Nural Kules's page

Nural's guttural, dark laugh echoes in the room. "If I wanted to play hero, I'd join the Mendevians, Omar. All I want is the slagging town to go back to normal so I can make a living, ya?", she adds, shaking her head. "Thank you, Quimble. We'll try and keep you from learning s*!* you don't need to know, don't worry." Giving the gnome an appreciative smile, she gives him a pat on the back. As she steps up, her eyes meet the wounded woman's. Can't imagine what's it like. Being injured, lost... alone. Slag it, even now you're not out of the sun yet. Her hand grabs the woman's, squeezing gently. "Hold on, ya? I need ya alive, someone needs to mop up the blood in here."

As Omar snatches the documents from the pocket, Nural turns around and stares at him, eyebrow raised. "Looks like drafts and drawings to me.", she shrugs. "Sure, we can figure this out now. Unless you know other siege engineers you can wake up on a short notice." Tapping the ground, Nural wipes away the blood in the sand. He's been here a while. If something else happens in Gritforge, I don't much envy him.
Pointing to a half-battered cart in the yard, Nural grunts out. "Let's go. Can't really throw those down on the ground, and you need to unfold them to understand 'em."

Exhaling deeply, Nural stares back into Omar's eyes. He's scared and afraid. But he's not panicked, and he's on my side. Even if it's just for now., a thought crosses her mind, only for his reasoning to make her bare her teeth again. Oh, you... "Really?", she replies briskly, gesturing wildly at the scene. "We can't do that, Omar. Play dumb, when they saw us in here, when the League is probably breathing down their neck? We chase them out, and then when they come back we lie down, and all'll be fine, ya?" She tilts her head to the side. "Do you expect a gang bold enough to come here to go for that, and not just come back for more the next day? With twice as many people, paid with our money? Don't feed the dogs."

Cleverer than most, but, Lamashtu take him if that's low bar in Gritforge. And all I wanted was to save some money for a new caravan stall... Now I'm talking with the leader of the neighbourhood, and arguing his ideas. Because his ideas are stupid and narrow-minded. Times like these, I almost miss the Legion. She shakes her head, her feet stomping around the dusty stables. Leaning on a pillar, she sighs. "This is just the first day since The Black Sovereign's dead. Big players in the Mound,", she gestures towards the centre of town, glistening just minutes ago, and a dark pillar in the night. "They have big steps to take first. We have to keep a nose to the air, ya? See where the blood's coming from, and protect our own. I don't see her as being too important for the League. If she was, they wouldn't send that Rustmouth and his gang. They'd send a technomancer, and me and your entire gang would be happily sizzlin' on the road to be gnawed on by the strays, ya?" A fatalist grin spreads across the hobgoblin's face, before it wanes as Quimble looks up from the wound and makes his grim prognosis.

A saddened look spreads across her features, as she shakes her head, fury dancing across her lips. "Arrrgh! Slag it. She might pull through, but if it's poison as bad as Quimble says..." She glances up at Omar once more. "Leave her here to rest. But I think Quimble and I got a handle on her, and I'm pretty sure I'm not the only house having drekheads coming around tonight." She puts her arms in the air theatrically. "If she says anything, I'll let you know, obviously, but I personally feel chattier when the local gang isn't staring at my chest. Slatty. I can take over.", she nods, crouching down next to the woman's body. "I'll come lock in a minute. And no detours, you know I see in the dark, ya?"

Grunting out at the incessant barrage of questions from Omar, Nural groans and shrugs. "She didn't have a sack full of adamantine ingots or a big bag labeled 'silverdisks', no. I was in a rush getting to Quimble, and then those Wire Chewers showed up.", she spits out. "And I'm warning you, I see those bastards in here again, I'm shooting first and asking questions possibly, ya? You know where they're from? Who they're working with?"

Crossing her arms at the gang leader walking around the stables, she leans down to look at the wounded woman. "Looks painful...", she adds, before Quimble's revelation about the League being involved in this sends her into a quick shock. Oh, hellfire., she sighs. "You can... you can get those out, Quimble, right? I'd-", she says, before turning to the poorly dressed human with an impatient look on her face. He still doesn't trust me... Time to seal the deal, because I think I made enough enemies in one day.

"Look, Omar. Like you said, I've been nothing but honest, I don't fuss about you coming in here, when you know I hate it!" She stands up, crossing her arms and stepping forwards. She continues in her nervous tone, "And you're looking at my mouth like I sold you a repainted horse and you're walking like...", she shrugs, "you expect a rival gang to be skulking in my stables waiting to pounce on Gritforge or something."

Raising her hands in the air in confusion, she adds, "Look, if there's some sorta thing you're worried about, ask, so we can figure it out together, because all this,", she gestures wildly at the gates and the stables, "Is pushin' me at the end of my slagging nerves, ya, and I don't imagine its the best for the stabbed girl. I give you my honesty, so why don't you do the same to me and tell me the real thing that's on your mind?" Shrugging in a deferential manner, Nural mutters one last sentence, "Less I have to get nervous about you and you worried about me, more time to be nervous about the right things, ya?"

The run home was frantic, stressful, but the gripping chill on Nural's spine as the thought of someone's life seeping into the hay of the stables keeps her grounded. She glances up at Omar's eyes, her mouth curling in a narrow line. Not the time to argue. Not now.

Gritting her teeth, she nods as she pushes past the door. "Fine. Sure, you can come in.", she replies to Omar, choosing to obviously ignore the fact that the gang leader invited himself in. Pros and cons, Nural. Pros and cons. Pushing aside the heavy metal gate, she urges Quimble in. "She's in the stables, Quimble. Lots of blood, but let me go first unless you want to get shot.", she adds, before turning around to glance at the two Anvil Pounders, feet pounding the sun-caked dirt. "Just so you're warned, boys. Rep on the line, so I'll assume any finger on my customers' things as a finger you don't need. Slatty, close the gate behind you, please, ya?" A grin appears on the hobgoblin's mouth as she continues on towards the stables. Well, let's hope she's breathing. Otherwise, all this s$@% for nothing..., a stray thought crosses her mind as every step takes her closer towards the stables.

Seeing the two back off into the dark streets, Nural's ire raises once more, this time quietly, in the distance. Sure. I pay for their protection, yet I'm the one ending up feeling owned., she bites her lip before holstering the gun in her belt. "Bet it isn't even loaded, slagging dusters..." Giving a semi-forced grunt of gratitude towards Slatty, she turns to Quimble with an appraising look. I remembered to put on my eyebrows this afternoon, right? The look changes to impatient indifference a brief moment later.

"Look, Quimble, first, you're welcome, my pleasure. Second, I don't give a slag about what you doing on the side, and I much rather keep it so, ya?", she blurts out between short breaths, arms open wide. Pointing up towards her compound, she puts her hands on her knees for a moment. "You go to the compound, now, please! I'll catch up when I catch my breath in a second, ya?", she adds, breathing in heavily once more then exhaling, ready for another fast run. Kevoth-Kul, your sense of timing is utter slag.

Of course he's a dealer. I'm a smuggler., Nural thinks to herself as the Eskelette revelation graces her ears. Snarling viciously, Nural grabs the pistol from the man's belt. Her eyes narrow at the component pouch at the weedier man. Weak. Lean. Magicker. In all situations, be they dwarf or elf or man, spill the wizard's blood first., the veil of her bloodlust tempering for the training drilled into her head for years to peer through. Teeth snarling, she pounces forwards. "Did I stutter, or are you deaf? Quimble, lock up.", she spits out angily as she stands up from Brinden's unconscious body, grimy pistol pointed square at the smaller man's head.

As she steps over the unconscious man's body, pistol first, she gives the taller man a glance before focusing her attention at the weedy one with intense hate. "Your hands move, you die, mage.", she grits through her teeth, the word spat like an insult. "Two seconds to run, you dirty bonepickers."

Nural's teeth bare with distaste as she notes the young man's features. The knife passing by her face, she hisses back in a bestial way. "Okay, bonepicker, back off, now!", she hisses, as she brings down the hammer with rapid succession onto the man's shin, her fist following with a dirty punch to his guts."You two don't Mount it now, you next, ya!", she takes the time to send a blood-curdling glare at the other two. "Slag off!", she hisses, grabbing the man's dirty coller in her claw, ready to continue her angry swings.

Sighing with relief, Nural squeezes Quimble's shoulder. Smiling wearily, the hobgoblin replies, "You're a good soul, Quimble. Can't imagine what I'd do without you." Bleed out. Or be in a lot deeper mess than I am., she adds to herself as the gnome disappears inside the house in a hurry, as she leans back into the shadowy alcove of the front door. Shrugging at Slatty, Nural exhales as she stares into the distance, her foot tapping impatiently as time goes on and on. Murmuring to herself in Goblin, Nural's nose picks up something familiar, something closer...

It wasn't a rat.

As the unknown robber shouts out towards the door, she pushes herself away from the door, turning towards the newcomers. "Slatty. Watch the door, ya? Should only be a minute.", Nural hisses out, as she draws the mallet from her toolbelt. Tossing it in the air, she flashes her teeth towards the newcomers, catching it as she closes by. "Come on, then, slagheads! You brought more?", she laughs out as her mallet slams hard into one of the thieves' torso with a crack, the bloodrage in her veins making everything sharper and slower, her heart pumping with pure adrenaline.

Nural's eyes widen open at the rustle, grabbing her hammer. One. Damn. Night., she snarls, but a scan of the alley surrenders nothing to her sight. Sighing, she leans forwards. "There's nothing there I can see. Probably rats or something. Anyone dumb enough to start something tonight has a pissed-off hobgoblin to deal with, don't ya worry.", she smiles a tusked smile in the hopes of being a reassuring one, before gently puttting her hand on Quimble's shoulder.

"Look, Quimble, I know it's dangerous, and especially tonight, ya?", she adds. "And the whole world is going crazy, but if there's one thing I can do is save a life. If you don't want to go, then, please, please, give me something I can help her with, because I sure as Hells don't want to have someone dying alone if I can help it." Scrap., she swears in her head. Still. Complaining is useless when already on the path, right?

Darting out of the alleyway as soon as she hears the door, Nural breathes out a sign of relief at Quimble's sight. "Yeah, yeah, that's me! So glad you're here...", she answers quickly. "Look, Quimble, I'd love to explain on the way. I have someone injured in my compound, stabbed in the gut, and I don't know how long they've got.", she exhales in a single breath. "Please, just get what you need, we talk pay later, ya?" Shaking her head defiantly, she lifts the hammer in her hand viciously, revealing the blooded overalls beneath. "If you're worried about things in the night, I'm here and I'm angry and I'm nervous, ya?"

As Nural turns, a mask of annoyance and anger dances across her face. We'll see about that after I'm back., she thinks. The thought of having the gang around the compound is not something she agrees with, but compromises have to be made, always. The run leaves her a little winded, but as she sees Quimble's locked door, she swears loudly through heavy breaths. Well that's not great.. As she spies the cloaked figure in the alley. "Keep an eye out.", she hisses quietly to Slatty, nodding at the alleyway. "Someone just walked there, and they didn't want to be seen.", she relays, before landing her fist loudly at the door. "Quimble!", she shouts in a distraught voice. "It's Nural! Someone's wounded at the compound, we need you now!", she continues, banging heavily on the door as she does, exasperation on her voice.

"You sure he was in?", she raises an eyebrow at the fish-eyed human behind her. If you've lied to me to get into the compound, Omar, enemy gangs will be the least of your worries., her fangs bare for a moment, the thought of betrayal sparking her anger. "S&%~, wait in front of the door and tell him to go there, I'll pay him triple his going fee. I'll check the back for that figure." If someone's grabbed the gnome..., she thinks, turning once again to check for a light in the windows before disappearing down the alleyway hastily. Like a barghest on the hunt., she thinks, crouching down, her run close to the ground, arms ready to support her weight.

Shrugging heavily, Nural spreads her arms at Omar's assessment. It is what it is. Gesturing snappily for Slatty to follow her, Nural shakes her head at Omar. "Good to know. Don't go in, I told her to shoot anyone who's not me, ya?" She claps her hands. "Rather not give Quimble more work. Right, Slatty!" And I thought I was clear about nobody else inside. If a pistol doesn't keep them away, then an angry hobgoblin might., she adds to herself.

Without even a final nod, Nural breaks into a run, the dusty, beaten paths of Gritforge disappearing under her footsteps. "Don't trip now! Hurry!", she barks as the already faint light begins disappearing, making her way through the darkness towards the alchemist's workshop, the faint moonlight reflecting in her pupils, painting the alleyways pale and sharp. Be there, be there, be there... If I end up with a dead body and two gangs at my attention, I'm going to have a fit.

Not this scrap again. You respect my rep, respect my word. Else it's just platitudes. Nural's nostrils flare out in frustration at being stopped, before raising her hands in the air, taking a step back. "Here's all of them.", she snaps back at Omar's request. "Someone jumped in, heavily wounded, said she's being chased. Rusthead came after.", her palm darts towards the dark alleyway where the Wire Chasers disappeared down. "Don't know 'bout thief, but we wax further, she's ratmeat, and I'm not having corpses around, ya? So unless you got a potion or a physician here, lemme go, and I'll tell ya if there's anything else later." Her foot tapping furiously on the ground, Nural raises her brows at Omar, giving him a chance to respond, before turning towards Quimble's workshop. Two steps away from being a Taldan bureaucrat, Omar.

Fighting something deeply ingrained in her nature, Nural tosses the torch back at the red-headed half-orc. "Well, you better not forget it, duster." Don't have the time now. Take a retreat as the breath of fresh air it is. Snarling back, she takes a step forwards onto the dust-covered street, locking up the gate behind her with a hasty motion. Doing her best to hold her teeth as the Wire Chewers begin withdrawing, she readjusts her blanket, starting to move down the street towards Barisk and his men. Don't start asking questions now.

"Great that you boys showed when you did. If I see him again, that torch is going in his better smelling hole. Riverfolk's word.", her pursed lips indicating that the sentence isn't a threat, it's a promise. Raising her hands and starting to move past the gang, she gestures nervously. "Look, I really need to run now. But you got questions, I can swing any time tomorrow, ya? Just come 'round or send someone over t'grab me. And thanks, again." Nodding, she begins to push past through the gang, sending grateful nods at the men.

Breathing heavily, blood shooting in her eyes, Nural barely manages to hear the screeching cart through her battle frenzy. Exhaling loudly, she glances at Stim, torch still held firmly in her hand. The ragged halfling's appearance and the obvious threat almost has her lunge for the half-orc's throat, but the familiar voice of Omar Barisk shakes her out of it, and she quickly shoves her shaking hand under the blanket. A breather. And then, let it be what it be.

Upon Omar's question, Nural shrugs. "Town's gone mad!", she waves back at Omar Barisk and the Anvil Pounders, pointing at the half-orc. "Rotmouth here came around and started trashing on the gate, threatening to break it down. Threatened poor Stim." Nural gives a curt nod to the ragged halfling. Bugger's doing work. "I got customers' merchandise I'm responsible for, ya, can't let any slaghead off the street crash in. Don't know who's orders he's working on, and I'm not believing anything I see from there," she points towards the Silvermount and the direction of Kevoth-Kul's palace, "Until I know who's in charge of Starfall."

Turning her head towards Omar, she shrugs. "Look, Omar, you know I hate to be a problem, but this pile of slag insulted me and my house. If you chase the goon squad away and let me pay pigboy back in kind, I'll be real grateful, ya." Cracking her knuckles on the wall, the hobgoblin grins. "I'll drop him off at yours after I'm done, if you want to finish the job."

Oh, boy. An entire gang. A few more than I'd have liked. And, barghest-damnit, I've been to a feral goblin den and this guy stinks worse. Nural glances past the half-orc, then grins her own tusks back. "I don't care if you care. The Anvil Pounders have ears, too, and that's the people who provide the protection around here, and they just heard my gunshots, ya." Scrap. I got an injured person needing help and overwhelming forces. What would Centurion Gormak say... Goad an attack to your defended position, wait for reinforcements, and remember every hobgoblin is a match for five dwarves, ten elves or twenty humans. Maths checks out.

Nural grins a wide grin back at the half-orc. "So you can wait for them, or leave with the rest of these slagheads and your stink. But I'm taking that, pinkblood." A particularly goblinish gaze glints in Nural's eyes as she lunges to grab the laser torch from the half-orc, clawed fingers darting forwards with unnatural speed.

S$!!. I hope she pushes through. "I will, but now just keep breathing and keep counting. You'll tell me later, ya?" Dragging away from the heavily wounded woman, Nural exhales, glancing at the blood on her clothes. Well that's enough about being inconspicuous about it. Grabbing a ragged, bitten blanket, left for the horses on a nail next to the door, she quickly wraps it around herself. Not going to fool anyone, but it's better than running on the street covered in blood. Quimble, you'd better be in, I don't have the time to go thrawling through bars to find you., she thinks of her healer of choice. A brilliant herbalist and perhaps the only person in Starfall with good bedside manner, Quimble embodied the stereotype of 'quirky old boy' to a tee, jubilant giggle included.

Running through the courtyard with all the speed she can muster, just as she's ready to pry the door open, the clanging on the door and the voice from the other side interrupt her rummaging for the keys. Her eyes flare and she bares her fangs. Oh you did not pick the night or the place, you slaghead. Reaching into her toolbelt under her cloak, her hand coils around a light mallet, feeling the familiar warmth of the forge around it as she unlocks the gate.

Hastily, she pulls back the bar, slamming it open with anger behind her as she stares at the intruders. "Good for you, duster.", she snarls back at the obvious leader of the group. "Your ears work fine. So you can hear me telling you to go climb Silvermount."

Nural's eyes widen as she sees the blood pouring from the figure. "Hey! Hey!", she responds in brisque Taldane. "I'm not with anyone. I'll hide you, but we get that wound looked at, ya?" Glancing at the wall, Nural's eyes narrow for a moment. Think, think. An idea sparks in her mind, as she stands up and aims her pistol at the distant wall.

A shot thunders in the darkness, the light from the barrel lighting up the compound, the broken carts and spare pieces lighting up like bones in the desert. The barking of hounds and shrieking of pseudodragons echoes for a moment longer. Another shot at the distant wall joins the cacophony, and Nural's smoking gun goes back in her toolbelt. "Now they'll think twice, whoever they are. Come on!" With firm grip, Nural pulls the woman on her shoulder, carrying her as gently as possible towards the stables. "Stay with me, longshank. What's your name? Who are you running from? What are you holding?" Focus her on now. Not on her wound. The one time Little Brother would've been useful.

Laying the woman down on a bale of hay, Nural starts searching for the wound, trying desperately to remember how best to treat deadly wounds. Apply pressure. Keep them talking, then wait for the alchem- I don't have a damn alchemist! Letting out a quick swear in Goblin, she continues putting pressure on the wound. "Okay, stay here, and stay quietly, ya? Don't move. I'll get help.", she says, standing up. Hesitating for a moment, she hands over her pistol to the woman. "Keep pressure on the wound, and keep talking to yourself. If they come back, just point and pull this, ya?" And I'll know to come running.

Realising she'd spent a lot more time than it felt, Nural nevertheless continues staring at the Silver Mount. Quill dripping ink on the workbench, itself widely marred by stains of grease, ink, wine and robot-blood, she grunts, absent-mindedly tossing a filthy rag onto the stains, before glancing at the gleaming mountaintop once more.

The Black Sovereign was dead. She'd been in Starfall long enough to know when a rumour is just a rumour. The unease in the voices, announcing it as matter-of-fact like the sun rising to the east, meant it was the truth. Staring at her page, she groans. At the manifest's route field, filled with her jagged, orderly handwriting, instead of the usual 'Starfall - Restov', sits 'Starfall - Unrest'. Snarling a toothy grin, Nural crumples the paper, sending it flying through the evening winds, tumbling through the piles of scrap and materials in the workshop's yard.

Leaning back on her favourite barrel with a weary sigh, she pushes her goggles up on her brow, enjoying the first moments of night and the departure of the scorching sun. Just as she reaches for the skin of kumis hanging from the worktop, she hears the rustling of the wall. Fangs snarled, her hand reaches on the desk to grab a brutal looking, goblin-crafted triple-barreled pistol. Striking the flints backwards, she takes aim at the figure on the wall, the reflection of the light on her eyes making them glow red in the darkness. Welcome excuse away from manifests., she thinks to herself, lounging even further back, bracing her arm on the fence with a refined gesture. "Hundred-ten, hundred-twenty feet.", she mutters to herself, taking aim at the figure as it ascends to the very top of the wall.

And, bye by-, she thinks, as her finger dances on the trigger, just to see the intruder collapse on the ground, the lanterns brightening their figure to that of a scruffy and panicked human, panting like a wounded dog. Without hesitation, Nural leaps from the second story, running across the darkened yard until she sits a step away from the human. The pistol casually hanging in her left hand, she stares at the human. "Hey, pinkskin!", she barks in her accented Hallit, before turning to glance towards the wall for any pursuants. "You were a second away from getting shot.", she hisses back, the tirade of questions continuing. "Who's after you? Cogs? Starless? Because I'm not picking up trouble with them, ya?" Extending her hand towards the figure to pull them up, the pistol darts between the walls and the dirty-looking invader. "You a wizard?", she quizzes suspiciously, shoving the gun in the figure's robe as she helps them get up.