents against overwhelming odds, but she found that as the blood washed away from her hands, she'd not be haunted by them. They were just numbers, not faces, and she didn't know if that was a relief or a cause to be concerned.

She didn't notice the man start running around, engrossed in her musings, and as he shot at her, she bent down to pick up her staff from the lifeless fingers of her last victim, making his bolt fly unnoticed over her head. She only watched as he met his death at Molotov's hands, and then saw the last conscious one run.

She made her way over to the mutant, looking at the dent in his shoulder. "Are you hurt?"

He didn't have a chance to answer before a man stepped out of an alley, holding his hands up to indicate that he meant them no harm. When he spoke, Karuka recognized him as the man who had slipped her the brimstone and saltpeter into her bag.

"Impressive. I hadn't expected him to take so much offense that he'd bring the majority of his gang, or that he'd come himself. Pardon me, I'm Jacob Antwerth, one of the shopkeepers these men have been pressing for 'protection money.' Most of us have been trying to figure out a way to get rid of them without endangering our families. The problem is mostly taken care of now, and those remaining will be hesitant to do anything."

He brought out a pair of money pouches, handing one each to Molotov and Karuka.

"Our thanks to you both." With that, he turned and walked back into the night.

[Molotov]

The idea of payment made Molotov smile. It was very rare that he had managed to both do a good thing and get rewarded for it. It generally seemed as though he had to choose between the two. “This bird here is really a good luck charm,” he thought with a smile. He looked up at the sky. The thunder and lightning still roared in the heavens above, but it somehow seemed less intimidating. More like a dance than a fight.

And, as Molotov looked through his bag of gold coins that he had received for a day’s work he had never anticipated, he smiled. “Bloody let the heavens wait for me,” he thought. “I’m staying here, the other end of the world until they bloody come and get me.”

If danger was really looming for him in Dheathain, Molotov just committed his last act of defiance. Now that the Spider-Monkey Kids had been killed and the merchants had rewarded him, he doubted that Dheathain was as dangerous for him. At the very least, it was safer than Raiaera or Corone, where his fame was greater and his crimes closer to the hearts of their people. Still, Molotov knew Karuka couldn’t remain around him. His life was just too complicated ever since Mara Jade had inserted a second mutation within his body. He had been afraid of the tesla mutagen before he had been given it, and now it completely terrified him. Every time he was caught up in a fight, his adrenaline began to surge and all he wanted to do send volts of electricity at something. And he knew, if he did, it would literally be the death of him.

Now, as Molotov looked at the ruins of what was once a gang, he turned solemn again. The first good thing he’d done in a long time was kill thirty people. “Maybe killing’s all I am good for any more…” he mused. “Bloody hell if I’m just another bugger out here.”

The mutant thought of the things he had told Karuka before Jacob Antwerth had arrived, and they all stayed true. If Molotov really was about to explode in a huge surge of electricity, he couldn’t allow Karuka to be anywhere near him. He liked the girl, and he felt Althanas needed her. At the very least, he knew he could never forgive himself if he was the reason of her demise.

“Well love, looks like we’ve been paid,” he said. “Time for us to get on our way then, eh?”

Molotov stuck another cigarette in his mouth, and put his sunglasses back on his face to cover his eyes to keep them from watering. “You still fight like some kind of rabid animal, but at least now you’re a tiger, not a squirrel…”

While he wanted her to leave, Molotov felt compelled that Karuka should not leave him unremembered. She was the only person in the world that he cared about knowing who he was. He began to fiddle with his wrist, and removed a plynt bracelet that he had bought at the Radasanth Bazaar back when he was in Jamison Academy. It was a link to the past, but now Molotov wanted to make it also a link to his future. He offered it to Karuka. “Take this with you love, so you'll remember me 'till we meet again...”

[Karuka]

Karuka grinned, feeling a slight burning in her nose as her own eyes watered, but the rain pelted down her face so hard that she doubted any escaping tears would be thought of anything other than rain.

"I don't know...I think a rabid squirrel could take on a tiger. In fact...I just about know so." The little feline totem in her satchel reminded her that she had once taken on a cat much larger than she, and lived to tell the tale.

She took the bracelet gingerly, snapping it around her wrist before enveloping the mutant in a tight hug. Thinking of something, she dug a long, slender cloth pouch out of her bag. It held the little flute an old caretaker had given her years ago, but she hadn't touched it since she was fourteen. It was so rare that she made a friend that it seemed like a good gift to give, and she held it out to him.

"Thank you...for everything."

Without quite knowing why, she added on a variation of an ancient Irish blessing, meant as sincerely as she'd ever meant it.

"May the road rise before you, may the wind always be at your back, and the sun shine softly on your face and a fire burn brightly at your hearth. And until we meet again, may destiny cradle you gently. Take care of yourself, Topper."

Letting him go, she gave him a light peck on the lips in farewell, and then started walking off through the rain. As she turned down an alley to get back to the main street, a bolt of lightning flashed, illuminating her way for just a moment before letting darkness fall once more upon Talmhaidh.

Spoils request: Due to Molotov's training, Karuka goes from an average stave fighter to a very skilled one.

The plynt bracelet Molotov gave her as a memento.

However much gold the judge thinks is appropriate for beating the snot out of a big bad gang. (apiece)

The explosive making equipment she bought, a half ounce each of saltpeter and sulphur that she was given.

She also loses her wooden flute (which Molotov gains).

[Molotov]

Molotov smiled. He took the flute and put it in his pocket, with the plan to put it somewhere better when he could think of a place that deserved it. “Thanks love,” he said, deciding that he wasn't even going to pretend that there were words that matched the mix of emotions he felt. “Take care.”

The blessing Karuka had offered Molotov reminded him like the kind of life he wished he had lived. “Destiny never gave me nothing but a swift kick to the bum,” he thought. He parted ways with Karuka, grateful for meeting her, and nervous for what would happen. He hoped that Destiny would cradle him gently until they next met. He knew that Lady Luck wasn’t going to be that nice to him.

With the rain falling down all around him, Molotov took one last look at the aftermath of his actions that day. There was nothing that he wanted to see any more. He took one last look around the flames that had now smoldered in the rain and lit his cigarette off a flick of his fingers. There was something about the world around him that was so dangerous, and yet so beautiful, that made it very tragic.

“Time for whatever’s next,” Molotov mused. He walked out in the direction of the sea, walking out far enough that the water lapped gently against his boots. The tide was delicate, almost as if it was reaching up to say hello to the mutant, inviting him back towards the sea. The mutant ignored it, all but for one brief fleeting second where he looked out on the disappeared horizon and heaved a deep sigh.

For a moment, Molotov wondered if he could negotiate with Destiny. He had never really believed in higher powers, not because he had any evidence against it, but because he didn’t like the things they had asked of him. The mutant took another long drag of his cigarette before he tossed it into the water. He watched it float away until he could see it no longer.

Suddenly, he heard the sound of rustling behind him, coming from where wreckage of the Spider-Monkey Kids had been. The mutant turned around slowly, because he did not want to break his contemplative mood with sudden action.

It was the Draconian. Molotov wasn’t sure how, but somehow, with the bullet wound in his chest, the fire wave that had passed by him and perhaps even other residual damage, the Draconian had found the energy to get up on all fours and move towards him. The Draconian was lurching, but he was alive. Molotov frowned. The wounds were serious, but he had no guarantee that they were fatal.

The yellow spot on his hand began to twitch again. “You fucking wanker,” Molotov said irritably. “Just please…”

Molotov picked up the adze he had thrown to the ground, pulled out the weapon that had been lodged in it and threw the useless steel blade into the three. He gripped his adze tightly and let it land right in the back of the Draconian. The Spider-Monkey Kids’ leader twitched just a little, and then collapsed. Molotov looked on with pity, but he was pitying himself, not the Draconian.

“I thought I was done,” he said, looking up at the sky. “I thought I was done.”

With that, Molotov lit another cigarette, and began to walk out from the pier. He moved quickly, decisively, and like a smoldering tiger.

[Christoph]

By request, I’m being brief with this judgment. With that, I’ll go straight to the rubric:

Continuity: 7
I liked how this quest tied in to the storylines of both characters. It seemed to have a real meaning to it, which is always a good thing.

Setting: 7
Pretty decent, though not jaw-dropping. I don’t recall being in the dark regarding what the surroundings looked like. Not bad.

Pacing: 6
Your pacing started off a bit weak, seeming to drag on unnecessarily, with other spots rushed too much. It definitely improved as the quest went on, though, which saved you here.


Action: 7
Action was fun without being goofy. I enjoyed reading the action scenes, and I appreciated that the characters didn’t become statues that moved places and talked to each other in between said action scenes.

Dialogue: 7
Dialogue was pretty solid, although nothing extraordinary caught my eye.

Persona: 8
The personalities here came off strong. Even the NPCs didn’t seem too much like cardboard cut-outs.


Technique: 6
Your writing seemed rushed, and as a result came off as sloppy from time to time. Also, there wasn’t much fancy here, though on the whole it was decent.

Mechanics: 8
Believe it or not, this was not as good as I’d expected. There were typos here and there, though a few more from Molotov. More time could have definitely been taken to proof-read.

Clarity: 7
While not bad, I did find myself going back to reread spots over again. The main problem was when I would lose track of which character or NPC was speaking.


Wild Card: 7
Not bad for a rushed thread.


Total: 70!

Karuka receives 3172 EXP, 50 GP from the shopkeeper, and the requested spoils. (Note, the increases quarterstaff skill will need to be approved by an RoG mod you next update, but I’m sure you knew that)

Molotov receives 3780 EXP and 200 GP, expertly looted from the charcoal gangsters.

[Karuka]

EXP/GP added! We both level up!