33rd Winter, 517
break“... you wouldn't know honor even if it hit you in the face.”
breakWikus scoffed, unaffected by the attempted insult. For a seasoned veteran like himself, words like honor and pride meant less than the dirt beneath his nails. Returning the borrowed tankard of ale to the counter, which the owner did not seem to wish back, the bearded male kept his eyes and scowl towards the wet Drykas nearby. This was one of the rare ocassions in which Wikus stood tall and proud, challenging and even intimidating, eager to send a message to those he would've treated like brothers in the past.
break“Why don't you go on and take your honor back to the Sea of Grass, huh? Go back to blowing horses like you do,” he'd tell them in Pavi, the native language he had barely used in almost ten years.
break“You speak of our striders with such lack of respect I would've doubted you were a Drykas. Tell me; do those windmarks of yours have any meaning or are they just ink?” replied the other male, who still tried to wipe off the ale off his hairs. Just like his companion, he seemed determined to remain as calm as possible.
break“Watch your mouth, boy,” jumped Wikus, livid. His own tattoos gained life, waving on his flesh as if blown by a light breeze – something he made sure was seen by opening up his coat and shirt. “Few are the warriors that are as accomplished as I am. You'd do well to bow your head in my presence.”
break“Such a big warrior you are, and yet here you stand with no strider and with a collar around your neck. Your only accomplishment is having a big mouth.”
breakInstinctively, Wikus took his arms out as he tried to reach for the males. The stool that stood between him and the pair dragged on the wooden floor with loudness, the sound acting as bell for the incoming brawl, and immediately causing the patrons to intervene. Two pairs of arms wrapped around Wikus, which had been unable to capture the hairs of the dark-haired Drykas like he wanted to. The two males were held back too, for they too had exhausted their patience with the foul-smelling slave. Clenching his teeth, Wikus still tried to wiggle out of the patrons' hold.
break“Damned Sapphires. I'll find you and I'll make you eat your petching horses!”
break“What did you say!?”
break“You heard me, you filthy horse-lover!”
break“The Webs should've taken you, damned traitor!”
breakWikus, unable to do much more, attacked in the only way possible; he spat at them. The gesture seemed to be most effective, for both Drykas gained a surge of strength, yet only one of them managing to break free from the patron's hold. Even when one or two of those seeking to avoid the brawl were in the way, the Drykas's fist managed to find an opening or two, striking a defenseless Wikus who took the glancing blows. Although not painful for the body, they were painful for the soul. His feet came out, kicking pretty much anything in his reach. Yells and shouts of either protest or joy came out from the crowds gathered in the tavern, which reflected the obvious division between those that wanted a brawl and those that didn't. The situation was resolved quite easily; both parties were dragged out on the streets, where they could do as they please.
breakSuffice to say, things did not quiet down once the pair of Drykas were left alone with the exile. Wikus, as temperamental as he was, attacked first, managing to get a quick punch safely lodged into the stomach of the wet Drykas. The leather armor absorbed most of the damage, but the male was left breathless nonetheless. Meanwhile, the second Drykas wrapped his arms around Wikus' bodice, and with a sneaky foot and a yank, he tripped the exile onto the ground. It was followed with a few kicks to a defenseless Wikus, who curled up in a ball, protecting himself as much as he could. In moments like these, he missed his whip.
breakSeconds later, the second Drykas joined in on the beating.
break“... you wouldn't know honor even if it hit you in the face.”
breakWikus scoffed, unaffected by the attempted insult. For a seasoned veteran like himself, words like honor and pride meant less than the dirt beneath his nails. Returning the borrowed tankard of ale to the counter, which the owner did not seem to wish back, the bearded male kept his eyes and scowl towards the wet Drykas nearby. This was one of the rare ocassions in which Wikus stood tall and proud, challenging and even intimidating, eager to send a message to those he would've treated like brothers in the past.
break“Why don't you go on and take your honor back to the Sea of Grass, huh? Go back to blowing horses like you do,” he'd tell them in Pavi, the native language he had barely used in almost ten years.
break“You speak of our striders with such lack of respect I would've doubted you were a Drykas. Tell me; do those windmarks of yours have any meaning or are they just ink?” replied the other male, who still tried to wipe off the ale off his hairs. Just like his companion, he seemed determined to remain as calm as possible.
break“Watch your mouth, boy,” jumped Wikus, livid. His own tattoos gained life, waving on his flesh as if blown by a light breeze – something he made sure was seen by opening up his coat and shirt. “Few are the warriors that are as accomplished as I am. You'd do well to bow your head in my presence.”
break“Such a big warrior you are, and yet here you stand with no strider and with a collar around your neck. Your only accomplishment is having a big mouth.”
breakInstinctively, Wikus took his arms out as he tried to reach for the males. The stool that stood between him and the pair dragged on the wooden floor with loudness, the sound acting as bell for the incoming brawl, and immediately causing the patrons to intervene. Two pairs of arms wrapped around Wikus, which had been unable to capture the hairs of the dark-haired Drykas like he wanted to. The two males were held back too, for they too had exhausted their patience with the foul-smelling slave. Clenching his teeth, Wikus still tried to wiggle out of the patrons' hold.
break“Damned Sapphires. I'll find you and I'll make you eat your petching horses!”
break“What did you say!?”
break“You heard me, you filthy horse-lover!”
break“The Webs should've taken you, damned traitor!”
breakWikus, unable to do much more, attacked in the only way possible; he spat at them. The gesture seemed to be most effective, for both Drykas gained a surge of strength, yet only one of them managing to break free from the patron's hold. Even when one or two of those seeking to avoid the brawl were in the way, the Drykas's fist managed to find an opening or two, striking a defenseless Wikus who took the glancing blows. Although not painful for the body, they were painful for the soul. His feet came out, kicking pretty much anything in his reach. Yells and shouts of either protest or joy came out from the crowds gathered in the tavern, which reflected the obvious division between those that wanted a brawl and those that didn't. The situation was resolved quite easily; both parties were dragged out on the streets, where they could do as they please.
breakSuffice to say, things did not quiet down once the pair of Drykas were left alone with the exile. Wikus, as temperamental as he was, attacked first, managing to get a quick punch safely lodged into the stomach of the wet Drykas. The leather armor absorbed most of the damage, but the male was left breathless nonetheless. Meanwhile, the second Drykas wrapped his arms around Wikus' bodice, and with a sneaky foot and a yank, he tripped the exile onto the ground. It was followed with a few kicks to a defenseless Wikus, who curled up in a ball, protecting himself as much as he could. In moments like these, he missed his whip.
breakSeconds later, the second Drykas joined in on the beating.
Thanks to Gossamer for this amazing template!
