Khemkhaengawut was usually dense, not only physically by his extraordinaire musculature, but also mentally as he lived in his own reality. It was that what was slowing down the realization that all gazes and the tips of the swords were being pointed towards him. Stopping his chewing on the hot bread, he rose his head as he listened to Pulren’s words. Despite his inferior height and width, his attitude was clearly menacing, even enough to get inside the Chaktawe’s head. Few times he felt intimidated, none of those times he actually admitting that he was, yet this situation was quickly slipping out of his hand. Looking down to see the rich collection of crumbs that decorated the floor, apparently the reason for this sudden motionless violence against him. However, fear in him acted not in shivering or tearing, but instead in an energy burst. The situation didn’t allow him to start exercising, and so he used that energy to run his mouth. “Lies. I’ve seen blood, and I’ve lived the life of a mercenary myself. Don’t expect none of you kids to realize how much damage you’ll do and live through if you keep waving your swords around.”
That being said, he’d hand over his loaf of bread to Pulren, the actual owner of it. “Hold this.” He’d say, before he squatted down with his sublime form and used his hand to collect each crumb, or at least the bigger ones. “If you younglings choose to accept some knowledge into your heads, then good. If not, then it’s your problem. I’ve lived far longer than any of you, and I plan on living much more.” Once most of the crumbs were collected in his palm, he’d twist his torso and toss the crumbs into the fireplace, looking up at Ricky from below. “You three think you can beat me up? Feel free to try. Not even your blades will hold against my body’s glory. HA!” He made sure he flexed each of his pectorals independently to reassure himself, although he was quite expecting the beating by now. Although pain was not something he worried about, his pride would suffer greater damage. Plus, forging a lie to convince himself that he had not lost a battle would be a great challenge. Taking the fire iron and raising back to his full height, he’d halt for a moment. “One day you’ll do something you will regret for the rest of your lives. Not even cutting the arm that held your sword will be able to redeem that. I know it, because I’ve lived it.”
It was sad that these boys were convinced by this broken world the only way to advance forward was holding on to a sword. The Gods themselves cackled in the skies as they saw how foolish most people were. They had destroyed the world, and the idiots that managed to reach a place of power belittled the newer generations into their way of violence. Too bad Awut had learned quickly. His task was greater than any normal man could handle: to save this world. If that mean acting like a punching bag for these boys, then he’d gladly accept it. Or so he though… Getting a beating was something he did not want, and he wouldn’t accept. He was a good man, but not a fool. Stepping sideways to gain some space, he’d nod towards Ricky, his face still looking towards Pulren. “Do you really want to spoil the mood? You two are long friends, apparently, so let’s go out and have fun instead of sitting here and sharing sob stories. Let’s get drunk and get us a bunch of whores! Come on!” The mention of whores really seemed to bring his own mood up, his wide grin returning as he looked around at the men to see their own reactions. “I’m buying the first round of women! HA!”
And so, he began laughing, cackling almost, with the loudness that only he knew. Perhaps it was a rather long laughter, mostly because he was trying to cheer up the group and avoid the beating. If he was defeated by Pulren, so short and thin, Khemkhaengawut would never forgive himself.
That being said, he’d hand over his loaf of bread to Pulren, the actual owner of it. “Hold this.” He’d say, before he squatted down with his sublime form and used his hand to collect each crumb, or at least the bigger ones. “If you younglings choose to accept some knowledge into your heads, then good. If not, then it’s your problem. I’ve lived far longer than any of you, and I plan on living much more.” Once most of the crumbs were collected in his palm, he’d twist his torso and toss the crumbs into the fireplace, looking up at Ricky from below. “You three think you can beat me up? Feel free to try. Not even your blades will hold against my body’s glory. HA!” He made sure he flexed each of his pectorals independently to reassure himself, although he was quite expecting the beating by now. Although pain was not something he worried about, his pride would suffer greater damage. Plus, forging a lie to convince himself that he had not lost a battle would be a great challenge. Taking the fire iron and raising back to his full height, he’d halt for a moment. “One day you’ll do something you will regret for the rest of your lives. Not even cutting the arm that held your sword will be able to redeem that. I know it, because I’ve lived it.”
It was sad that these boys were convinced by this broken world the only way to advance forward was holding on to a sword. The Gods themselves cackled in the skies as they saw how foolish most people were. They had destroyed the world, and the idiots that managed to reach a place of power belittled the newer generations into their way of violence. Too bad Awut had learned quickly. His task was greater than any normal man could handle: to save this world. If that mean acting like a punching bag for these boys, then he’d gladly accept it. Or so he though… Getting a beating was something he did not want, and he wouldn’t accept. He was a good man, but not a fool. Stepping sideways to gain some space, he’d nod towards Ricky, his face still looking towards Pulren. “Do you really want to spoil the mood? You two are long friends, apparently, so let’s go out and have fun instead of sitting here and sharing sob stories. Let’s get drunk and get us a bunch of whores! Come on!” The mention of whores really seemed to bring his own mood up, his wide grin returning as he looked around at the men to see their own reactions. “I’m buying the first round of women! HA!”
And so, he began laughing, cackling almost, with the loudness that only he knew. Perhaps it was a rather long laughter, mostly because he was trying to cheer up the group and avoid the beating. If he was defeated by Pulren, so short and thin, Khemkhaengawut would never forgive himself.
