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Skirmish
Vesli promptly left the Tavern after paying for the untouched drink. There were training grounds available. He intended to use them. Naturally there were others training. A few of the Holy bastards either left or demanded that he leave. Vesli's eyes remained fixed on one particularly offensive straw dummy.
Chains and manacles of the prisoner were never intended to be used as whips. They were cumbersome and weighted improperly. Through sheer physical strength and determination, Vesli had the loose end-links slicing through the air as if they were supposed to actually be doing that. Whap! Off came the head of the training dummy.
"Yer form's absolute shit," the gravel-voiced reprimand was about as gentle as a sledge-hammer on cracked glass. The grizzled man-at-arms who'd spoken was currently maintaining his battered mace, uncaring for the oil dripping down and staining the purple of his clothes. "Unbalanced strength like that's more likely ta blow out yer shoulder than anythin' else." A gauntleted hand vaguely gestured towards the ground. "Ya have legs, don't ya boy? Yer supposed ta use those. Th' key ta a continued he'rtbeat's ta MOVE YER FEET." The old oaken face of the veteran finally lifted as his mace gleamed once more with deadly purpose. "Yer not entirely 'opeless. Yer arm movement has som' promise. Few tweaks 'ere and there an' ya might actually be 'ang'rous."
"Most would claim I am dangerous enough already," Vesli bared his ever so slightly sharpened teeth.
"Mos' would be blowin' smoke out tha ass."
"What then, would you suggest?" Vesli was unsure what dark gods would not allow him to hold his tongue today.
"Tell ya what, pup. Spar with me an' I'll 'cide if yer worth ma time." The man-at-arms stood, looking about as threatening as a turtle with his slow movements as he gave a few practice swings of the mace and settled the weight of the shield on his arm. It was not impressed. Vesli was more cautious and did not second the notion, more inclined to be better informed before passing judgement.
"Very well. We are to hit each other with weapons like civilized beings, I expect? Or shall we be reduced to more direct methods?"
"Whateva suits yer fancy," the old soldier shrugged.
"You already have mace in hand. Let us be civilized then in attempting to kill each other," Vesli drawled. The man-at-arms gave a scratching-bark that resembled a laugh before giving a challenging gesture and raising his shield.
It suggested a frontal assault. But then It never really had had a grasp of subtlety. The man gave himself a heartbeat of debate before deciding that perhaps the blunt approach was for the best. A good test of the waters as it were. Besides, that would put the older male at an advantage and Vesli really would prefer to not kill his opponent without reason. Plus, the Heir's wrath was already something of whispered Hamlet legend and he really had no desire to see that. So, the chains whished through the air in a frontal assault.
Vesli had half-expected the shield blocking the attack. That was not truly a surprise, just confirmation the older man-at-arms was still able to maneuver in that heavy plate armor. What was surprising was how the veteran redirected the chain to slide across the shield to catch the links with the mace. In the same movement, the mace twisted to wrap the chain about itself as the man-at-arms shifted his weight backwards and pulled. Vesli found himself off balance one moment and his face full of dirt the next.
"Really, pup? A 'alf-blind maggot woulda seen tha' attack comin'," the voice was directly above Vesli's face-hole in the ground. He looked up to meet the gaze of the seasoned warrior who looked as unimpressed as a wet cat. "Ya want trainin' yer goin' ta hav' ta try 'arder." An armored hand appeared in Vesli's line of vision.
"And you are helping me because?" Vesli accepted the hand and found himself lifted up as if he weighed very little.
"Ya look like ya might actually listen 'stead of dismissin' my words jus' 'cause I've got a few extra years under ma belt. I could always leave ya to yer own vices. No skin off ma nose if yer got more air than brain in yer skull." Seemed that the vast majority of this Hamlet was filled with assholes of varying calibers. Vesli decided he was in good company. It wondered if It counted. Vesli assured It that It most definitely counted. Likely the biggest asshole of all. It was pleased.
"Alright. Let's see if you can pull that off again, good sir," Vesli readied himself.
"Two lies there, pup. I'm not good an' I'm no 'sir', so get tha' outta yer head," the old soldier made a face of visible disgust at being called 'sir'. "Ya prove yerself to not be 'opeless an' I might just introduce maself".
"Then what should I call you in the mean time?"
The veteran gave a disturbing grin. "Hey ya wi' tha face works jus' fine."
"… you cannot be serious."
"Doubtin' me pup? Hav' ta beat some sense inta yer skull while I'm at it."
* / * / *
Whatever abyssal gods had loosened his tongue also had Vesli returning to the Tavern at dinner time battered, bruised, and with a slight limp. He wasn't sure if he was more hoping Bird had found two others and had returned, if he would have to suggest 'Face' to her as a possible addition, or that Bird had got some sense into her head and decided to ditch him entirely. It was most displeased at the last prospect. The training field earlier had cause the sitting-too-long static in Its fur to go away but if It didn't get to dig Its claws into some prey-thing soon It was going to let EVERYONE know It was not amused. The man just groaned and sank roughly onto a table bench.
"Noticeable limp. Smells of sweat. Brothel use? No. No smell of sex. Training then. Intense session. Perhaps overly so." Bird appeared out of nowhere across from him. Vesli left gouges in the table as he jolted upwards. "Really should work on your observational skills. Basic to survival." Curb the instant response. Inhale. Count to five. Exhale.
"Were you successful in finding anyone else for this scheme of yours?" Because this really was Bird's idea and Vesli was still wondering what in the name of the Light was possessing him to go along with it. It growled restlessly. Oh right. That.
"Yes." The affirmation was accompanied by the beak of the mask bobbing up and down in time with her head motions.
"And who are they?" Please don't let him regret asking. A rustle of crimson-and-black fabric and one of the rarer Occultists joined their table with a refined grace.
"Greetings. I am Briquville Caillot Dubosc III. I permit you to shorten it to whoever name you prefer". It immediately dubbed him Too-Many-Names. Vesli decided to go with Caillot. "A pleasure, I am sure."
"Ha! Pleasure?! Pleasure would involve, you, me, and far less clothing," a Hellion thumped into the seat next to Vesli and swung her black-clad arm around him. The man in question went stiff until she released his person. "Or me and him. The doctor could work. No!" Her eyes widened eagerly "All of us!" The Hellion gave a savage smile which had fear for certain appendages skittering up Vesli's spine. "Name's Aela and my door's always open for you lot. You look like you could use a good roll in the hay! Your expressions are so sour!"
By all the gods light and dark, Vesli was already regretting this. Where had Bird even found these two? This was what he got for entrusting her with the task of acquiring others. Or perhaps what he got for Its continued presence in his mind. Honestly, the man wasn't sure which was more to blame at the moment. All he really knew was today was going to be a long day.
"I have already slated us on the next expedition into the Cove. It is short, and the task to simply kill as many fish as possible. It is best we leave soon unless we anger the Heir by being late. I am sure that this task will allow us to acquire an acceptable team synergy," Bird added.
And the day just managed to get longer still.
Nonetheless, Vesli got up with the others and started to limp his still bruised self to the Cove with his new-found 'team'.
* / * / *
The fish-folk of the Cove were not what Vesli expected. For one, the blue-skinned ones hit the hardest. He'd expected the big shield holding fish-bastards to hold that honor. Then the purple ones that liked to keep their distance were gods-cursed healers that needed to be taken out before the big shield fish-bastards could guard them. This wasn't even counting their pet jellyfish and snails. The entire party had deadpanned at seeing the first snail, but that little buggers just Didn't. Take. Damage. Except for when Bird poisoned them with some concoction from her belt (Vesli kept one wary eye on the bags she carried after that incident). And the jellyfish tentacles hurt! He'd gotten both shocked and lacerated in quick succession upon facing the first batch. He was glad he'd helped finance the supply of bandages after that.
At least It was satisfied, though Vesli had never needed to release It. To stay human throughout this first foray had been a small blessing, and that Its bloodlust had been satiated despite staying himself a slightly larger miracle.
Much to his surprise, he had found himself almost relaxing during the quiet periods of their first 'adventure' as a team. Caillot wasn't the most… reliable healer but he healed and wielded bloody sky-ghost tentacles. Note to self: if attempting to annoy Caillot, stay out of sky-ghost tentacle reach. As for Aela, she didn't seem to care where their enemies were. Her large glaive almost always found purchase in their scaly hides. All in all, it went much better than expected. Still, Vesli was glad to see the Hamlet in the distance and to seek meditative solitude in the Cloister of the Abbey. There was the rustle of clothes next to him. One eye peeked open to see that Bird had joined him, silent for once. Presumably also meditating, though it was impossible to tell through that mask of hers. In through the nose. Out through the mouth. The eye on her remained cracked open.
