60th of Winter, 516
Just like that, Wikus was awake.
The intense light of the sun blinded him, the male’s eyes squinting to look ahead. Loud cheers called around him, rising over the sound of the waves clashing against the nearby shores, as the boat rocked with the waters of the ocean. Pain manifested upon his inked flesh, almost as if his entire body was covered in a rash – which was, in fact, the feeling of sunburns present upon his skin. The gusts of wind alleviated his pains, soothing them temporarily before the air halted and the pain returned. Something was held in his hand, his blue eyes not needing to look at it before realizing it was his loyal whip what he clung onto.
More than a dozen men surrounded him, him being the epicenter of a large circle within what appeared to be a large vessel. All those distorted faces yelled in joyous rage, with their wrinkled tan faces, their ugly and uneven yellow grins, their unmanaged facial hairs. All of those men cheered for him, for Wikus was coated in the blood originated from the cadaver before him. Wikus stood tall against him, and his whip had drawn crimson lines upon the wooden floor, only for the water to accidentally smear it across the deck.
What was happening?
Questions invaded him, much like the violent tremble that invaded his frame. Where was Kenash? Where were the crops, the slaves, and the swamps? Where was Konrad or Fiachra? His breathing increased, becoming shallow and agitated, the panic attack taking him by surprise. Coins rattled down his feet, for the men couldn’t be more excited. Looking down, his stark naked body was also coated in blood, yet it was clearly not his. It wasn’t even blood, at least not all of it, for his chest had been coated in red paint. Confusion and panic took over him, the man’s eyes tearing up as his hands now rose to his golden hairs.
What had happened to him?
Much like his mind, his body also began losing control. The red ink that was coated over him began fading away, for soon enough his flesh had absorbed it. Now, the man’s frame became a living painting, turning entirely black in a matter of seconds before becoming normal again – a vicious cycle as twisted as the man’s very nature. The public cheered even stronger now, and even the losers could admire the unique individual they had before him. Unique, exotic, and terrifying, yet scared, weak, and easily manipulated.
Wikus stepped back, and looked at all the faces, for he was trying to find the features of someone familiar, of someone that was not enjoying whatever Wikus had done. He found none of those, for everyone laughed, and everyone’s saliva seeped out of their mouth. Whilst they laughed, and laughed again, Wikus began screaming, spinning in place as if an explanation was waiting just behind him.
The spectacle of the confused warrior grew tiresome, and two men stepped forth in order to tranquilize him. Wikus saw them, and instinctively stepped back, his right hand raising the whip’s handle.
The two individuals paused for a moment, yet whatever threat of rebellion from Wikus seemed to have been considered nothing but a joke, for their grins returned upon their features.
Wikus did not doubt, and his whip lashed forth, striking the right male right across the face with the fall.
With the sonic boom came the loud screams of the male, whose face had been split by a vicious gash. His hands went to his face as he fell on his back, screaming and rolling on the wooden deck. What had been a party of laughter died as quickly as it had begun, and those that wielded weapons quickly unsheathed sabers and rapiers, all blades pointing towards the tattooed Drykas. There was genuine surprise within every feature that surrounded the individual in question, as if there was absolutely no justification for his sudden change of attitude.
What had once been a scared man now become a terrified one. Wikus’ whip flew forth once more, branding the face of the second male as well, the overhand flick being devastating for anything that wasn’t a hard material.
As this happened, the whole crew of the vessel charged towards Wikus, whom was trampled over a dozen individuals immediately. Hands took hold of his limbs, of his body, and even his hairs. Nobody had stabbed him just yet, for apparently he was not wanted dead. Someone tugged at his whip, which was fortunately secured to the man’s wrist thanks to its wrist loop. Putrid breaths and sweaty palms is all Wikus felt, expect perhaps the impotence of being unable to defend himself from whatever was going on. He struggled very hard, shaking his entire body, making their task so much more difficult. They were beginning to take him away somewhere, perhaps in a cage or in a locked room thought Wikus. The idea of losing his own freedom is what he feared most.
With a break of luck, Wikus was able to break his leg free from whoever was holding it. With it, he caused great damage to the conglomerate, for a single stomp with his naked sole on the frame of a crewmate compromised the balance of half of the crew that gathered around him. It happened very fast, but the important thing was that Wikus managed to free himself entirely. As swift as lightning, he got on his feet, and without thinking twice, he vaulted over the side of the ship and into the ocean waters that separated him from the nearby shore.
Thanks to Gossamer for this amazing template!
