RP:The Promise in a Loaded Crossbow

OOC Background

This was an introductory RP in August 2011 to introduce a character to the ambience of Cenril's seedy streets.

While Vasili didn't stay around long, with the recent resurgence of RPs in Cenril, I have uploaded this as extra flavour for the Gangs of Cenril RP sequences.

Korax, a member of Craven's Crew is NPC'd by the player of Cornelius/Valentin

Somewhere, in a part of Cenril you wouldn't want to visit at night

A small 'office' consisting of a barely-renovated house, usurped from its former owners, is home to one of Cenril's many loansharks. Ravel was feeling pretty good about the situation. The slightly obese man slicked back his greasy hair, his almost-tailored suit a thin veneer of genteelity over what was a very coarse man, with coarser pleasures. The sneaky little kitty-cat who'd failed to steal enough to pay the debt was looking less than pretty, though, with a shiner already developing around his right eye. Flanked by two heavies, his third thug guarding the door, Ravel gloats at Vasili "I thought all cats landed on their feet, eh, Vasili? Cenril bank turned out to be too hard a target did it? Young and stupid, I calls it. And Young and Stupid quickly turns out plain dead, old chum. Chum. Heh. Yeah, we'll take you on a fishing trip right enough if you don't come good on us." The man snaps platinum-ringed fingers, and a heavy steps in with a backhanded slap - harbinger for a matching black eye on the left hand side. Another night in Cenril.

Vasili ;; Black spots swam in discordant and frantic arrays across the line of the young Vasili's vision, a tired hiss plucked from the bowels of his stomach to slip through grit-teeth. It was going to be a long night. His luck had turned sour, a great morning at the track descending into a panic-stricken chase through the streets, one which Ravel's men won. Forcing himself to remain upright and coherent the feline met the cold gaze of the man who struck him, passing an indistinct comment about his mother's virtue - which received little less than a harsh chortle. Hopeless. "Rav, Rav, Rav, you dun' gotta do this, y'know I'll 'ave the cash fer ya. I always do. When has Vas let you down before." The chilling clamour of another open-fisted blow meeting his jaw was the only rebuttal forthcoming maybe it wouldn't be such a long night after all. It wasn't a line of thought worth encouraging.

Ravel claps his hands "Galt, yer an artist. Those knuckles of yours are worth their weight in gold. Bring out the other one. Mutual encouragement." Galt, the heavy with a penchant for delivering his employer's punishment, lumbers purposefully to a side door and opens it before stepping through. From the other room can be heard the slap of hand on face, with the cruelly humorous admonition "Wakey wakey, rise and pay." Galt re-emerges, dragging another chair, and a human lad of similar age to Vasili. Ravel grins "Look, we've got two likely lads what don't know the slightest thing about money or responsibility." He gets close, face mere inches from the human "Money, boy, doesn't grow on trees. It grows in graves." He moves to Vasili "And I've a responsibility to make sure people who owe money get it before they grow it, you get me?" From outside can be heard a slight thump. Ravel calls out "Watch where you're going, Charlie. Stop knockin' about me furniture."

Vasili gathers himself in the brief respite granted, breathing deep to exhale a long, tired sigh at this latest turn of events. "Poor bastard...", he murmurs before Rav's attentions fall back on him, "f*** him actually, poor me...". Averting his cerulean gaze from the preaching Rav', Vas' began trying to piece together something to say or do to enable him to make it through the night with a pulse and his leg intact, "Look, look, we can sort this out, Rav, no need to resort to this, you are a better class of customer than murdering punks like me, right, right? Come on, give us a break, chief, you know I am worth more alive than in the ground."

Ravel's next words are interrupted by the door slamming open to reveal a cloaked man brandishing a crossbow which seems to be drow in design. The man, anaemic and lanky, looks like any one of the heavies could snap him, save for that threatening crossbow, which even now was aimed directly at Ravel's stomach. The man glances to the human youth "Hoy, Shakey, snap out of it you idiot." He gestures at Ravel with the crossbow "Have your ape untie them. And remember, I have no sense of humour, and my critique of funny business is quick and to the point." Ravel grimaces "Feckit. Galt, let 'em loose. You're an idiot, Korax. No good comes of messin' with the natural order of things. I'm small fry compared to others, but others won't like you playing prince fecking heroic in your shining bloody armour. Pull yer head in, before someone pulls it off. Luck ain't gonna shine on you forever, you rat." Korax barely blinks, remaining impassively alert as Galt unties Vasili and Shakey. He nods to the two youths "Get behind me, lads. It's a shot safer that way."

Vasili is musing over the words that would have been inscribed on his tombstone, 'I'm getting better', always held a certain macabre humour for him. Then there is action, the crossbow wielding hero, the savvy back and forth and his eventual release. From the looks of things the guy with the crossbow was giving the orders now and who was Vas to disobey - pitching into a lumbering jog the youth brings himself to stand behind his would-be saviour. "Man that was close, thank you, thank you, thank you. Smoke these guys, they are just bums with muscles and no brains." Vasili reiterates in a voice for all to hear, "You heard me Galt, the wheel is spinning but the hamster is dead you moron. If you had two brains you'd be twice as effin stupid."

Korax remarks in a matter-of-fact tone "A crossbow has one bolt. A loaded crossbow, friend cat, is a thing of promise. It promises death to one person, and that promise brings with it a potent yet fragile power. While loaded, it is an instrument of leverage, for none here knows who would die - and Ravel, bless his black heart, likes his skin intact enough not to press the issue." As Korax philosophises on the joys of the crossbow, Shakey makes a more silent retreat behind Korax, perhaps to avoid aggravating a mouth made sore with broken teeth. Korax continues his lecture, as he slowly steps backwards "Now, let's say I kill Galt. Albert there..." Korax nods to the other heavy "...would have our guts for garters in the space of a minute. Let's say I kill Albert. Galt then gets the pleasure. And if I kill Ravel? We got both Galt and Albert taking us to pieces slowly. No lads, the loaded crossbow is what keeps us alive right now." As they slowly exit the room, Ravel looking as if he is about to explode with frustrated fury, they step past the unconscious form of Charlie. Korax calls out "I left Charlie alive. Call it squaring the tab, Ravel. I could have killed him and reloaded in plenty of time." The loanshark grinds his teeth "Oh, there's other tabs to be squared you bloody rat. I'll have your whiskers and tail one day, fella-me-lad, don't you worry" And with that, the three are temporarily free.

Vasili 's head is cocked in a furtive attempt to listen to Korax and apprehend the situation going down. "Right, right. Leverage, gotcha. But uh what happens when they overhear you say this and rush us? They won't will they? Will they?" He quickens his pace, "Those bastards are gonna follow us, whatsyername, Korax, right? Yeah, Korax, I appreciate you getting me outta that chair and all but surely now they are gonna string me up as proof they can't be f***ed with. Oh god, I'm a deadman. A bloody deadman."

Korax grunts "Optimistic, aren't ya, Cat. Regular ray of bloody sunshine. Firstly, yes, they are probably going to set the hounds on us. But it won't be Ravel's heavies. Not Galt, not Charlie, Not Albert. Oh no. He isn't going to risk any of his main muscle to a crossbow bolt over a pitiful debt." Shakey sighs through a blood-encrusted mouth, but says nothing. The black-haired man clarifies "He'll call in some debtors, y'see. Tell them that if they can bring any of us to him in one piece or several, the debt'll be cleared. It's how he does business. All we have to do is kill a few of those, and he'll stop thinking the effort worth the investment, and write us off in the short term." Korax is carefully watchful, new habits learned at the side of the assassin Nemo. "We'll go to a bar, for now. Disinfect Shakey here with some liquor before I box his bloody ears for being an Olric-kicked fool. Korax it is. You are?"

Vasili nods, content in the sagacious words which spill from the night's current hero, "Right, right, gotcha, debtors, clean your buddy up, stick a couple of the punks who chase u...wait, kill guys, me? Not so sure I got the claws for that s***, chief, if you'll excuse the reference, hell I don't care. I am gonna die, I can say what I like." Drifting off into a tired assortment of coloured phrases the feline perks a little bit up, "Vasili, soon to be corpse and long time worm feed. Ex-gambler and five-fingered discountee."

Korax grins as he leads them into a shabby bar in a grubby part of the city "Ex-gambler shows a spot of wisdom, Vasili. But yeah, folks want to try to kill you? Law o' nature says you show them their intestines until they realise their mistake, and then you drink until you forget having done so, if that's how it needs to be. Speaking of which, welcome to the Harlot's Arms." He opens the door and proclaims "Bad beer and worse whores. But it's something of a neutral ground, in that nobody who drinks here gives a damn who you are. Paying attention to anyone but your own drinking companions in this place is a short trip to the funeral parlour." Korax approaches a corner table, and the two locals sitting at it leave for the man with the crossbow. "Crossbows, lads. Am I right? Of course I bloody am. Let's drink."

Vasili snorts a laugh at the wisdom jive, his tail swishing back and forth in time with the raucous sound. Entering the Harlot's Arms Vas' caught a glimpse of himself in the reflection of a candlelit window - clothes torn, matted with blood and dirt clung to his chest and legs, the paleness of his flesh revealed at random intervals. His face was a macrame of bruises and rapidly colouring skin, his face something akin to a pandas at this stage. "Holy crap, I look like I've been hit by a wagon, and the horses who drag it. Even these horrible whores won't have me at this rate." Snatching at another laugh, he eyes the departing males who bow to the authority of the crossbow, "Gods damn it, I gotta get me something like that. Best seats in the house with little more than a how-do-you-do. Lords spare me. How much did that set ya back?" If and when a drink is called for, he'll be having whisky, of any sort and fast.

Korax chuckles at Vasili's comments until his last question, at which point a grim look falls over Korax' face. "Well, I work alongside some dangerous folk, and this thing we pulled from the corpse of a drow killed by an assassin called Nemo. Hell, that bastard's killed several of the bastards, and gods know what they were doing here to start with. He ain't one for keeping loot, so he lets those he hires keep the goods from those who fall at his hands in the course of a job. Call it danger pay." The dark-haired man shrugs "I'll tell you one thing, though. Survive enough scraps in this town, and you'd be surprised at the amount of weaponry a man can collect." Shakey nods, and avoids looking at his own reflection. For good reason. He was never pretty, was Shakey, but now he was a damn sight worse.