The ember candle flame illuminated the room so that it glowed in a warm, comforting bronze. Apart from the flickering yellow, the room was dark; you didn't know what was hiding in the shadows if you can't see. However some don't need eyes to see; they need vision. Some corners of the room were black as a void. From those corners an assassin could leap out at any moment. The wax the colour of an oyster would slowly melt, rolling down the candle like a snail and dripping onto the steel plate underneath the candle. The candle was 3 inches to begin with. Once it halved in height, the curtains of the room were decided to be opened. The curtains were made of the finest silk. They were maroon curtains; delicate, and soft to the touch. It were pale hands that opened these curtains. These hands were thin, but long, with clean, cut nails. When they opened the curtains, they did so hastily, with a flick in a wrist. The man breathed in the cold night air. Once he breathed out, a substantial smile formed on his face and he licked his lips in a circular motion. Moonlight the colour of diamonds shone into the room. Azure light went onto his bare, pale chest. Hard and solid, but not vast, muscles were carved onto his torso and arms. He was a statue of stone. Under his square chest lay unbreakable abdominals that shone in the light. His solid calves looked as if they were of chiselled granite. He had little fat on him which meant that his knuckles were harder than steel. He was 6 feet in height. He was 23 years old. He was bald, but considered handsome by some. Monster-like by others, however. His eyebrows were completely shaved off. His jawline was as sharp as a blade that could cut through any ore. His tongue was large; too large, sometimes. So large that he altered the shape of his neck, jaw, and cheeks when moving his tongue around. The bald brows of his eyes stuck out and hung over his eyes at a rather steep overhang. he turned around.
He looked at a spacy room in which there was a grand bed in the centre. The bed featured a hard headboard and 4 pillars – one at each corner – that held up a roof over the bed. Images of horses were carved into the wooden structure. He strode towards the bed. He gazed upon a girl with light, hazel skin and thick, hickory hair that formed steep waves like those of the ocean. When straight, her hair would go down to her waist, but now it was sprawled all over the snow-white bed sheets like sea spray. Her body was perfect. She had plumpy breasts; firm, rather than petite. The tips of those breasts were red like fire and pointy like spears. Taedyr Veelan ran his palm up her torso. Moving his fingers over her ribs was an unearthly luxury. It was like smoothing your palm over the softest of all silks. Her ribs would slightly show, but she was not deprived of food. Never would a royal be deprived of food. She was slim. Her belly button was a perfect circle with a diamond pierced in it. Taedyr grabbed her breasts and curled his fingers around them. He could feel the hard nipples pierce into his palms. She had rosy cheeks the colour of a pink sky. She had a tipped, up-curved nose that. Her face was considered to look cheeky. Her coffee eyes were as deep as an infinite night. Her arms were thin, leaving her defenceless. Her buttocks were like her breasts; firm and plumpy like an orange about to burst. They were not oversized, no; they were perfect. A bit like her cheeks, her buttocks were rosy. Her buttocks, thighs and legs were amazingly curvy. She stood no higher than 5 and a half feet. She was a lady of 15.
Taedyr moved up the bed like a tiger; quietly, with a purpose. Terror was in Elaya's eyes. She started moving backwards. She opened her mouth as if to scream, but she could only gulp. She was powerless, a bit like earlier; when he first entered the room, she would freeze in horror. He grabbed her arm forcefully, enslaving her. His penis; a white tower with a purple tip, slid up her thighs, causing the legs to slightly close in because of the overwhelm. She tried to escape, but her strength was nothing compared to Taedyr's grip. She felt a marble slowly move up her thighs and towards her valley. It had not a hair on it. it was not flabby nor loose, but 2 tight lips. Tight but soft. It was a flower perfectly crafted in the gardens of the gods. His sword slid past her gate and then entirely into her. Once it plunged into her, her eyes rolled backwards and she inhaled a great rush of air. Their legs shuffled and slid past each other to get into position. Her arms were flung back among her hair, leaving her entire body under the control of Taedyr. He could do anything. He moved her legs upwards and apart and held them there with his hands. As he easily thrust his body to and fro, her body would be gently pushed up and down. Nothing but the sounds of the mattress bouncing and gentle moans would fill the room. Taedyr did not moan. He would smile, rather. Once his smile widened and the candle was down to an inch, he decided to increase his speed. He would rush forwards and backwards as if riding an angry horse. He caused the entire heavy bed to vigorously shake. What strength must a man have to shake a grand piece of oak like that. At each hump she would sink even further into the sea beneath her. Taedyr decided to look at her eyes. He could see 2 dark wells with glossy orbs floating in them. Every lunge was an up-turned circular motion. The duo were like a feather writing a piece of poetry; the movements of the bodies were aggressive, but luxurious and delicate, and the movement of one body would flow into the other like a wave. She could feel his white tower intensely massage her moist walls. Her mind was completely consumed by the awe-inspiring emotions that would increase at each plunge. She felt, loved. Dominated. Passionate. Each plunge would cause her graciles to shudder and buttocks twitch. Any contact made with her graciles was an other-worldly feeling.
"It's coming," Taedyr whispered.
"Oh," she moaned desperately, "OH." Taedyr's phallus spasmed once, twice, thrice. Each jerk caused Elaya to greatly moan at a pitch as high as a mountain. By the second spasm, an eruption of white lava burst out of his shaft. After the third, another great deal of foam splurged out, wetting her legs and bed sheets. For Elaya, this was the greatest feeling ever. It was beyond amazing.
Elaya lay there, panting. She was in a state of mental stun. She was dizzy, confused, and in love. Taedyr, with his hands around Elaya's ankles, brought her two feet together, and glanced at her vagina. He saw tight cave with a cloudy liquid flowing out. He gently placed the two legs onto the mattress. He walked off the bed and stared out the window. For the next five minutes, nothing but the sounds of distant people chattering were heard. Taedyr finally spoke.
"I'm guessing your Darius will soon come." Taedyr's face was mostly rock solid when he spoke; his expression still, with a slight mean smile. "I- I think so…"
"Hmh." Taedyr laughed.
"What? I'm to be married to him, to ally with Evermoore."
"Well done," his eyes widened.
"Oh, oh."
"Your father is such a hypocritical idiot."
"P- pardon?"
"Your father is a great man, yes," he smiled falsely. This marriage is hilarious. Harald Redheart, the drunken idiot, is marrying his daughter to his most hated enemy. Pah!
"Oh." She didn't know what to say, and so decided to try make conversation about politics, "I have heard Coronium has a new king."
Oh yes, that usurper Visen, and his murderous brother who killed his own father for the throne. What a solid council. "He's a great king, and may he reign long," he had a mocking tone in his voice.
"Yes," she smiled.
God, she is so stupid. She may have eyes, but she doesn't have vision, which is why she'll never be a lady to have something important to say. "There is one good thing about you marrying Darius." The only good thing.
"What would that be?"
"That the entire line of incest will be finally broken, and Evermoore will finally be sworn to a house other than Evermoore." Not that the oaths will be kept, to be honest.
"Yes. I have heard allegiances are important among kingdoms."
"Oh, OH really?" He raised his voice, "I didn't know that, truly. Thank you for the great advice."
"Y- you're welcome…"
"You're so dumb."
"Huh-"
"You're such a plum, I said; so sweet and kind you are." God, I feel sick after saying those words.
"Thank you," she smiled dumbly.
"Anyway, your prince is coming." They heard footsteps echoing across the hallway, "and now he'll have a good go."
"Goodbye."
Taedyr began leaving, without a single word more.
The candle was barely grasping for life, with no more length than that of a finger nail. It's weak flickering was no match to the cold azure that filled the room. The rays of the moon shone onto the white liquid as if were gleaming gem. Elaya lay there, open, with her hair sprawled over her crumpled bed sheets like tentacles. The room smelt of candle; of oily burning lavender. This was a familiar, warm smell for Elaya Redheart. It was a smell she loved. She loved a lot of things. The furniture stood still like trees. The curtains fluttered gently like waves. Taedyr opened the stiff wooden door. The door was a curtain slowly moving to the side to gradually reveal a figure dark under the lack of light. His skin was the colour of a pearl. His nose was broad and looked like a square rock. His jaw was square; robotic. His features were perfect. Not amazingly handsome, just a very precisely and accurately formed face. His eyes were two drones staring straight at Taedyr. His lips were thin, subtle. Similar to Taedyr, he had neither a beard nor a mustache. However what he did have was hair reaching down to his waist. The moonlight caused the hair to look like millions of long, thin straws of ice formed in straight lines, however under normal light, he was a blonde. He was considered somewhat handsome by most. He wore cocoa robes that awkwardly fitted him. On these robes were silver shoulder pads made of a silk containing patterns of delicate silver. When looking deep into the shoulder pads and waist, the patterns looked like millions of mazes all colliding into one another.
"Greetations, my fair prince," Taedyr bowed down low. Too low, in fact. Mockingly. He bowed down so low that his head was no more than a foot above the ground. As he rose, he remarked, "shall I kiss your royal ass?" He pulled out his sword and licked it. His moist tongue slithered across the surface like a snake.
"You-"
"And then wipe it with my royal blade," his eyes widened like a cave. Darius attempted to make a sound, but was interrupted by a swift tut-tut from Taedyr. The two of them just stood there, staring at one another.
"I"
"Shush."
"T-"
"Tut- tut." They continued staring. Taedyr's expression was wild and open, with a frenzy smile, while Darius would stare with a quiet rage; his mouth closed, eyebrows crossed, and head tilted forward. After a great two minutes, Elaya decided to speak.
"T-"
"Shut…" Taedyr whispered, "UP, WHORE!" He yelled.
"Wh – whore?" Her face crumpled up in sadness.
"No, I called you a bird, sweet and beautiful. You should listen, my dear."
"I-"
"Quiet, girl," sighed Darius, "this is between me, and the viper." The viper, Taedyr was called by many, for his long tongue and vile, evil, animal-like behaviours. People like that are to be eliminated; swiftly killed. Psychopaths and dangerous people are not wanted in the kingdom. However if they are useful, they are kept. Which is what Taedyr was; a blade for other to send out. However for the last 5 years Taedyr was not the animal that he used to be; he knew that it would get him killed. Instead of acting like a psychopath, he would overindulge in wine and whoring, which was no longer a threat to Harald. He knew that to win in this game, he had to be subtle. Patient. But playing about once in a while did not hurt.
The two began staring once again. During this 5 minute stare-off, Darius would tilt his head left and right, while Taedyr kept his still. He did, however, mewel and roll his tongue in his mouth, which caused his jaw and cheeks to constantly change in angle and shape. Taedyr slowly left the room, without a word. As he did leave the room, he walked backwards, in order to still maintain eye contact with Darius, until the corridor would curve, and keeping eye contact was impossible.
"Right," he sighed, "let's get the seed into you."
"Not if mine reaches first!" Taedyr yelled from afar.
"It is known, Taedyr," Darius stormed out of the room, leaning out of the door, "that your seed does not work."
"It's a race!" Taedyr dismissed Darius's point. "I think the way to tell who the father is," he was nowhere to be seen, "is if the babe has a jaw like a corner of a table and forehead flat as the floor, it's yours."
Darius sighed and closed the door.
Taedyr made his way through the blue black corridor that was a tunnel into darkness. The arcs and structures of the corridor were barely discernible. Harald, that idiot, why doesn't he light up this place. He stared into each dark gap under each thick arc that he walked past, and thought that any assassin could leap at him from the dark, at any time. "Kill me." His eyes were darting all over the scene. "Come on, I'm open."
Silence.
He slowly opened his eyes, "you know why I'm not dead?" He asked the corridor, "because the lord of conquest does not will it." He stood back up. "And when his day comes, I shall be his warrior." He smiled, "but anyway," he whispered, "why are there no guards, no light? Oh right! Harald just forgot about them. I like the darkness, however, so in a way, Harald, I thank you."
He reached the end of the corridor. He opened two doors and a scene was revealed to him. At an instant, tangerine light shone onto his face and pale skin. He lifted both hands as shields from the light. He subtly hissed, as if he were a viper. His eye gently twitched during the attack of light. As he slowly grew used to the rays of blinding light, he lowered his hands. He saw three grand, long tables laid across the hall that he has just entered. The three tables were set in parallel. They were crafted of oak and varnished with amber. The table surfaces were smooth like moist pearls just fished out of the sea. The sides of the tables featured patterns of hundreds of horses all galloping one direction. The horses were beyond beautiful in how they were crafted. The details were impeccable. It was known that each table took over a century to craft. The legs underneath the table were like legs of elephants; sturdy enough to take on tonnes upon tonnes. These legs stood on a floor of roughly cut oak. This floor was not cut precisely, nor was it waxed or treated in any way. It was so rough, that splinters like spears would stick out in certain areas, and holes where there were former branches would be so deep, you could see the room below this hall if looking through the holes, not that there were many of them. The floor was not great, no. The valleys between the floorboards were sometimes so deep that a drunken lord would fall into them and twist and ankle. The walls were mixes of beige stone and mismatching white ash planks. The occasional gabon ebony arches in the wall were what aesthetically saved these walls. These arches were pristine, perfect. They were near black in colour, and in shape they were perfect curves that looked like lips of a dame. These arches were topped off with sharp points sharper than spears. Above was a ceiling. This ceiling was considered grand by many. Taedyr loved it; it was dark. The ceiling was made of a wood the colour of rich coffee. The structure was thick and it featured patterns of grand, 2 meter long circular flowers with 10 proud petals in each flower each. The centres of these wooden flowers were orbs smoother than eyeballs. These eyeballs stared at tables of food. The foods were hare, stag, chicken, pomegranate, sugar-plums, gosling, capon, pigeon, sturgeon, strawberries, cream, cheese, and stewed fruits; all gleaming in the light; all hot and liquidy, looking like thick molten lava. Couples would share plates and drink from the same cup. Guests would walk around, tipsy and ecstatic. At this hour, nobody sat. After a couple glasses of wine, everybody was honest, happy, emotional. Some talked in groups. Some danced in groups. Some stood in groups. There were men dressed in gleaming armour of gold or silver, or thick flowing robes. And ladies were fitted into flowery dresses of all sort; some were long brushes that swayed on the surface of the floor, some were short, giving a breeze underneath, and some had splits at thighs, which revealed most of the long voluptuous thighs and buttocks of beautiful women. Minstrels would jump around, jovially playing music sweet to the ear. Gentle twangs and flocks of chattering filled Taedyr's ears. Scents of heated meat stuffed the air.
He shifted his gaze to multiple -specific- figures across the room. These were the men who knew how to play the game, and simple illusions, such as this party, did not trick them.
The man called Feigngold walked up to the man dressed in crimson robes and an aurelian crown. This was the man who ruled the kingdom of prosperity for over 10 year. This was the man who all bowed to without question. This was the man who held a heavy hand over the lands and lords under. This was the man who brought the hammer of justice onto those who inflicted dishonour onto the realm; this was Harald Redheart; First of his name, Lord of the Kapitol, Harbinger of the heavens to arrive, The arm of power, The hammer of justice, King of the realm. "My lord of coin, what brings you here?" Harald's stiff, cracked lips moved.
"I must be earnest, my liege, I am truly enjoying this feast you have hosted, however I bear unfortunate news." His head was tilted down which meant his eyes were rolled up high as he looked into Harald's eyes. "As lord of the economy, I must inform you that supplies from King Evoacus are no longer arriving at the Kapitol." Feigngold stopped looking at Harald's eyes; he would look at the ground instead.
"But he is sworn to me!"
"My lord, my king…"
"What? Speak, kindred. Or… Dread. That is always what your words are."
"My tongue is an earnest instrument; not an instrument of deliberate pain."
"Say as you will."
"Evermoore is sworn to deliver goods to the Kapitol, and my sources have told me that recently these goods are not arriving. There could be problems on the trade route, or Evoacus could be robbing you of honour and laughing in your face. My advice would be to investigate the trade route on the morrow, to see if there are any obstacles, or if Evoacus is bringing you dishonour."
"I believe the latter is the truth." Looks of hatred shot across the room like crossbow darts. Harald squinted at Visen and Evoacus and twisted his upper lip in disgust. Evoacus frowned in return, scoffing. Evoacus's cursed tongue uttered words to Visen as if they were snakes entering his ears. Visen, a man blind in the eyes and king of coronium, shook his head and scoffed.
"Traitors," Harald mumbled, "insulting a king! However… I shall investigate the route. Worry not."
"Thank you, my king." Feigngold noticed two men approaching. "Now, if I may leave…"
"Of course."
Taedyr's right eye twitched once. He decided to make his way to his father; Dominik Veelan. As he walked past the crowds of people in motion, he saw thighs of beautiful girls being revealed under their flowery dresses flowing through the air, and humble servants handing drink to the ladies and lords who indulged in this heaven of a feast. Girls danced passionately in the broad arms of men. Taedyr eyed a girls to his side as she slowly fell into the arms of a knight. She had donned a wine red dress with splits at both sides of her hips. Blonde hair the colour of the sun would sit on her head. She had a crown of daisies entwined with her hair. She was called the queen of flowers. Her smile was mighty like a ship and her teeth were perfect like diamonds. These teeth, however, had a slight dye of thin crimson wine. Light freckles were dotted over her peachy cheeks. She wore tight black leather shoes, pointy at the end. Taedyr thought, only does one wear a red dress when in desire for sex. A common fact. Those shoes. I see they are purposely slightly loose, to make it easier for her bedder to, well, bed her. I see her teeth are extremely red. She might have had the most wine out of all in this room. She's not a natural drinker, though. Not after seeing how her neck is very slightly angled and loose after forcing all that wine into her. She was thirsty for sex, not wine.
Taedyr saw his father. A man shorter than his own son by a head. He had glossy black hair planted on his head. Each hair was a sharp leaf of moist grasswhich together formed two crescent shapes that entombed his face. Under this thick bay of leaves was a face pale like a sword, but not as pale as his son's. he had a stubby nose and small eyes. The man bore an outfit of leather; black as the night. His outfit was similar to Taedyr's, which was why the duo had the nickname: The sea of oil. The main difference was that Taedyr's black leather was shaped into a short, open coat and dynamic trousers, whilst Dominik heaved a thicker, longer coat flowing down to his knees and wider trousers that were like solid logs. They looked at one another's outfits. Nothing was different. Dominik wore his umber sheath that was used to fit his metal cane, and Taedyr wore his mahogany scabbard to fit his second favourite instrument; his sword. Taedyr, with interest, placed his hand on his father's cane, willing to inspect it. "It always fascinates you, this stick, doesn't it?" Dominik's voice was plain, and calm.
"That it does, father."
Beside Dominik was a man; Heaney Feigngold. The man was the Lord of coin and absolute to Harald's commission. A black feathered cloak was draped over his shoulder and down to his waist. He was a man higher than Dominik. He had slender features, a sharp chin, and quick body movements as his mouth spoke and his hands balletically gestured. Slim, gray robes were tight around his swift body. Threads of silver lined his stygian hair. He seemed to be in a conversation with Dominik. Get him to go away, Dominik mouthed to his son. "So, are you Taedyr?" Asked Heaney.
"Yes, my name is Taedyr."
"However, I hear they call you The Viper because of your impressively long tongue."
"Indubious. However they also call me The Viper for another reason."
"What would that be?"
"Oh you know, Feigngold, you know they call me that for my murderous intents and viper-like methods; my hideous sins and untruthful tongue."
"Oh…" Feigngold frowned. "May I see that tongue of your, then?"
"You may." Taedyr's tongue slowly slithered out of his mouth. It rolled over his skin until it stretched down to his chin. "F-Fascinating," Feigngold smiled lightly. His eyes went left and right awkwardly. Taedyr slowly brought his mouth closer to Feigngold's face. "Oh, what are you-" Gulped Feigngold with an anxious smile on his face.
"Oh you know what he's doing." Dominik stated. Taedyr's tongue slithered across Heaney's cheek. He immediately stepped back in discust. Heaney looked at Dominik and Taedyr to see 2 plain faces staring at him. Go away, Dominik's eyes said. "Pah!" Feigngold turned around stormed off. "Thank you," sighed Dominik, "I don't want actors, liars and cutthroats conversing with me."
"Well then I suppose I shall leave."
"But you're my son, Taedyr." He placed his hand on his shoulder, "even though you're a whore-monger and you'll never have an heir, you're an intelligent man. You know how to play the game. You're useful to me… And can be respectful to your allies."
"I suppose… Anyway, did you speak to the clerics? Are you sure I'll always be…"
"Barren. Yes I spoke to the clerics. Something can be done… however that's not a conversation for now."
"Of course. Anyway." Taedyr squinted his eyes to look past his father's shoulders. He saw 2 men in armour made of iron and coated in a very specific grey layer of metal. "ah. Tammen. Dywin. Good friends." The Tendell Brothers repetitively excused and pardoned guests that they gently walked through. Dywin, by being more hasty and bashful, managed to rush to Dominik and Taedyr before Tammen. "When's the last time we saw one another?" Smiled Dywin.
"At Harald's whore's funeral I believe it was." Taedyr answered.
"A whore she was," Dominik muttered.
"I think even I bedded her on a drunken night like today!" Laughed Dywin.
"Lads," urged Tammen, "She was a Queen, let's not forget."
"Ah you," Taedyr moved past Dywin after greeting him, "even though younger, you were always less of an oaf than Dywin."
"And still am," Tammen's neutral expression transformed into a light smile. It was a very light smile compared to Dywin's idiotic grin. Taedyr placed his hands on his friend's shoulders. He looked him up and down. He saw a man of his height who had a wolfish face and thin cheeks. He was 24. His forehead was slightly extruded, similar to a rat's. He wasn't ugly. He had a sensible face. He was pale like his father and brother. His sable hair brushed down to the height of his eyebrows. Some singular hairs would occasionally just poke his eyeballs, causing a slight annoyance. He liked it that length. His valley-like chin pointed down to a crest on his armour.. It was a black daisy on a grey shield. The crest was the symbol of house Tendell. Their armour was a mixture of iron and titanium, and it caused the entire armour to be a rustic, harsh grey the exact colour as a dull, dark mountain of granite. The grey was closer to black than white. The plates of metal were vast mountains formed on his body, and the pitch black gaps between the plates were deep, shadowy valleys. The armour had many steep angles, causing it to looks dynamic, dangerous. It was large and sharp. There were two silver pins on his shoulders that contrasted the infinite darkness. From them a moss green cape hung idly. The viridescent cloth was thick and ruddy with old faded blood. When just looking at that cape, you can see the thousands of battles that it has been through. You can see the mangled bodies it has fluttered past. You can see the blades that have sliced and nicked the cape. You can see the men whose blood splashed all over the cloth. When you smell the faint scent of metallic blood, you can hear blades clanging. You can smell a field of rotting bodies. You can smell victory. Normally a helmet was paired with this set of armour. It was not present today. The helmet was a hollow orb with a rectangular stripe going across the top. In the cavern, Tammen's determined face would hide. Whenever he wore the helmet, he looked like a demon in it. In the area of the jawline, two protective plates would extend. They were two rows simply extruding forwards. At the end of each rectangle, there was a flat, seven-sided star. Two angular tusks rose from his helmet which ended with points of a seven pointed star. Many wondered why the helmet was designed like that. A many more thought he looked like a stag beetle with that helmet. That was why he did not wear it today. Dywin's armour was similar. It too was a lump of grey titanic metal. Dywin stood proudly. His inky hair was longer than Tammen's. His face was completely different. It was more dynamic and chubby. His eyes were deeper; blacker. Though he wore no cape, he seemed to be larger; more strong and dynamic.
"Well, I'll leave you younglings now." Dominik left with a smile.
"Come now, let us see what our friend Darius is up to." Taedyr put strong sardonic emphasis on the word Darius.
"Ah Darius. I haven't seen the lad for a while now." Tammen's voice was solid. Clear. Taedyr hunched his back and craned his neck forward as he pushed his way past the crowds.
Darius rode Elaya like a horse. He rode her roughly, strongly. Whilst doing so, his eyebrows were crossed like swords and his face was twisted like a river. His upper lip was raised with discuist that he was using the same woman as Taedyr. A crimson vein bulged out of his forehead. His eyes would not blink, but stare at one point. His head slowly transformed from a peachy colour, to a hot red glow. His entire thoughts were focused on Taedyr. He was a boiling pot, steaming with fury. He was about to explode like a volcano. Semen erupted as he climaxed. "THAT CUNT!" Darius thrust his hips forwards forcefully and then ripped his limbs away. "TAEDYR! YOU CUNT!" He heard them walking down the corridor. Darius's foot hammered down onto the ground. He thundered his way to where his sword and kit was. The trio were no further than 3 meter away from the bedroom door. Always questioning me in front of our friends Tammen and Dywin, the manipulative bastard Taedyr. Always embarrassing me in front of Elaya. How dare he?! He pulled out his sword and marched to the door.
The door was opened. Taedyr's maniacal eyes stared into Darius's. "Hello, Darius," said Tammen quietly, with a sensible smile that was wider than usual. Darius did not hear. Did not care. Taedyr was his only focus now. "Oh, are you here to give us some pleasure?" Taedyr's eyes suddenly widened as if they were moons that immediately shone. "You know, such activities are looked down upon by the high court." Darius's grip around his sword tightened. "I believe your cousin, Orosar, is in the high court, isn't he? It wouldn't be nice if your cousin was giving you the penalty for laying with another man. Or is he your brother, sorry, I'm not sure how the family tree in your incestuous family works…"
"Oh, I can't take it," Dywin bent over, laughing.
"Though if Orosar would be the one carrying out the sentence, that would be hypocritical, wouldn't it, knowing that you probably slept with him already… And your father, and his." Darius's muscles tensed. His teeth were gritted. "So? Which sword will you pierce us with?" Darius lifted his sword and bashfully swung it at Taedyr. "Oh vey," sighed Tammen. Taedyr put his hands behind his back and swiftly motioned his body backwards to dodge the attack. "Ooh, I don't think you'll be able to pierce me with this sword," he danced around the sword again. "Though neither will you be able to pierce me with that one either… looking at the size of it."
"Come on, lads," said Tammen with a light smile, "you're being idiotic."
Taedyr once again dodged under another attack. This time, he kicked Darius's sword out of his hand. It flew across the corridor. "Oops, I guess that sword is lost now in all that… darkness." He spent a thought on once again considering Harald's idiocy. "And your other sword it lost too, because of how tiny it is."
"Right. That's it." Darius finally spoke. "You. Me. Melee pit. Now."
"Apologies, my fair maiden," Taedyr kneeled and flapped his arms up and down before Darius. He swiftly rose, saying, "but I have no idea what you have just told me. I don't understand gibberish."
Darius breathed in deeply, and breathed out slowly, "I challenge you to a fight, Taedyr, to show who you really are."
"There's one problem with that. It's disrespectful to hurt women. I cannot do that to you."
"Do you accept, or decline, you coward?"
The two stared at one another. Everybody was silent… Taedyr analysed Darius. He looked him up and down and then drove his fingers to Darius's hair to gently grab it and twist it between his fingers. Taedyr's nose moved alarmingly close to Darius's body. He inhaled a great deal of air, as if to smell Darius. "…I accept." He stared into Darius. All jovial expressions transformed into stern ones.
Dominik Nevervile and Thassian Tendell stepped into the scene. "My king."
"My king."
"Ahhh… Lads! How many times do I have to tell ya? I'm Harald to you!" A smile of a child widened on Harald's face, "old friends…!"
Thassian and Dominik smiled. "But you're still our king." Thassian pointed out.
"Forget the royalties and niceties. We're lads. We have been for ages. I am the same Harald I was 20 years ago. The coronation did not alter me."
"I see that." Thassian laughed, looking at Harald quaffing bronze mead like a god.
"I shall still quaff 30 beers in a night!"
"Undefeated," Thassian exclaimed in a hollow, but loud, whisper. Harald took a good look at Thassian. 2 black rings of tiredness were bored under his eyes. His eyes were wide, open. They were larger than that of a normal person but only by a very slight amount. His face was long and his cheeks were flabby, but he was a thin man. The man's face was tattooed; he had eyeliner painted around his eyes. These were two rings of ink that was black as a raven. Wrinkles as deep as valleys dove into his forehead. His hair was as grey as a solemn sky. "I SHALL STILL QUAFF 30 BEERS A NIGHT, I REMIND!" The quests around slowly quietened. "I SHALL STILL QUAFF 30 BEERS A NIGHT, I REMIND!"
"Truly…" Thassian's eyes opened suddenly like clouds of smoke.
"I SHALL STILL QUAFF 30 BEERS A NIGHT! DOES NOBODY ACCEPT MY CHALLENGE OF 31?" Roared the king.
Darius wore a suit of boiled leather. The garment was a chalky red with silver beads entwined into it. A thin plate of steel lay on his shoulder. "Are you going to put on a helmet?" Tammen stood on the platform the was built a meter above the pit. "A good warrior always wears a helmet."
"Tammen. Do I look like I need a helmet?" Replied Darius in his nasal voice, "I won Harald's third, fourth and seventh annual tournament."
"Even if you won a hundred fights, Taedyr's blade can go straight through your skull."
"I'm fine. In fact, the helmet obscures my view," he lifted both arms and shrugged violently, "I'm better without it."
Tammen could see the unadultered anger still raging in Darius's head. He shook his head in mild disappointment. Darius paced back and forth as Taedyr got ready. "Tammen Tendell. I name you to be my second." His finger was swiftly pointed in Tammen's direction.
"Of course, my prince," he bowed down his head. They turned their eyes to Taedyr. He was seen to be adjusting a strap on his suit. Once he did so, he pulled out both of his weapons. His right arm held the silver tongue; a sword gifted to him by his father as symbol of their cooperation. In his left he held an obscure excuse for a weapon; this was a curved double-sided dagger. The reason it was so obscure, was because it had no grip. Taedyr squeezed the blade in his palm and he ferociously licked his lips as blood tricked down the iron. Most men standing in that pit right then would feel nothing but fear. Darius felt no fear however, but fury.
"W-W-Why do-" Elaya began saying.
"He, ahh-" Dywin replied unsurely, "from what I have heard, yes, he worships some kind of god of… conquest and," he laughed as if not believing himself, "and before each battle he shows his devotion by cutting his palm and suffering in the name of his… lord to come, as he puts it." He pointed to Taedyr, "you won't see it under the veil of darkness," he briefly looked up at the night sky, "but there are hundreds of scars on his palm. Each from that blade."
"Wow." Tammen told him, "I'm surprised you aren't talking bollocks to her."
"What do you mean?" He squinted an eye, then laughed. He put both his hands around Elaya's shoulders and squeezed, "normally I would take the piss and make something up. But, I suppose I can be honest sometimes."
"O- Oh," she stuttered, "I see. Thank you for the honesty."
"Anyway." He bit into her neck gently, playfully, seductively.
"Oh."
"Let us leave."
"No. I will not." Taedyr stared at Dywin.
"YOU CUNT!"
"Dywin."
"I'm about to explode…"
"I need you here; you are named as my second."
"Why?" He dropped to his knees, "Darius is the one who needs a second in case you, man of lies, get a gang of bandits to attack him now. You… you don't need a second. Darius would never dishonour the rules of the pit."
"True. But you can take her after the fight, YES?"
"Fine. I'll wait."
"No you will not." Darius yelled at Dywin, "She's not a whore."
"She is. Even I can say that." Tammen told him.
"She's a princess. My princess. And if you are… about to explode… go to a brothel, and use it!"
"True," Dywin guffawed, "I'll go to a brothel." He began leaving.
"No," Taedyr shook his head, "you need to watch."
Dywin sighed.
"You're all," Tammen closed his eyes in disappointment, "acting like children. Please. We need to stop attacking one another like hyenas. Make your peace" Everybody looked at Tammen. For a moment, maybe all would be forgiven. Maybe peace would be made…
"DIE YOU FUCK!" Darius ripped his sword out of his hilt. SHHH! He lifted it as if it were a war banner. As it was held high above him, it glinted under the moon's ethereal glow. A pitch white line formed along the curved edge like it were a perfect horizon of a distant sea. It was a typical Evermoorian sword; short and curved. The ornate cross-guard was spread out like a leaf and a jewel -white like the moon- was embedded in the centre. "I shall, Darius!" Taedyr's voice rose, "but only when the lord of conquest allows me so!"
"I am your lord of conquest."
Taedyr grabbed a handful of the sand that filled the pit. The sand was charcoal black. The bottoms of their leather shoes slowly turned a cloudy black as they gradually moved about in the pit. Taedyr brought the mound of sand toward his mouth. "You heathen…" Darius spat, "obscurely worshipping this… devil." The grains of pitch sand fell into his mouth. Elaya's, Tammen's, and Dywin's expressions turned into ones of confusion as they witnessed Taedyr place the handful of sand into his mouth. "Grrrr…!" Darius surged forward, striking his sword at Taedyr. The strike was swiftly deflected, meaning that Darius's momentum was continued forward and Taedyr had Darius's back. Taedyr forced his sword forward, only for it to be struck back by Darius aggressively twisting and parrying. "That was a swift deflection," observed Tammen, "If he didn't turn that quick and deflect…" The two stood a meter apart. Each sword was held by two hands. Taedyr smiled, showing his black gritty teeth. It looked like he were a devil of a kind. "You disgust me."
Taedyr used his tongue to scoop up a portion of the sand in his mouth and place it in the side of his mouth, so that he could speak. His voice was chalky, "Oh, well, I do not care," he struck. Darius parried. A red spark flickered at the point in which the two blades made contact. "Truly. Don't speak to me. I have absolutely no care for what you say." He laughed.
"Children." Tammen sighed. A surge of red rushed under Darius's skin. It caused him to roar and bring a multitude of strikes down on Taedyr. The next 10, 20, 30, 40, 50 seconds consisted of their swords dancing balletically. The swords would curve, swish, sail, deflect. They looked like they were painting a piece of art with a brush. The movements would flow so well and the blades would curve into each other as if they were twins that were perfect for one another. Slice! Swing! Swoosh! The trio on the wooded platform could see that gradually, Taedyr would be stepping backwards and Darius would be pushing forwards. Taedyr was on his back foot while Darius was heavy on his front. Taedyr did not attack; every blow was one delivered by Darius, and Taedyr could only helplessly deflect. Taedyr could feel the hot heat of the blades rush at his face. Ember sparks that erupted from the blades blinded Taedyr.
A gasp of fear emerged from Elaya. Darius was heavy on Taedyr. Each strike was closer to his face. Suddenly, Taedyr's grips weakened and his sword was shot out of his hands. The blade flew into the sand. "Oh, is your sword lost?" Darius growled, "In all that… darkness."
"Hmph." Smiled Taedyr, "no matter what, I always win."
"What?" Scoffed Darius. Darius's sword slowly got closer to Taedyr. Taedyr gathered up the mound of sand in his mouth and positioned it on his tongue. He breathed out a great deal of air and sand. The grains of black sand were shot at Darius's face. "Ahh!" Darius dropped his sword and moved both of his hands to his eyes, "I'm blind! My eyes sting!"
"Dishonourable." Tammen mumbled.
"And I win," Taedyr talked at Darius, panting and screaming. "Because I fight dirty," he unsheathed his double-sided dagger and sliced it across Darius's cheek. Darius was propelled to the floor. "AAAHHH! MY FACE! MY BEAUTIFUL FACE!" He could feel hot sticky blood splurging onto his fingers, "YOU RUINED MY FACE, YOU DISHONOURABLE HEATHEN!"
"Yes. I am a dishonourable heathen. And that is what caused me to stand above you this day. So I think I shall stay a dishonourable heathen. It suits me. It gives me power."
"YOU FUCK!"
"Now look at me."
"FUCK YOU!"
"Look at me." He placed his dagger against Darius's neck. "Follow my orders, or you will die."
"NOW THAT MY FACE IS RUINED, END ME!"
"NO!" Taedyr barked, "YOU WILL FOLLOW MY ORDERS!" Taedyr's face was less than an inch away from Darius's. "YOU WILL FOLLOW-" He let out a high-pitched, unstable, uncontrolled, laugh. Not one of joy, but of anger. Of mental instability, "MY FUCKING ORDERS!"
"You will never control me- MY FACE! AAHHH-" He whimpered, "I will not open my eyes. I will not- Aah- follow your orders…"
"ST-HOP THIS MADNESS," Boomed the king.
"You will follow my orders," whispered Taedyr.
"DROP YOUR WEAPONS, NOW."
Taedyr sheathed his blade and stood, "Even if it will be in a decade, there will be a day when you shall be obedient to me."
"Never."
"FACE ME! BOTH OF YOU!" Harald, red-faced and hair-riddled, was followed by other men, "What a disgrace you show to the king!"
"Apologies, King Harald," Taedyr looked at Harald and bowed.
"Agh! Agh!" Darius continued.
"Get up." Harald ordered.
"I can't, my face!"
"Oh stop it. It's barely a scratch."
Taedyr turned to look at Darius, "Darius, you-"
"Silence! I shall not hear a word from either of you. Not until we discuss this madness." Harald turned to his advisors. With one hand pressed to his bleeding cheek, Darius stood.
"What a show." Laughed Tammen gently.
"Anyway. I'm off to a whorehouse."
"Dywin."
"Yes."
"If you're going through the palace anyway, take Elaya with you; she's freezing."
"Of course."
"And do not…" He pointed at Dywin's face.
"I will not."
"She must not be spoilt. She is Darius's."
"I promise, brother. When have I misused your trust?"
"Never." Tammen smiled gently. Dywin placed his hands around Elaya's bare shoulders, "let's get you some warmth."
"I need a walk." Tammen left in the opposite direction.
"It is absolutely irresponsible that they are fighting at a time like this!"
"I agree." Thassian nodded, "but you know how we were 20 years ago. No better than this."
"I just can't accept this!" The blood in Harald rose.
"Calm down, my king," said Dominik quietly.
"NO!" Harald turned to the duo in the pit, "HOW DARE THE BOTH OF YOU!" He pointed at them. Dominik placed one hand on Harald's shoulder. "Calm, calm, calm." Harald formed a fist in his hand and punched the wooden barrier in front of him. The plank snapped under the force of the hit. "YOU'LL HANG! THE BOTH OF YOU!"
"Maybe we shall talk this through…" Dominik suggested.
"BUT THIS IS AN OUTRAGE!" Harald lowered his hands and turned to his friends. "Fine…" His shout got quieter, "Maybe they shouldn't hang."
"Of course not." Dominik replied.
"But a punishment must be inflicted." Thassian reckoned.
"Yes… I'll put them both in cells."
"A wise choice."
"My king," Taedyr began saying.
"Silence from you!" Harald reeked of sweat and wine and he was redder than a tomato. His movements were sudden, rushed. Dominik and Thassian would step back, gulping, every time Harald pointed a finger or swung his arms in anger. The guards around felt awkward. There was a certain fear of the king. Harald was a savage beast, held back only by his advisors. If it weren't for them, Harald would have borrowed the guards' swords and beheaded both Darius and Taedyr at once.
Evoacus stormed into the scene. His long, aurelian hair flowed in the air behind him as he rushed. "Look at what your son has done to my Darius." He spat at Dominik.
"Speak to Taedyr, then, not me." Dominik squinted his eyes.
"I spit on you, Dominik. For not raising your son as I have raised mine. Strong, good, proud."
"Yes, proud," Dominik walked closer to Evoacus. "Think you not that pride is a sin?"
"Pah! Of course not."
"Pride not only is a sin, but pride is a weakness. I am not loyal. I am not proud. And yet I have built a grand house that has the power to begin wars and build castles. I've done it with lies and deception. My son has won the battle with what? Lies and deception. Pride is what made your son lose. The sooner you learn this, the sooner you will stop losing."
"You dare lecture a king!"
"A king." Dominik said calmly, "not the king."
"Do you undermine me?"
Dominik ignored the question. Why did I just waste all that effort on a man blinded by fame, beauty, honour and pride? Why did I even waste my words on Harald? Well, so my son doesn't take a blade to the neck. But still. I mustn't involve myself in these affairs as I have today. I will observe, from now on. Observe, and wait. Wait for the lord of conquest, not these usurpers. And whilst waiting, I will be sending venomous daggers from afar to set up the best welcome for the lord to come. I will be a shadow.
"You are the one who will sit in a cell! Not my son!"
"He will not!" Harald interrupted, "You are not one to make decisions! Not in my kingdom!" Dominik stepped back, observing the 2 men bickering. He stepped back again, so that his entire body was engulfed in a shadow erected from the wall behind. I observe. That is my only purpose. From now on, I am nothing but eyes.
"Your advisor will hang!" Screamed Evoacus.
"Your son will hang, then!" Harald answered back.
"That dishonour will not fall upon my son!"
"YES IT WILL!"
"YOU… That damned son-of-a-shit Taedyr has brought dishonour to the beauty of our house."
"Oh shut up! You bring dishonour to an entire kingdom!"
"No I do not!"
"Cutting off your supplies… Laughing in my face," Harald's hand turned into a balled fist. He rushed forward. Two of Evoacus's guards swiftly grabbed Harald's arm. Harald's arm still continued forward. A third guard joined the cause, stopping Harald's attack. Evoacus's jaw dropped open as he gasped. "Me and my son are leaving." Evoacus then ordered 2 guards to help Darius leave. Evoacus turned his back. "YOU DARE TURN YOUR BACK ON ME! AND YOUR GUARDS! THEY DARE TOUCH ME!" The three guards released Harald. "I WILL HAVE YOU ALL KILLED!"
Evoacus turned back around. "Is it violence that you want?" His sharp voice proclaimed. Evoacus's green and red cloaked men drew their curved swords. Harald's gold-armoured guards struck out their lengthy blades. The platform and the pit was silent. Dominik and Thassian were nowhere to be seen. A slug-like vein bulged out of Harald's creased forehead. Harald was panting like a dog. His mouth was closed shut like a chest and his eyes stared wide. His gaze was met by Evoacus's unforgiving glare.
The waiting began.
A guard standing here didn't want violence. This was the king's guard. Nearly never was a king directly attacked like this. There would be assassination attempts in the night, and there would be riots in the streets. In both of these events the king's guard were mostly safe, but of course they wouldn't be safe in a full-on battle with other men. When these men signed themselves up for the king's guard, they did so in good will; it was an honour to protect the king, but never would they expect for soldiers in their own castle raise a blade against them. Grordon Domair, the man right at the front, had a beautiful wife and three children. He married 16 years ago and they had their first child 18. They mostly ignored the fact that their Henry was a bastard. He was the son they were most proud of. Grordon, with the good pay of king's guard, just purchased a windmill, 2 fields, and 10 workers. He had a woman, a good source of income, friends, and 3 great children. He was hoping to meet his friends at the Horseshoe's Inn after his shift. Now, he thought, that might be possible. He didn't want to be in the position he was in. He wanted to flee to his mates and have a drink. This moment was the moment that shown that he was a real man. He did not flee. He was pissing himself in fear though. He knew that at any moment blades could clash and blood could be drawn. Just the thought of them rushing forwards, the heat, the clashing sounds, the yells of pain, and the possibility of death any second terrified him. These were the moments in which men pissed themselves; the moments when they looked into one another's eyes and knew only one of them would survive. Me… or you…
The wait continued.
The moments after the stare off, so the fight, would not be terrifying. There would be so much adrenaline, that these men would not feel any emotions but confusion and a raging frenzy.
The man across Grordon was called Clansy. He held his blade in the exact position as his comrades; both hands on the grip, grip raised above shoulder, and blade pointing forward. The Evermoorians were trained so well in the arts of the sword, that these men's blades were at a 90 degree angle to the length of their body. Not only were these men Evermoorians, but they were Yewstring men; only family of the royals were allowed in the king's guard.
Clansy continuously shifted his weight from his front foot to his back. He rocked back and forth nervously. They were waiting, waiting, waiting. He shot a glance at his brothers. Each of them stared forwards, still, silent as the wind.
The wait continued.
Harald and Evoacus stared into each other's eyes like statues. These statues were filled with fires hotter than the cores of volcanoes. Evoacus's eyes were wide in a sort of shock, confusion, mysterion, eagerness, disappointment, sternness, and anger. Harald's stare was mean, only angry. Evoacus would shift his view from Harald's left eye to his right, while Harald would only stare at one fixed point. Grips were tightened. Tensions were rising. They were just waiting, waiting, waiting, waiting, waiting…
Waiting.
Waiting.
Waiting.
Waiting.
Waiting.
"Men, lay down arms." Harald said, "we will not battle today."
Evoacus squinted. "Cast off your blades." Without another word the Evermoorians left.
Zackareya Sunborn was still. His eyes darted across the scene like wolves. He was silent. Last night was wild. A smile formed on his face. A smile in which you can see all the hideous truth about his man. The bravo, the blade from the East, the smile of death. It's he; he who killed those who Harald and Thassian loved. There were other theories for who killed those people. Like Taedyr, son of Dominik, Evoacus, King of the Falls, The Snake, shadow servant of King Harald, or possibly Thassian himself… However the last theory was only Zackareya's sick theory. Nobody else in the entire Kingdom would think that Thassian, a man of everlasting honour, would be such a traitor.
Zackareya looked at his comrades; Felicia Dark, Amanda Barristan, Roy Jones Junior, Stark Shoreborn, and Torren Greyheart. They were laid out across the tavern floor like sacks of potatoes that were carelessly tossed. He saw Felicia slowly stand up. She was the second member of the group to wake up. Zackareya, with his golden hair rough and sticky mead from the night before clinging to his face, strode to Felicia. A permanent smug smile lay on his face. He breathed a great deal of air in through his nose. "I can smell your cunt."
"Give it a rest," Felicia tilted her head and squinted in a fuck you sort of way. Their noses were an inch away from each other. Torren examined the girl. She had a thin body. Not sickly thin, but thin. Her skin was pale. She had a pretty face, however. Black hair went down to the middle of her neck. Sharp features adorned her face. Her lips were painted with a vibrant red and her eyes were outlined with a clean black. She didn't attract a lot of attention, however if one would look at her closely, he would see her beauty. And vulnerability. "Step off," Zackareya ordered her. She stepped back. His eyebrows would alternatively fall and rise as he turned his head left and right to observe the room. Rays of morning sun shot in through a crack in the decrepit, even ancient, some may say, roof. The morning rays weren't orange nor gold, but a pale greenish yellow; electrum. A cloud of dust was highlighted by these rays. You could clearly see all the dirt and flies in that cloud of filth. This cloud would slowly, organically move as if it were a moving slug. He could see the shabby wooden walls that held this tavern up. It was maple, and maple was the cheapest of all woods. You could not buy a cheaper wood. A plank of 4 feet length of this wood would cost a bronze coin. Nobody would sell a singular plank of course -that would be comical -however a cart of these planks would cost a silver coin. 2 gold coins for a small wall. The whole construction then cost about a bag of gold- but that was only the walls and floor. The roof had an additional cost. The tiles. The furniture. The whole tavern was worth about 4 bags of gold. It was nothing compared to some of the other taverns; those in the rich district. They had 3 floors, they were made of ash and oak, they had proper roofs, they had more workers, the furniture was exquisite, and the floors wouldn't break after one or two bar fights. They were worth 20, 30, 40, 50 bags of coins…
Zackareya knew it was maple because he grew up East of the Kapitol; in the forests where he would learn all about woods and wildlife, and after seeing beige planks accented with rivers of a darker brown, he knew they were definitely maple. They didn't mind the fact that this was one of the most vicious taverns in the lower district. In fact, they liked it here. They came down here because of how rough it was. The taverns in the middle and higher district were a bit too tame for them. They wanted the real tavern experience. The taverns in the highest district, so the inner circle of the Kapitol, were something they did not even attempt experiencing yet, they knew they would be the worst taverns possible and they would just be full of over confident lords. The inner circle did have something that was better than the other districts however; brothels. The whorehouses were top-quality in the inner circle. Zackareya focused his thoughts on the taverns once again. He realised that the taverns in the lowest district -the outer ring -were something they did not experience yet. That thought made him slightly embarrassed. "Felicia. We need to go to the outer circle. The taverns."
"No, right now we need to go back to our king."
"Right. Anyway, I know this'll be very cuntous, but somebody has to wake them up."
"You do it; you're already thought of as the cunt here."
"With pleasure." He produced a pot and a spoon. BANG! BANG! BANG! "My comrades, I am a cunt," he saw them slowly wake, "however do not put blame on me here, as we really have to go," he looked at Torren Greyheart, "especially you, Torren Greyheart. You're the king's pretty horse; of course Harald wouldn't want to see you shit-faced and feces-pasted." Zackareya's voice had a subtle smooth rumble in it; it was a voice that was soothing to the ear, however it had a permanent flavour of sarcasm in it. His eyes had a certain eagerness in themselves, possibly a friendliness, "Murder of crows, unite!" He said to a gang of overhung, tired, reeking knights, "How proudly you represent our king!" If he didn't wear his wide smile, his expressions was a calm, observant one that always looked at everything sarcastically.
Amanda yawned, combing her roughed up dark brunette hair with her fingers, "oh-"
"-give it a rest," Taedyr said simultaneously with her. His deep voice continued, "you know, that's what Felicia said as well. Wow."
"Hmph." Amanda scoffed.
Torren Greyheart rose.
This was where his story began.
Torren Greyheart rose.
His hair was the colour of fresh ash. Ash after a burning of a village. The hair was straight, thick, sharp, gritty and slightly ruddy. He was 35 years old, similar to his comrades. A seriousness was on his face. His right arm firmly held a longsword that he pointed downwards onto the ground. The tip of the sword was bladed into floor as he slowly stood. First he went onto his knee. One day, you will fall like this, a voice told him, you will have lost everything. There'll be a moment, when you will fall forever, and you will be on your knee, just like now, praying to the world for mercy. Torren only half believed that voice. I might lose everything. Everything, but my honour, he thought. Rain will pour, bringing you down, said the voice, it won't bring down the others; they will already be down. Torren ignored the voice. That morning was the first time he has ever heard that voice.
His legs lifted him high after his foot crashed flat onto the floor. He lifted his shoulders, pulled them back, and then lowered them, straightening his back. He lifted his chin. He made his way to Stark Shoreborn and lowered his arm. Stark smiled and grabbed it, lifting himself up. They bumped their chests together as a manly greeting. "Morning, Stark."
"Good morn, Torren Greyheart." They looked each other in the eyes with pride.
"You both reek of beer," Amanda complained.
"As if you don't," Zackareya bit.
"I don't," Amanda widened her eyes in annoyance, "I drank wine."
Zackareya didn't reply.
"Let's take leave," groaned Roy Jones Jr. He was the eldest of the group; aged 45.
"You endure beer the worst out of us," laughed Torren, walking to Roy, greeting him with his arm.
"Lamentably, that is a truth," Roy replied. A light smile formed on his long face. He gently nodded.
The murder of crows strode through the buzzing markets where men and women sold olives, fish, fruits, meats, breads, luck charms or tiny little trinkets. The jumble of scents and smells exploded in their noses. Tanned people in loose-mostly white- or colourful robes clogged the streets. Shouts of joy or squabble filled their ears. They walked and walked until the markets faded off behind them