(Idk how sensitive the average person is to literary gore but this has some of that, so I feel it necessary to preface.)
He didn't recall when the knot in his stomach had formed, but it was there now. It ached, mingling anticipation, fear, and hunger. I still get jitters from doing this, he realized, but stating the obvious, for obvious reasons, didn't much surprise him.
He walked with purpose, and with strides that seemed long for his comparatively short legs. His companion assumed a more relaxed pace- Nwalme assumed this was due in no small part to his familiarity with their chosen lifestyle. They approached a tavern, a source of light and civilization competing with the lamps that lined the streets, on this unseasonably dark and cloudy night. Once inside, Nwalme's companion went ahead of him, looking for all intents and purposes like a hunter who had come to town to spend the night- crossbow, quarrels, and utilitarian garments.
Nwalme felt like a babe paired with a wolf when in his company- his only hope to be more cunning than him, and to find other prey for him before he decided that Nwalme was tastier. Nwalme surveyed said potential prey now, those relatively innocent patrons of the bar, while nervously fingering the baton he kept under his robe. A handful of drunkards at the bar, clustered around the bartender, and they all seemed quite occupied- cheerful, relative to Nwalme's brooding companion, who took it upon himself to buy a drink while Nwalme loitered by the doorway conspicuously. Nwalme's gaze lingered on a man by his lonesome, leaning between the staircase and the bar. Nwalme approached, and felt watched by him while he did so. Leaning next to the man on the wall, he whispered- hoping he didn't sound as nervous or desperate as he felt-
"I know you."
His accent sounded hard, or maybe he would sound like that no matter how he spoke. "An' what's it to you, lad?"
"Word about what you've done has spread around, I'm not the only one to take a professional interest in your actions." He tried to sound like he knew what he was saying.
The man didn't respond for a few moments- or hours, Nwalme felt like the two would be interchangeable as he waited- then finally he spoke again. "What's it to you, lad?"
Nwalme felt more than heard a dangerous air to his words, so he spoke quickly. "I work for someone- he wants to talk to you- work- if you can handle it. It's not pretty stuff." He felt that he ended lamely, but continued to pray to whoever would listen that this complete stranger would buy his story.
Again, he didn't speak for a few agonizing moments, when he did he sounded quieter than before. "Where?"
Nwalme felt excitement brimming, and tried to contain himself, as he looked away from the man to hide his expression. "First manse, noble district." He spoke again quickly, as he remembered suddenly that the place was abandoned. "He won't be there for long- he's holed up in there until tomorrow, when we'll move again."
The man grunted, remained immobile for a few moments as he looked down at Nwalme, then pushed himself from the wall to depart the tavern.
Nwalme felt euphoric. He did it- it worked- it worked! He could just taste the money- or, rather, what he'd buy with it. He looked to his compatriot, his friend, no longer thinking he looked quite like a wolf as the two shared a grin. Nwalme exited quickly, and his friend put down his drink to follow suit.
~
Nwalme met his victim at the door. The streets were dark, despite the lamps, dark enough that the man didn't see the other one hiding in the nearby bushes. Nwalme, though knowing he was there, also refrained from looking at him. He opened the door for the man, and he went in willingly. Nwalme shut it, waited a few moments, then much more quietly opened it for his friend as he creeped inside with his crossbow drawn.
~
Fighting. Nwalme could hear it- a loud, heated struggle. He paced back and forth nervously in front of the door, wiping his hands on his clammy face. His hands were shaking, and he felt sick. If guards came by- if the man died- if his friend died- then it would all be over. He'd be killed, hung if he was lucky, beaten to death if he wasn't. He didn't want anyone to die, he just wanted his money- if someone can't protect themselves, surely they don't deserve-
He suddenly realized the sounds of fighting had stopped. Nwalme stopped one hand from shaking by tightly grasping the hilt of the baton under his robes. He waited, not holding his breath, but with his chest heaving as if he just ran a mile. Then, with an intense feeling of relief, he heard his friend shout from inside: "I got him! He's out!"
Nwalme rushed inside- but felt a new wave of nausea, at the scene that greeted him just in front of the doorway. The man lay on his stomach, his breathing wet and shallow, as a small pool of blood was expanding around him from what seemed to be a wound at his waist. The crossbow's spent quarrel happened to be firmly embedded in one of the cheeks of his ass. Nwalme's friend was holding a bloody knife in his right hand, as he quickly patted down the dying man, and removed his coin purse. He threw it at Nwalme, who caught it and then immediately felt revulsed as he realized how sticky the blood made it, and fumbled while pocketing it inside his robes. His friend then rapidly approached once the money disappeared into Nwalme's deep pockets, his expression was one of a manic sort of intensity. His voice, however, happened to be jarringly soft.
"He saw me. We can't let him tell anyone. He'll kill us."
There was so much blood. He didn't realize one person could have so much of it.
"Nwalme, we can't let him know it was us."
He didn't realize he was still clenching the hilt of his baton, he let go of it, and found that his hand continued to shake.
"Nwalme."
The man kept wheezing, the sound of it bizarrely gave Nwalme the urge to help him.
"You're the brains of this, Nwalme. Choose, dammit, tell me what to do."
Why did they have to do this? Why him, why should anyone have to resort-
"Nwalme!"
This sudden outburst shocked Nwalme out of his reprieve from the gravity of the situation. He looked at his friend, saw something in his eyes that frightened him more than the dead man so near them, and choked out with a shaky voice: "K- kill him. He can't- he can't leave here- do it."
He felt like everything was moving in slow motion after that, but when he later looked back on this experience, he thought his friend moved much more quickly than his size warranted. He bounded over to the dying man, wrenched the mace he had been using out of his grasp-
Nwalme tried to scream stop, but the words commanding him to do so died in his throat as the mace smoothly arced downwards and the man's cranium exploded inward in a mess of blood and splattered grey matter. Nwalme felt something spongy and metallic land in his mouth.
He bolted from the scene as quickly as his scrawny legs would carry him.
He didn't recall when the knot in his stomach had formed, but it was there now. It ached, mingling anticipation, fear, and hunger. I still get jitters from doing this, he realized, but stating the obvious, for obvious reasons, didn't much surprise him.
He walked with purpose, and with strides that seemed long for his comparatively short legs. His companion assumed a more relaxed pace- Nwalme assumed this was due in no small part to his familiarity with their chosen lifestyle. They approached a tavern, a source of light and civilization competing with the lamps that lined the streets, on this unseasonably dark and cloudy night. Once inside, Nwalme's companion went ahead of him, looking for all intents and purposes like a hunter who had come to town to spend the night- crossbow, quarrels, and utilitarian garments.
Nwalme felt like a babe paired with a wolf when in his company- his only hope to be more cunning than him, and to find other prey for him before he decided that Nwalme was tastier. Nwalme surveyed said potential prey now, those relatively innocent patrons of the bar, while nervously fingering the baton he kept under his robe. A handful of drunkards at the bar, clustered around the bartender, and they all seemed quite occupied- cheerful, relative to Nwalme's brooding companion, who took it upon himself to buy a drink while Nwalme loitered by the doorway conspicuously. Nwalme's gaze lingered on a man by his lonesome, leaning between the staircase and the bar. Nwalme approached, and felt watched by him while he did so. Leaning next to the man on the wall, he whispered- hoping he didn't sound as nervous or desperate as he felt-
"I know you."
His accent sounded hard, or maybe he would sound like that no matter how he spoke. "An' what's it to you, lad?"
"Word about what you've done has spread around, I'm not the only one to take a professional interest in your actions." He tried to sound like he knew what he was saying.
The man didn't respond for a few moments- or hours, Nwalme felt like the two would be interchangeable as he waited- then finally he spoke again. "What's it to you, lad?"
Nwalme felt more than heard a dangerous air to his words, so he spoke quickly. "I work for someone- he wants to talk to you- work- if you can handle it. It's not pretty stuff." He felt that he ended lamely, but continued to pray to whoever would listen that this complete stranger would buy his story.
Again, he didn't speak for a few agonizing moments, when he did he sounded quieter than before. "Where?"
Nwalme felt excitement brimming, and tried to contain himself, as he looked away from the man to hide his expression. "First manse, noble district." He spoke again quickly, as he remembered suddenly that the place was abandoned. "He won't be there for long- he's holed up in there until tomorrow, when we'll move again."
The man grunted, remained immobile for a few moments as he looked down at Nwalme, then pushed himself from the wall to depart the tavern.
Nwalme felt euphoric. He did it- it worked- it worked! He could just taste the money- or, rather, what he'd buy with it. He looked to his compatriot, his friend, no longer thinking he looked quite like a wolf as the two shared a grin. Nwalme exited quickly, and his friend put down his drink to follow suit.
~
Nwalme met his victim at the door. The streets were dark, despite the lamps, dark enough that the man didn't see the other one hiding in the nearby bushes. Nwalme, though knowing he was there, also refrained from looking at him. He opened the door for the man, and he went in willingly. Nwalme shut it, waited a few moments, then much more quietly opened it for his friend as he creeped inside with his crossbow drawn.
~
Fighting. Nwalme could hear it- a loud, heated struggle. He paced back and forth nervously in front of the door, wiping his hands on his clammy face. His hands were shaking, and he felt sick. If guards came by- if the man died- if his friend died- then it would all be over. He'd be killed, hung if he was lucky, beaten to death if he wasn't. He didn't want anyone to die, he just wanted his money- if someone can't protect themselves, surely they don't deserve-
He suddenly realized the sounds of fighting had stopped. Nwalme stopped one hand from shaking by tightly grasping the hilt of the baton under his robes. He waited, not holding his breath, but with his chest heaving as if he just ran a mile. Then, with an intense feeling of relief, he heard his friend shout from inside: "I got him! He's out!"
Nwalme rushed inside- but felt a new wave of nausea, at the scene that greeted him just in front of the doorway. The man lay on his stomach, his breathing wet and shallow, as a small pool of blood was expanding around him from what seemed to be a wound at his waist. The crossbow's spent quarrel happened to be firmly embedded in one of the cheeks of his ass. Nwalme's friend was holding a bloody knife in his right hand, as he quickly patted down the dying man, and removed his coin purse. He threw it at Nwalme, who caught it and then immediately felt revulsed as he realized how sticky the blood made it, and fumbled while pocketing it inside his robes. His friend then rapidly approached once the money disappeared into Nwalme's deep pockets, his expression was one of a manic sort of intensity. His voice, however, happened to be jarringly soft.
"He saw me. We can't let him tell anyone. He'll kill us."
There was so much blood. He didn't realize one person could have so much of it.
"Nwalme, we can't let him know it was us."
He didn't realize he was still clenching the hilt of his baton, he let go of it, and found that his hand continued to shake.
"Nwalme."
The man kept wheezing, the sound of it bizarrely gave Nwalme the urge to help him.
"You're the brains of this, Nwalme. Choose, dammit, tell me what to do."
Why did they have to do this? Why him, why should anyone have to resort-
"Nwalme!"
This sudden outburst shocked Nwalme out of his reprieve from the gravity of the situation. He looked at his friend, saw something in his eyes that frightened him more than the dead man so near them, and choked out with a shaky voice: "K- kill him. He can't- he can't leave here- do it."
He felt like everything was moving in slow motion after that, but when he later looked back on this experience, he thought his friend moved much more quickly than his size warranted. He bounded over to the dying man, wrenched the mace he had been using out of his grasp-
Nwalme tried to scream stop, but the words commanding him to do so died in his throat as the mace smoothly arced downwards and the man's cranium exploded inward in a mess of blood and splattered grey matter. Nwalme felt something spongy and metallic land in his mouth.
He bolted from the scene as quickly as his scrawny legs would carry him.
