Wayland
04-06-10, 10:37 PM
The Zirnden - nightfall
Cool water splashed down the mire of brick and root as if running along the back of an untouched courtesan. The air was dusty and bled gray but quickly sparked color by the fey tongue of half a dozen torches all clambering to illuminate each shy corner of the barren hall.
"Soak the pain .. inward."
A gentle towel was placed to the head of their newest guest. Headstrong and fool enough to match fists against coin and thorn. A man without a nose, but only two holes to breath through like a skinned pumpkin brushed away the musk of crimson iron and dense sweat from the new fighter's head.
"They will kill you. Beat you down each round till tenderized enough to serve raw upon a noble's table. Way of the world.. way of Their world."
The boy spat blood into the dirt like a soothsayer's omen. Fresh wrappings were applied to his wrists and knuckles. He could hear the dogs howling in the distance, reminding him of the comforting bed of bones that awaited.
His opponent. A fat and fit mongrel with fiery thinning hair and rotten tooth hole spelling out the void beyond it's fat tongue. Laughter and confidence. Fear and the crushing echo beyond. Sniffing the noseless coach then encroached upon the last shade and hid like a barren brood mother. "Fight!" The words rung loud and clear.
The large human opposing Wayland tensed and approached while the lad rose quietly by the stubborn tenacity of his upbringing. Laughter.
Sliding in low the shirtless brute's fist came in blunt and unrestrained. Wayland crept inside with feet effortlessly braced and a knee to that empty jaw.
Cool water splashed down the mire of brick and root as if running along the back of an untouched courtesan. The air was dusty and bled gray but quickly sparked color by the fey tongue of half a dozen torches all clambering to illuminate each shy corner of the barren hall.
"Soak the pain .. inward."
A gentle towel was placed to the head of their newest guest. Headstrong and fool enough to match fists against coin and thorn. A man without a nose, but only two holes to breath through like a skinned pumpkin brushed away the musk of crimson iron and dense sweat from the new fighter's head.
"They will kill you. Beat you down each round till tenderized enough to serve raw upon a noble's table. Way of the world.. way of Their world."
The boy spat blood into the dirt like a soothsayer's omen. Fresh wrappings were applied to his wrists and knuckles. He could hear the dogs howling in the distance, reminding him of the comforting bed of bones that awaited.
His opponent. A fat and fit mongrel with fiery thinning hair and rotten tooth hole spelling out the void beyond it's fat tongue. Laughter and confidence. Fear and the crushing echo beyond. Sniffing the noseless coach then encroached upon the last shade and hid like a barren brood mother. "Fight!" The words rung loud and clear.
The large human opposing Wayland tensed and approached while the lad rose quietly by the stubborn tenacity of his upbringing. Laughter.
Sliding in low the shirtless brute's fist came in blunt and unrestrained. Wayland crept inside with feet effortlessly braced and a knee to that empty jaw.