Last promise, I time

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Last promise, I time

Postby Serpent Axis » Sun Sep 21, 2008 2:34 pm

He walks across the desolate street towards the tavern, the setting sun colors him an obsidian silhouette as he opens the wooden tavern door with a slow screetch.

Old man Mutters owns the tavern. He's a round, heavy but short Illuskan man with his gray hair in retreat from his forehead and his blue eyes wary and poor. His face is wrinkled like old parchment and his fat fingers are busy with the cleaning of a mug. He doesn't even notice the door opens - too lost in far away lands sailing on the boat of his shattered hopes and dreams, to notice who is the only one to sleek into his tavern today.

"I'd like a mug of ale, please" says a raspy, cynical voice that causes Old man Mutters' hands to stop their work as he looks up at the dusky figure.
"Y'was told not t'be comin' back here, ya were" Old man Mutters states aggressively and gives the young man a leery gaze. "I was told a lot o' things lately. I'm gettin' sick o' being told what to do all the godsdamn time, I am." Mehmen retorts as he leans on the counter with his palms and returns the gaze with a smile "and by me own sister, at that. Seems ale runs thicker than blood, in these parts" he licks his lips.
"Get. Out." the bartender growls between his teeth "I don' serve scum like ye"
Mehmen nods "oh, I know - you serve the other scum" Mehmen snorts at the bartender. Old man Mutters raises his fist and screens at him "I'm warning ye, if y'came 'ere lookin' fer trouble ye gonna get y'self a handful of 'em!" at that, the dusky man grabs the fist and pins him down to the counter with one hand, then Old man Mutters growls loudly at Mehmen as a cold blade goes through the palm and into the counter. Painting shades of crimson. The heavy Illuskan thrusts a meaty fist at the dusky man as his eyes swell and he bites his lips from the pain. The punch spins Mehmen in place and thrusts him backwards onto a table.

Slowly, Mutters pulls the dagger from his palm with a shaking hand. This is a new low, even for Mehmen Cymar - is one of the thoughts racing through his head.
The race increases pace as the dusky young man gets back up and strides towards the counter, rubbing off a fresh trail of blood from his mouth with the back of his right hand.
Mutters shakingly holds the dagger pointing at Mehmen. "Relax, Mutt" Mehmen screens at him as his left hand trails for a mug on his side of the counter "why don't ye have a drink, ye will?" he grabs the mug and throws it at the old man, who is quick to cover his face as the thing shatters on him.
"I'mmma... c-call th'Watch on ye.." the old man threatens as his hand continues to drip red along with a few other new cuts on his face.
"The Watch are a long way from 'ere, old man. So is me sister, and so is everyone else in the city. You're all alone in this street. You're all alone in the streets!" Mehmen's voice twists into anger as he leans on the counter again. The old man tries a new approach, he leans backwards against the wall and points up the dagger at Mehmen again "and says "y'don' scare me, I see worse than ye every eve-" his voice is cut abrupt like wheat -"SHUT UP!" Mehmen's voice explodes the bartender's defense "I'm tired that you people keep looking at me and see some kind of rat you can just kick around." he says in a voice full of anger. Old man Mutters stares at the young man with a bit of shock, his shaking hand still holds the dagger pointing at him not to get any closer.
"I took an oath t'keep y'sisters safe...-" Mutters says shaking. "An oath" Mehmen repeats "empty words ye spoke distracted in that temple o' fools, as full of meaning as a barrel of sewage, as ye couldn't keep yer filthy eyes off me mother's bossom" the dusky man snarls and Mutters cringes "y'know how close we are to the sea! don' spew mad words at her!"
Mehmen furrows his brows and leans ever closer, almost touching the blade aimed at him "when me father was breathing and walking, ye were too scared to so much as be caught thinking in her direction.. y'filthy old, rotten, stinkin', ugly old fish." Mehmen's eyes glitter mad, his wounded swelling mouth spits red blood as he thrusts the words at the old man "how many times 'ave ye gotten yer rotten hands on me kin, filth!?"
Mutters shakes his head furiously "none, ye ungrateful knave!" Mehmen pounds his fists on the counter "HOW MANY!?" which startles the already-quivering old man.
"What 'ave ye come 'ere for this time? gold? a place to lay low? leech on me for me food and roof? no, lad.. no more... y'gone too far" the old man gestures with the dagger and the bleeding hand "get out, Mehmen. Get out of here and never come back. I regret the day I tried to help yer family, I regret the day I let ye fall in with them ne'er-do-wells and I regret all the days I've known ye.. Ever since y'were a child, I always knew nothing good could come out of ye..." a single tear struggles its way past the wounded old man's face, as he feels the awesome power of relief, saying words he kept buried under his breath for years.

The dusky man’s stare becomes ever more furious as his hand draws the sword and cuts the dagger off the old man’s hands. His eyes light fire with madness as he jumps over the counter and onto the shocked, crying old man. His fists hammer into him, even as the old man recruits his last reserves of fighting spirit and kicks Mehmen off of him with a stout thrust to his stomach. Mehmen crawls back to his feet and staggers towards the old man again, picking up the dagger and hammering at him.

The dusk outside announces the sun’s demise, as sailors stagger themselves onwards. Few ever came to Mutters’ tavern; the few who did come did so because of the dusky server girls. They didn’t came to find the bartender lying lifeless behind the counter in a crimson-colored pool flowing from countless hideous stab wounds. His eyes stare in shock and pain at the ceiling.
As for the dusky man, he walks across his desolate hideout, the setting sun colors him an obsidian silhouette as he stands with his back turned to her dying splendor in the darkening heavens. A bloody-coated dagger in his bloody-coated hands, he stares coldly at the floor as if he were still in that tavern, staring down at the fresh corpse.
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Serpent Axis
 
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