Darwin Drake was sure that there couldn't be a better job than working for RhyDin City Courier services. Yes he'd had to spend some nobles to get bonded, but the benefit was trust, and a hefty increase in the paycheck. He'd been on this route for the last two years, and could tell by the position of the sun in the twilight sky exactly which streets would be empty, or close enough to it that he could get where he needed to go in minutes. His service ratings were solid enough that they'd upgraded him to one of the brand new electric vans. It even had an updated stereo, his phone's playlist was thumping through the speakers. This did cause some heads to turn, but it also let him deliver a few winks to the better looking women. He pulled up in front of Gloaming District number two, with the sound of Gold Digger bumping loudly. He checked the name on the box and matched it up to delivery receipt on his clipboard. "de la Rose, this has got to be it." He left the van running because the song was just too good to stop in the middle of. He bebopped his way out of the driver seat, opened the side of the van, verified the numbers on the packages inside. He pulled free a long box and shut the side door. With a dance to his steps he moved along the front walk, and knocked on the door in time to the drum beat going off from the van and waited for someone to answer.
When someone finally came to the door he gave his best smile and offered over the box. "Looks like something for an Ettyn de la Rose." He checked his clipboard to read the name. "Coming from Kruger's Exotic Weapons Armor Leather. I swear by the shape, I would have sworn it was flower, but that doesn't sound like a florist to me." He pulled a pen out of his left shirt pocket and held it up. "Just need you to sign here." Darwin pointed to the place on the carbonized bill of lading. Then he tore free the center sheet and offered it up. "Now... our number is here, just in case there's an issue with the contents. It says that the delivery was insured, so it won't even cost you anything extra." He waited to see if they might need anything, or maybe wanted to tip him, that happened sometimes.
When the door closed, and the business was concluded, Darwin stepped off the porch and started to sing along to the song. "Git down, girl...go on head git down." He checked the address for his next delivery, looked at the position of the sun as he was throwing on his seatbelt. The van was put into gear and the thump of the bass across the speakers dwindled as he put space between himself and GD#2.
Special Delivery
Moderators: Anya de la Rose, Death Knell
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Death Knell
- Proven Adventurer
- Posts: 203
- Joined: Tue Oct 06, 2020 10:10 pm
- Location: The Wilds
Re: Special Delivery
Once Ettyn had seen the parcel, and before the musical courier had even said who it was from, she knew what it was:
A hammer, heavy and sharp, meant to break focus and will as much as bone and armor.
After Darwin had left, she sat cross-legged on the deck of the de la Roses' house in the Gloaming District, unwrapped the parcel, and took a long moment to admire it under the celestial light of the Twilight sky.
Whorls and subtle shaping, none pronounced or vulnerable to breaking, showed the cold, furious visage of a mind-flayer of the Underdark. The hematite gray of the metal shifted between the dizzying, undulating purple of giant worms and the noxious, bursting green of the illithids' larval vats, subtle reflections revealing themselves as she shifted the weapon under the light. It had been made to her specifications, but been further shaped by the master smith. The weight, the fearsome look, even the humming thrill of the mind's destructive potential when she closed her hands around the haft did not surprise her; but the way they all perfectly complemented each other to build on a theme did.
The reaper was patient. Before standing, she felt every groove in the haft, the place where her hands would shift and slide with more ease and versatility and where they would stay put, and every sharp edge and biting point and smooth surface of its business end. She focused on that hum, and felt where it flowed and pooled, ready to burst forth, and how it shifted under contact. She even checked the pommel, its shape and how easy it would be to turn a haft-brace into an eye-gouging strike with a cross-step and a thrust at the back wrist.
It had been half an hour when she moved to standing, stalking down the stairs and out onto the beach. She imagined the Arena sands under her feet only fleetingly, but lingered on the dunes of the Great Desert and the sandy gray shores of the deepest lakes of the Underdark. This was not a sporting weapon. It was meant to disrupt the mind, inflict pain and terror, and make it easier for her to send a life across the Veil to death.
The weapon was light in her hands but sharp and heavy on the swing, from smooth and lazy to lashing out and biting deep like tentacles in a primordial ocean. She swung overhand, then swept from low to high, spun it around to pierce from behind and rip and tear, jabbed for the middle, and lined up a head-snapping uppercut on a doubled-over foe. She braced, blocked and countered, raised the haft and danced forward, backward, and side to side. She leapt and spun once, twice, and three times into ground-pounding swings, and repeated every move, adjusted as she learned, and added more as she thought of them.
At the end of an hour with the weapon, when she swept again, there was a kinetic burst at the point of intended impact, emanating from the steel and her will flowing through it, no different than the same will exerted for every motion with the weapon. Sand flared out in a cloud, leaving warped grooves around her that crisscrossed her elaborate maze of footprints.
She gave a satisfied rumble at the result, hefted the hammer to her shoulder, and made her way inside.
* * * * *
A little while later, a note was delivered to Kruger. The courier in question was a bike messenger who wore bright yellows and listened to thumping techno on his Walkman and seemed to move with every beat. As soon as he confirmed delivery, he was off like a shot on his bike, racing off to another job or to lead his friends to a wild rave somewhere...
The note read:
Kruger,
The hammer is strong. You have made it well. I call it Ofdwfn, the Deep Fear.
Thank you.
I have something that I think you will like. I will take some time to prepare it.
- Ettyn
A hammer, heavy and sharp, meant to break focus and will as much as bone and armor.
After Darwin had left, she sat cross-legged on the deck of the de la Roses' house in the Gloaming District, unwrapped the parcel, and took a long moment to admire it under the celestial light of the Twilight sky.
Whorls and subtle shaping, none pronounced or vulnerable to breaking, showed the cold, furious visage of a mind-flayer of the Underdark. The hematite gray of the metal shifted between the dizzying, undulating purple of giant worms and the noxious, bursting green of the illithids' larval vats, subtle reflections revealing themselves as she shifted the weapon under the light. It had been made to her specifications, but been further shaped by the master smith. The weight, the fearsome look, even the humming thrill of the mind's destructive potential when she closed her hands around the haft did not surprise her; but the way they all perfectly complemented each other to build on a theme did.
The reaper was patient. Before standing, she felt every groove in the haft, the place where her hands would shift and slide with more ease and versatility and where they would stay put, and every sharp edge and biting point and smooth surface of its business end. She focused on that hum, and felt where it flowed and pooled, ready to burst forth, and how it shifted under contact. She even checked the pommel, its shape and how easy it would be to turn a haft-brace into an eye-gouging strike with a cross-step and a thrust at the back wrist.
It had been half an hour when she moved to standing, stalking down the stairs and out onto the beach. She imagined the Arena sands under her feet only fleetingly, but lingered on the dunes of the Great Desert and the sandy gray shores of the deepest lakes of the Underdark. This was not a sporting weapon. It was meant to disrupt the mind, inflict pain and terror, and make it easier for her to send a life across the Veil to death.
The weapon was light in her hands but sharp and heavy on the swing, from smooth and lazy to lashing out and biting deep like tentacles in a primordial ocean. She swung overhand, then swept from low to high, spun it around to pierce from behind and rip and tear, jabbed for the middle, and lined up a head-snapping uppercut on a doubled-over foe. She braced, blocked and countered, raised the haft and danced forward, backward, and side to side. She leapt and spun once, twice, and three times into ground-pounding swings, and repeated every move, adjusted as she learned, and added more as she thought of them.
At the end of an hour with the weapon, when she swept again, there was a kinetic burst at the point of intended impact, emanating from the steel and her will flowing through it, no different than the same will exerted for every motion with the weapon. Sand flared out in a cloud, leaving warped grooves around her that crisscrossed her elaborate maze of footprints.
She gave a satisfied rumble at the result, hefted the hammer to her shoulder, and made her way inside.
* * * * *
A little while later, a note was delivered to Kruger. The courier in question was a bike messenger who wore bright yellows and listened to thumping techno on his Walkman and seemed to move with every beat. As soon as he confirmed delivery, he was off like a shot on his bike, racing off to another job or to lead his friends to a wild rave somewhere...
The note read:
Kruger,
The hammer is strong. You have made it well. I call it Ofdwfn, the Deep Fear.
Thank you.
I have something that I think you will like. I will take some time to prepare it.
- Ettyn
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