Gold Rush: Add 100% to my jewel reward
Trudging was not his style, but in such a state was Lahkey’s mood that he did. Upon approaching a mission board, seeking some task or another to do, he found one that caught his eye. A man wanted to die. It was far from the type of mission that suited him, but it drew him somehow. What if he didn’t take it? The man wanted to die honorably, after all, and if he allowed some other mage to come take the job, who would be able to determine that said mage’s idea of honor was being incinerated without a thought? Killing was unpleasant, but it was something that Lahkey was well aware of his own propensity for, as little as that may be.
The old warrior’s home was nice, a simple brick building that was small enough to almost be a cottage that had a wispy trail of smoke exiting the chimney. As Lahkey prepared to knock, much to his surprise, the door opened. Indeed, the warrior was old, but he seemed more than fit enough to fight, standing just a couple inches below the younger fellow and brawnier, though the latter was not hard to be. He wore his sword but otherwise dressed normally, and he looked at Lahkey with a face wrinkled with stern lines but also kind blue eyes. Ior was surprised, that much was apparent; the handsome young man who now faced him was likely a far cry from the bloodthirsty soldier or older mage that was more likely to take this job. “Come in, come in. Sit.”
The two had a small meal, the old man taking his time on the steak and potatoes he had made himself. They made small talk, as well, meaningless words and discussion of the rather tasty food, until the man was prepared. As his future killer stood and made for the door, a hand grabbed his shoulder. Ior slowly retrieved for him a blade, a rapier. “You hold no blade, and I do not seek to be killed by some nonsensical spell. This will be a battle.” It was a fine sword, sharpened carefully and held in a simple leather scabbard. The balance was impeccable, the handle wrapped with a simple black ribbon and the crossguard golden in color and rounded to protect the user’s hand. Opening his mouth to speak, Lahkey almost asked who it had belonged to previously before deciding to offer his heartfelt thanks instead. The noble old fighter lead the young wizard out of the small town.
A brief walk through the woods took the duo to a clearing, the cardinal points of which had beds of flowers. The northern point had instead a hole dug, dirt still piled next to it. Ior Valiir placed himself directly in front of it, facing Lahkey with his sword and shield in hand. They were to fight, and after the man was no longer breathing, he should be buried. The money promised was waiting back in the cottage, the key was to be hung on the door, and the sword was to be a reward. Light sparkled and shone as the extravagant robe fell off his shoulders, a pool of emerald behind the luck mage’s feet. The rapier was soundless as he drew it, approaching his friendly foe with a blank expression tinged with a forlorn look hiding behind his face.
The warrior looked back with steel in his eyes and took a quick step forward to thrust his longsword. Lahkey was ambidextrous but used his left, and the longsword was held in Ior’s right hand, making for an interesting conflict. With a flick of the wrist and an overhead flourish, the lucky youngling sent the strike skyward and spun to the other side of his blade. A backhand swing was his retaliation, aimed to strike the warrior square in the face were it not blocked by the kite shield as it was. Having prolonged his life sufficiently, the elder slammed forward with the shield to strike Lahkey square in the chest, sending him stumbling backward, his own feet tripping him. No air left in his lungs and unable to move, the thirteen tattoo beneath his shirt began glowing golden, too faint to be seen quite yet; Safety Stumble was his best option. However, Ior did not strike, instead waiting for his opponent to rise once more. As soon as Lahkey had gotten back to his feet, leaping up and readying his sword as though he was being attacked already, a sweeping swing from the left that wouldn’t be as easily dealt with. A leap back took him mostly out of range, the tip of the sword almost removing the lucky boy’s intestines. It was followed up by another strike, an aggressive backhand that would, like most of the veteran’s blows, end the battle. This time the defensive move of choice was a lunge forward, luckily dodging the blow that would have otherwise decapitated the gypsy, and it was followed up by a swift thrust with the rapier. Too close to block, the blade pierced the experienced warrior’s left leg, rendering the already slow man almost immobile. He let out a cry of pain, and as Lahkey slid his weapon back out, it gave him pause. Misery was misery, pain was pain, and neither was something he enjoyed inflicting; Ior, however, had spent decades of his life doing both, and capitalized on this with another shield strike. From his kneeling position, Lahkey had little to do but take it to the face. A sickening crunch announced his broken nose, but neither combatant was going to be delayed. After rolling backward and to his feet, albeit dizzily, Lahkey had begun forming a plan of attack, and Ior had lugged himself forward one more step for a quite literally skull splitting overhead blow. Taking one long step forward and turning himself sideways, the man on a mission thrust straight through the man’s eye socket and out the back of his skull, the longsword falling little more than an inch from the front of his face with every bit of force his adversary had put into it.
His left foot was struck, the blade biting two inches into the side of his foot, and Lahkey screamed.
Solemnly, and far more slowly with his injuries, he completed the rest of his mission, burying the old soldier and returning to his house to collect the reward money, which happened to be quite a bit more than promised. And, of course, he reset his nose, bandaged his foot, and cleaned himself up. The rapier was nice, sharp, but it did not belong to him; it was stuck into the ground just in front of the fresh grave. Lahkey said a quick prayer and departed from the little town of Oshibana, not wishing to return anytime soon.
Trudging was not his style, but in such a state was Lahkey’s mood that he did. Upon approaching a mission board, seeking some task or another to do, he found one that caught his eye. A man wanted to die. It was far from the type of mission that suited him, but it drew him somehow. What if he didn’t take it? The man wanted to die honorably, after all, and if he allowed some other mage to come take the job, who would be able to determine that said mage’s idea of honor was being incinerated without a thought? Killing was unpleasant, but it was something that Lahkey was well aware of his own propensity for, as little as that may be.
The old warrior’s home was nice, a simple brick building that was small enough to almost be a cottage that had a wispy trail of smoke exiting the chimney. As Lahkey prepared to knock, much to his surprise, the door opened. Indeed, the warrior was old, but he seemed more than fit enough to fight, standing just a couple inches below the younger fellow and brawnier, though the latter was not hard to be. He wore his sword but otherwise dressed normally, and he looked at Lahkey with a face wrinkled with stern lines but also kind blue eyes. Ior was surprised, that much was apparent; the handsome young man who now faced him was likely a far cry from the bloodthirsty soldier or older mage that was more likely to take this job. “Come in, come in. Sit.”
The two had a small meal, the old man taking his time on the steak and potatoes he had made himself. They made small talk, as well, meaningless words and discussion of the rather tasty food, until the man was prepared. As his future killer stood and made for the door, a hand grabbed his shoulder. Ior slowly retrieved for him a blade, a rapier. “You hold no blade, and I do not seek to be killed by some nonsensical spell. This will be a battle.” It was a fine sword, sharpened carefully and held in a simple leather scabbard. The balance was impeccable, the handle wrapped with a simple black ribbon and the crossguard golden in color and rounded to protect the user’s hand. Opening his mouth to speak, Lahkey almost asked who it had belonged to previously before deciding to offer his heartfelt thanks instead. The noble old fighter lead the young wizard out of the small town.
A brief walk through the woods took the duo to a clearing, the cardinal points of which had beds of flowers. The northern point had instead a hole dug, dirt still piled next to it. Ior Valiir placed himself directly in front of it, facing Lahkey with his sword and shield in hand. They were to fight, and after the man was no longer breathing, he should be buried. The money promised was waiting back in the cottage, the key was to be hung on the door, and the sword was to be a reward. Light sparkled and shone as the extravagant robe fell off his shoulders, a pool of emerald behind the luck mage’s feet. The rapier was soundless as he drew it, approaching his friendly foe with a blank expression tinged with a forlorn look hiding behind his face.
The warrior looked back with steel in his eyes and took a quick step forward to thrust his longsword. Lahkey was ambidextrous but used his left, and the longsword was held in Ior’s right hand, making for an interesting conflict. With a flick of the wrist and an overhead flourish, the lucky youngling sent the strike skyward and spun to the other side of his blade. A backhand swing was his retaliation, aimed to strike the warrior square in the face were it not blocked by the kite shield as it was. Having prolonged his life sufficiently, the elder slammed forward with the shield to strike Lahkey square in the chest, sending him stumbling backward, his own feet tripping him. No air left in his lungs and unable to move, the thirteen tattoo beneath his shirt began glowing golden, too faint to be seen quite yet; Safety Stumble was his best option. However, Ior did not strike, instead waiting for his opponent to rise once more. As soon as Lahkey had gotten back to his feet, leaping up and readying his sword as though he was being attacked already, a sweeping swing from the left that wouldn’t be as easily dealt with. A leap back took him mostly out of range, the tip of the sword almost removing the lucky boy’s intestines. It was followed up by another strike, an aggressive backhand that would, like most of the veteran’s blows, end the battle. This time the defensive move of choice was a lunge forward, luckily dodging the blow that would have otherwise decapitated the gypsy, and it was followed up by a swift thrust with the rapier. Too close to block, the blade pierced the experienced warrior’s left leg, rendering the already slow man almost immobile. He let out a cry of pain, and as Lahkey slid his weapon back out, it gave him pause. Misery was misery, pain was pain, and neither was something he enjoyed inflicting; Ior, however, had spent decades of his life doing both, and capitalized on this with another shield strike. From his kneeling position, Lahkey had little to do but take it to the face. A sickening crunch announced his broken nose, but neither combatant was going to be delayed. After rolling backward and to his feet, albeit dizzily, Lahkey had begun forming a plan of attack, and Ior had lugged himself forward one more step for a quite literally skull splitting overhead blow. Taking one long step forward and turning himself sideways, the man on a mission thrust straight through the man’s eye socket and out the back of his skull, the longsword falling little more than an inch from the front of his face with every bit of force his adversary had put into it.
His left foot was struck, the blade biting two inches into the side of his foot, and Lahkey screamed.
Solemnly, and far more slowly with his injuries, he completed the rest of his mission, burying the old soldier and returning to his house to collect the reward money, which happened to be quite a bit more than promised. And, of course, he reset his nose, bandaged his foot, and cleaned himself up. The rapier was nice, sharp, but it did not belong to him; it was stuck into the ground just in front of the fresh grave. Lahkey said a quick prayer and departed from the little town of Oshibana, not wishing to return anytime soon.
