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A short, thin man leaned against a table in the tavern’s kitchen, slicing the last of a cucumber before adding the pile of green medallions to a tray already laden with rounds of flat bread, a bowl of seasoned olive oil, and sliced tomatoes. Roasted lamb had been shaved onto the side of the platter and the whole thing was finished with small bowl of mint yogurt. He hefted the tray up onto his shoulder and walked with years of practice around his wife, who bent over another table, kneading dough.
She watched him go, her eyes traveling from his back to the large, open room beyond. Letting the dough rest, she moved to the doorway of the kitchen. From here, she could survey the entire inn’s first floor. Tables skirted the room’s interior, all filled with rowdy, drunk men. Her husband expertly picked his way through the throng, avoiding dropping the tray no matter what mishap attempted to befall him.
Her hand fluttered to her chest and formed a fist as the corners of her mouth turned down. The platter was for a table of almost a dozen men. One of them was impossibly huge but he wasn’t the one she knew to be afraid of. He did as he was told. It was the dark haired one beside him.
With a sharp intake of breath, she darted back into the kitchen. As her eyes had come to rest on him, she’d found him already watching her.
Lukos half grinned to himself and took his portion of bread and meat. She needn’t be afraid. There wasn’t a man alive who would take her except her husband. With as thin and small as the innkeeper was, looking as if he was wasting away, Lukos couldn’t imagine that she had anything to worry about from that quarter either.
Before their meal was over, the whores that frequented the inn had found them. Arktos, the massive man the innkeeper’s wife had noticed first, was led by the hand up the stairs, freeing up enough space that the rest of the men shifted their chairs to fill; now they could comfortably eat. One by one, the men went with this whore or that until only Lukos and two others were left.
The three of them sat in companionable silence, none drunk but on their way to it. They would need to leave soon. When they put into port, none of them stayed off ship. What they came here for was fresh food and women, and the latter were of pitiful stock; all weak and vapid.
Lukos glanced up as someone entered the tavern but his eyes slid away again just as quickly. He didn’t know the man who’d entered and there was little enough interesting about him to warrant further attention. Raising his cup to his mouth, he drained it and set it back on the table before sprawling back and crossing his arms to wait on Arktos and the others to finish.
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This character is currently a work in progress.
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A short, thin man leaned against a table in the tavern’s kitchen, slicing the last of a cucumber before adding the pile of green medallions to a tray already laden with rounds of flat bread, a bowl of seasoned olive oil, and sliced tomatoes. Roasted lamb had been shaved onto the side of the platter and the whole thing was finished with small bowl of mint yogurt. He hefted the tray up onto his shoulder and walked with years of practice around his wife, who bent over another table, kneading dough.
She watched him go, her eyes traveling from his back to the large, open room beyond. Letting the dough rest, she moved to the doorway of the kitchen. From here, she could survey the entire inn’s first floor. Tables skirted the room’s interior, all filled with rowdy, drunk men. Her husband expertly picked his way through the throng, avoiding dropping the tray no matter what mishap attempted to befall him.
Her hand fluttered to her chest and formed a fist as the corners of her mouth turned down. The platter was for a table of almost a dozen men. One of them was impossibly huge but he wasn’t the one she knew to be afraid of. He did as he was told. It was the dark haired one beside him.
With a sharp intake of breath, she darted back into the kitchen. As her eyes had come to rest on him, she’d found him already watching her.
Lukos half grinned to himself and took his portion of bread and meat. She needn’t be afraid. There wasn’t a man alive who would take her except her husband. With as thin and small as the innkeeper was, looking as if he was wasting away, Lukos couldn’t imagine that she had anything to worry about from that quarter either.
Before their meal was over, the whores that frequented the inn had found them. Arktos, the massive man the innkeeper’s wife had noticed first, was led by the hand up the stairs, freeing up enough space that the rest of the men shifted their chairs to fill; now they could comfortably eat. One by one, the men went with this whore or that until only Lukos and two others were left.
The three of them sat in companionable silence, none drunk but on their way to it. They would need to leave soon. When they put into port, none of them stayed off ship. What they came here for was fresh food and women, and the latter were of pitiful stock; all weak and vapid.
Lukos glanced up as someone entered the tavern but his eyes slid away again just as quickly. He didn’t know the man who’d entered and there was little enough interesting about him to warrant further attention. Raising his cup to his mouth, he drained it and set it back on the table before sprawling back and crossing his arms to wait on Arktos and the others to finish.
A short, thin man leaned against a table in the tavern’s kitchen, slicing the last of a cucumber before adding the pile of green medallions to a tray already laden with rounds of flat bread, a bowl of seasoned olive oil, and sliced tomatoes. Roasted lamb had been shaved onto the side of the platter and the whole thing was finished with small bowl of mint yogurt. He hefted the tray up onto his shoulder and walked with years of practice around his wife, who bent over another table, kneading dough.
She watched him go, her eyes traveling from his back to the large, open room beyond. Letting the dough rest, she moved to the doorway of the kitchen. From here, she could survey the entire inn’s first floor. Tables skirted the room’s interior, all filled with rowdy, drunk men. Her husband expertly picked his way through the throng, avoiding dropping the tray no matter what mishap attempted to befall him.
Her hand fluttered to her chest and formed a fist as the corners of her mouth turned down. The platter was for a table of almost a dozen men. One of them was impossibly huge but he wasn’t the one she knew to be afraid of. He did as he was told. It was the dark haired one beside him.
With a sharp intake of breath, she darted back into the kitchen. As her eyes had come to rest on him, she’d found him already watching her.
Lukos half grinned to himself and took his portion of bread and meat. She needn’t be afraid. There wasn’t a man alive who would take her except her husband. With as thin and small as the innkeeper was, looking as if he was wasting away, Lukos couldn’t imagine that she had anything to worry about from that quarter either.
Before their meal was over, the whores that frequented the inn had found them. Arktos, the massive man the innkeeper’s wife had noticed first, was led by the hand up the stairs, freeing up enough space that the rest of the men shifted their chairs to fill; now they could comfortably eat. One by one, the men went with this whore or that until only Lukos and two others were left.
The three of them sat in companionable silence, none drunk but on their way to it. They would need to leave soon. When they put into port, none of them stayed off ship. What they came here for was fresh food and women, and the latter were of pitiful stock; all weak and vapid.
Lukos glanced up as someone entered the tavern but his eyes slid away again just as quickly. He didn’t know the man who’d entered and there was little enough interesting about him to warrant further attention. Raising his cup to his mouth, he drained it and set it back on the table before sprawling back and crossing his arms to wait on Arktos and the others to finish.
His victory in the arena today was bittersweet. While most of his battles these days were for show of strength and splendor, this one had been achingly familiar to him. He’d been just a boy himself when he’d first been thrown in the pit to win or die against another, the man he’d faced today reminded him of that day. Hardly out of his youth, he was big and burly enough to have been a challenge, and the determination in his eyes had signaled the end before it began.
It had been in his plan before the fight to let the boy live, simply draw first blood and allow them both an easy day, but he hadn’t been content. Even after the boy’s blood had spilled the attacks had continued, and to save his own life he’d been forced to cut him down. The hand that had raised in victory shook and he had withdrawn from the arena without a word after collecting his purse.
Demetrius had wandered instead to a tavern, most of the dust and blood from the arena rinsed from him before approaching company. His intent was to take a simple meal, and he gave the innkeeper a nod of greeting, looking about the room for an empty seat though he was just as content to take some bread and stand off in the corner. As he scanned the crowd, his order placed, he caught on a face that struck a chord with his memory. Narrowing his eyes in an attempt not to stare, Dima’s gaze kept flickering back to the dark haired man, wracking the corners of his memory for where the recognition came from.
The watered down wine he’d been handed slipped from his hand, clattering on the floor as he paled. It hit him full on in company of the ghostly screams from the past, smoke acrid burning his nostrils all over again as he gazed on the face of one of the men who’d ruined his life.
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This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
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His victory in the arena today was bittersweet. While most of his battles these days were for show of strength and splendor, this one had been achingly familiar to him. He’d been just a boy himself when he’d first been thrown in the pit to win or die against another, the man he’d faced today reminded him of that day. Hardly out of his youth, he was big and burly enough to have been a challenge, and the determination in his eyes had signaled the end before it began.
It had been in his plan before the fight to let the boy live, simply draw first blood and allow them both an easy day, but he hadn’t been content. Even after the boy’s blood had spilled the attacks had continued, and to save his own life he’d been forced to cut him down. The hand that had raised in victory shook and he had withdrawn from the arena without a word after collecting his purse.
Demetrius had wandered instead to a tavern, most of the dust and blood from the arena rinsed from him before approaching company. His intent was to take a simple meal, and he gave the innkeeper a nod of greeting, looking about the room for an empty seat though he was just as content to take some bread and stand off in the corner. As he scanned the crowd, his order placed, he caught on a face that struck a chord with his memory. Narrowing his eyes in an attempt not to stare, Dima’s gaze kept flickering back to the dark haired man, wracking the corners of his memory for where the recognition came from.
The watered down wine he’d been handed slipped from his hand, clattering on the floor as he paled. It hit him full on in company of the ghostly screams from the past, smoke acrid burning his nostrils all over again as he gazed on the face of one of the men who’d ruined his life.
His victory in the arena today was bittersweet. While most of his battles these days were for show of strength and splendor, this one had been achingly familiar to him. He’d been just a boy himself when he’d first been thrown in the pit to win or die against another, the man he’d faced today reminded him of that day. Hardly out of his youth, he was big and burly enough to have been a challenge, and the determination in his eyes had signaled the end before it began.
It had been in his plan before the fight to let the boy live, simply draw first blood and allow them both an easy day, but he hadn’t been content. Even after the boy’s blood had spilled the attacks had continued, and to save his own life he’d been forced to cut him down. The hand that had raised in victory shook and he had withdrawn from the arena without a word after collecting his purse.
Demetrius had wandered instead to a tavern, most of the dust and blood from the arena rinsed from him before approaching company. His intent was to take a simple meal, and he gave the innkeeper a nod of greeting, looking about the room for an empty seat though he was just as content to take some bread and stand off in the corner. As he scanned the crowd, his order placed, he caught on a face that struck a chord with his memory. Narrowing his eyes in an attempt not to stare, Dima’s gaze kept flickering back to the dark haired man, wracking the corners of his memory for where the recognition came from.
The watered down wine he’d been handed slipped from his hand, clattering on the floor as he paled. It hit him full on in company of the ghostly screams from the past, smoke acrid burning his nostrils all over again as he gazed on the face of one of the men who’d ruined his life.
What might have been a gloomy interior was made bright with a welcoming glow, lit by clay lamps cleverly positioned throughout the room. It was this soft, warm light that tended to make the world seem less depressing. He was comfortable, not paying the least bit of attention as the man fully entered the tavern.
A few times his gaze was drawn to the new comer but he glanced away again. Until they locked eyes a third time. Lukos shifted so that he wasn’t leaning back anymore but sitting upright, still keeping his arms crossed, though leaning forward so his forearms rested on the table. The two men with him, who’d started to sink into conversation about nets, didn’t notice his subtle change in posture. They continued speaking and he mostly listened to their conversation but he didn’t like the way the new comer watched him.
The innkeeper walked over to the young man, who was around his own age, and took his order before disappearing back into the kitchen with his anxious wife. When a few minutes passed and the man did nothing, Lukos sat back a little. This game of catching each other’s glances was getting old and Lukos had a new suspicion that this man might want something else from him. He resolved not to look at him again just in case he decided to make a move toward the table. One of his companions might be interested, but that was their own affair.
Lukos and the others had finished their food by the time the new comer had his wine. Their cups of wine were filled again but Lukos pushed his aside. He glanced up at the ceiling, wondering exactly how much longer Arktos could possible take when the crash of metal rang out through the room.
He looked up to find the young man staring at him, seeming wholly unconcerned with his goblet as it rolled around the floor at his feet. Wine seeped across the ground and into the cracks between the stones, frothy like blood. His face was a pale mask of horror and dawning understanding.
It was an expression that prompted Lukos to his feet.
“You.”
He barely heard the single word but he saw the way it formed on the man’s lips. His own black glare raked the man up and down but he did not find the same familiarity. In fact, he was positive they’d never met before.
This could be someone’s brother, or son.
“Outside!” The thin voice of the innkeeper rasped through the air and the tiny man flung himself between them as though they would fly at each other right then. Even with both arms outstretched, the little innkeeper still wasn’t anywhere close to touching himself or the young man. They were across the room from each other and yet Lukos felt the man’s presence as though they were nose to nose.
“I want no violence here,” the innkeeper continued.
Without a word Lukos reached into his coin bag and dropped several drachma on the table. It was too much for the meal and the whores but he didn’t bother to wait for the innkeeper to give him the proper amount back. Instead he waited as both his crewmates stood. Together, they sauntered around the tables, weaving and staring down any curious looks thrown their way. Lukos, however, kept his gaze locked on the young man.
“Move,” he said, waiting for him to step out of the way so they could get to the door. From the angle they’d come, they would have to pass the offender to leave. Lukos had one hand behind his back, gripping the hilt of a dagger he didn’t particularly want to use at the moment. The night had promised to be so easy. It was looking to be anything but.
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This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
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What might have been a gloomy interior was made bright with a welcoming glow, lit by clay lamps cleverly positioned throughout the room. It was this soft, warm light that tended to make the world seem less depressing. He was comfortable, not paying the least bit of attention as the man fully entered the tavern.
A few times his gaze was drawn to the new comer but he glanced away again. Until they locked eyes a third time. Lukos shifted so that he wasn’t leaning back anymore but sitting upright, still keeping his arms crossed, though leaning forward so his forearms rested on the table. The two men with him, who’d started to sink into conversation about nets, didn’t notice his subtle change in posture. They continued speaking and he mostly listened to their conversation but he didn’t like the way the new comer watched him.
The innkeeper walked over to the young man, who was around his own age, and took his order before disappearing back into the kitchen with his anxious wife. When a few minutes passed and the man did nothing, Lukos sat back a little. This game of catching each other’s glances was getting old and Lukos had a new suspicion that this man might want something else from him. He resolved not to look at him again just in case he decided to make a move toward the table. One of his companions might be interested, but that was their own affair.
Lukos and the others had finished their food by the time the new comer had his wine. Their cups of wine were filled again but Lukos pushed his aside. He glanced up at the ceiling, wondering exactly how much longer Arktos could possible take when the crash of metal rang out through the room.
He looked up to find the young man staring at him, seeming wholly unconcerned with his goblet as it rolled around the floor at his feet. Wine seeped across the ground and into the cracks between the stones, frothy like blood. His face was a pale mask of horror and dawning understanding.
It was an expression that prompted Lukos to his feet.
“You.”
He barely heard the single word but he saw the way it formed on the man’s lips. His own black glare raked the man up and down but he did not find the same familiarity. In fact, he was positive they’d never met before.
This could be someone’s brother, or son.
“Outside!” The thin voice of the innkeeper rasped through the air and the tiny man flung himself between them as though they would fly at each other right then. Even with both arms outstretched, the little innkeeper still wasn’t anywhere close to touching himself or the young man. They were across the room from each other and yet Lukos felt the man’s presence as though they were nose to nose.
“I want no violence here,” the innkeeper continued.
Without a word Lukos reached into his coin bag and dropped several drachma on the table. It was too much for the meal and the whores but he didn’t bother to wait for the innkeeper to give him the proper amount back. Instead he waited as both his crewmates stood. Together, they sauntered around the tables, weaving and staring down any curious looks thrown their way. Lukos, however, kept his gaze locked on the young man.
“Move,” he said, waiting for him to step out of the way so they could get to the door. From the angle they’d come, they would have to pass the offender to leave. Lukos had one hand behind his back, gripping the hilt of a dagger he didn’t particularly want to use at the moment. The night had promised to be so easy. It was looking to be anything but.
What might have been a gloomy interior was made bright with a welcoming glow, lit by clay lamps cleverly positioned throughout the room. It was this soft, warm light that tended to make the world seem less depressing. He was comfortable, not paying the least bit of attention as the man fully entered the tavern.
A few times his gaze was drawn to the new comer but he glanced away again. Until they locked eyes a third time. Lukos shifted so that he wasn’t leaning back anymore but sitting upright, still keeping his arms crossed, though leaning forward so his forearms rested on the table. The two men with him, who’d started to sink into conversation about nets, didn’t notice his subtle change in posture. They continued speaking and he mostly listened to their conversation but he didn’t like the way the new comer watched him.
The innkeeper walked over to the young man, who was around his own age, and took his order before disappearing back into the kitchen with his anxious wife. When a few minutes passed and the man did nothing, Lukos sat back a little. This game of catching each other’s glances was getting old and Lukos had a new suspicion that this man might want something else from him. He resolved not to look at him again just in case he decided to make a move toward the table. One of his companions might be interested, but that was their own affair.
Lukos and the others had finished their food by the time the new comer had his wine. Their cups of wine were filled again but Lukos pushed his aside. He glanced up at the ceiling, wondering exactly how much longer Arktos could possible take when the crash of metal rang out through the room.
He looked up to find the young man staring at him, seeming wholly unconcerned with his goblet as it rolled around the floor at his feet. Wine seeped across the ground and into the cracks between the stones, frothy like blood. His face was a pale mask of horror and dawning understanding.
It was an expression that prompted Lukos to his feet.
“You.”
He barely heard the single word but he saw the way it formed on the man’s lips. His own black glare raked the man up and down but he did not find the same familiarity. In fact, he was positive they’d never met before.
This could be someone’s brother, or son.
“Outside!” The thin voice of the innkeeper rasped through the air and the tiny man flung himself between them as though they would fly at each other right then. Even with both arms outstretched, the little innkeeper still wasn’t anywhere close to touching himself or the young man. They were across the room from each other and yet Lukos felt the man’s presence as though they were nose to nose.
“I want no violence here,” the innkeeper continued.
Without a word Lukos reached into his coin bag and dropped several drachma on the table. It was too much for the meal and the whores but he didn’t bother to wait for the innkeeper to give him the proper amount back. Instead he waited as both his crewmates stood. Together, they sauntered around the tables, weaving and staring down any curious looks thrown their way. Lukos, however, kept his gaze locked on the young man.
“Move,” he said, waiting for him to step out of the way so they could get to the door. From the angle they’d come, they would have to pass the offender to leave. Lukos had one hand behind his back, gripping the hilt of a dagger he didn’t particularly want to use at the moment. The night had promised to be so easy. It was looking to be anything but.
Dima found it hard to breathe as he stared at the man who had cause such pain. The look of terror on the faces of his mother and brother, the agony in his father's eyes as the sword was twisted in his gut. He had seen both of his parents killed before his eyes, and yet this man seemed not to recognize him. That was perhaps the worst of all, the knowledge that he was just one more in many whom had been harmed, murdered, or betrayed by the dark haired man. There had been others of course, their force had overwhelmed the tiny village by the sea too easily, but this one was before him and he had too much built up to let this opportunity fly.
Words fell on deaf ears as the innkeeper jumped between them, trying in his meagre way to prevent the violence that would inevitably fall. The air felt thick and hot around him and every hair seemed to stand on end as he reached for his hip, longing for his double swords and finding only a dagger. It wouldn't be the way this man deserved to meet his end, but so long as he could harm no one else it didn't matter. He didn't deserve a glorious or courteous death. If his father, uncles, neighbors, and friends had not been allowed dignity, never should this man get it.
His advantage stood in the fact that he held a place closest to the door. The other men were bigger but he had no quarrel with them. Only the one who appeared to lead them. Dagger drawn, Demetrius' face twisted into a snarl as he stood his ground, prepared to go over or around the innkeeper if the frail man didn't move from between him and his prey.
"Novocerkassk. Sixteen years ago."
He spat out the word that he'd only heard spoken by the Greeks, perhaps that would give him some sort of understanding. His people had no name for the land they came from, only that they were Cimmerians who moved from place to place, a nomadic tribe, but some had settled by the sea, and that had been their fatal mistake. The screams filled his ears again though he knew only he could hear them, and his shoulder ached from where it had nearly been twisted from the socket as he was dragged away, taken with the women and young deemed fit to be used elsewhere.
Dima was coiled tight, ready to spring. All of his years in the arena, survival instinct and the grudge held had kept him alive, ready for this moment. He couldn't move and let the man out into the open where he could escape. This had to end, here and now. It took a fraction of a second before he leapt, shoving at anyone in his way, desperate to sink his weapon into any available flesh that he could. One would be down, and he could finally begin to heal.
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This character is currently a work in progress.
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Dima found it hard to breathe as he stared at the man who had cause such pain. The look of terror on the faces of his mother and brother, the agony in his father's eyes as the sword was twisted in his gut. He had seen both of his parents killed before his eyes, and yet this man seemed not to recognize him. That was perhaps the worst of all, the knowledge that he was just one more in many whom had been harmed, murdered, or betrayed by the dark haired man. There had been others of course, their force had overwhelmed the tiny village by the sea too easily, but this one was before him and he had too much built up to let this opportunity fly.
Words fell on deaf ears as the innkeeper jumped between them, trying in his meagre way to prevent the violence that would inevitably fall. The air felt thick and hot around him and every hair seemed to stand on end as he reached for his hip, longing for his double swords and finding only a dagger. It wouldn't be the way this man deserved to meet his end, but so long as he could harm no one else it didn't matter. He didn't deserve a glorious or courteous death. If his father, uncles, neighbors, and friends had not been allowed dignity, never should this man get it.
His advantage stood in the fact that he held a place closest to the door. The other men were bigger but he had no quarrel with them. Only the one who appeared to lead them. Dagger drawn, Demetrius' face twisted into a snarl as he stood his ground, prepared to go over or around the innkeeper if the frail man didn't move from between him and his prey.
"Novocerkassk. Sixteen years ago."
He spat out the word that he'd only heard spoken by the Greeks, perhaps that would give him some sort of understanding. His people had no name for the land they came from, only that they were Cimmerians who moved from place to place, a nomadic tribe, but some had settled by the sea, and that had been their fatal mistake. The screams filled his ears again though he knew only he could hear them, and his shoulder ached from where it had nearly been twisted from the socket as he was dragged away, taken with the women and young deemed fit to be used elsewhere.
Dima was coiled tight, ready to spring. All of his years in the arena, survival instinct and the grudge held had kept him alive, ready for this moment. He couldn't move and let the man out into the open where he could escape. This had to end, here and now. It took a fraction of a second before he leapt, shoving at anyone in his way, desperate to sink his weapon into any available flesh that he could. One would be down, and he could finally begin to heal.
Dima found it hard to breathe as he stared at the man who had cause such pain. The look of terror on the faces of his mother and brother, the agony in his father's eyes as the sword was twisted in his gut. He had seen both of his parents killed before his eyes, and yet this man seemed not to recognize him. That was perhaps the worst of all, the knowledge that he was just one more in many whom had been harmed, murdered, or betrayed by the dark haired man. There had been others of course, their force had overwhelmed the tiny village by the sea too easily, but this one was before him and he had too much built up to let this opportunity fly.
Words fell on deaf ears as the innkeeper jumped between them, trying in his meagre way to prevent the violence that would inevitably fall. The air felt thick and hot around him and every hair seemed to stand on end as he reached for his hip, longing for his double swords and finding only a dagger. It wouldn't be the way this man deserved to meet his end, but so long as he could harm no one else it didn't matter. He didn't deserve a glorious or courteous death. If his father, uncles, neighbors, and friends had not been allowed dignity, never should this man get it.
His advantage stood in the fact that he held a place closest to the door. The other men were bigger but he had no quarrel with them. Only the one who appeared to lead them. Dagger drawn, Demetrius' face twisted into a snarl as he stood his ground, prepared to go over or around the innkeeper if the frail man didn't move from between him and his prey.
"Novocerkassk. Sixteen years ago."
He spat out the word that he'd only heard spoken by the Greeks, perhaps that would give him some sort of understanding. His people had no name for the land they came from, only that they were Cimmerians who moved from place to place, a nomadic tribe, but some had settled by the sea, and that had been their fatal mistake. The screams filled his ears again though he knew only he could hear them, and his shoulder ached from where it had nearly been twisted from the socket as he was dragged away, taken with the women and young deemed fit to be used elsewhere.
Dima was coiled tight, ready to spring. All of his years in the arena, survival instinct and the grudge held had kept him alive, ready for this moment. He couldn't move and let the man out into the open where he could escape. This had to end, here and now. It took a fraction of a second before he leapt, shoving at anyone in his way, desperate to sink his weapon into any available flesh that he could. One would be down, and he could finally begin to heal.
Dark eyes searched the man’s face again but still he did not recognize him, which was hardly surprising. He never took the time to get to know any of the slaves he took and why would he? The same had been done to him and he did no worse to others, likely this man in front of him.
"Novocerkassk. Sixteen years ago."
The vehemence of the word didn’t phase him. Lukos narrowed his eyes as a sardonic smile tugged at his lips. “Is that supposed to mean something?” His tone mocked and the arch in eye eyebrow dared a retort. He’d been in the trade since he was 8 years old, and actively participating from 12. There were too many ports and too many villages for him to remember their names. Some stood out, but most blended together in a horrible blur that he was content to let rest in the past.
Of one thing he was sure, if this man was a slave he’d sold, it wasn’t any time recently. More likely this was someone he’d left alive who’d come for vengeance, needing to find absolution for his loved one. This was precisely why he had his scribe, Bianor, write names down. If this man wanted, he’d offer to bring back his family member; for a price.
Before Lukos could offer to do this, he saw the man tense right before he jumped. Silver flashed across his vision. He leaped back, feeling the rush of air across his chest as the blade missed him by less than an inch. Within seconds his own blade was drawn.
He didn’t wait for the young man to recover his balance. Rearing back, he lashed out with his boot, intending to slam it into the man’s leg to lame him. At the same time, he kept his dagger ready to deflect any counter attack the man might try.
One of his men darted up the stairs, yelling for Arktos and the others. This left the other one to lean against the door, barring anyone from running out to get the guards. The innkeeper had ducked out of the way just in time. He and his wife stood helplessly in the kitchen entry, staring at the pirate captain and the stranger. The other patrons were on their feet but no one approached the knife fight. Instead they’d all withdrawn to a corner to watch in morbid fascination.
Above them on the second floor, the pirate was getting nowhere with trying to rouse the rest of the crew who'd come with them. Their whores, not content until they'd made all the money they could, only moaned louder to cover the man's desperate attempts to draw them out and alert them to the captain's trouble.
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Dark eyes searched the man’s face again but still he did not recognize him, which was hardly surprising. He never took the time to get to know any of the slaves he took and why would he? The same had been done to him and he did no worse to others, likely this man in front of him.
"Novocerkassk. Sixteen years ago."
The vehemence of the word didn’t phase him. Lukos narrowed his eyes as a sardonic smile tugged at his lips. “Is that supposed to mean something?” His tone mocked and the arch in eye eyebrow dared a retort. He’d been in the trade since he was 8 years old, and actively participating from 12. There were too many ports and too many villages for him to remember their names. Some stood out, but most blended together in a horrible blur that he was content to let rest in the past.
Of one thing he was sure, if this man was a slave he’d sold, it wasn’t any time recently. More likely this was someone he’d left alive who’d come for vengeance, needing to find absolution for his loved one. This was precisely why he had his scribe, Bianor, write names down. If this man wanted, he’d offer to bring back his family member; for a price.
Before Lukos could offer to do this, he saw the man tense right before he jumped. Silver flashed across his vision. He leaped back, feeling the rush of air across his chest as the blade missed him by less than an inch. Within seconds his own blade was drawn.
He didn’t wait for the young man to recover his balance. Rearing back, he lashed out with his boot, intending to slam it into the man’s leg to lame him. At the same time, he kept his dagger ready to deflect any counter attack the man might try.
One of his men darted up the stairs, yelling for Arktos and the others. This left the other one to lean against the door, barring anyone from running out to get the guards. The innkeeper had ducked out of the way just in time. He and his wife stood helplessly in the kitchen entry, staring at the pirate captain and the stranger. The other patrons were on their feet but no one approached the knife fight. Instead they’d all withdrawn to a corner to watch in morbid fascination.
Above them on the second floor, the pirate was getting nowhere with trying to rouse the rest of the crew who'd come with them. Their whores, not content until they'd made all the money they could, only moaned louder to cover the man's desperate attempts to draw them out and alert them to the captain's trouble.
Dark eyes searched the man’s face again but still he did not recognize him, which was hardly surprising. He never took the time to get to know any of the slaves he took and why would he? The same had been done to him and he did no worse to others, likely this man in front of him.
"Novocerkassk. Sixteen years ago."
The vehemence of the word didn’t phase him. Lukos narrowed his eyes as a sardonic smile tugged at his lips. “Is that supposed to mean something?” His tone mocked and the arch in eye eyebrow dared a retort. He’d been in the trade since he was 8 years old, and actively participating from 12. There were too many ports and too many villages for him to remember their names. Some stood out, but most blended together in a horrible blur that he was content to let rest in the past.
Of one thing he was sure, if this man was a slave he’d sold, it wasn’t any time recently. More likely this was someone he’d left alive who’d come for vengeance, needing to find absolution for his loved one. This was precisely why he had his scribe, Bianor, write names down. If this man wanted, he’d offer to bring back his family member; for a price.
Before Lukos could offer to do this, he saw the man tense right before he jumped. Silver flashed across his vision. He leaped back, feeling the rush of air across his chest as the blade missed him by less than an inch. Within seconds his own blade was drawn.
He didn’t wait for the young man to recover his balance. Rearing back, he lashed out with his boot, intending to slam it into the man’s leg to lame him. At the same time, he kept his dagger ready to deflect any counter attack the man might try.
One of his men darted up the stairs, yelling for Arktos and the others. This left the other one to lean against the door, barring anyone from running out to get the guards. The innkeeper had ducked out of the way just in time. He and his wife stood helplessly in the kitchen entry, staring at the pirate captain and the stranger. The other patrons were on their feet but no one approached the knife fight. Instead they’d all withdrawn to a corner to watch in morbid fascination.
Above them on the second floor, the pirate was getting nowhere with trying to rouse the rest of the crew who'd come with them. Their whores, not content until they'd made all the money they could, only moaned louder to cover the man's desperate attempts to draw them out and alert them to the captain's trouble.
"It means everything."
He spat out the words before he leapt, knowing the man was likely just goading him on. Surely no one could be so horrible as to completely forget every single village they'd terrorized, but then the echoes of screams filled his memory and he snarled in fury. Even if this was not the man who'd commanded it, and surely he was one of the younger on board at the time, even if he had not been the one who carried out the....horrors...he had been part of it. He hadn't stopped them. He hadn't helped Olena. No one had. Because this world was determined to be cruel and taunt him at every corner with hope only to snatch it away. Every time he saw a glimpse of red hair, every moment he saw a man who he thought could be tall enough to be his brother, every vague feature that he hoped would sharpen in recognition, it was all because of the man in front of him in this moment.
The knife had been close, so close he could feel the heat from the other man as he turned himself to so very narrowly avoid the kick that had been aimed at him, tumbling off balance instead into one of the tables and trying to catch his breath. It was coming now in short gasps of rage, his mind and body focused solely on revenge.
"You burned...everything...she was only a child and you.."
Demetrius growled again, trying to fight back the tears that threatened as he pressed away the memory of Olena screaming, calling out his name as he threw himself against everything that bound him trying to help her. Only fourteen, and ruined. Who knew if she had survived long after that, he hadn't ever heard of her after that, only glimpses and hope in the dark.
The man was ready for a fight now, with his own knife withdrawn in preparation for a counter attack. It felt as if all of the training, all of the battles and fighting he had done in the arena was leading him up to this moment. Shifting back to his feet, Dima kicked off the table and all but launched himself through the air, this time trying to land his dagger somewhere in the man's stomach or hip, trying to take him down so that he was less a threat. If he showed any sign of recognition, of knowing where they were, he might keep him alive long enough to gain that information, but if he continued to play ignorant the blood would spill hot and fast on this very floor.
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"It means everything."
He spat out the words before he leapt, knowing the man was likely just goading him on. Surely no one could be so horrible as to completely forget every single village they'd terrorized, but then the echoes of screams filled his memory and he snarled in fury. Even if this was not the man who'd commanded it, and surely he was one of the younger on board at the time, even if he had not been the one who carried out the....horrors...he had been part of it. He hadn't stopped them. He hadn't helped Olena. No one had. Because this world was determined to be cruel and taunt him at every corner with hope only to snatch it away. Every time he saw a glimpse of red hair, every moment he saw a man who he thought could be tall enough to be his brother, every vague feature that he hoped would sharpen in recognition, it was all because of the man in front of him in this moment.
The knife had been close, so close he could feel the heat from the other man as he turned himself to so very narrowly avoid the kick that had been aimed at him, tumbling off balance instead into one of the tables and trying to catch his breath. It was coming now in short gasps of rage, his mind and body focused solely on revenge.
"You burned...everything...she was only a child and you.."
Demetrius growled again, trying to fight back the tears that threatened as he pressed away the memory of Olena screaming, calling out his name as he threw himself against everything that bound him trying to help her. Only fourteen, and ruined. Who knew if she had survived long after that, he hadn't ever heard of her after that, only glimpses and hope in the dark.
The man was ready for a fight now, with his own knife withdrawn in preparation for a counter attack. It felt as if all of the training, all of the battles and fighting he had done in the arena was leading him up to this moment. Shifting back to his feet, Dima kicked off the table and all but launched himself through the air, this time trying to land his dagger somewhere in the man's stomach or hip, trying to take him down so that he was less a threat. If he showed any sign of recognition, of knowing where they were, he might keep him alive long enough to gain that information, but if he continued to play ignorant the blood would spill hot and fast on this very floor.
"It means everything."
He spat out the words before he leapt, knowing the man was likely just goading him on. Surely no one could be so horrible as to completely forget every single village they'd terrorized, but then the echoes of screams filled his memory and he snarled in fury. Even if this was not the man who'd commanded it, and surely he was one of the younger on board at the time, even if he had not been the one who carried out the....horrors...he had been part of it. He hadn't stopped them. He hadn't helped Olena. No one had. Because this world was determined to be cruel and taunt him at every corner with hope only to snatch it away. Every time he saw a glimpse of red hair, every moment he saw a man who he thought could be tall enough to be his brother, every vague feature that he hoped would sharpen in recognition, it was all because of the man in front of him in this moment.
The knife had been close, so close he could feel the heat from the other man as he turned himself to so very narrowly avoid the kick that had been aimed at him, tumbling off balance instead into one of the tables and trying to catch his breath. It was coming now in short gasps of rage, his mind and body focused solely on revenge.
"You burned...everything...she was only a child and you.."
Demetrius growled again, trying to fight back the tears that threatened as he pressed away the memory of Olena screaming, calling out his name as he threw himself against everything that bound him trying to help her. Only fourteen, and ruined. Who knew if she had survived long after that, he hadn't ever heard of her after that, only glimpses and hope in the dark.
The man was ready for a fight now, with his own knife withdrawn in preparation for a counter attack. It felt as if all of the training, all of the battles and fighting he had done in the arena was leading him up to this moment. Shifting back to his feet, Dima kicked off the table and all but launched himself through the air, this time trying to land his dagger somewhere in the man's stomach or hip, trying to take him down so that he was less a threat. If he showed any sign of recognition, of knowing where they were, he might keep him alive long enough to gain that information, but if he continued to play ignorant the blood would spill hot and fast on this very floor.
The muscles of his body tensed, ready to react to another attack. It didn’t come immediately. Instead, the man looked to be in agonized fury. Lukos narrowed his eyes as he looked the man over in the intervening moments as the man spoke again.
"You burned...everything...she was only a child and you.."
Burned? He hadn’t burned any village in a long time. His mind spun away without consent to the last time a village had been burned under his command. There’d been precious little of those and certainly of any village he had ordered burned, no little children were taken.
Lukos frowned.
He couldn’t know what this man was thinking; what horrors he saw that were as fresh today as they had been however long ago. All he knew was that this was not a game and that this man was deadly serious. To pick a fight with the guards so close was a move only the desperate would make.
“What children?” It was becoming clearer all the time that this man had him confused with someone else. “I don’t deal in children.” He didn’t get a chance to say more. The man launched at him, swiping his blade, aiming for vital organs. It would be a slow, gruesome death that would take days to succumb to.
“Back off,” Lukos snarled, twisting away to the side and letting his opponent sail past him. He drove the butt of his dagger down, trying to catch the back of the man’s head. The move would send him sprawling if it worked. “I don’t handle children,” he repeated, as though that would settle this whole misunderstanding.
This was out of hand. Not only would he not be able to come back here for a long while because of this fool, likely he wouldn’t be able to show his face in this part of the city without the guard being called. Some serious gold would cover the damage to his peaceable reputation but after this? Athenia wasn’t known as a hotbed of trouble but for him, at least, it was seeming to be.
He glanced at the innkeeper and the innkeeper’s wife. The two of them shrank fully into the kitchen, now peering out from a small hole in the wall that served as a kind of window. The drachma he’d dropped on the table before was still there. No one apart from himself and this idiot had moved during the fight. Pity.
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The muscles of his body tensed, ready to react to another attack. It didn’t come immediately. Instead, the man looked to be in agonized fury. Lukos narrowed his eyes as he looked the man over in the intervening moments as the man spoke again.
"You burned...everything...she was only a child and you.."
Burned? He hadn’t burned any village in a long time. His mind spun away without consent to the last time a village had been burned under his command. There’d been precious little of those and certainly of any village he had ordered burned, no little children were taken.
Lukos frowned.
He couldn’t know what this man was thinking; what horrors he saw that were as fresh today as they had been however long ago. All he knew was that this was not a game and that this man was deadly serious. To pick a fight with the guards so close was a move only the desperate would make.
“What children?” It was becoming clearer all the time that this man had him confused with someone else. “I don’t deal in children.” He didn’t get a chance to say more. The man launched at him, swiping his blade, aiming for vital organs. It would be a slow, gruesome death that would take days to succumb to.
“Back off,” Lukos snarled, twisting away to the side and letting his opponent sail past him. He drove the butt of his dagger down, trying to catch the back of the man’s head. The move would send him sprawling if it worked. “I don’t handle children,” he repeated, as though that would settle this whole misunderstanding.
This was out of hand. Not only would he not be able to come back here for a long while because of this fool, likely he wouldn’t be able to show his face in this part of the city without the guard being called. Some serious gold would cover the damage to his peaceable reputation but after this? Athenia wasn’t known as a hotbed of trouble but for him, at least, it was seeming to be.
He glanced at the innkeeper and the innkeeper’s wife. The two of them shrank fully into the kitchen, now peering out from a small hole in the wall that served as a kind of window. The drachma he’d dropped on the table before was still there. No one apart from himself and this idiot had moved during the fight. Pity.
The muscles of his body tensed, ready to react to another attack. It didn’t come immediately. Instead, the man looked to be in agonized fury. Lukos narrowed his eyes as he looked the man over in the intervening moments as the man spoke again.
"You burned...everything...she was only a child and you.."
Burned? He hadn’t burned any village in a long time. His mind spun away without consent to the last time a village had been burned under his command. There’d been precious little of those and certainly of any village he had ordered burned, no little children were taken.
Lukos frowned.
He couldn’t know what this man was thinking; what horrors he saw that were as fresh today as they had been however long ago. All he knew was that this was not a game and that this man was deadly serious. To pick a fight with the guards so close was a move only the desperate would make.
“What children?” It was becoming clearer all the time that this man had him confused with someone else. “I don’t deal in children.” He didn’t get a chance to say more. The man launched at him, swiping his blade, aiming for vital organs. It would be a slow, gruesome death that would take days to succumb to.
“Back off,” Lukos snarled, twisting away to the side and letting his opponent sail past him. He drove the butt of his dagger down, trying to catch the back of the man’s head. The move would send him sprawling if it worked. “I don’t handle children,” he repeated, as though that would settle this whole misunderstanding.
This was out of hand. Not only would he not be able to come back here for a long while because of this fool, likely he wouldn’t be able to show his face in this part of the city without the guard being called. Some serious gold would cover the damage to his peaceable reputation but after this? Athenia wasn’t known as a hotbed of trouble but for him, at least, it was seeming to be.
He glanced at the innkeeper and the innkeeper’s wife. The two of them shrank fully into the kitchen, now peering out from a small hole in the wall that served as a kind of window. The drachma he’d dropped on the table before was still there. No one apart from himself and this idiot had moved during the fight. Pity.
”You had no trouble dealing in her on your captains orders. You were thrilled to play with the pretty redhead.”
Dima spat out the words, feeling sick as he remembered that night with horrific clarity. His brother had held him back and tried to block the sounds from their ears, but her screams of his name, begging for help had filtered through anyway. And there had been nothing he could do. Still there was nothing he could do. Except kill the man who’d done this to her.
That rage launched him once more, motivating his blind attempts to murder the offender. This time though the other man’s blow struck and he stumbled forward, landing harshly on his knees and palms and sending his dagger skittering and the man scrambling after it. He turned over as soon as it was once more in his grasp, glaring up at the pirate. It didn’t matter what he did now, or how honest his trade. It was what was past that launched Demetrius from his crouched position to try and attack again, this time not just swinging the blade but trying to grab on to the man and drive the blade up through his heart.
If this blow landed true he could look into his eyes as the life drained from him, and try to twist the knife even deeper as a result. It didn’t matter to him how quickly it was done, just that it was finished. After the fall he felt slower though, and the fights from the arena were catching up to his body and mind, adrenaline and anger driving all of his energy now.
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”You had no trouble dealing in her on your captains orders. You were thrilled to play with the pretty redhead.”
Dima spat out the words, feeling sick as he remembered that night with horrific clarity. His brother had held him back and tried to block the sounds from their ears, but her screams of his name, begging for help had filtered through anyway. And there had been nothing he could do. Still there was nothing he could do. Except kill the man who’d done this to her.
That rage launched him once more, motivating his blind attempts to murder the offender. This time though the other man’s blow struck and he stumbled forward, landing harshly on his knees and palms and sending his dagger skittering and the man scrambling after it. He turned over as soon as it was once more in his grasp, glaring up at the pirate. It didn’t matter what he did now, or how honest his trade. It was what was past that launched Demetrius from his crouched position to try and attack again, this time not just swinging the blade but trying to grab on to the man and drive the blade up through his heart.
If this blow landed true he could look into his eyes as the life drained from him, and try to twist the knife even deeper as a result. It didn’t matter to him how quickly it was done, just that it was finished. After the fall he felt slower though, and the fights from the arena were catching up to his body and mind, adrenaline and anger driving all of his energy now.
”You had no trouble dealing in her on your captains orders. You were thrilled to play with the pretty redhead.”
Dima spat out the words, feeling sick as he remembered that night with horrific clarity. His brother had held him back and tried to block the sounds from their ears, but her screams of his name, begging for help had filtered through anyway. And there had been nothing he could do. Still there was nothing he could do. Except kill the man who’d done this to her.
That rage launched him once more, motivating his blind attempts to murder the offender. This time though the other man’s blow struck and he stumbled forward, landing harshly on his knees and palms and sending his dagger skittering and the man scrambling after it. He turned over as soon as it was once more in his grasp, glaring up at the pirate. It didn’t matter what he did now, or how honest his trade. It was what was past that launched Demetrius from his crouched position to try and attack again, this time not just swinging the blade but trying to grab on to the man and drive the blade up through his heart.
If this blow landed true he could look into his eyes as the life drained from him, and try to twist the knife even deeper as a result. It didn’t matter to him how quickly it was done, just that it was finished. After the fall he felt slower though, and the fights from the arena were catching up to his body and mind, adrenaline and anger driving all of his energy now.
Red hair? The first inklings of memories rose up. Precious few people had red hair and only one he could remember having any sort of meaningful contact with. He still didn’t recognize this man, but he knew who he was now.
“Still got a flame for her?” he taunted, a wicked grin splitting his lips. Cold laughter followed Demetrius as he sprawled across the floor. “She wasn’t a child.” Lukos waited until he had the other man’s attention before he made a lewd gesture designed to infuriate him; make him dizzy with rage, to force a mistake.
Demetrius was wrong about one thing; there had been no play.The ship that haunted this man’s dreams floated placidly in the harbor at this very moment. Some of the same crew who had burned his village to the ground were pleasuring themselves with whores upstairs, though by now he may not recognize them either with the streaks of gray in their hair and beards.
Lukos glared, watching Demetrius’s knife skitter away in a spinning blur of silver. These were old sins. Very old. A smirk escaped as Demetrius’s hand closed around the dagger’s hilt. Taking a step back, he watched with keen interest as the other man flipped over and sprang up from the floor with impressive speed.
Lethal hands reached for him. He leaped back, slamming against a table. It toppled as he climbed blindly over it, backwards like a cornered dog, his black eyes ever on the blade. The stone wall of the tavern halted his progress. He smiled, still goading Demetrius, trying to off balance him.
“She was pretty, wasn’t she?” He didn’t remember her face but he remembered her hair. The way it’s silky smoothness felt between his fingers, hard to hold onto as his captain shoved her against him. She’d trembled in his arms, pressing into him as the captain leered down at her. A 17 year old boy wasn’t nearly as frightening as a garrish pirate somewhere in his upper fifties.
“She smelled sweet when I took her.” She hadn’t. Her hair held the odor of charred wood. Sweat made her damp clothes stick to her skin. With the order to rape her, he’d felt his stomach twist into a hard knot. This wasn’t the first time this order had been given and it was done as much to torture the victim as to ensure that the crew was properly invested in their crimes.
The captain had always taken a special interest in him, he liked to needle him, push him. He’d stolen him and a few other children, whittling them down until they were hard and mean or died in the process. Only Lukos survived past fifteen and it was because he’d lost the fear of letting go completely to become vicious. Whatever atrocity was ordered, he would perform whether it made him physically ill inside or not.
“You’re Demetrius, aren’t you?” The name suddenly came to him. “She cried for you.” His name rent from her lips as a scream at first, then choked, then a guttural moan as she finally slumped limp against the wall. He’d stopped after that, unwilling to keep going once the captain had left the room. The captain had satisfied himself that she was broken and his rabid dog was still as obedient as ever.
The knife arced in a killing blow. He grit his teeth and drove his fist forward toward Demetrius’s gut. His other hand swung up, hefting his dagger, striking against the other in an effort to guard himself.
Demetrius’s dagger sliced down his chest, biting into the muscle but his dagger prevented the lethal force needed to cut deeper. With the adrenaline coursing through him, he was more aware of the hot blood seeping into his shirt than he was of the pain itself.
The sucker punch he’d aimed at Demetrius’s gut had not been enough to stop the attack completely. He rammed his fist forward again and shoved bodily forward against the tip of the knife, ignoring the pain of metal eating into the sinuous muscles of his chest.
He had to get away from the wall. He would not be beaten by a man so soppily in love with a fantasy. The pretty redhead from the village was dead. She’d died the moment he had hiked up her dress and forced himself inside her as his captain watched from the far end of the room.
It had been ugly. The act was degrading to him and torture for her. He’d learned to detach from the moment, to act and not think. He’d hardly noticed when her muscles tensed or relaxed, the vibration of her body as she cried. It was something he’d practiced not thinking about until he’d managed to forget most of them completely. His captain had ensured that he’d done too much, and had too much done to him in return; he was numb to violence now. It didn’t bother him in the least.
“If you want put out of your misery,” he growled. “I’m happy to assist.”
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Red hair? The first inklings of memories rose up. Precious few people had red hair and only one he could remember having any sort of meaningful contact with. He still didn’t recognize this man, but he knew who he was now.
“Still got a flame for her?” he taunted, a wicked grin splitting his lips. Cold laughter followed Demetrius as he sprawled across the floor. “She wasn’t a child.” Lukos waited until he had the other man’s attention before he made a lewd gesture designed to infuriate him; make him dizzy with rage, to force a mistake.
Demetrius was wrong about one thing; there had been no play.The ship that haunted this man’s dreams floated placidly in the harbor at this very moment. Some of the same crew who had burned his village to the ground were pleasuring themselves with whores upstairs, though by now he may not recognize them either with the streaks of gray in their hair and beards.
Lukos glared, watching Demetrius’s knife skitter away in a spinning blur of silver. These were old sins. Very old. A smirk escaped as Demetrius’s hand closed around the dagger’s hilt. Taking a step back, he watched with keen interest as the other man flipped over and sprang up from the floor with impressive speed.
Lethal hands reached for him. He leaped back, slamming against a table. It toppled as he climbed blindly over it, backwards like a cornered dog, his black eyes ever on the blade. The stone wall of the tavern halted his progress. He smiled, still goading Demetrius, trying to off balance him.
“She was pretty, wasn’t she?” He didn’t remember her face but he remembered her hair. The way it’s silky smoothness felt between his fingers, hard to hold onto as his captain shoved her against him. She’d trembled in his arms, pressing into him as the captain leered down at her. A 17 year old boy wasn’t nearly as frightening as a garrish pirate somewhere in his upper fifties.
“She smelled sweet when I took her.” She hadn’t. Her hair held the odor of charred wood. Sweat made her damp clothes stick to her skin. With the order to rape her, he’d felt his stomach twist into a hard knot. This wasn’t the first time this order had been given and it was done as much to torture the victim as to ensure that the crew was properly invested in their crimes.
The captain had always taken a special interest in him, he liked to needle him, push him. He’d stolen him and a few other children, whittling them down until they were hard and mean or died in the process. Only Lukos survived past fifteen and it was because he’d lost the fear of letting go completely to become vicious. Whatever atrocity was ordered, he would perform whether it made him physically ill inside or not.
“You’re Demetrius, aren’t you?” The name suddenly came to him. “She cried for you.” His name rent from her lips as a scream at first, then choked, then a guttural moan as she finally slumped limp against the wall. He’d stopped after that, unwilling to keep going once the captain had left the room. The captain had satisfied himself that she was broken and his rabid dog was still as obedient as ever.
The knife arced in a killing blow. He grit his teeth and drove his fist forward toward Demetrius’s gut. His other hand swung up, hefting his dagger, striking against the other in an effort to guard himself.
Demetrius’s dagger sliced down his chest, biting into the muscle but his dagger prevented the lethal force needed to cut deeper. With the adrenaline coursing through him, he was more aware of the hot blood seeping into his shirt than he was of the pain itself.
The sucker punch he’d aimed at Demetrius’s gut had not been enough to stop the attack completely. He rammed his fist forward again and shoved bodily forward against the tip of the knife, ignoring the pain of metal eating into the sinuous muscles of his chest.
He had to get away from the wall. He would not be beaten by a man so soppily in love with a fantasy. The pretty redhead from the village was dead. She’d died the moment he had hiked up her dress and forced himself inside her as his captain watched from the far end of the room.
It had been ugly. The act was degrading to him and torture for her. He’d learned to detach from the moment, to act and not think. He’d hardly noticed when her muscles tensed or relaxed, the vibration of her body as she cried. It was something he’d practiced not thinking about until he’d managed to forget most of them completely. His captain had ensured that he’d done too much, and had too much done to him in return; he was numb to violence now. It didn’t bother him in the least.
“If you want put out of your misery,” he growled. “I’m happy to assist.”
Red hair? The first inklings of memories rose up. Precious few people had red hair and only one he could remember having any sort of meaningful contact with. He still didn’t recognize this man, but he knew who he was now.
“Still got a flame for her?” he taunted, a wicked grin splitting his lips. Cold laughter followed Demetrius as he sprawled across the floor. “She wasn’t a child.” Lukos waited until he had the other man’s attention before he made a lewd gesture designed to infuriate him; make him dizzy with rage, to force a mistake.
Demetrius was wrong about one thing; there had been no play.The ship that haunted this man’s dreams floated placidly in the harbor at this very moment. Some of the same crew who had burned his village to the ground were pleasuring themselves with whores upstairs, though by now he may not recognize them either with the streaks of gray in their hair and beards.
Lukos glared, watching Demetrius’s knife skitter away in a spinning blur of silver. These were old sins. Very old. A smirk escaped as Demetrius’s hand closed around the dagger’s hilt. Taking a step back, he watched with keen interest as the other man flipped over and sprang up from the floor with impressive speed.
Lethal hands reached for him. He leaped back, slamming against a table. It toppled as he climbed blindly over it, backwards like a cornered dog, his black eyes ever on the blade. The stone wall of the tavern halted his progress. He smiled, still goading Demetrius, trying to off balance him.
“She was pretty, wasn’t she?” He didn’t remember her face but he remembered her hair. The way it’s silky smoothness felt between his fingers, hard to hold onto as his captain shoved her against him. She’d trembled in his arms, pressing into him as the captain leered down at her. A 17 year old boy wasn’t nearly as frightening as a garrish pirate somewhere in his upper fifties.
“She smelled sweet when I took her.” She hadn’t. Her hair held the odor of charred wood. Sweat made her damp clothes stick to her skin. With the order to rape her, he’d felt his stomach twist into a hard knot. This wasn’t the first time this order had been given and it was done as much to torture the victim as to ensure that the crew was properly invested in their crimes.
The captain had always taken a special interest in him, he liked to needle him, push him. He’d stolen him and a few other children, whittling them down until they were hard and mean or died in the process. Only Lukos survived past fifteen and it was because he’d lost the fear of letting go completely to become vicious. Whatever atrocity was ordered, he would perform whether it made him physically ill inside or not.
“You’re Demetrius, aren’t you?” The name suddenly came to him. “She cried for you.” His name rent from her lips as a scream at first, then choked, then a guttural moan as she finally slumped limp against the wall. He’d stopped after that, unwilling to keep going once the captain had left the room. The captain had satisfied himself that she was broken and his rabid dog was still as obedient as ever.
The knife arced in a killing blow. He grit his teeth and drove his fist forward toward Demetrius’s gut. His other hand swung up, hefting his dagger, striking against the other in an effort to guard himself.
Demetrius’s dagger sliced down his chest, biting into the muscle but his dagger prevented the lethal force needed to cut deeper. With the adrenaline coursing through him, he was more aware of the hot blood seeping into his shirt than he was of the pain itself.
The sucker punch he’d aimed at Demetrius’s gut had not been enough to stop the attack completely. He rammed his fist forward again and shoved bodily forward against the tip of the knife, ignoring the pain of metal eating into the sinuous muscles of his chest.
He had to get away from the wall. He would not be beaten by a man so soppily in love with a fantasy. The pretty redhead from the village was dead. She’d died the moment he had hiked up her dress and forced himself inside her as his captain watched from the far end of the room.
It had been ugly. The act was degrading to him and torture for her. He’d learned to detach from the moment, to act and not think. He’d hardly noticed when her muscles tensed or relaxed, the vibration of her body as she cried. It was something he’d practiced not thinking about until he’d managed to forget most of them completely. His captain had ensured that he’d done too much, and had too much done to him in return; he was numb to violence now. It didn’t bother him in the least.
“If you want put out of your misery,” he growled. “I’m happy to assist.”
He paled, feeling sick as this man finally recognized him. Every word the pirate spoke hurt and he could only hear the blood rushing in his ears, trying to drown out the memory of Olena screaming for him to help her when he could only throw himself against the bars until his brother held him back, all of them sobbing in their own private hell until it was over. Demetrius blocked out what he could now with his own screaming, a war cry as he fell on the pirate and tried to end him, the knife biting into skin far more satisfying than ever it could be.
Instead of falling back like he should have, done the smart thing and gotten out of the way, Dima stayed close and tried to use the full weight of his body to try to force the dagger deep into the offender in every possible angle he could find, flailing every limb to try to cause as much harm and damage to the pirate as he was able to achieve. He would not stop until one of them was dead. There was no point in letting him go injured, no point in doing anything except killing him.
He thought he had the upper hand, any sort of injury he was being dealt felt like nothing in comparison to the rage and adrenaline coursing through him. Nothing would stop him except death, and the offer to be put out of his misery was incredibly tempting, but he wouldn't take it without dragging this man down with him. Nothing else mattered, there was no one else but them and it was going to end here and now in one way or another. In an attempt for power, Demetrius grabbed for the pirate, aiming to throw him out the door and to the ground outside to avoid any excessive bloodshed for the poor innkeeper who was still hiding from their antics. In this moment, it was time to end things.
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He paled, feeling sick as this man finally recognized him. Every word the pirate spoke hurt and he could only hear the blood rushing in his ears, trying to drown out the memory of Olena screaming for him to help her when he could only throw himself against the bars until his brother held him back, all of them sobbing in their own private hell until it was over. Demetrius blocked out what he could now with his own screaming, a war cry as he fell on the pirate and tried to end him, the knife biting into skin far more satisfying than ever it could be.
Instead of falling back like he should have, done the smart thing and gotten out of the way, Dima stayed close and tried to use the full weight of his body to try to force the dagger deep into the offender in every possible angle he could find, flailing every limb to try to cause as much harm and damage to the pirate as he was able to achieve. He would not stop until one of them was dead. There was no point in letting him go injured, no point in doing anything except killing him.
He thought he had the upper hand, any sort of injury he was being dealt felt like nothing in comparison to the rage and adrenaline coursing through him. Nothing would stop him except death, and the offer to be put out of his misery was incredibly tempting, but he wouldn't take it without dragging this man down with him. Nothing else mattered, there was no one else but them and it was going to end here and now in one way or another. In an attempt for power, Demetrius grabbed for the pirate, aiming to throw him out the door and to the ground outside to avoid any excessive bloodshed for the poor innkeeper who was still hiding from their antics. In this moment, it was time to end things.
He paled, feeling sick as this man finally recognized him. Every word the pirate spoke hurt and he could only hear the blood rushing in his ears, trying to drown out the memory of Olena screaming for him to help her when he could only throw himself against the bars until his brother held him back, all of them sobbing in their own private hell until it was over. Demetrius blocked out what he could now with his own screaming, a war cry as he fell on the pirate and tried to end him, the knife biting into skin far more satisfying than ever it could be.
Instead of falling back like he should have, done the smart thing and gotten out of the way, Dima stayed close and tried to use the full weight of his body to try to force the dagger deep into the offender in every possible angle he could find, flailing every limb to try to cause as much harm and damage to the pirate as he was able to achieve. He would not stop until one of them was dead. There was no point in letting him go injured, no point in doing anything except killing him.
He thought he had the upper hand, any sort of injury he was being dealt felt like nothing in comparison to the rage and adrenaline coursing through him. Nothing would stop him except death, and the offer to be put out of his misery was incredibly tempting, but he wouldn't take it without dragging this man down with him. Nothing else mattered, there was no one else but them and it was going to end here and now in one way or another. In an attempt for power, Demetrius grabbed for the pirate, aiming to throw him out the door and to the ground outside to avoid any excessive bloodshed for the poor innkeeper who was still hiding from their antics. In this moment, it was time to end things.
Demetrius’s fist gripped the front of his shirt. All at once, Lukos found himself ripped away from the wall, their positions suddenly reversed. Their bodies pressed together in a tangle of violent jabs of knees and elbows. Lukos grunted as Demetrius shoved him back toward the door and he realized that the other man wanted this to spill into the street. They’d already gotten blood on the floor.
It dripped in macabre artistic circles from where he’d been spun around. Backing away, he shook his head at the other man. No. He would not allow their fight to go into the street where a guard would be called to break them up. They’d be shackled together and tossed into a cell to rot, having each other for company until one or both of them was executed for violent public disturbance.
They feinted at each other before leaping back as the other lashed out. His heart pounded each time the swipe of the blade came too close. The front of his shirt stuck to his chest as a red line seeped into the fabric. Blood tickled down his stomach, distracting him for just a moment. It was the moment that almost ended him. The dagger’s breeze across his face made him leap back, eyes wide.
He stayed just out of Demetrius’s reach as they circled each other around and around the tavern’s interior. Each time he bumped against a table, he shoved it aside, flinging it into Demetrius’s path; anything to buy himself some time to catch his breath. Chairs lay scattered and broken. Splinters of wood bit into his boots. And all the while, he wondered how the rest of his men could not possibly hear the chaos.
The other man appeared wild with rage. Lukos clambered across a toppled table in an effort to keep away. There wasn’t a good opening for him to dart forward, but that meant it was equally difficult for Demetrius to get to him. All this for a girl. He prayed to the gods he’d never be this stupid. No woman was worth it.
At last, he saw his chance. He’d lured the other man close to one of the toppled tables and stood still long enough for the other to take the bait. The wild swing left Demetrius open. Lukos gripped the corner of the table and vaulted himself over, landing just behind Demetrius. His left arm snaked around Demetrius’s chest, locking them together. With his right hand, he plunged his dagger into Demetrius’s stomach.
His jaw clenched. He gritted his teeth and drove the dagger down to the hilt. Tilting his head against Demetrius’s, he pressed his lips to the other man’s ear. “I told you to leave me alone.” His wrist jerked, twisting the knife in the wound. The intent was to destroy the man’s insides. “I’ll see you in Hades.”
He kept his hold on Demetrius for a bit longer. The man’s heart pounded against his arm. As Demetrius’s weight slumped against him, Lukos braced his feet to keep them both upright. “It’s a shame,” the harsh whisper of his voice was for Demetrius alone. “You’re a waste of a great fighter. Too much emotion.”
All at once, he wrenched the dagger out of Demetrius’s abdomen and released his hold. He eased Demetrius to the floor, crouching over him to watch the light in his eyes fade. “You never did find her, did you?” he asked softly. “Let me tell you a little story to take with you over the Styx. After I was done with her, the captain took her into his cabin. I didn’t see her again for days until we docked in Athenia. The Captain took her and the other girls to a brothel.” He patted Demetrius’s stubbled cheek.
“Take my word for it,” he smiled. “They don’t want you after they’ve been whores for a while.” His own captain had sold a girl he’d taken a fancy to out from under him to a brothel as well. He knew the rage Demetrius felt but instead of focusing his life on it, as Demetrius had done, Lukos had successfully killed his captain in revenge and moved on. He was not keen to give Demetrius the same satisfaction at his own expense.
“Captain-”
Lukos glanced over his shoulder. Arktos and the others stared in shock from the stairs. Raising up, Lukos gave Demetrius one last smirk before pushing the table out of the way and moving to the door. “Come on,” he said to the rest of his men. Their whores had the good sense to stay upstairs. “We need to leave.” Before he pushed open the tavern door, he turned, pointing the dripping blade at the innkeeper and his wife. “I trust you’re not stupid enough to send the guard?”
“N-no,” the old man shook his head, quivering.
Without another word, Lukos and his crew left the room.
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Demetrius’s fist gripped the front of his shirt. All at once, Lukos found himself ripped away from the wall, their positions suddenly reversed. Their bodies pressed together in a tangle of violent jabs of knees and elbows. Lukos grunted as Demetrius shoved him back toward the door and he realized that the other man wanted this to spill into the street. They’d already gotten blood on the floor.
It dripped in macabre artistic circles from where he’d been spun around. Backing away, he shook his head at the other man. No. He would not allow their fight to go into the street where a guard would be called to break them up. They’d be shackled together and tossed into a cell to rot, having each other for company until one or both of them was executed for violent public disturbance.
They feinted at each other before leaping back as the other lashed out. His heart pounded each time the swipe of the blade came too close. The front of his shirt stuck to his chest as a red line seeped into the fabric. Blood tickled down his stomach, distracting him for just a moment. It was the moment that almost ended him. The dagger’s breeze across his face made him leap back, eyes wide.
He stayed just out of Demetrius’s reach as they circled each other around and around the tavern’s interior. Each time he bumped against a table, he shoved it aside, flinging it into Demetrius’s path; anything to buy himself some time to catch his breath. Chairs lay scattered and broken. Splinters of wood bit into his boots. And all the while, he wondered how the rest of his men could not possibly hear the chaos.
The other man appeared wild with rage. Lukos clambered across a toppled table in an effort to keep away. There wasn’t a good opening for him to dart forward, but that meant it was equally difficult for Demetrius to get to him. All this for a girl. He prayed to the gods he’d never be this stupid. No woman was worth it.
At last, he saw his chance. He’d lured the other man close to one of the toppled tables and stood still long enough for the other to take the bait. The wild swing left Demetrius open. Lukos gripped the corner of the table and vaulted himself over, landing just behind Demetrius. His left arm snaked around Demetrius’s chest, locking them together. With his right hand, he plunged his dagger into Demetrius’s stomach.
His jaw clenched. He gritted his teeth and drove the dagger down to the hilt. Tilting his head against Demetrius’s, he pressed his lips to the other man’s ear. “I told you to leave me alone.” His wrist jerked, twisting the knife in the wound. The intent was to destroy the man’s insides. “I’ll see you in Hades.”
He kept his hold on Demetrius for a bit longer. The man’s heart pounded against his arm. As Demetrius’s weight slumped against him, Lukos braced his feet to keep them both upright. “It’s a shame,” the harsh whisper of his voice was for Demetrius alone. “You’re a waste of a great fighter. Too much emotion.”
All at once, he wrenched the dagger out of Demetrius’s abdomen and released his hold. He eased Demetrius to the floor, crouching over him to watch the light in his eyes fade. “You never did find her, did you?” he asked softly. “Let me tell you a little story to take with you over the Styx. After I was done with her, the captain took her into his cabin. I didn’t see her again for days until we docked in Athenia. The Captain took her and the other girls to a brothel.” He patted Demetrius’s stubbled cheek.
“Take my word for it,” he smiled. “They don’t want you after they’ve been whores for a while.” His own captain had sold a girl he’d taken a fancy to out from under him to a brothel as well. He knew the rage Demetrius felt but instead of focusing his life on it, as Demetrius had done, Lukos had successfully killed his captain in revenge and moved on. He was not keen to give Demetrius the same satisfaction at his own expense.
“Captain-”
Lukos glanced over his shoulder. Arktos and the others stared in shock from the stairs. Raising up, Lukos gave Demetrius one last smirk before pushing the table out of the way and moving to the door. “Come on,” he said to the rest of his men. Their whores had the good sense to stay upstairs. “We need to leave.” Before he pushed open the tavern door, he turned, pointing the dripping blade at the innkeeper and his wife. “I trust you’re not stupid enough to send the guard?”
“N-no,” the old man shook his head, quivering.
Without another word, Lukos and his crew left the room.
Demetrius’s fist gripped the front of his shirt. All at once, Lukos found himself ripped away from the wall, their positions suddenly reversed. Their bodies pressed together in a tangle of violent jabs of knees and elbows. Lukos grunted as Demetrius shoved him back toward the door and he realized that the other man wanted this to spill into the street. They’d already gotten blood on the floor.
It dripped in macabre artistic circles from where he’d been spun around. Backing away, he shook his head at the other man. No. He would not allow their fight to go into the street where a guard would be called to break them up. They’d be shackled together and tossed into a cell to rot, having each other for company until one or both of them was executed for violent public disturbance.
They feinted at each other before leaping back as the other lashed out. His heart pounded each time the swipe of the blade came too close. The front of his shirt stuck to his chest as a red line seeped into the fabric. Blood tickled down his stomach, distracting him for just a moment. It was the moment that almost ended him. The dagger’s breeze across his face made him leap back, eyes wide.
He stayed just out of Demetrius’s reach as they circled each other around and around the tavern’s interior. Each time he bumped against a table, he shoved it aside, flinging it into Demetrius’s path; anything to buy himself some time to catch his breath. Chairs lay scattered and broken. Splinters of wood bit into his boots. And all the while, he wondered how the rest of his men could not possibly hear the chaos.
The other man appeared wild with rage. Lukos clambered across a toppled table in an effort to keep away. There wasn’t a good opening for him to dart forward, but that meant it was equally difficult for Demetrius to get to him. All this for a girl. He prayed to the gods he’d never be this stupid. No woman was worth it.
At last, he saw his chance. He’d lured the other man close to one of the toppled tables and stood still long enough for the other to take the bait. The wild swing left Demetrius open. Lukos gripped the corner of the table and vaulted himself over, landing just behind Demetrius. His left arm snaked around Demetrius’s chest, locking them together. With his right hand, he plunged his dagger into Demetrius’s stomach.
His jaw clenched. He gritted his teeth and drove the dagger down to the hilt. Tilting his head against Demetrius’s, he pressed his lips to the other man’s ear. “I told you to leave me alone.” His wrist jerked, twisting the knife in the wound. The intent was to destroy the man’s insides. “I’ll see you in Hades.”
He kept his hold on Demetrius for a bit longer. The man’s heart pounded against his arm. As Demetrius’s weight slumped against him, Lukos braced his feet to keep them both upright. “It’s a shame,” the harsh whisper of his voice was for Demetrius alone. “You’re a waste of a great fighter. Too much emotion.”
All at once, he wrenched the dagger out of Demetrius’s abdomen and released his hold. He eased Demetrius to the floor, crouching over him to watch the light in his eyes fade. “You never did find her, did you?” he asked softly. “Let me tell you a little story to take with you over the Styx. After I was done with her, the captain took her into his cabin. I didn’t see her again for days until we docked in Athenia. The Captain took her and the other girls to a brothel.” He patted Demetrius’s stubbled cheek.
“Take my word for it,” he smiled. “They don’t want you after they’ve been whores for a while.” His own captain had sold a girl he’d taken a fancy to out from under him to a brothel as well. He knew the rage Demetrius felt but instead of focusing his life on it, as Demetrius had done, Lukos had successfully killed his captain in revenge and moved on. He was not keen to give Demetrius the same satisfaction at his own expense.
“Captain-”
Lukos glanced over his shoulder. Arktos and the others stared in shock from the stairs. Raising up, Lukos gave Demetrius one last smirk before pushing the table out of the way and moving to the door. “Come on,” he said to the rest of his men. Their whores had the good sense to stay upstairs. “We need to leave.” Before he pushed open the tavern door, he turned, pointing the dripping blade at the innkeeper and his wife. “I trust you’re not stupid enough to send the guard?”
“N-no,” the old man shook his head, quivering.
Without another word, Lukos and his crew left the room.
There was no finesse to his movements now, no elegance or need to get it right. He just had to make sure the pirate died. Kicking at the tables and shards in his way, Demetrius lunged and nearly landed blows a few times, when the knife made connection with his chest on one occasion he gave a victorious shout, though the speed with which the other man moved was irritating. He was accustomed to fighting other gladiators, heavier and meatier men that couldn't move as quickly as he was able to. This pirate though seemed to be similarly built, and the speed for which he was praised in the arena didn't translate well to the crowded in and his pirate opponent.
At last he stood still, long enough that with another cry Demetrius lunged for him in what he thought could be the final moment. Until it was. It happened so quickly he didn't see the other man move, and yet everything after seemed to be in slow motion. Choking on his own surprised gasp, Dima had no choice but to lean heavily against the pirate as the dagger plunged deeper into his stomach and he felt every little twist, every rip of skin and tissue and organ. He didn't have the strength to jerk away from the harsh words whispered in his ear, his own weapon falling from his hands to clatter on the floor.
With an agonized cry the dagger was yanked from him, blood spilling faster now there was nothing to stop it, he clutched at the wound frantically to try to stay the flow. Each word from Lukos felt as if it was another knife plunging into his heart, the knowledge that he'd never heard Olena again because she'd been kept elsewhere, that the girl he'd loved had been sold away to a brothel. Whenever he'd had the chance, he had searched brothels wherever he'd been, asking for anyone with red hair. He'd never even gotten close, and the more time passed the less likely he would ever find her. He knew that now, had always known that the more time passed, the less likely he would find her again. Funny how he was gaining clarity now.
Darkness was fading in on his vision and his breath was labored as he fought against the pain. It must have been he'd lost consciousness because the next thing he knew he was landing on the street, grunting in agony as the men who'd tossed him from the inn left him behind for dead. What little will power he had left was what pulled him along, hoping that if he could get away from here and perhaps to a main street, someone might be able to help him to a healer. But then he thought he heard footsteps and as he looked up, there she was, red hair fanning around her face and all. Shaking her head at him, disappointed? A bloodied hand reached out to try to touch her but before he could say anything the vision had vanished and he fell back on the street, accepting somehow that he was going to die. He could hope that perhaps he would find her in Hades.
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There was no finesse to his movements now, no elegance or need to get it right. He just had to make sure the pirate died. Kicking at the tables and shards in his way, Demetrius lunged and nearly landed blows a few times, when the knife made connection with his chest on one occasion he gave a victorious shout, though the speed with which the other man moved was irritating. He was accustomed to fighting other gladiators, heavier and meatier men that couldn't move as quickly as he was able to. This pirate though seemed to be similarly built, and the speed for which he was praised in the arena didn't translate well to the crowded in and his pirate opponent.
At last he stood still, long enough that with another cry Demetrius lunged for him in what he thought could be the final moment. Until it was. It happened so quickly he didn't see the other man move, and yet everything after seemed to be in slow motion. Choking on his own surprised gasp, Dima had no choice but to lean heavily against the pirate as the dagger plunged deeper into his stomach and he felt every little twist, every rip of skin and tissue and organ. He didn't have the strength to jerk away from the harsh words whispered in his ear, his own weapon falling from his hands to clatter on the floor.
With an agonized cry the dagger was yanked from him, blood spilling faster now there was nothing to stop it, he clutched at the wound frantically to try to stay the flow. Each word from Lukos felt as if it was another knife plunging into his heart, the knowledge that he'd never heard Olena again because she'd been kept elsewhere, that the girl he'd loved had been sold away to a brothel. Whenever he'd had the chance, he had searched brothels wherever he'd been, asking for anyone with red hair. He'd never even gotten close, and the more time passed the less likely he would ever find her. He knew that now, had always known that the more time passed, the less likely he would find her again. Funny how he was gaining clarity now.
Darkness was fading in on his vision and his breath was labored as he fought against the pain. It must have been he'd lost consciousness because the next thing he knew he was landing on the street, grunting in agony as the men who'd tossed him from the inn left him behind for dead. What little will power he had left was what pulled him along, hoping that if he could get away from here and perhaps to a main street, someone might be able to help him to a healer. But then he thought he heard footsteps and as he looked up, there she was, red hair fanning around her face and all. Shaking her head at him, disappointed? A bloodied hand reached out to try to touch her but before he could say anything the vision had vanished and he fell back on the street, accepting somehow that he was going to die. He could hope that perhaps he would find her in Hades.
There was no finesse to his movements now, no elegance or need to get it right. He just had to make sure the pirate died. Kicking at the tables and shards in his way, Demetrius lunged and nearly landed blows a few times, when the knife made connection with his chest on one occasion he gave a victorious shout, though the speed with which the other man moved was irritating. He was accustomed to fighting other gladiators, heavier and meatier men that couldn't move as quickly as he was able to. This pirate though seemed to be similarly built, and the speed for which he was praised in the arena didn't translate well to the crowded in and his pirate opponent.
At last he stood still, long enough that with another cry Demetrius lunged for him in what he thought could be the final moment. Until it was. It happened so quickly he didn't see the other man move, and yet everything after seemed to be in slow motion. Choking on his own surprised gasp, Dima had no choice but to lean heavily against the pirate as the dagger plunged deeper into his stomach and he felt every little twist, every rip of skin and tissue and organ. He didn't have the strength to jerk away from the harsh words whispered in his ear, his own weapon falling from his hands to clatter on the floor.
With an agonized cry the dagger was yanked from him, blood spilling faster now there was nothing to stop it, he clutched at the wound frantically to try to stay the flow. Each word from Lukos felt as if it was another knife plunging into his heart, the knowledge that he'd never heard Olena again because she'd been kept elsewhere, that the girl he'd loved had been sold away to a brothel. Whenever he'd had the chance, he had searched brothels wherever he'd been, asking for anyone with red hair. He'd never even gotten close, and the more time passed the less likely he would ever find her. He knew that now, had always known that the more time passed, the less likely he would find her again. Funny how he was gaining clarity now.
Darkness was fading in on his vision and his breath was labored as he fought against the pain. It must have been he'd lost consciousness because the next thing he knew he was landing on the street, grunting in agony as the men who'd tossed him from the inn left him behind for dead. What little will power he had left was what pulled him along, hoping that if he could get away from here and perhaps to a main street, someone might be able to help him to a healer. But then he thought he heard footsteps and as he looked up, there she was, red hair fanning around her face and all. Shaking her head at him, disappointed? A bloodied hand reached out to try to touch her but before he could say anything the vision had vanished and he fell back on the street, accepting somehow that he was going to die. He could hope that perhaps he would find her in Hades.
