Live for the Trade, Die for the Trade VII: Bennet Creedy and Jasper Bilsen

[Thechosenone]

(For those that enjoy it i present the Guild Captain and Drill Sergeant)

The lightening and storm winds continue. Rain hammers the concrete yards below while the scream of an unnatural gale assails the city.

The Courtyard outside the Pinnacle is more alive than the building itself. Pale skinned sunken eyed Guardsmen run drills with blade and bullet, their faux enemy are cutouts made to resemble Arcanist Terrorists, Ressurectionist lawbreakers and insidious beasts from outside the city. Their Peacebringer pistols strike with critical accuracy leaving only shreds of the targets behind.

Others pair off and practice swordplay. They do nothing to hold back the lethality of the blades. Teale takes note of their skills. Considerable by his assessment and made even more so by the masterfully made swords they attack with but there is something offputting about the Guardsmen as well. He watches one of them swing hard, his blow parried by the edge of his opponent. The second Guardmen swipes his sword wide and opens a wound across his enemy’s forearm. Thick, slow red blood hits the paved courtyard. The wounded Guardman howls with feral intensity and lashes out with his hands as if to rip open his opponent’s throat. Teale can see a lack of humanity in the eyes of these Guardsmen. They look human enough but so much of what makes up their psyche has been replaced with an eagerness for violence.

The Chamberlain Galen Klypse leads them through the crowds. First they pass a class of swordsmen all learning advanced techniques under the tutelage of young Latino man wielding a Dueling Sword of Malifaux make personalized with the symbol of Ram’s head on its hilt. His combinations of attacks form a furious remise that no Guardsmen present seems capable of duplicating. He disarms and incapacitates every Guardsmen used to demonstrate on. Sitting off to the side of the demonstration beneath a weather beaten canopy is a skinny man of similar ethnicity. He wears heavy framed sun glasses despite the lack of sunlight. He meticulously polishes a long barreled chain gun while whistling a tune.

He walks them across the water slicked grounds toward a stout Spartan looking building. They pass a trio of men who all stand motionless under the rain. Isabella analyzes them men immediately. They have long coats like a guardsman and the same wide brimmed hats but everything they wear is black and each of them holds a position beside a casket that steams with grave fog. She can see soaked stringy hair hanging from under the hats and a few patches of deathly white skin. The constant fall of rain is hard to see through so she dismisses the last observation outright… that she can’t see them breathing.

The Chamberlain shows them into the little building. It’s warmer but only slightly and very clammy. It’s lit by a few lanterns only, enough to see holding cells, a few desks and racks of weapons. There’s a smell too, tobacco and rotten meat.

“What have we here Chamberlain? New recruits?” The voice is cruel, brackish and loud. It echoes around the small room for far too long. The speaker is a man in a Guardsman’s coat but lacking the trademark hat to hide his scarred face and buzzed hair. He’s older than most people the trio has seen here so far, probably closing in on his sixties. Rather than a sword they note his nightstick and his medals are proudly displayed on his lapel.

The Chamberlain introduces him as Sergeant Jasper Bilsen. “No Mr. Bilsen these three are already miles ahead of your regular stock and store. They are specialists whom have been inducted into the Secretary’s Elite Division and will be working with you.”

Bilsen frowns. The Earthsiders can all see an ugly scar on his lips that forces a particularly strange twist when he shows his displeasure. “That so… These are the Earthsiders you mentioned huh? They’re… a little pink for my liking. Few years under the broken skies here should give you a proper Malifaux tan.”

There is a machine gun laughter from the dark; rapid, guttural and self indulgent. A man steps into the light of the lanterns, his girth bushing chairs and trash cans out of the way as he forces himself forward. He barely fits into the dark clothes that contain him. His gut, stretched and sweaty, hangs heavy out of his shirt. His face is chalk colored and vein crossed and with the only hair being his wild eyebrows. A fat cigar occupies his blistered lips and laughter drips from his fat mouth.

“Malifaux tan… that’s funny Jasper. Malifaux tan.” He laughs again, seemingly enjoying his own amusement and their uncomfortable faces as much as Bilsen’s comment. “So what happened to the last Elites you’d call what… a Malifaux retirement party?”

Klypse points to the behemoth “This is one of the Captains of the Guards, Mr. Bennet Creedy. A martial genius and a man of some considerable tactical acumen.”

Porter sizes him up. He’s none of the things Klypse just said. What the Chamberlain calls martial genius Craven sees more accurately as thuggish brutality. Tactical acumen is an insult to military men back home. People like Creedy are not tactical, they’re just direct, violent and never tire till they get the blood they wanted.

Isabella shakes their hands. She notes that Creedy smells like something fried and then dipped in sweat and that he s not shy about leering at her curves. Bilsen’s shake is overly aggressive and hard.

Creedy sits down on the desk, his breathing heavy and his every movement emphasized with a groan. “So welcome to the team. What we do is pretty simple and actually a lot of fun. See, our fair city is plagued by crimes and by people that want to hurt the Trade. Regular old Guardsmen deal with that. But what they can’t handle… you know… the gristly stuff that happens in the dead of night, that’s what the Elite Division is for. We hit the Arcanist Terrorists where it hurts. We bash up the necrophiles little sewing circles and we go on safari outside the city too. Life is good and so is the coin.”

Bilsen leans on the table to meet Isabella’s eyes “You won’t know what it is to be alive till you stare down the rampage of a Neverborn monstrosity and while every fiber of your being says run… live… you instead hold your ground, raise your pistol and fire.”

“Truly?” She questions.

“That what you like most Captain?” Craven asks the man.

Creedy takes a long drag from his cigar and smiles. “Oh… I like Safari as much as the next guy but if you must know Porter…” Creedy points his cigar at the man; reveling in some wonderful thought that invokes more of his jiggling laughter. “I love Arcanists. God damn do I love ‘em. Cause when you plug a Neverborn you can’t really see it. And when you crack a Resser’s skull you can’t really see it either.”

“See what?” Teale asks

Creedy is more than happy to answer. “When you get your hands round the throat of an Arcanist and you squeeze and squeeze and squeeze… you see it. When they’re standing there chokin’ and doing the little gaspy dance and they know it was all made possible by something real sweet like a betrayal by their own… oh boy do you see it right there in the eyes. Right before they go all limp. That’s it. That, right there… that’s it.”

Klypse nods in agreement. The others aren’t sure what to say.

Bilsen drinks in their disgust. They all start off the same these Earthsiders but they all turn out one of two ways, dead or twisted just like everyone else in the service of The Pinnacle. He draws his baton and throws the door open to the courtyard. He’s had his fill of the Elite Division’s new replacements. They’ll do fine or they’ll be a tallymark on some terrorist’s killboard. Either way it doesn’t matter to him.

“Alright you stone sucking maggots! Let’s see if you’ve managed to do anything other than waste my valuable time!”

The courtyard erupts as the Guardmen answer back their taskmaster. “Live for the Trade! Die for the Trade.”

Creedy’s laugh draws them back in. He chomps on his cigar while smoke fumes from his mouth and nose. “Malifaux is an acquired taste but I think you’ll like it. Lord knows I can’t get enough!”

[the_madhatter1]

a very dark story, i like it

[Chucklemonkey]

I have read it and pledged to comment but feel I need to read your previous entries.

Still, I will certainly do just that.