Marcos
Lord of Altera
The hot furnace spat its skin sizzling sparks straight onto the right hand side of Dalyn face as his quickly jolted away in frustration. That always happened. He could never quite get the right temperature, that or the furnace just hated him. Sometimes it felt like that. He'd been using that dam thing for 6 years and it was never easy on him. There was always a new problem and if it wasn't the furnace it was the anvil and if it wasn't the anvil it was the shoddy tools that seemed to go through more broken handles than he did flagons of ale.
Dalyn took off his smithing gloves and threw them on the anvil and carelessly tossed the hammer on top of them with a deep sigh. "forget it" he muttered. This is the second day he finished behind schedule and he knew he couldn't get away with a third, he was already struggling to buy food let alone fuel his alcoholism. He wiped his dirty face with an even more dirty cloth, placed it down on the table and lent on the post propping up the sorry excuse for a blacksmith sign. He let the wind gently push his hair back as he closed his eyes and took another deep breath of the smokey polluted air he seemed to spend his life surrounded by. At this rate he won't even be able to afford to stay in the basement of the Crooked Inn that he has been living in for the last 2 months. The innkeeper already wanted him out and she wouldn't accept another half-assed excuse. Dalyn called her "The Rat", Mainly because he never bothered to learn her name but she did have a certain rodent like quality when she has to interact with people.
As the rain began to fade in over the sunset Dalyn heavy handily pushed the broken door of the tavern open and trudged inside trailing mud onto the floorboards making them only slightly less clean. Dalyn both hated and loved this place. Hated it in that he hated every one in there but it was the only place for miles with mead and a place he could forget about the troubles of the living and endure the petty quarrels of other people who are also looking for a refuge from their miserable, bottom of the barrel lives. Even in a town where he felt like he was from a different planet there was still one thing he had in common with every one else... their love for getting senselessly, stupidly and categorically drunk.
The first hour of drinking flew by and the drinks all rolled into one as Dalyn, gulp by gulp, started to lose more and more control of his limbs as the night streamed into one long never ending loop of drink after drink each one seeming more blurred than the last. He took the last swig of ale from the shallow flagon and slammed it onto the table with a satisfying shudder. A loud shudder. Too loud. Turning his head Dalyn noticed a closed fist on the table next to him. The fist was dark with a red ring on the index finger. Dayln's rolled his eyes. He knew what this was about. As quickly as he had finished his last drink another hand jabbed into his neck and he was lifted swiftly to his feet and swung around to find himself face to face with a brute of a man with a jaw line bigger than Dayln's head and an even bigger nose. This man was Barbous. People were too afraid of him to hate him and to cowardly to even look directly at him.
"My money or your life" Barbous growled, his grip tightening harshly around Dalyn's neck before throwing him into the table behind him. Dalyn raised his head to look up at the hulking man towering over him. Of course he didn't have the money. They both knew he didn't, which means this wasn't a collection... it was him coming to beat his payment out in blood. There was a silence in the tavern as people stared on at the situation already knowing the inevitable outcome of the confrontation to come. Dayln had been in his fair share of fights though usually with drunken featherweights unable lift their arms let alone fight with them. This though... this was a different league. Barbous was fully sober and hadn't just been swinging a hammer for 9 hours. Through his blurred vision Dayln could make out Barbous's arms tensing up and his fists closing. He knew if he wanted a hope in hell of coming out of this without his facial features in tact that he would have to make the first hit.
Without thinking Dayln wildly swung his fist in Barbous's general directing shifting all his weight foolishly onto his front foot. Seeing this Barbous reached out and grabbed the stray fist and pulled Dalyn off his balance brought his brooding forehead swiftly into Dalyn's nose. Dayln lost control of all muscles in his legs and drooped to the floor unable to see the ground through the flood of red liquid that had gathered in his eyes rendering his vision useless. feeling two hands wrapped tightly into his leather coat he was hoisted up and helplessly flung into the air.
For a few shot seconds he was floating, unable to see, weightlessly flying. Peaceful. The sound of a crashing sound glass breaking violently alerted him and the thudding pain in his right shoulder told him he had just been thrown through the tavern window. That coupled with the feeling of rain hammering relentlessly into his head made it perfectly clear to him he was now lying, semi conscious outside the tavern unable to move as the blood was washed from his eyes. He lay there, still, for a lifetime, staring into the sky. He didn't belong there. It wasn't right. There is a better life out there somewhere. One where he could learn and thrive. Somewhere where he could start again without the mistakes. Somewhere that just... Different.
As the sun rose on that condemned town Dayln walked out, head on the horizon, looking for somewhere he could finally call home.
Dalyn took off his smithing gloves and threw them on the anvil and carelessly tossed the hammer on top of them with a deep sigh. "forget it" he muttered. This is the second day he finished behind schedule and he knew he couldn't get away with a third, he was already struggling to buy food let alone fuel his alcoholism. He wiped his dirty face with an even more dirty cloth, placed it down on the table and lent on the post propping up the sorry excuse for a blacksmith sign. He let the wind gently push his hair back as he closed his eyes and took another deep breath of the smokey polluted air he seemed to spend his life surrounded by. At this rate he won't even be able to afford to stay in the basement of the Crooked Inn that he has been living in for the last 2 months. The innkeeper already wanted him out and she wouldn't accept another half-assed excuse. Dalyn called her "The Rat", Mainly because he never bothered to learn her name but she did have a certain rodent like quality when she has to interact with people.
As the rain began to fade in over the sunset Dalyn heavy handily pushed the broken door of the tavern open and trudged inside trailing mud onto the floorboards making them only slightly less clean. Dalyn both hated and loved this place. Hated it in that he hated every one in there but it was the only place for miles with mead and a place he could forget about the troubles of the living and endure the petty quarrels of other people who are also looking for a refuge from their miserable, bottom of the barrel lives. Even in a town where he felt like he was from a different planet there was still one thing he had in common with every one else... their love for getting senselessly, stupidly and categorically drunk.
The first hour of drinking flew by and the drinks all rolled into one as Dalyn, gulp by gulp, started to lose more and more control of his limbs as the night streamed into one long never ending loop of drink after drink each one seeming more blurred than the last. He took the last swig of ale from the shallow flagon and slammed it onto the table with a satisfying shudder. A loud shudder. Too loud. Turning his head Dalyn noticed a closed fist on the table next to him. The fist was dark with a red ring on the index finger. Dayln's rolled his eyes. He knew what this was about. As quickly as he had finished his last drink another hand jabbed into his neck and he was lifted swiftly to his feet and swung around to find himself face to face with a brute of a man with a jaw line bigger than Dayln's head and an even bigger nose. This man was Barbous. People were too afraid of him to hate him and to cowardly to even look directly at him.
"My money or your life" Barbous growled, his grip tightening harshly around Dalyn's neck before throwing him into the table behind him. Dalyn raised his head to look up at the hulking man towering over him. Of course he didn't have the money. They both knew he didn't, which means this wasn't a collection... it was him coming to beat his payment out in blood. There was a silence in the tavern as people stared on at the situation already knowing the inevitable outcome of the confrontation to come. Dayln had been in his fair share of fights though usually with drunken featherweights unable lift their arms let alone fight with them. This though... this was a different league. Barbous was fully sober and hadn't just been swinging a hammer for 9 hours. Through his blurred vision Dayln could make out Barbous's arms tensing up and his fists closing. He knew if he wanted a hope in hell of coming out of this without his facial features in tact that he would have to make the first hit.
Without thinking Dayln wildly swung his fist in Barbous's general directing shifting all his weight foolishly onto his front foot. Seeing this Barbous reached out and grabbed the stray fist and pulled Dalyn off his balance brought his brooding forehead swiftly into Dalyn's nose. Dayln lost control of all muscles in his legs and drooped to the floor unable to see the ground through the flood of red liquid that had gathered in his eyes rendering his vision useless. feeling two hands wrapped tightly into his leather coat he was hoisted up and helplessly flung into the air.
For a few shot seconds he was floating, unable to see, weightlessly flying. Peaceful. The sound of a crashing sound glass breaking violently alerted him and the thudding pain in his right shoulder told him he had just been thrown through the tavern window. That coupled with the feeling of rain hammering relentlessly into his head made it perfectly clear to him he was now lying, semi conscious outside the tavern unable to move as the blood was washed from his eyes. He lay there, still, for a lifetime, staring into the sky. He didn't belong there. It wasn't right. There is a better life out there somewhere. One where he could learn and thrive. Somewhere where he could start again without the mistakes. Somewhere that just... Different.
As the sun rose on that condemned town Dayln walked out, head on the horizon, looking for somewhere he could finally call home.