HolyMan
Thy wounds are healed!
Ok never mind the above my search of the thread works really good... see 
Claymore stares at Thorn for a moment. He seems thoughtful - almost contemplative, but when he speaks up, his voice drips with enmity.
"What's the matter, officer? If we could be slowed down by gatehouses and walls, would we be any good at what we do? No. Let me give you an example. There was a man who worked with The Cloak - a buccaneer of sorts, by the name of Squint. Squint was my owner, you see, back before any of us warforged were allowed to be free. Squint controlled a huge sector of Port September's bootlegging interest, but when it came time to pay his dues to The Cloak, Ol' Squint said no."
Claymore pauses for dramatic effect, his voice becoming dark and menacing.
He barricaded himself into the shipping office - hiding like a coward, with bodyguards and archers protecting the front gate, and leaving me out on my own. No one could get in or out of the place. So one day, Bright-Eyed Teach came up and offered me freedom, if only I could get Squint out of the office. So you know what I did? I climbed up on the roof and hacked my way in with an axe. I killed my master's guards by myself, and Bright-Eyed Teach rewarded me with a position in his crew. That's the kind of organization The Cloak is: when there's guards at the gate, we cut in through the ceiling. Nobody let me into the castle, but I got in just the same."
The warforged glares at "Corporal Hedge" with disdain, and then speaks deliberately.
"So now I have a question for you. Now that the king is dead, who's going to have the power?"
********************************************************************************************************
For a moment it seemed like Crag had scored a point on good ol' Corporal Hedge. The guardsman took a step back with a glassy-eyed expression of startlement. he didn't even seem to hear anything spoken for the next moment or two....
The alleys of Port September reflected the haste with which the city had been built. They were narrow and jagged, dark and dank. In some place a grown man could hardly walk through them sideways, so close together were the buildings put. The cobbles were uneven and the ground muddy where they were missing. Trash and refuse made slopes up against the walls at regular intervals, and the smell of rot and mildew mingled with the sea salt and sewage that hung over the rest of the city.
People lived in the alleys; furtive darting shadows that moved like the rats, never getting caught out in the open. At night they huddled around what fires they could find fuel and cover for. By day, even the least of them had something they could call a trade, even if it was just sitting miserably at the alley's mouth and begging for coin.
Such a man was Old Squint. He was old for his age when Thorn saw him, weathered and craggy and tired. It wasn't hard to see why he was begging either; his arms both ended in stumps. Just seeing them made Thorn wince and shiver as she imagined what it would feel like to lose one's hands. Even as a youngling she could easily feel the pains of others in her imagination. That was why she bent over to drop something in his hat...not a coin, but fine lapel pin she'd managed to slip away from a man who'd helped her up after she'd 'tripped.'
No sooner than he'd seen the glint of gold in the hat though, than Squint moved like a viper, covering it with his sleeve. He fixed Thorn with appraisal in his eyes, then said, "Old Squint does appreciate your kindness, but he thinks the owner of that trinket'll be lookin' for it. You need to be rid of it before anyone finds it on you." When Thorn, surprised by the revelation of something she hadn't thought of before, started to stammer that she didn't know what to do, he stopped her. "Take it three doors down, and just within the alley to the candlemaker's shop," Squint instructed. "Tell the owner that Squint sent you. He'll give a fair price for things like these." He grinned. "And bring back one in ten for whatever he gives you, and we'll call ourselves squared away, you and I." )
"I have one," Thorn replied to Doren.
In the basement under the tavern, Corporal Hodge melted away to be replaced by someone else. Someone who looked awkward in a guard's uniform. A man older than his age, as craggy as a mountainside and with an ice blue gunslinger's stare. Across the sea and in the past this was not a safe face to wear. Now it was the only one Thorn could take as she advanced numbly on the tied prisoner...
"What happened?" Old Squint asked, repeating her question. "It's an ugly tale, little Thorn. Squint here was betrayed. Turned on by one he trusted. And for what?!" The old man sighed. "I dared to dream of a Port September that was free of the Teach. I wasn't alone either...there were quite a few of us. Too few to fight directly, but enough to plan. And apparently enough to be noticed."
Thorn listened avidly, the two of them leaning against a wall in the recess of the alleyway Squint lived near. He'd already taught her a lot, and her life had become easier as a result. She brought him food and money; offerings made in exchange for knowledge.
Now, as he described the final moments of his aborted insurrection, Thorn felt anger. He'd been so close! She shuddered in hate and revulsion at his account of Teach deciding to cripple and beggar him, rather than to kill and possibly martyr him. "That's what I am now," he told her sadly, "Every day I live, I'm an example of what happens when folk cross the Teach." He eyed Thorn again with squinty eyes then and added fondly, "Except for you."
Glowing with pride at that, Thorn made a decision. If she had a chance to, ever in her life, she'd kill the Teach...and the underling who'd betrayed Squint's trust. That they should live in wealth and prosperity while Squint, nobler by far, lived in humiliation and squalor...that was one thing she could correct.
Thorn, now the spitting image of her old master, Old Squint, reached out and grabbed Crag's shoulder.
"This is for the left hand," she said roughly...and quick as a snake; a trick taught her by Squint himself...her sword appeared in her hand and slammed forward to end whatever 'life' a warforged could be said to have.
***********************************************************************************************
Thorn's face was expressionless as she watched Thomas being dragged away. She'd ask about his effects later. Most likely some would find it crass for her to inquire now, and she had enough antipathy from members of the group as it was.
Do I have to?
The voice was an echo in her mind. A voice from the past. Her voice. How young had she been? Twelve? Thirteen?
The sewer cistern was empty now, but still smelled and had a sticky floor. Even with her shoes on, Thorn grimaced with each step. She looked up at Squint, who was standing on the edge above.
"Do I have to?" she pleaded.
Her mentor nodded and gestured towards the grill-covered duct on the far end. One was right behind Thorn too. "I'm sorry girl," he said, and she believed him, "This is your most important lesson yet, and if you don't learn it then I'm afraid you will be doomed."
"What lesson is that?"
Old Squint answered as he pulled a chain, causing the grate across from Thorn to open.
"To kill."
Something large, to Thorn at least, and furry trotted out, and she instinctively tensed, drawing her knife from its belt. Then she realized what the 'terrifying spectre' was.
Offal! One of Squint's three dogs, and the one she had befriended by bringing him little bits of food after meals. He was a thick-built dog, heavy in front with short brown hair that showed off his muscles. A flat snout and tiny ears made him look comically ugly.
The dog looked around and sniffed, a quizzical expression in the tilt of its ears, and the set of its tail.
Just as Thorn was starting to put her knife away, Squint shouted, "Offal! Eviscerate!"
Immediately Offal tensed, and his jowls lifted from over his teeth, baring them in a fierce snarl. His two undersized eyes latched onto Thorn.
"Thorn!" Squint called, "Be ready!"
She stared aghast as Offal charged at her across the cistern. His paws made little prints in the unspeakable mud that covered the floor. His claws made little 'tak tak tak tak' noises. He was coming at her as fast as an arrow...now leaping up to grab her throat in his powerful jaws...
Offal's impact against her pushed Thorn back against the wall behind her, and nearly knocked her off her feet entirely. She screamed as his teeth clamped down on her arm...which she'd managed to bring up in time to stop him from reaching her neck. Pain and fear flooded her, and worse, she knew what came next. She'd watched him hunt before. He grabbed, bit, and -shook-.
He'd break her arm to bits if he did that now.
Acting on instinct no less animal than Offal, Thorn swung her free arm, the one with the dagger, up and under the dog's barrel chest to where its ribs were just visible under its skin. The narrow blade easily found its way between the slabs of bone, and slipped through skin and muscle and viscera to the mutt's frantically beating heart.
There was a sharp 'yap' noise, and the crushing pressure on Thorn's arm eased, then fell off entirely. Offal whimpered and limped away, with blood pumping rhythmically from the gash in his side. Thorn realized belatedly that she'd twisted the blade, not even remembering who, or what it was she was stabbing. After a few seconds, the dog fell onto its side, and lay still.
There was a clanging noise as the dagger fell to the cistern floor.
After a long moment, Thorn asked in a thick voice, "Why?"
"You mean why did I make you fight?" Squint asked.
"Why a dog? Why THIS dog?" she explained. She wanted to wipe the hated tears from her face, but her hands were bloody, and she couldn't bear to spread that.
"Ah. You mean...why did I make you kill a friend." With grunts of effort, Squint started climbing down the ladder into the cistern. "Because killing someone, anyone, is a terrible act. It burns in your soul, and never really goes away. And the only thing worse than killing a stranger, is killing a friend."
"Which I've now done!" Thorn gritted in rising fury. She whirled to face her mentor. His expression stopped her short though. She'd expected cruelty...smugness...amusement maybe. But what she saw was a haunted, hollow sorrow.
"Yes," he agreed. "And now nothing else you do will ever seem as bad."
The changeling took in a deep breath and banished the memory back to the darkness where it belonged. She looked at the queen and shook her head.
"You haven't been saved yet, your Highness. This was only the opening move. Stay on your guard, and trust no one until this is truly over."
She paused, then added, "Which, I should advise you, may be never."
So Old Squint was Thorn's teacher so Shayuri should post him up I'm going to search other names on the list.
HM
Claymore stares at Thorn for a moment. He seems thoughtful - almost contemplative, but when he speaks up, his voice drips with enmity.
"What's the matter, officer? If we could be slowed down by gatehouses and walls, would we be any good at what we do? No. Let me give you an example. There was a man who worked with The Cloak - a buccaneer of sorts, by the name of Squint. Squint was my owner, you see, back before any of us warforged were allowed to be free. Squint controlled a huge sector of Port September's bootlegging interest, but when it came time to pay his dues to The Cloak, Ol' Squint said no."
Claymore pauses for dramatic effect, his voice becoming dark and menacing.
He barricaded himself into the shipping office - hiding like a coward, with bodyguards and archers protecting the front gate, and leaving me out on my own. No one could get in or out of the place. So one day, Bright-Eyed Teach came up and offered me freedom, if only I could get Squint out of the office. So you know what I did? I climbed up on the roof and hacked my way in with an axe. I killed my master's guards by myself, and Bright-Eyed Teach rewarded me with a position in his crew. That's the kind of organization The Cloak is: when there's guards at the gate, we cut in through the ceiling. Nobody let me into the castle, but I got in just the same."
The warforged glares at "Corporal Hedge" with disdain, and then speaks deliberately.
"So now I have a question for you. Now that the king is dead, who's going to have the power?"
********************************************************************************************************
For a moment it seemed like Crag had scored a point on good ol' Corporal Hedge. The guardsman took a step back with a glassy-eyed expression of startlement. he didn't even seem to hear anything spoken for the next moment or two....
The alleys of Port September reflected the haste with which the city had been built. They were narrow and jagged, dark and dank. In some place a grown man could hardly walk through them sideways, so close together were the buildings put. The cobbles were uneven and the ground muddy where they were missing. Trash and refuse made slopes up against the walls at regular intervals, and the smell of rot and mildew mingled with the sea salt and sewage that hung over the rest of the city.
People lived in the alleys; furtive darting shadows that moved like the rats, never getting caught out in the open. At night they huddled around what fires they could find fuel and cover for. By day, even the least of them had something they could call a trade, even if it was just sitting miserably at the alley's mouth and begging for coin.
Such a man was Old Squint. He was old for his age when Thorn saw him, weathered and craggy and tired. It wasn't hard to see why he was begging either; his arms both ended in stumps. Just seeing them made Thorn wince and shiver as she imagined what it would feel like to lose one's hands. Even as a youngling she could easily feel the pains of others in her imagination. That was why she bent over to drop something in his hat...not a coin, but fine lapel pin she'd managed to slip away from a man who'd helped her up after she'd 'tripped.'
No sooner than he'd seen the glint of gold in the hat though, than Squint moved like a viper, covering it with his sleeve. He fixed Thorn with appraisal in his eyes, then said, "Old Squint does appreciate your kindness, but he thinks the owner of that trinket'll be lookin' for it. You need to be rid of it before anyone finds it on you." When Thorn, surprised by the revelation of something she hadn't thought of before, started to stammer that she didn't know what to do, he stopped her. "Take it three doors down, and just within the alley to the candlemaker's shop," Squint instructed. "Tell the owner that Squint sent you. He'll give a fair price for things like these." He grinned. "And bring back one in ten for whatever he gives you, and we'll call ourselves squared away, you and I." )
"I have one," Thorn replied to Doren.
In the basement under the tavern, Corporal Hodge melted away to be replaced by someone else. Someone who looked awkward in a guard's uniform. A man older than his age, as craggy as a mountainside and with an ice blue gunslinger's stare. Across the sea and in the past this was not a safe face to wear. Now it was the only one Thorn could take as she advanced numbly on the tied prisoner...
"What happened?" Old Squint asked, repeating her question. "It's an ugly tale, little Thorn. Squint here was betrayed. Turned on by one he trusted. And for what?!" The old man sighed. "I dared to dream of a Port September that was free of the Teach. I wasn't alone either...there were quite a few of us. Too few to fight directly, but enough to plan. And apparently enough to be noticed."
Thorn listened avidly, the two of them leaning against a wall in the recess of the alleyway Squint lived near. He'd already taught her a lot, and her life had become easier as a result. She brought him food and money; offerings made in exchange for knowledge.
Now, as he described the final moments of his aborted insurrection, Thorn felt anger. He'd been so close! She shuddered in hate and revulsion at his account of Teach deciding to cripple and beggar him, rather than to kill and possibly martyr him. "That's what I am now," he told her sadly, "Every day I live, I'm an example of what happens when folk cross the Teach." He eyed Thorn again with squinty eyes then and added fondly, "Except for you."
Glowing with pride at that, Thorn made a decision. If she had a chance to, ever in her life, she'd kill the Teach...and the underling who'd betrayed Squint's trust. That they should live in wealth and prosperity while Squint, nobler by far, lived in humiliation and squalor...that was one thing she could correct.
Thorn, now the spitting image of her old master, Old Squint, reached out and grabbed Crag's shoulder.
"This is for the left hand," she said roughly...and quick as a snake; a trick taught her by Squint himself...her sword appeared in her hand and slammed forward to end whatever 'life' a warforged could be said to have.
***********************************************************************************************
Thorn's face was expressionless as she watched Thomas being dragged away. She'd ask about his effects later. Most likely some would find it crass for her to inquire now, and she had enough antipathy from members of the group as it was.
Do I have to?
The voice was an echo in her mind. A voice from the past. Her voice. How young had she been? Twelve? Thirteen?
The sewer cistern was empty now, but still smelled and had a sticky floor. Even with her shoes on, Thorn grimaced with each step. She looked up at Squint, who was standing on the edge above.
"Do I have to?" she pleaded.
Her mentor nodded and gestured towards the grill-covered duct on the far end. One was right behind Thorn too. "I'm sorry girl," he said, and she believed him, "This is your most important lesson yet, and if you don't learn it then I'm afraid you will be doomed."
"What lesson is that?"
Old Squint answered as he pulled a chain, causing the grate across from Thorn to open.
"To kill."
Something large, to Thorn at least, and furry trotted out, and she instinctively tensed, drawing her knife from its belt. Then she realized what the 'terrifying spectre' was.
Offal! One of Squint's three dogs, and the one she had befriended by bringing him little bits of food after meals. He was a thick-built dog, heavy in front with short brown hair that showed off his muscles. A flat snout and tiny ears made him look comically ugly.
The dog looked around and sniffed, a quizzical expression in the tilt of its ears, and the set of its tail.
Just as Thorn was starting to put her knife away, Squint shouted, "Offal! Eviscerate!"
Immediately Offal tensed, and his jowls lifted from over his teeth, baring them in a fierce snarl. His two undersized eyes latched onto Thorn.
"Thorn!" Squint called, "Be ready!"
She stared aghast as Offal charged at her across the cistern. His paws made little prints in the unspeakable mud that covered the floor. His claws made little 'tak tak tak tak' noises. He was coming at her as fast as an arrow...now leaping up to grab her throat in his powerful jaws...
Offal's impact against her pushed Thorn back against the wall behind her, and nearly knocked her off her feet entirely. She screamed as his teeth clamped down on her arm...which she'd managed to bring up in time to stop him from reaching her neck. Pain and fear flooded her, and worse, she knew what came next. She'd watched him hunt before. He grabbed, bit, and -shook-.
He'd break her arm to bits if he did that now.
Acting on instinct no less animal than Offal, Thorn swung her free arm, the one with the dagger, up and under the dog's barrel chest to where its ribs were just visible under its skin. The narrow blade easily found its way between the slabs of bone, and slipped through skin and muscle and viscera to the mutt's frantically beating heart.
There was a sharp 'yap' noise, and the crushing pressure on Thorn's arm eased, then fell off entirely. Offal whimpered and limped away, with blood pumping rhythmically from the gash in his side. Thorn realized belatedly that she'd twisted the blade, not even remembering who, or what it was she was stabbing. After a few seconds, the dog fell onto its side, and lay still.
There was a clanging noise as the dagger fell to the cistern floor.
After a long moment, Thorn asked in a thick voice, "Why?"
"You mean why did I make you fight?" Squint asked.
"Why a dog? Why THIS dog?" she explained. She wanted to wipe the hated tears from her face, but her hands were bloody, and she couldn't bear to spread that.
"Ah. You mean...why did I make you kill a friend." With grunts of effort, Squint started climbing down the ladder into the cistern. "Because killing someone, anyone, is a terrible act. It burns in your soul, and never really goes away. And the only thing worse than killing a stranger, is killing a friend."
"Which I've now done!" Thorn gritted in rising fury. She whirled to face her mentor. His expression stopped her short though. She'd expected cruelty...smugness...amusement maybe. But what she saw was a haunted, hollow sorrow.
"Yes," he agreed. "And now nothing else you do will ever seem as bad."
The changeling took in a deep breath and banished the memory back to the darkness where it belonged. She looked at the queen and shook her head.
"You haven't been saved yet, your Highness. This was only the opening move. Stay on your guard, and trust no one until this is truly over."
She paused, then added, "Which, I should advise you, may be never."
So Old Squint was Thorn's teacher so Shayuri should post him up I'm going to search other names on the list.
HM
