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The Aceton drifted over black water under a moonless sky. Her sails were tucked into two neat rolls high up on the mast, leaving the ship a skeletal shadow against the barren landscape of the Aegean. On the deck, lined up in a single, orderly row to either side, stood cages large enough for an adult human. Men moved quietly among them, carrying coils of thin rope, tossing them in the four dinghies hanging suspended over the water.
Lukos emerged from below deck with a coil of rope slung over his shoulder. Behind him, stumping up the stairs was a mammoth, beast of a man, shadowing his every step. The two of them went over to the dinghies, pulling on the ropes to lower them into the gently lapping water below. Arktos would glance over at him every so often but he ignored it. The big man had made his opinions known about this excursion and Lukos had no desire to rehash the argument.
Thick braided rope ladders rolled down the hull of the ship, fastened to the railing. Lukos waited, watching as his men descended into the first of the boats. After a moment he waved Arktos forward. The bigger man stumped around him and slung his trunk of a leg over the railing but stopped.
“What?” Lukos snapped irritably.
“This is a little rushed,” he muttered.
Lukos moved toward the railing, saying nothing. Arktos was right. This was rushed. Usually he spent at least a day or two studying the layout of the land, the comings and goings of the villagers he intended to take. Sometimes he spent weeks. This village was close to the one he’d hit three months ago. The two were separated by the same cove that Thalia had been brought to. For that reason, he’d forgone his usual care with the whole process; an oversight Arktos refused to let go.
“Move.” The word growled out from between Lukos’s lips.
Arktos glared at him but, at last, obeyed. Waiting until the bear was half way down, Lukos swung his leg over, ignoring Arktos’s mutterings. Sometimes the man bitched more than a woman. In his ten years as captain, he’d never done so little planning for a raid. Even before then, when he was first mate, his captain had left the bulk of that kind of strategy to him.
He didn’t care anymore.
Men peered over the railing, waiting to pull back the ropes tethering the dinghies to the ship. As one, Lukos and Arktos unhooked their boat while the two men with them used oars to push away into open sea.
He’d brought the ship closer to shore this time, cutting the rowing distance in half. Before midnight all four of the little boats reached shore. Lukos breathed in the scent of grass and the salt of the ocean. The night was young. They had time.
Instead of heading right, to the ravaged fishing village from before, they turned left on the clifftop. The trek was much the same. Short, scrubby grass littered over rocky, uneven terrain. Short, scrappy bushes dotted the plain here and there but nothing broke the scene until they’d walked a distance and saw the first of the little hovels rise up against the deep, azure sky. Soon he could see more but something was wrong. It wasn’t until he drew closer that he realized the problem.
“There are no lights,” he muttered but stopped immediately, holding up his hand for the rest of his men to do the same. Humanoid shadows slipped silently away, along the cliffs at the far end of the village. He swore.
“Go!” he hissed. His men surged into action, drawing their swords. Only Arktos didn’t dart away. The two of them advanced on the village, kicking in doors to find abandoned houses. Some still had the scent of stew and fresh bread lingering in the air.
The grunts of a fight reached him just as he exited one of the houses. He drew his sword, glancing at Arktos as the big man ducked out of the doorway of the house opposite. Without moonlight it was difficult to see but he could make out shadowed bodies violently tangled into one another in the dark, each vying for dominance.
So they weren’t all gone.
He wove his way around scattered baskets, their contents littering the ground. The whole village reeked of fish. A thin man stood watching as one of the crewmen wrestled a fisherman to the ground. Rearing back, Lukos slammed his boot squarely into the man’s back. With a cry the man pitched forward, sprawled in the dirt like the dead fish from the baskets around him.
“Rope!” Lukos barked. He’d need daylight to see if what he captured would turn a profit. One of the crewmen appeared, tying together the wriggling man’s wrists and ankles. Pushing off him, he stood, moving deeper into the village.
Battles of twos and threes broke out all around him but there were no screams. That wasn’t right. Little shadows of children should be darting about in fear as their mothers wailed. Instead, village men fought as though their lives depended on it and, in a sense, it did. This was a peaceful place though and the best that could be relied on as a weapon were wicked looking boning knives; good enough to wound or maim but mostly nonlethal.
Thanks to Thalia’s training and his own experience, when a short man flew at him, brandishing one of the boning knives, Lukos didn’t bother to run him through. Instead he slid to the side, dodging before slamming his elbow into the back of the man’s head. He dropped instantly at Lukos’s feet. Shouting for more rope, he stood with the heel of his boot poised atop the man’s skull, ready to crush it in if necessary. Another pirate appeared to bind this one as well.
Men were good. He needed them. Young ones sold well for hard labor and the mines would take literally anyone but he didn’t want the old men or even ones approaching middle age, which both of the ones he had now seemed to be. Where were the women?
Arktos roared in pain. Lukos darted toward the sound, only to duck and slam himself back against the side of a hut. The unmistakable sound of an arrow twanging from a bow made him swear under his breath. From here he could see the shaft of an arrow sticking out from Arktos’s meaty shoulder. “Leave it!” Lukos called, watching his bear paw at the offensive stick in buried in his hide.
Glancing around, Lukos peered around the corner of the hut. Where the archer was? That remained to be seen.
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The Aceton drifted over black water under a moonless sky. Her sails were tucked into two neat rolls high up on the mast, leaving the ship a skeletal shadow against the barren landscape of the Aegean. On the deck, lined up in a single, orderly row to either side, stood cages large enough for an adult human. Men moved quietly among them, carrying coils of thin rope, tossing them in the four dinghies hanging suspended over the water.
Lukos emerged from below deck with a coil of rope slung over his shoulder. Behind him, stumping up the stairs was a mammoth, beast of a man, shadowing his every step. The two of them went over to the dinghies, pulling on the ropes to lower them into the gently lapping water below. Arktos would glance over at him every so often but he ignored it. The big man had made his opinions known about this excursion and Lukos had no desire to rehash the argument.
Thick braided rope ladders rolled down the hull of the ship, fastened to the railing. Lukos waited, watching as his men descended into the first of the boats. After a moment he waved Arktos forward. The bigger man stumped around him and slung his trunk of a leg over the railing but stopped.
“What?” Lukos snapped irritably.
“This is a little rushed,” he muttered.
Lukos moved toward the railing, saying nothing. Arktos was right. This was rushed. Usually he spent at least a day or two studying the layout of the land, the comings and goings of the villagers he intended to take. Sometimes he spent weeks. This village was close to the one he’d hit three months ago. The two were separated by the same cove that Thalia had been brought to. For that reason, he’d forgone his usual care with the whole process; an oversight Arktos refused to let go.
“Move.” The word growled out from between Lukos’s lips.
Arktos glared at him but, at last, obeyed. Waiting until the bear was half way down, Lukos swung his leg over, ignoring Arktos’s mutterings. Sometimes the man bitched more than a woman. In his ten years as captain, he’d never done so little planning for a raid. Even before then, when he was first mate, his captain had left the bulk of that kind of strategy to him.
He didn’t care anymore.
Men peered over the railing, waiting to pull back the ropes tethering the dinghies to the ship. As one, Lukos and Arktos unhooked their boat while the two men with them used oars to push away into open sea.
He’d brought the ship closer to shore this time, cutting the rowing distance in half. Before midnight all four of the little boats reached shore. Lukos breathed in the scent of grass and the salt of the ocean. The night was young. They had time.
Instead of heading right, to the ravaged fishing village from before, they turned left on the clifftop. The trek was much the same. Short, scrubby grass littered over rocky, uneven terrain. Short, scrappy bushes dotted the plain here and there but nothing broke the scene until they’d walked a distance and saw the first of the little hovels rise up against the deep, azure sky. Soon he could see more but something was wrong. It wasn’t until he drew closer that he realized the problem.
“There are no lights,” he muttered but stopped immediately, holding up his hand for the rest of his men to do the same. Humanoid shadows slipped silently away, along the cliffs at the far end of the village. He swore.
“Go!” he hissed. His men surged into action, drawing their swords. Only Arktos didn’t dart away. The two of them advanced on the village, kicking in doors to find abandoned houses. Some still had the scent of stew and fresh bread lingering in the air.
The grunts of a fight reached him just as he exited one of the houses. He drew his sword, glancing at Arktos as the big man ducked out of the doorway of the house opposite. Without moonlight it was difficult to see but he could make out shadowed bodies violently tangled into one another in the dark, each vying for dominance.
So they weren’t all gone.
He wove his way around scattered baskets, their contents littering the ground. The whole village reeked of fish. A thin man stood watching as one of the crewmen wrestled a fisherman to the ground. Rearing back, Lukos slammed his boot squarely into the man’s back. With a cry the man pitched forward, sprawled in the dirt like the dead fish from the baskets around him.
“Rope!” Lukos barked. He’d need daylight to see if what he captured would turn a profit. One of the crewmen appeared, tying together the wriggling man’s wrists and ankles. Pushing off him, he stood, moving deeper into the village.
Battles of twos and threes broke out all around him but there were no screams. That wasn’t right. Little shadows of children should be darting about in fear as their mothers wailed. Instead, village men fought as though their lives depended on it and, in a sense, it did. This was a peaceful place though and the best that could be relied on as a weapon were wicked looking boning knives; good enough to wound or maim but mostly nonlethal.
Thanks to Thalia’s training and his own experience, when a short man flew at him, brandishing one of the boning knives, Lukos didn’t bother to run him through. Instead he slid to the side, dodging before slamming his elbow into the back of the man’s head. He dropped instantly at Lukos’s feet. Shouting for more rope, he stood with the heel of his boot poised atop the man’s skull, ready to crush it in if necessary. Another pirate appeared to bind this one as well.
Men were good. He needed them. Young ones sold well for hard labor and the mines would take literally anyone but he didn’t want the old men or even ones approaching middle age, which both of the ones he had now seemed to be. Where were the women?
Arktos roared in pain. Lukos darted toward the sound, only to duck and slam himself back against the side of a hut. The unmistakable sound of an arrow twanging from a bow made him swear under his breath. From here he could see the shaft of an arrow sticking out from Arktos’s meaty shoulder. “Leave it!” Lukos called, watching his bear paw at the offensive stick in buried in his hide.
Glancing around, Lukos peered around the corner of the hut. Where the archer was? That remained to be seen.
The Aceton drifted over black water under a moonless sky. Her sails were tucked into two neat rolls high up on the mast, leaving the ship a skeletal shadow against the barren landscape of the Aegean. On the deck, lined up in a single, orderly row to either side, stood cages large enough for an adult human. Men moved quietly among them, carrying coils of thin rope, tossing them in the four dinghies hanging suspended over the water.
Lukos emerged from below deck with a coil of rope slung over his shoulder. Behind him, stumping up the stairs was a mammoth, beast of a man, shadowing his every step. The two of them went over to the dinghies, pulling on the ropes to lower them into the gently lapping water below. Arktos would glance over at him every so often but he ignored it. The big man had made his opinions known about this excursion and Lukos had no desire to rehash the argument.
Thick braided rope ladders rolled down the hull of the ship, fastened to the railing. Lukos waited, watching as his men descended into the first of the boats. After a moment he waved Arktos forward. The bigger man stumped around him and slung his trunk of a leg over the railing but stopped.
“What?” Lukos snapped irritably.
“This is a little rushed,” he muttered.
Lukos moved toward the railing, saying nothing. Arktos was right. This was rushed. Usually he spent at least a day or two studying the layout of the land, the comings and goings of the villagers he intended to take. Sometimes he spent weeks. This village was close to the one he’d hit three months ago. The two were separated by the same cove that Thalia had been brought to. For that reason, he’d forgone his usual care with the whole process; an oversight Arktos refused to let go.
“Move.” The word growled out from between Lukos’s lips.
Arktos glared at him but, at last, obeyed. Waiting until the bear was half way down, Lukos swung his leg over, ignoring Arktos’s mutterings. Sometimes the man bitched more than a woman. In his ten years as captain, he’d never done so little planning for a raid. Even before then, when he was first mate, his captain had left the bulk of that kind of strategy to him.
He didn’t care anymore.
Men peered over the railing, waiting to pull back the ropes tethering the dinghies to the ship. As one, Lukos and Arktos unhooked their boat while the two men with them used oars to push away into open sea.
He’d brought the ship closer to shore this time, cutting the rowing distance in half. Before midnight all four of the little boats reached shore. Lukos breathed in the scent of grass and the salt of the ocean. The night was young. They had time.
Instead of heading right, to the ravaged fishing village from before, they turned left on the clifftop. The trek was much the same. Short, scrubby grass littered over rocky, uneven terrain. Short, scrappy bushes dotted the plain here and there but nothing broke the scene until they’d walked a distance and saw the first of the little hovels rise up against the deep, azure sky. Soon he could see more but something was wrong. It wasn’t until he drew closer that he realized the problem.
“There are no lights,” he muttered but stopped immediately, holding up his hand for the rest of his men to do the same. Humanoid shadows slipped silently away, along the cliffs at the far end of the village. He swore.
“Go!” he hissed. His men surged into action, drawing their swords. Only Arktos didn’t dart away. The two of them advanced on the village, kicking in doors to find abandoned houses. Some still had the scent of stew and fresh bread lingering in the air.
The grunts of a fight reached him just as he exited one of the houses. He drew his sword, glancing at Arktos as the big man ducked out of the doorway of the house opposite. Without moonlight it was difficult to see but he could make out shadowed bodies violently tangled into one another in the dark, each vying for dominance.
So they weren’t all gone.
He wove his way around scattered baskets, their contents littering the ground. The whole village reeked of fish. A thin man stood watching as one of the crewmen wrestled a fisherman to the ground. Rearing back, Lukos slammed his boot squarely into the man’s back. With a cry the man pitched forward, sprawled in the dirt like the dead fish from the baskets around him.
“Rope!” Lukos barked. He’d need daylight to see if what he captured would turn a profit. One of the crewmen appeared, tying together the wriggling man’s wrists and ankles. Pushing off him, he stood, moving deeper into the village.
Battles of twos and threes broke out all around him but there were no screams. That wasn’t right. Little shadows of children should be darting about in fear as their mothers wailed. Instead, village men fought as though their lives depended on it and, in a sense, it did. This was a peaceful place though and the best that could be relied on as a weapon were wicked looking boning knives; good enough to wound or maim but mostly nonlethal.
Thanks to Thalia’s training and his own experience, when a short man flew at him, brandishing one of the boning knives, Lukos didn’t bother to run him through. Instead he slid to the side, dodging before slamming his elbow into the back of the man’s head. He dropped instantly at Lukos’s feet. Shouting for more rope, he stood with the heel of his boot poised atop the man’s skull, ready to crush it in if necessary. Another pirate appeared to bind this one as well.
Men were good. He needed them. Young ones sold well for hard labor and the mines would take literally anyone but he didn’t want the old men or even ones approaching middle age, which both of the ones he had now seemed to be. Where were the women?
Arktos roared in pain. Lukos darted toward the sound, only to duck and slam himself back against the side of a hut. The unmistakable sound of an arrow twanging from a bow made him swear under his breath. From here he could see the shaft of an arrow sticking out from Arktos’s meaty shoulder. “Leave it!” Lukos called, watching his bear paw at the offensive stick in buried in his hide.
Glancing around, Lukos peered around the corner of the hut. Where the archer was? That remained to be seen.
Belen was not the happiest soul tonight.
The hunter over the past few weeks had been preparing himself and the men of the village for something like this. Ever since Adrasteia came to him with concerns of pirates, and the past few raids over the past two months, she had became more and more frightened of one happening to her village, and ever since fishermen from the village began to spot odd objects far out in the water, and shadowy masses that moved in the dead of night, Belen rushed over. The hunter wasn't one to play hero, ever, at heart he was nothing but a thief, a criminal. A good criminal considering he had never been caught but once, and even he was able to get away with nothing more than a scar to show for it. However Adrasteia was a friend, a good friend at that, and Belen was going to be damned if he let any pirates lay a finger on her.
For preparations, each night Belen and the men of the village would send the women and children out into the nearby wilderness, while the rest of them stayed behind, snuffing out the lights and waiting for anything. Most nights there was nothing more than the odd animal scurrying around, while the cries of infants were nothing more than a whisper in the wind.
However tonight. Tonight was different.
The very incident they had been preparing for came, and in full force. Secretly Belen wished that this wasn't the case. Contrary to belief, the hunter didn't truly feel like fighting off a massive horde of pirates. The men he had were strong working men who could perhaps overpower people, however they weren't hardened fighters who knew tactics and skill. Instead they were to throw themselves at the enemies and hope for the best. Their determination and confidence was something that Belen could appreciate, however he did not watch the ensuing battle with false hope. He knew they were losing, and losing fast. They had the element of surprise, catching those pirates off guard for sure, yet once that advantage was used, it was an up hill battle.
As the battle raged on, grunts of men being thrown to the floor, as he heard a few pirates shriek, their flesh being torn into by simple boning knifes, the hunter found himself perched on top of the roof a hut. His bow steady in hand as he lined up an arrow, aiming for the biggest and baddest looking of all the pirates. Covered by the shadow of night, he was surely unseen by the chaos on the ground. He pulled the arrow back until the string of his bow became stiff. With nothing but a simple exhale to calm his nerves, Belen let go of the arrow. The projectile darted through the air, striking the man in the shoulder.
Yet the darting figure towards the hut caught his attention. With no other men to deal with that straggler, Belen had the unfortunate task of taking on that brigand in hand to hand. However, he wasn't all too worried, sure his melee prowess was nothing like his archery, but serviceable, certainly enough to take on a regular brigand. Placing his bow around his shoulder, Belen took his hatchet from his belt.
MMoving to the back of the hut, his feet hit the ground silently. Pressing his back up against the up, he raised his hatchet, swinging hard in an arch, in an attempt to strike the pirate. However his efforts where just less than successful. The hunter stood there, his hatchet lodged into the side of hut's wooden wall, as he starred down the pirate. "Hi." With no friendly expression in his voice, Belen twisted the hatchet out of the wall, taking a step back.Then as quick as he removed himself, he threw himself right back into the fray. Throwing another two rapid swings of his hatchet, one towards the right of the man's chest and another down towards his shoulder. in an attempt just to catch the pirate off guard.
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Check out their information page here.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
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Belen was not the happiest soul tonight.
The hunter over the past few weeks had been preparing himself and the men of the village for something like this. Ever since Adrasteia came to him with concerns of pirates, and the past few raids over the past two months, she had became more and more frightened of one happening to her village, and ever since fishermen from the village began to spot odd objects far out in the water, and shadowy masses that moved in the dead of night, Belen rushed over. The hunter wasn't one to play hero, ever, at heart he was nothing but a thief, a criminal. A good criminal considering he had never been caught but once, and even he was able to get away with nothing more than a scar to show for it. However Adrasteia was a friend, a good friend at that, and Belen was going to be damned if he let any pirates lay a finger on her.
For preparations, each night Belen and the men of the village would send the women and children out into the nearby wilderness, while the rest of them stayed behind, snuffing out the lights and waiting for anything. Most nights there was nothing more than the odd animal scurrying around, while the cries of infants were nothing more than a whisper in the wind.
However tonight. Tonight was different.
The very incident they had been preparing for came, and in full force. Secretly Belen wished that this wasn't the case. Contrary to belief, the hunter didn't truly feel like fighting off a massive horde of pirates. The men he had were strong working men who could perhaps overpower people, however they weren't hardened fighters who knew tactics and skill. Instead they were to throw themselves at the enemies and hope for the best. Their determination and confidence was something that Belen could appreciate, however he did not watch the ensuing battle with false hope. He knew they were losing, and losing fast. They had the element of surprise, catching those pirates off guard for sure, yet once that advantage was used, it was an up hill battle.
As the battle raged on, grunts of men being thrown to the floor, as he heard a few pirates shriek, their flesh being torn into by simple boning knifes, the hunter found himself perched on top of the roof a hut. His bow steady in hand as he lined up an arrow, aiming for the biggest and baddest looking of all the pirates. Covered by the shadow of night, he was surely unseen by the chaos on the ground. He pulled the arrow back until the string of his bow became stiff. With nothing but a simple exhale to calm his nerves, Belen let go of the arrow. The projectile darted through the air, striking the man in the shoulder.
Yet the darting figure towards the hut caught his attention. With no other men to deal with that straggler, Belen had the unfortunate task of taking on that brigand in hand to hand. However, he wasn't all too worried, sure his melee prowess was nothing like his archery, but serviceable, certainly enough to take on a regular brigand. Placing his bow around his shoulder, Belen took his hatchet from his belt.
MMoving to the back of the hut, his feet hit the ground silently. Pressing his back up against the up, he raised his hatchet, swinging hard in an arch, in an attempt to strike the pirate. However his efforts where just less than successful. The hunter stood there, his hatchet lodged into the side of hut's wooden wall, as he starred down the pirate. "Hi." With no friendly expression in his voice, Belen twisted the hatchet out of the wall, taking a step back.Then as quick as he removed himself, he threw himself right back into the fray. Throwing another two rapid swings of his hatchet, one towards the right of the man's chest and another down towards his shoulder. in an attempt just to catch the pirate off guard.
Belen was not the happiest soul tonight.
The hunter over the past few weeks had been preparing himself and the men of the village for something like this. Ever since Adrasteia came to him with concerns of pirates, and the past few raids over the past two months, she had became more and more frightened of one happening to her village, and ever since fishermen from the village began to spot odd objects far out in the water, and shadowy masses that moved in the dead of night, Belen rushed over. The hunter wasn't one to play hero, ever, at heart he was nothing but a thief, a criminal. A good criminal considering he had never been caught but once, and even he was able to get away with nothing more than a scar to show for it. However Adrasteia was a friend, a good friend at that, and Belen was going to be damned if he let any pirates lay a finger on her.
For preparations, each night Belen and the men of the village would send the women and children out into the nearby wilderness, while the rest of them stayed behind, snuffing out the lights and waiting for anything. Most nights there was nothing more than the odd animal scurrying around, while the cries of infants were nothing more than a whisper in the wind.
However tonight. Tonight was different.
The very incident they had been preparing for came, and in full force. Secretly Belen wished that this wasn't the case. Contrary to belief, the hunter didn't truly feel like fighting off a massive horde of pirates. The men he had were strong working men who could perhaps overpower people, however they weren't hardened fighters who knew tactics and skill. Instead they were to throw themselves at the enemies and hope for the best. Their determination and confidence was something that Belen could appreciate, however he did not watch the ensuing battle with false hope. He knew they were losing, and losing fast. They had the element of surprise, catching those pirates off guard for sure, yet once that advantage was used, it was an up hill battle.
As the battle raged on, grunts of men being thrown to the floor, as he heard a few pirates shriek, their flesh being torn into by simple boning knifes, the hunter found himself perched on top of the roof a hut. His bow steady in hand as he lined up an arrow, aiming for the biggest and baddest looking of all the pirates. Covered by the shadow of night, he was surely unseen by the chaos on the ground. He pulled the arrow back until the string of his bow became stiff. With nothing but a simple exhale to calm his nerves, Belen let go of the arrow. The projectile darted through the air, striking the man in the shoulder.
Yet the darting figure towards the hut caught his attention. With no other men to deal with that straggler, Belen had the unfortunate task of taking on that brigand in hand to hand. However, he wasn't all too worried, sure his melee prowess was nothing like his archery, but serviceable, certainly enough to take on a regular brigand. Placing his bow around his shoulder, Belen took his hatchet from his belt.
MMoving to the back of the hut, his feet hit the ground silently. Pressing his back up against the up, he raised his hatchet, swinging hard in an arch, in an attempt to strike the pirate. However his efforts where just less than successful. The hunter stood there, his hatchet lodged into the side of hut's wooden wall, as he starred down the pirate. "Hi." With no friendly expression in his voice, Belen twisted the hatchet out of the wall, taking a step back.Then as quick as he removed himself, he threw himself right back into the fray. Throwing another two rapid swings of his hatchet, one towards the right of the man's chest and another down towards his shoulder. in an attempt just to catch the pirate off guard.
“Where are you?” Arktos bellowed, whirling around. He held out both his arms, blood gushing out of the wound on his shoulder. Lukos scanned the tops of the huts from where he was but he had limited range. Inching further, he leaned out. All the hut tops were clear that he could see but that meant nothing. The archer could be anywhere.
The crunch of Belen’s boots in the dirt were masked by Arktos’s roaring and the clomping as he stomped around, turning on the spot, angry and ready for retribution. Lukos gripped his sword hilt harder, standing with his other hand flat against the hut’s wall. No arrows whizzed through the air.
His dark eyes narrowed. The hairs on the back of his neck prickled. He shifted, half turning, feeling the presence of someone. A shadowed form swung. Lukos leaned sideways, just a hairs breadth out of the way of the hatchet.
His eyes widened as the head drove into the hut wall. His gaze followed the handle to a pair of hands, up thin arms to a young man’s face. “Hi.”
Lukos stepped back out of immediate reach, hefting his sword up just as Belen wrenched the hatchet out of the wall. He too took a step back. They sized each other up and then he hurtled forward, long, hacking swings colliding with Lukos’s sword. The vibration of it jarred his arm. He grit his teeth, twisting to avoid a hit to the chest and then sliding away altogether as the hatchet went for his shoulder.
He almost successful. Iron hammered down the side of his upper arm. The angle was wrong to cut but the muscle was momentarily numb from the force of the blow. Backing away, he turned so that he was facing Belen again, his sword still up in the guard position. His gaze flicked over his opponent and he shook his head at the other.
“I’m not in the mood for this,” he said. “Be a good dog and lay down so my men can tie you up.” A fight was not what he’d come for. Usually he tried his best to avoid them. A real fight wasn’t like the glorious myths people liked to tell; they hurt. They took precious time to recover from. They sometimes left one with permanent injuries. And the main reason? He just didn’t have time. Stealing people was one thing; murdering an entire village was quite another.
Without waiting for Belen to comply, he slashed forward, aiming for Belen's hands, intending to get him to drop the weapon.
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This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
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“Where are you?” Arktos bellowed, whirling around. He held out both his arms, blood gushing out of the wound on his shoulder. Lukos scanned the tops of the huts from where he was but he had limited range. Inching further, he leaned out. All the hut tops were clear that he could see but that meant nothing. The archer could be anywhere.
The crunch of Belen’s boots in the dirt were masked by Arktos’s roaring and the clomping as he stomped around, turning on the spot, angry and ready for retribution. Lukos gripped his sword hilt harder, standing with his other hand flat against the hut’s wall. No arrows whizzed through the air.
His dark eyes narrowed. The hairs on the back of his neck prickled. He shifted, half turning, feeling the presence of someone. A shadowed form swung. Lukos leaned sideways, just a hairs breadth out of the way of the hatchet.
His eyes widened as the head drove into the hut wall. His gaze followed the handle to a pair of hands, up thin arms to a young man’s face. “Hi.”
Lukos stepped back out of immediate reach, hefting his sword up just as Belen wrenched the hatchet out of the wall. He too took a step back. They sized each other up and then he hurtled forward, long, hacking swings colliding with Lukos’s sword. The vibration of it jarred his arm. He grit his teeth, twisting to avoid a hit to the chest and then sliding away altogether as the hatchet went for his shoulder.
He almost successful. Iron hammered down the side of his upper arm. The angle was wrong to cut but the muscle was momentarily numb from the force of the blow. Backing away, he turned so that he was facing Belen again, his sword still up in the guard position. His gaze flicked over his opponent and he shook his head at the other.
“I’m not in the mood for this,” he said. “Be a good dog and lay down so my men can tie you up.” A fight was not what he’d come for. Usually he tried his best to avoid them. A real fight wasn’t like the glorious myths people liked to tell; they hurt. They took precious time to recover from. They sometimes left one with permanent injuries. And the main reason? He just didn’t have time. Stealing people was one thing; murdering an entire village was quite another.
Without waiting for Belen to comply, he slashed forward, aiming for Belen's hands, intending to get him to drop the weapon.
“Where are you?” Arktos bellowed, whirling around. He held out both his arms, blood gushing out of the wound on his shoulder. Lukos scanned the tops of the huts from where he was but he had limited range. Inching further, he leaned out. All the hut tops were clear that he could see but that meant nothing. The archer could be anywhere.
The crunch of Belen’s boots in the dirt were masked by Arktos’s roaring and the clomping as he stomped around, turning on the spot, angry and ready for retribution. Lukos gripped his sword hilt harder, standing with his other hand flat against the hut’s wall. No arrows whizzed through the air.
His dark eyes narrowed. The hairs on the back of his neck prickled. He shifted, half turning, feeling the presence of someone. A shadowed form swung. Lukos leaned sideways, just a hairs breadth out of the way of the hatchet.
His eyes widened as the head drove into the hut wall. His gaze followed the handle to a pair of hands, up thin arms to a young man’s face. “Hi.”
Lukos stepped back out of immediate reach, hefting his sword up just as Belen wrenched the hatchet out of the wall. He too took a step back. They sized each other up and then he hurtled forward, long, hacking swings colliding with Lukos’s sword. The vibration of it jarred his arm. He grit his teeth, twisting to avoid a hit to the chest and then sliding away altogether as the hatchet went for his shoulder.
He almost successful. Iron hammered down the side of his upper arm. The angle was wrong to cut but the muscle was momentarily numb from the force of the blow. Backing away, he turned so that he was facing Belen again, his sword still up in the guard position. His gaze flicked over his opponent and he shook his head at the other.
“I’m not in the mood for this,” he said. “Be a good dog and lay down so my men can tie you up.” A fight was not what he’d come for. Usually he tried his best to avoid them. A real fight wasn’t like the glorious myths people liked to tell; they hurt. They took precious time to recover from. They sometimes left one with permanent injuries. And the main reason? He just didn’t have time. Stealing people was one thing; murdering an entire village was quite another.
Without waiting for Belen to comply, he slashed forward, aiming for Belen's hands, intending to get him to drop the weapon.
With taking a step back, Belen was more than surprised the man was not riving in pain or completely backing off. Those few swings were generally enough to deal with normal thugs. Yet the pirate in front of him seemed to be a harden fighter, a bit more than Belen bargained for. However stuck in this situation he just hoped his planned strikes help render the man's movements a bit. After all, Belen was aiming for the joints in the man's arms. Sure, Belen may of missed the elbow on his second swing going for the upper arm instead, but it still should of helped to at least tire the man.
With the Luko's threats reaching Belen's ears, the young hunter just smirked a little, showing off his white teeth. "Honestly, I have a better idea." The hunter twirled the handle of his hatchet in one hand. It was a light enough weapon to do so with after all. His eyes flickered across the pirate for a moment as he saw the carnage going on behind him. The sailors and men of the village were losing. That was easy to see. Lukos couldn't, something Belen would have to use to his advantage if he was going to win. "How about you take your scrawny men, and log of meat over there, back to your ship and forgot this place ever existed."
Yet as the hunter allowed the smirk to arrive on his face, the pirate struck at some insane speed. With a split second to think, Belen attempted to lift his arms, in order to cover his head, yet just by the pure amount of speed Lukos had mustered, he only brought his arms up a fraction of the way, before the blade slid into the flesh on the back of his hands.
Not even a split second past, as Belen shouted out curses, the hatchet tumbling out of his hands. It hit the ground with a thud, as Belen backed up a few steps holding his right hand, which seemed to be bleeding the post. The cuts were not the worst, over the next few weeks they would heal up with minor scaring. However the pain that shot through his hands definitely prohibited the movements of his fingers. "Fuck! Ah, Aphrodite's tit!" The hunter screamed out as he brought his right hand to his lips for a moment. Turning his head to the side, he spat out a mixture of spit and blood onto the ground.
With a growl Belen flicked both of his hands, droplets of blood being flicked onto the nearby ground. He was no idiot to suddenly realise he was in a far worse spot. Now standing there without a weapon, and the movement of his fingers servilely lessened by the pain that coursed through his hands. Balling both of his hands into a fists, he knew he had little chance of winning this fight, especially now, although Belen was stubborn and not willing to back down.
From what Belen saw atop of the roofs, he could see the pirates weren't killing, instead rendering unconscious or unable to move just so they could be tied up, no matter how brutal the sailors and men attacked. From that Belen understood he probably would not be killed. His mind continued to race as he took a few more steps back, his right hand raising for his quill, as he took out another arrow. He wouldn't fire it at the man, shooting him from this distance wouldn't do anything, instead the hunter planned to use it as a makeshift knife of sorts. Something just to stab the pirate with if he got any closer.
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With taking a step back, Belen was more than surprised the man was not riving in pain or completely backing off. Those few swings were generally enough to deal with normal thugs. Yet the pirate in front of him seemed to be a harden fighter, a bit more than Belen bargained for. However stuck in this situation he just hoped his planned strikes help render the man's movements a bit. After all, Belen was aiming for the joints in the man's arms. Sure, Belen may of missed the elbow on his second swing going for the upper arm instead, but it still should of helped to at least tire the man.
With the Luko's threats reaching Belen's ears, the young hunter just smirked a little, showing off his white teeth. "Honestly, I have a better idea." The hunter twirled the handle of his hatchet in one hand. It was a light enough weapon to do so with after all. His eyes flickered across the pirate for a moment as he saw the carnage going on behind him. The sailors and men of the village were losing. That was easy to see. Lukos couldn't, something Belen would have to use to his advantage if he was going to win. "How about you take your scrawny men, and log of meat over there, back to your ship and forgot this place ever existed."
Yet as the hunter allowed the smirk to arrive on his face, the pirate struck at some insane speed. With a split second to think, Belen attempted to lift his arms, in order to cover his head, yet just by the pure amount of speed Lukos had mustered, he only brought his arms up a fraction of the way, before the blade slid into the flesh on the back of his hands.
Not even a split second past, as Belen shouted out curses, the hatchet tumbling out of his hands. It hit the ground with a thud, as Belen backed up a few steps holding his right hand, which seemed to be bleeding the post. The cuts were not the worst, over the next few weeks they would heal up with minor scaring. However the pain that shot through his hands definitely prohibited the movements of his fingers. "Fuck! Ah, Aphrodite's tit!" The hunter screamed out as he brought his right hand to his lips for a moment. Turning his head to the side, he spat out a mixture of spit and blood onto the ground.
With a growl Belen flicked both of his hands, droplets of blood being flicked onto the nearby ground. He was no idiot to suddenly realise he was in a far worse spot. Now standing there without a weapon, and the movement of his fingers servilely lessened by the pain that coursed through his hands. Balling both of his hands into a fists, he knew he had little chance of winning this fight, especially now, although Belen was stubborn and not willing to back down.
From what Belen saw atop of the roofs, he could see the pirates weren't killing, instead rendering unconscious or unable to move just so they could be tied up, no matter how brutal the sailors and men attacked. From that Belen understood he probably would not be killed. His mind continued to race as he took a few more steps back, his right hand raising for his quill, as he took out another arrow. He wouldn't fire it at the man, shooting him from this distance wouldn't do anything, instead the hunter planned to use it as a makeshift knife of sorts. Something just to stab the pirate with if he got any closer.
With taking a step back, Belen was more than surprised the man was not riving in pain or completely backing off. Those few swings were generally enough to deal with normal thugs. Yet the pirate in front of him seemed to be a harden fighter, a bit more than Belen bargained for. However stuck in this situation he just hoped his planned strikes help render the man's movements a bit. After all, Belen was aiming for the joints in the man's arms. Sure, Belen may of missed the elbow on his second swing going for the upper arm instead, but it still should of helped to at least tire the man.
With the Luko's threats reaching Belen's ears, the young hunter just smirked a little, showing off his white teeth. "Honestly, I have a better idea." The hunter twirled the handle of his hatchet in one hand. It was a light enough weapon to do so with after all. His eyes flickered across the pirate for a moment as he saw the carnage going on behind him. The sailors and men of the village were losing. That was easy to see. Lukos couldn't, something Belen would have to use to his advantage if he was going to win. "How about you take your scrawny men, and log of meat over there, back to your ship and forgot this place ever existed."
Yet as the hunter allowed the smirk to arrive on his face, the pirate struck at some insane speed. With a split second to think, Belen attempted to lift his arms, in order to cover his head, yet just by the pure amount of speed Lukos had mustered, he only brought his arms up a fraction of the way, before the blade slid into the flesh on the back of his hands.
Not even a split second past, as Belen shouted out curses, the hatchet tumbling out of his hands. It hit the ground with a thud, as Belen backed up a few steps holding his right hand, which seemed to be bleeding the post. The cuts were not the worst, over the next few weeks they would heal up with minor scaring. However the pain that shot through his hands definitely prohibited the movements of his fingers. "Fuck! Ah, Aphrodite's tit!" The hunter screamed out as he brought his right hand to his lips for a moment. Turning his head to the side, he spat out a mixture of spit and blood onto the ground.
With a growl Belen flicked both of his hands, droplets of blood being flicked onto the nearby ground. He was no idiot to suddenly realise he was in a far worse spot. Now standing there without a weapon, and the movement of his fingers servilely lessened by the pain that coursed through his hands. Balling both of his hands into a fists, he knew he had little chance of winning this fight, especially now, although Belen was stubborn and not willing to back down.
From what Belen saw atop of the roofs, he could see the pirates weren't killing, instead rendering unconscious or unable to move just so they could be tied up, no matter how brutal the sailors and men attacked. From that Belen understood he probably would not be killed. His mind continued to race as he took a few more steps back, his right hand raising for his quill, as he took out another arrow. He wouldn't fire it at the man, shooting him from this distance wouldn't do anything, instead the hunter planned to use it as a makeshift knife of sorts. Something just to stab the pirate with if he got any closer.
The man betrayed that he was no fighter when he instinctively threw up his hands to guard himself. It was a mistake no one would make if they were thinking clearly and rationally. One would not open up oneself to being slashed. This man was not a fighter and this emboldened Lukos further.
He pushed the advantage, raking the sword harder over one hand. His opponent, merely a shadow in the thick darkness, yelped curses and backed up. The hatchet fell between them. Without a word he followed him step for step, keeping his sword at the ready but his goal was the same; he didn’t want to kill him or maim him seriously. Just get him on the ground.
"Fuck! Ah, Aphrodite's tit!"
Lukos stopped short, squinting through the dark. “Seriously?” He asked incredulously as he watched the outline of the man’s head turn and heard the spit pelt into the dirt. Around them, the scuffles were coming to an end. The grunting and cursing grew louder as one by one, the villagers succumbed to their fate.
He could make out movements but he couldn’t tell exactly what the other was doing but he could guess. So this was the archer. An arrow would make a pitiful weapon, especially when pitted against the reach of his sword. It was a desperate move by a desperate, and now injured man. Lukos felt no shame in striking out again, this time at the man’s upper arm. Just another nick, another distraction.
The archer had his full attention. Despite the danger, he liked the feeling of power that came when confronting another human being. There were moments of self preservation that he had to push past; the knowledge that if he ran, he would be safer and if he stayed, he risked his life. That was the thrill.
How far would this man go? How far would he himself take it? Past experience said he’d fight to the bloody end. Was this archer willing to play this game? Did he have the ability?
Lunging forward again, sword slicing with practiced ease, he pushed him further out so that they were beyond the last of the houses and in the open. Lukos whistled. Humanoid forms seethed from the shadows of the houses, forming a ring around the two of them, cutting off escape. “I won’t hurt you more if you back down now.” His voice carried the warning that this generous offer would be the last.
He wanted the man to keep fighting. The offer was real but he hoped that it would be ignored. For months he'd been itching for a real fight and here, at last, was someone who might give it to him. Someone he could really hurt. His temper had been on a leash for a long time and he wanted to let it loose; he wanted to kill someone.
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The man betrayed that he was no fighter when he instinctively threw up his hands to guard himself. It was a mistake no one would make if they were thinking clearly and rationally. One would not open up oneself to being slashed. This man was not a fighter and this emboldened Lukos further.
He pushed the advantage, raking the sword harder over one hand. His opponent, merely a shadow in the thick darkness, yelped curses and backed up. The hatchet fell between them. Without a word he followed him step for step, keeping his sword at the ready but his goal was the same; he didn’t want to kill him or maim him seriously. Just get him on the ground.
"Fuck! Ah, Aphrodite's tit!"
Lukos stopped short, squinting through the dark. “Seriously?” He asked incredulously as he watched the outline of the man’s head turn and heard the spit pelt into the dirt. Around them, the scuffles were coming to an end. The grunting and cursing grew louder as one by one, the villagers succumbed to their fate.
He could make out movements but he couldn’t tell exactly what the other was doing but he could guess. So this was the archer. An arrow would make a pitiful weapon, especially when pitted against the reach of his sword. It was a desperate move by a desperate, and now injured man. Lukos felt no shame in striking out again, this time at the man’s upper arm. Just another nick, another distraction.
The archer had his full attention. Despite the danger, he liked the feeling of power that came when confronting another human being. There were moments of self preservation that he had to push past; the knowledge that if he ran, he would be safer and if he stayed, he risked his life. That was the thrill.
How far would this man go? How far would he himself take it? Past experience said he’d fight to the bloody end. Was this archer willing to play this game? Did he have the ability?
Lunging forward again, sword slicing with practiced ease, he pushed him further out so that they were beyond the last of the houses and in the open. Lukos whistled. Humanoid forms seethed from the shadows of the houses, forming a ring around the two of them, cutting off escape. “I won’t hurt you more if you back down now.” His voice carried the warning that this generous offer would be the last.
He wanted the man to keep fighting. The offer was real but he hoped that it would be ignored. For months he'd been itching for a real fight and here, at last, was someone who might give it to him. Someone he could really hurt. His temper had been on a leash for a long time and he wanted to let it loose; he wanted to kill someone.
The man betrayed that he was no fighter when he instinctively threw up his hands to guard himself. It was a mistake no one would make if they were thinking clearly and rationally. One would not open up oneself to being slashed. This man was not a fighter and this emboldened Lukos further.
He pushed the advantage, raking the sword harder over one hand. His opponent, merely a shadow in the thick darkness, yelped curses and backed up. The hatchet fell between them. Without a word he followed him step for step, keeping his sword at the ready but his goal was the same; he didn’t want to kill him or maim him seriously. Just get him on the ground.
"Fuck! Ah, Aphrodite's tit!"
Lukos stopped short, squinting through the dark. “Seriously?” He asked incredulously as he watched the outline of the man’s head turn and heard the spit pelt into the dirt. Around them, the scuffles were coming to an end. The grunting and cursing grew louder as one by one, the villagers succumbed to their fate.
He could make out movements but he couldn’t tell exactly what the other was doing but he could guess. So this was the archer. An arrow would make a pitiful weapon, especially when pitted against the reach of his sword. It was a desperate move by a desperate, and now injured man. Lukos felt no shame in striking out again, this time at the man’s upper arm. Just another nick, another distraction.
The archer had his full attention. Despite the danger, he liked the feeling of power that came when confronting another human being. There were moments of self preservation that he had to push past; the knowledge that if he ran, he would be safer and if he stayed, he risked his life. That was the thrill.
How far would this man go? How far would he himself take it? Past experience said he’d fight to the bloody end. Was this archer willing to play this game? Did he have the ability?
Lunging forward again, sword slicing with practiced ease, he pushed him further out so that they were beyond the last of the houses and in the open. Lukos whistled. Humanoid forms seethed from the shadows of the houses, forming a ring around the two of them, cutting off escape. “I won’t hurt you more if you back down now.” His voice carried the warning that this generous offer would be the last.
He wanted the man to keep fighting. The offer was real but he hoped that it would be ignored. For months he'd been itching for a real fight and here, at last, was someone who might give it to him. Someone he could really hurt. His temper had been on a leash for a long time and he wanted to let it loose; he wanted to kill someone.
Belen was not in a good situation.
With his hands already bloodied, his hatchet on the ground and his only weapons being his fists and a home-made arrow, Belen had quickly came to realise the situation he placed himself in. He was overconfident, believing this pirate was just a grunt, yet he was sorely mistaken. It turned out overconfidence was quickly becoming an insidious killer.
If there was one thing Belen could boast about it was he was quick and he was perceptive. His physical ability lead to him being quicker than most. Most of the time he could react without thinking, it was one of the things that quickly lead the Pirate's first slash into being nothing more than a nick. His eyes, an asset he so prided himself on, was a priceless feature, they let him see what other's could not. With the second slash incoming, he quickly recognised it being similar to the ones the pirate had already afflicted upon the poor archer. Seeing through the attack, Belen quickly took a side step, allowing the blade to slice through the air with a terrifying might.
With Lukos leaving little opening, Belen was forced too rush the man. Stepping to the right, or the pirate's left, he through his body weight against his opponent in order to get him to stumble back, and perhaps fall. A risky move which would probably end in more pain than success, but he was desperate. Following up, with his desperation quickly turning into ruthlessness, he stabbed the arrow down, with almost blood thirsty intent behind it. With the force behind the arrow, he had the arrowhead plunge deep into the pirate's arm, enough that the metal head was gone and only the wooden shaft remained.
Feverishly pushing off the pirate, he took a few steps back, his hand reaching for another arrow. With another arrow in his hand, he lowered himself into a bit more of fighting position, raising his left hand somewhat over his face for a slight bit, if not meaningless, protection. Twirling the single arrow in his hand it was rather apparent on how Belen was fighting. He was fighting as if he was in a fist fight, as if he had encountered a few drunken thugs, and therefore acting quick and using whatever he had around him as a makeshift weapon to dispose of his enemies. A sword fight against a skilled foe was very foreign to a few street thugs with knives, and Belen knew it, and with the look in his eyes Lukos could see it.
"You won't hurt me more, huh? Ah what a respectable and chivalrous fellow." The hunter said with his face lighting up somewhat, while a very mocking smile stood out, then as soon as he finished, his face quickly fell back to one of annoyance. "I see what you're doing too the sailors there, and trust me, you're going to have too beat me into submission if you want to tie me up." With what Belen said, it didn't seem to be much of a threat but more of a promise. Even still his words seemed to betray him. Belen could see the men creating a ring, locking off what little chance of escape he had. So even if he some how won this fight, there was no way he was getting away. Even still, it wasn't like Belen to give into a fight, and like hell he would do it now.
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Belen was not in a good situation.
With his hands already bloodied, his hatchet on the ground and his only weapons being his fists and a home-made arrow, Belen had quickly came to realise the situation he placed himself in. He was overconfident, believing this pirate was just a grunt, yet he was sorely mistaken. It turned out overconfidence was quickly becoming an insidious killer.
If there was one thing Belen could boast about it was he was quick and he was perceptive. His physical ability lead to him being quicker than most. Most of the time he could react without thinking, it was one of the things that quickly lead the Pirate's first slash into being nothing more than a nick. His eyes, an asset he so prided himself on, was a priceless feature, they let him see what other's could not. With the second slash incoming, he quickly recognised it being similar to the ones the pirate had already afflicted upon the poor archer. Seeing through the attack, Belen quickly took a side step, allowing the blade to slice through the air with a terrifying might.
With Lukos leaving little opening, Belen was forced too rush the man. Stepping to the right, or the pirate's left, he through his body weight against his opponent in order to get him to stumble back, and perhaps fall. A risky move which would probably end in more pain than success, but he was desperate. Following up, with his desperation quickly turning into ruthlessness, he stabbed the arrow down, with almost blood thirsty intent behind it. With the force behind the arrow, he had the arrowhead plunge deep into the pirate's arm, enough that the metal head was gone and only the wooden shaft remained.
Feverishly pushing off the pirate, he took a few steps back, his hand reaching for another arrow. With another arrow in his hand, he lowered himself into a bit more of fighting position, raising his left hand somewhat over his face for a slight bit, if not meaningless, protection. Twirling the single arrow in his hand it was rather apparent on how Belen was fighting. He was fighting as if he was in a fist fight, as if he had encountered a few drunken thugs, and therefore acting quick and using whatever he had around him as a makeshift weapon to dispose of his enemies. A sword fight against a skilled foe was very foreign to a few street thugs with knives, and Belen knew it, and with the look in his eyes Lukos could see it.
"You won't hurt me more, huh? Ah what a respectable and chivalrous fellow." The hunter said with his face lighting up somewhat, while a very mocking smile stood out, then as soon as he finished, his face quickly fell back to one of annoyance. "I see what you're doing too the sailors there, and trust me, you're going to have too beat me into submission if you want to tie me up." With what Belen said, it didn't seem to be much of a threat but more of a promise. Even still his words seemed to betray him. Belen could see the men creating a ring, locking off what little chance of escape he had. So even if he some how won this fight, there was no way he was getting away. Even still, it wasn't like Belen to give into a fight, and like hell he would do it now.
Belen was not in a good situation.
With his hands already bloodied, his hatchet on the ground and his only weapons being his fists and a home-made arrow, Belen had quickly came to realise the situation he placed himself in. He was overconfident, believing this pirate was just a grunt, yet he was sorely mistaken. It turned out overconfidence was quickly becoming an insidious killer.
If there was one thing Belen could boast about it was he was quick and he was perceptive. His physical ability lead to him being quicker than most. Most of the time he could react without thinking, it was one of the things that quickly lead the Pirate's first slash into being nothing more than a nick. His eyes, an asset he so prided himself on, was a priceless feature, they let him see what other's could not. With the second slash incoming, he quickly recognised it being similar to the ones the pirate had already afflicted upon the poor archer. Seeing through the attack, Belen quickly took a side step, allowing the blade to slice through the air with a terrifying might.
With Lukos leaving little opening, Belen was forced too rush the man. Stepping to the right, or the pirate's left, he through his body weight against his opponent in order to get him to stumble back, and perhaps fall. A risky move which would probably end in more pain than success, but he was desperate. Following up, with his desperation quickly turning into ruthlessness, he stabbed the arrow down, with almost blood thirsty intent behind it. With the force behind the arrow, he had the arrowhead plunge deep into the pirate's arm, enough that the metal head was gone and only the wooden shaft remained.
Feverishly pushing off the pirate, he took a few steps back, his hand reaching for another arrow. With another arrow in his hand, he lowered himself into a bit more of fighting position, raising his left hand somewhat over his face for a slight bit, if not meaningless, protection. Twirling the single arrow in his hand it was rather apparent on how Belen was fighting. He was fighting as if he was in a fist fight, as if he had encountered a few drunken thugs, and therefore acting quick and using whatever he had around him as a makeshift weapon to dispose of his enemies. A sword fight against a skilled foe was very foreign to a few street thugs with knives, and Belen knew it, and with the look in his eyes Lukos could see it.
"You won't hurt me more, huh? Ah what a respectable and chivalrous fellow." The hunter said with his face lighting up somewhat, while a very mocking smile stood out, then as soon as he finished, his face quickly fell back to one of annoyance. "I see what you're doing too the sailors there, and trust me, you're going to have too beat me into submission if you want to tie me up." With what Belen said, it didn't seem to be much of a threat but more of a promise. Even still his words seemed to betray him. Belen could see the men creating a ring, locking off what little chance of escape he had. So even if he some how won this fight, there was no way he was getting away. Even still, it wasn't like Belen to give into a fight, and like hell he would do it now.
The archer was quick. His blade sliced into air and he had time enough to look over before he felt the other man hurl bodily into him from the side. Together they stumbled backwards. He felt his center of gravity shift. Balling the fabric of Belen’s tunic in both fists, he made certain that if he fell, the other would too.
All of a sudden, a burning sensation radiated up his arm, followed by intense, pulsating pain. A hiss escaped him as he shoved against Belen. He hadn’t seen the arrow that now bit into the meat of his bicep. Either from his push or the other’s free will, he found himself free for a moment and he stumbled backward, eyes casting about for the slender shadow of his opponent.
Though the injury hurt, it was dulled by the very real possibility of dying in a fight like this. He was able to mostly ignore it. Small blessing that Belen had stabbed his left arm, rather than his right. This left his dominant hand intact and usable.
Belen hunkered down in front of him, raising his hand with another arrow in it, as though Lukos would allow him to get that close again. His sword had a longer reach. There was no need to get into each other’s space like one needed to for a fist or knife fight. The archer put on a brave face but Lukos was done with niceties.
“Oh, I’m not going to tie you up anymore,” his mouth twisted into a smile. “I’m going to hurt you.”
Without warning, the ring around them broke. Several of his men leapt forward, all intent on tackling Belen to the ground. As much as Lukos enjoyed fighting, he liked winning more. And his new goal wasn’t to best Belen to prove who could outfight who - he was confident that when it came to swords, he was superior - no he wanted the archer to suffer.
Once his men had wrestled the other man to the ground, Lukos crouched in front of him, looking him over. His hand shot out and he grabbed a fist full of Belen’s hair, wrenching his head back so that he’d be forced to stare him in the face.
“Where are the women?” he said softly. “I’ve never seen a village of just men before.”
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The archer was quick. His blade sliced into air and he had time enough to look over before he felt the other man hurl bodily into him from the side. Together they stumbled backwards. He felt his center of gravity shift. Balling the fabric of Belen’s tunic in both fists, he made certain that if he fell, the other would too.
All of a sudden, a burning sensation radiated up his arm, followed by intense, pulsating pain. A hiss escaped him as he shoved against Belen. He hadn’t seen the arrow that now bit into the meat of his bicep. Either from his push or the other’s free will, he found himself free for a moment and he stumbled backward, eyes casting about for the slender shadow of his opponent.
Though the injury hurt, it was dulled by the very real possibility of dying in a fight like this. He was able to mostly ignore it. Small blessing that Belen had stabbed his left arm, rather than his right. This left his dominant hand intact and usable.
Belen hunkered down in front of him, raising his hand with another arrow in it, as though Lukos would allow him to get that close again. His sword had a longer reach. There was no need to get into each other’s space like one needed to for a fist or knife fight. The archer put on a brave face but Lukos was done with niceties.
“Oh, I’m not going to tie you up anymore,” his mouth twisted into a smile. “I’m going to hurt you.”
Without warning, the ring around them broke. Several of his men leapt forward, all intent on tackling Belen to the ground. As much as Lukos enjoyed fighting, he liked winning more. And his new goal wasn’t to best Belen to prove who could outfight who - he was confident that when it came to swords, he was superior - no he wanted the archer to suffer.
Once his men had wrestled the other man to the ground, Lukos crouched in front of him, looking him over. His hand shot out and he grabbed a fist full of Belen’s hair, wrenching his head back so that he’d be forced to stare him in the face.
“Where are the women?” he said softly. “I’ve never seen a village of just men before.”
The archer was quick. His blade sliced into air and he had time enough to look over before he felt the other man hurl bodily into him from the side. Together they stumbled backwards. He felt his center of gravity shift. Balling the fabric of Belen’s tunic in both fists, he made certain that if he fell, the other would too.
All of a sudden, a burning sensation radiated up his arm, followed by intense, pulsating pain. A hiss escaped him as he shoved against Belen. He hadn’t seen the arrow that now bit into the meat of his bicep. Either from his push or the other’s free will, he found himself free for a moment and he stumbled backward, eyes casting about for the slender shadow of his opponent.
Though the injury hurt, it was dulled by the very real possibility of dying in a fight like this. He was able to mostly ignore it. Small blessing that Belen had stabbed his left arm, rather than his right. This left his dominant hand intact and usable.
Belen hunkered down in front of him, raising his hand with another arrow in it, as though Lukos would allow him to get that close again. His sword had a longer reach. There was no need to get into each other’s space like one needed to for a fist or knife fight. The archer put on a brave face but Lukos was done with niceties.
“Oh, I’m not going to tie you up anymore,” his mouth twisted into a smile. “I’m going to hurt you.”
Without warning, the ring around them broke. Several of his men leapt forward, all intent on tackling Belen to the ground. As much as Lukos enjoyed fighting, he liked winning more. And his new goal wasn’t to best Belen to prove who could outfight who - he was confident that when it came to swords, he was superior - no he wanted the archer to suffer.
Once his men had wrestled the other man to the ground, Lukos crouched in front of him, looking him over. His hand shot out and he grabbed a fist full of Belen’s hair, wrenching his head back so that he’d be forced to stare him in the face.
“Where are the women?” he said softly. “I’ve never seen a village of just men before.”
"Hurt me now? There we go, now you're talking like a real pirate!" Although the fear in hi eyes betrayed him, Belen seemed to make it a point of keeping a cool head, or at least attempting too. A small quip every now and then did well for that Hunter's sanity, especially in the hellish heat of battle. One inkling of stress, could be the difference between winning a fight or getting knocked down without even standing your ground.
Shifting his balance between his feet for a moment, Belen gripped the arrow tightly in his hand, his eyes locked onto Lukos, staring him down with intent. It was no misunderstanding that Belen was bound to lose this fight. Lukos knew it, every pirate circling him knew it, even the sailors as they were hauled off knew it, but most importantly Belen knew it. Yet for whatever reason he still continued to fight.
In fact, it was rather odd to think the village stood any chance. Sure there were strong man in the village, but none were trained in combat, and to think they could fight off a whole pirate raid was ludicrous. These men were either incredibly stupid or incredibly brave. Then again it was no surprise to think that they were nothing more than a distraction whilst those unable to fight ran.
Belen's attention suddenly shifted as the circle of men broke. Like a great wave suddenly storming in upon a boat, Belen couldn't do anything. He couldn't run, fight, he could only brace himself for what was about to come.
With the men's feet thundering down, like the charge of a thousand horses coming straight for Belen, the archer rose taking the bow off from his shoulder. Placing the arrow in and pulling the string back, he fired off the first arrow into the pirate that came the closest. Heavy thuds of footsteps came from behind the archer. Thinking quickly, Belen held his bow by the bottom wooden limb, twirling on his feet, he swung the end of the bow into the pirate's face. Hefty arms came up, wrapping around Belen's neck, growling the Archer threw his elbow back into the stomach of the pirate. Yet his attack was in vain as a fist connected with his jaw, and then another, and another. A sharp pain suddenly sprouted from Belen's stomach as knee was thrusted into him. Coughing up a large amount of spit, Belen found himself being thrown too the ground.
Hitting the ground with a heavy thud his bow and quiver falling next to him, arrows spilling out across the floor. His world was spinning as his vision became hazy and dark, the words people spoke around him where nothing more than muffled whispers in his ringing ears.
With his hair grabbed, and his body forced onto his knees The hunter going gave off a small groan followed by a chuckle as he was asked where all the women were. "You just haven't been going too the right villages." Belen smirked as he opened his eyes, Lukos' face was hazy but he could make it out. Only inches away from the man's face Belen still decided to grin, even if it was only for a moment. "If you want that information, you're going to have to do a lot better that what those guys did." Belen laughed, something which didn't last long as his face changed from that cocky grin to one void of humour. "And if you think you're going to get it out of me you're going to have to do a lot worse." Belen suddenly growled, mustering up the courage to spit in the pirate's face, as he was held only inches away.
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"Hurt me now? There we go, now you're talking like a real pirate!" Although the fear in hi eyes betrayed him, Belen seemed to make it a point of keeping a cool head, or at least attempting too. A small quip every now and then did well for that Hunter's sanity, especially in the hellish heat of battle. One inkling of stress, could be the difference between winning a fight or getting knocked down without even standing your ground.
Shifting his balance between his feet for a moment, Belen gripped the arrow tightly in his hand, his eyes locked onto Lukos, staring him down with intent. It was no misunderstanding that Belen was bound to lose this fight. Lukos knew it, every pirate circling him knew it, even the sailors as they were hauled off knew it, but most importantly Belen knew it. Yet for whatever reason he still continued to fight.
In fact, it was rather odd to think the village stood any chance. Sure there were strong man in the village, but none were trained in combat, and to think they could fight off a whole pirate raid was ludicrous. These men were either incredibly stupid or incredibly brave. Then again it was no surprise to think that they were nothing more than a distraction whilst those unable to fight ran.
Belen's attention suddenly shifted as the circle of men broke. Like a great wave suddenly storming in upon a boat, Belen couldn't do anything. He couldn't run, fight, he could only brace himself for what was about to come.
With the men's feet thundering down, like the charge of a thousand horses coming straight for Belen, the archer rose taking the bow off from his shoulder. Placing the arrow in and pulling the string back, he fired off the first arrow into the pirate that came the closest. Heavy thuds of footsteps came from behind the archer. Thinking quickly, Belen held his bow by the bottom wooden limb, twirling on his feet, he swung the end of the bow into the pirate's face. Hefty arms came up, wrapping around Belen's neck, growling the Archer threw his elbow back into the stomach of the pirate. Yet his attack was in vain as a fist connected with his jaw, and then another, and another. A sharp pain suddenly sprouted from Belen's stomach as knee was thrusted into him. Coughing up a large amount of spit, Belen found himself being thrown too the ground.
Hitting the ground with a heavy thud his bow and quiver falling next to him, arrows spilling out across the floor. His world was spinning as his vision became hazy and dark, the words people spoke around him where nothing more than muffled whispers in his ringing ears.
With his hair grabbed, and his body forced onto his knees The hunter going gave off a small groan followed by a chuckle as he was asked where all the women were. "You just haven't been going too the right villages." Belen smirked as he opened his eyes, Lukos' face was hazy but he could make it out. Only inches away from the man's face Belen still decided to grin, even if it was only for a moment. "If you want that information, you're going to have to do a lot better that what those guys did." Belen laughed, something which didn't last long as his face changed from that cocky grin to one void of humour. "And if you think you're going to get it out of me you're going to have to do a lot worse." Belen suddenly growled, mustering up the courage to spit in the pirate's face, as he was held only inches away.
"Hurt me now? There we go, now you're talking like a real pirate!" Although the fear in hi eyes betrayed him, Belen seemed to make it a point of keeping a cool head, or at least attempting too. A small quip every now and then did well for that Hunter's sanity, especially in the hellish heat of battle. One inkling of stress, could be the difference between winning a fight or getting knocked down without even standing your ground.
Shifting his balance between his feet for a moment, Belen gripped the arrow tightly in his hand, his eyes locked onto Lukos, staring him down with intent. It was no misunderstanding that Belen was bound to lose this fight. Lukos knew it, every pirate circling him knew it, even the sailors as they were hauled off knew it, but most importantly Belen knew it. Yet for whatever reason he still continued to fight.
In fact, it was rather odd to think the village stood any chance. Sure there were strong man in the village, but none were trained in combat, and to think they could fight off a whole pirate raid was ludicrous. These men were either incredibly stupid or incredibly brave. Then again it was no surprise to think that they were nothing more than a distraction whilst those unable to fight ran.
Belen's attention suddenly shifted as the circle of men broke. Like a great wave suddenly storming in upon a boat, Belen couldn't do anything. He couldn't run, fight, he could only brace himself for what was about to come.
With the men's feet thundering down, like the charge of a thousand horses coming straight for Belen, the archer rose taking the bow off from his shoulder. Placing the arrow in and pulling the string back, he fired off the first arrow into the pirate that came the closest. Heavy thuds of footsteps came from behind the archer. Thinking quickly, Belen held his bow by the bottom wooden limb, twirling on his feet, he swung the end of the bow into the pirate's face. Hefty arms came up, wrapping around Belen's neck, growling the Archer threw his elbow back into the stomach of the pirate. Yet his attack was in vain as a fist connected with his jaw, and then another, and another. A sharp pain suddenly sprouted from Belen's stomach as knee was thrusted into him. Coughing up a large amount of spit, Belen found himself being thrown too the ground.
Hitting the ground with a heavy thud his bow and quiver falling next to him, arrows spilling out across the floor. His world was spinning as his vision became hazy and dark, the words people spoke around him where nothing more than muffled whispers in his ringing ears.
With his hair grabbed, and his body forced onto his knees The hunter going gave off a small groan followed by a chuckle as he was asked where all the women were. "You just haven't been going too the right villages." Belen smirked as he opened his eyes, Lukos' face was hazy but he could make it out. Only inches away from the man's face Belen still decided to grin, even if it was only for a moment. "If you want that information, you're going to have to do a lot better that what those guys did." Belen laughed, something which didn't last long as his face changed from that cocky grin to one void of humour. "And if you think you're going to get it out of me you're going to have to do a lot worse." Belen suddenly growled, mustering up the courage to spit in the pirate's face, as he was held only inches away.
Up until Belen’s fatal mistake in spitting at him, Lukos had been listening with interest to this smaller man’s threats. Even through evident fear, the man was undaunted. It was a trait he respected in people. One he valued. But that shred of goodwill vanished the second Belen’s final insult left his mouth.
His left arm was nigh unusable with the arrow still embedded in it. However, he took the trouble of to force the muscles to tear around the arrowhead so that he could grab Belen by the throat, locking him in place. Without stopping to wipe the spit off his own face, he slammed his fist into Belen’s nose. The satisfying give of flesh under his knuckles was all the reward he required.
With his grip on the man’s neck, he was able to prevent Belen from toppling over backwards. His men also had Belen by the arms. There was nowhere for the archer to go. And no one was around to save him. He was unlucky to be in Lukos’s crosshairs. Not only did Lukos have the desire to harm Belen, he had the ability to do it. And years of experience to tell him how best to go about it.
Now that he’d exacted immediate revenge for the spittal, Lukos cleaned his face on his sleeve. “Spit at me again and I’ll carve out your tongue,” he warned. “Piece by piece.” Taking out his knife from his belt, he considered the blade and then glanced at Belen. “I may do it anyway.”
“He needs to talk, Lukos,” Arktos said. Arktos was the hulking shadow that Belen had shot a few minutes earlier. The big man was still on his feet but standing just outside the circle. Lukos turned and glanced over his shoulder at his first mate, and then back at Belen.
“Where are the women,” he repeated, not actually backing down on the threat. His voice was flat and there was no hint of amusement anymore.
He hoped Belen wouldn’t tell him. He wanted to carve into this man. Hear him scream. Make him writhe and bleed. Make him the outlet for the evil temper he’d been in for days. All the rage he’d been carrying, he wanted to pour into Belen in a permanent way; to physically injure him in the same way he felt carved out. If he could rip his own heart out of his body and toss it away, he’d do it. But it was easier to settle for someone else’s.
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Up until Belen’s fatal mistake in spitting at him, Lukos had been listening with interest to this smaller man’s threats. Even through evident fear, the man was undaunted. It was a trait he respected in people. One he valued. But that shred of goodwill vanished the second Belen’s final insult left his mouth.
His left arm was nigh unusable with the arrow still embedded in it. However, he took the trouble of to force the muscles to tear around the arrowhead so that he could grab Belen by the throat, locking him in place. Without stopping to wipe the spit off his own face, he slammed his fist into Belen’s nose. The satisfying give of flesh under his knuckles was all the reward he required.
With his grip on the man’s neck, he was able to prevent Belen from toppling over backwards. His men also had Belen by the arms. There was nowhere for the archer to go. And no one was around to save him. He was unlucky to be in Lukos’s crosshairs. Not only did Lukos have the desire to harm Belen, he had the ability to do it. And years of experience to tell him how best to go about it.
Now that he’d exacted immediate revenge for the spittal, Lukos cleaned his face on his sleeve. “Spit at me again and I’ll carve out your tongue,” he warned. “Piece by piece.” Taking out his knife from his belt, he considered the blade and then glanced at Belen. “I may do it anyway.”
“He needs to talk, Lukos,” Arktos said. Arktos was the hulking shadow that Belen had shot a few minutes earlier. The big man was still on his feet but standing just outside the circle. Lukos turned and glanced over his shoulder at his first mate, and then back at Belen.
“Where are the women,” he repeated, not actually backing down on the threat. His voice was flat and there was no hint of amusement anymore.
He hoped Belen wouldn’t tell him. He wanted to carve into this man. Hear him scream. Make him writhe and bleed. Make him the outlet for the evil temper he’d been in for days. All the rage he’d been carrying, he wanted to pour into Belen in a permanent way; to physically injure him in the same way he felt carved out. If he could rip his own heart out of his body and toss it away, he’d do it. But it was easier to settle for someone else’s.
Up until Belen’s fatal mistake in spitting at him, Lukos had been listening with interest to this smaller man’s threats. Even through evident fear, the man was undaunted. It was a trait he respected in people. One he valued. But that shred of goodwill vanished the second Belen’s final insult left his mouth.
His left arm was nigh unusable with the arrow still embedded in it. However, he took the trouble of to force the muscles to tear around the arrowhead so that he could grab Belen by the throat, locking him in place. Without stopping to wipe the spit off his own face, he slammed his fist into Belen’s nose. The satisfying give of flesh under his knuckles was all the reward he required.
With his grip on the man’s neck, he was able to prevent Belen from toppling over backwards. His men also had Belen by the arms. There was nowhere for the archer to go. And no one was around to save him. He was unlucky to be in Lukos’s crosshairs. Not only did Lukos have the desire to harm Belen, he had the ability to do it. And years of experience to tell him how best to go about it.
Now that he’d exacted immediate revenge for the spittal, Lukos cleaned his face on his sleeve. “Spit at me again and I’ll carve out your tongue,” he warned. “Piece by piece.” Taking out his knife from his belt, he considered the blade and then glanced at Belen. “I may do it anyway.”
“He needs to talk, Lukos,” Arktos said. Arktos was the hulking shadow that Belen had shot a few minutes earlier. The big man was still on his feet but standing just outside the circle. Lukos turned and glanced over his shoulder at his first mate, and then back at Belen.
“Where are the women,” he repeated, not actually backing down on the threat. His voice was flat and there was no hint of amusement anymore.
He hoped Belen wouldn’t tell him. He wanted to carve into this man. Hear him scream. Make him writhe and bleed. Make him the outlet for the evil temper he’d been in for days. All the rage he’d been carrying, he wanted to pour into Belen in a permanent way; to physically injure him in the same way he felt carved out. If he could rip his own heart out of his body and toss it away, he’d do it. But it was easier to settle for someone else’s.
Belen's smirk of defiance was knocked off as soon as it appeared. With a hand grasped tightly around his throat, as his body forced of his knees, Lukos could feel the archer's Adam's apple retracting as he took an unmistakeable gulp of fear.
The punch was strong, and it hurt. Belen's head flung back, and so would of his body if it wasn't for the pirates holding his every limb. His head jolted back into place, a few strands of hair falling down in front of his face. A small river of blood began too pour out the Hunter's now crooked nose. With arched brows, Belen looked up as Lukos with eyes filled with a fiery hate, and a freezing cold fear.
"Where are the women."
Those words dropped like a pin in a silent room, a pebble through into a lake, as the ripples grew, becoming bigger and bigger as the wind pushed it on. Even now with his hands bound by pirates, and a man threatening to carve him into pieces, Belen soon found himself struggling and fighting. Fighting against of their grips with what little strength his exhausted body held.
Like some rabid animal caught in a hunter's trap, trying to get out in desperation, the archer found himself biting, twisting, struggling. His feet kicking as screams of anger and desperation filled the air around him.
Yet for all his struggling, for all his fighting, his body soon gave out, as what little morals of energy he had left were depleted, wasted on some futile attempt for freedom. His head, previously twisting and nashing, dropped as his screamed faded into heavy breathing.
"Fuck you." A small whisper came from the archer as he slowly lifted his head once more. "Like I said before, you're going to have to do a lot worse, Pirate." Belen spat, his voice filled with nothing more than a pathetic mixture of fear, desperation and anger. "So do your fucking worst."
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Belen's smirk of defiance was knocked off as soon as it appeared. With a hand grasped tightly around his throat, as his body forced of his knees, Lukos could feel the archer's Adam's apple retracting as he took an unmistakeable gulp of fear.
The punch was strong, and it hurt. Belen's head flung back, and so would of his body if it wasn't for the pirates holding his every limb. His head jolted back into place, a few strands of hair falling down in front of his face. A small river of blood began too pour out the Hunter's now crooked nose. With arched brows, Belen looked up as Lukos with eyes filled with a fiery hate, and a freezing cold fear.
"Where are the women."
Those words dropped like a pin in a silent room, a pebble through into a lake, as the ripples grew, becoming bigger and bigger as the wind pushed it on. Even now with his hands bound by pirates, and a man threatening to carve him into pieces, Belen soon found himself struggling and fighting. Fighting against of their grips with what little strength his exhausted body held.
Like some rabid animal caught in a hunter's trap, trying to get out in desperation, the archer found himself biting, twisting, struggling. His feet kicking as screams of anger and desperation filled the air around him.
Yet for all his struggling, for all his fighting, his body soon gave out, as what little morals of energy he had left were depleted, wasted on some futile attempt for freedom. His head, previously twisting and nashing, dropped as his screamed faded into heavy breathing.
"Fuck you." A small whisper came from the archer as he slowly lifted his head once more. "Like I said before, you're going to have to do a lot worse, Pirate." Belen spat, his voice filled with nothing more than a pathetic mixture of fear, desperation and anger. "So do your fucking worst."
Belen's smirk of defiance was knocked off as soon as it appeared. With a hand grasped tightly around his throat, as his body forced of his knees, Lukos could feel the archer's Adam's apple retracting as he took an unmistakeable gulp of fear.
The punch was strong, and it hurt. Belen's head flung back, and so would of his body if it wasn't for the pirates holding his every limb. His head jolted back into place, a few strands of hair falling down in front of his face. A small river of blood began too pour out the Hunter's now crooked nose. With arched brows, Belen looked up as Lukos with eyes filled with a fiery hate, and a freezing cold fear.
"Where are the women."
Those words dropped like a pin in a silent room, a pebble through into a lake, as the ripples grew, becoming bigger and bigger as the wind pushed it on. Even now with his hands bound by pirates, and a man threatening to carve him into pieces, Belen soon found himself struggling and fighting. Fighting against of their grips with what little strength his exhausted body held.
Like some rabid animal caught in a hunter's trap, trying to get out in desperation, the archer found himself biting, twisting, struggling. His feet kicking as screams of anger and desperation filled the air around him.
Yet for all his struggling, for all his fighting, his body soon gave out, as what little morals of energy he had left were depleted, wasted on some futile attempt for freedom. His head, previously twisting and nashing, dropped as his screamed faded into heavy breathing.
"Fuck you." A small whisper came from the archer as he slowly lifted his head once more. "Like I said before, you're going to have to do a lot worse, Pirate." Belen spat, his voice filled with nothing more than a pathetic mixture of fear, desperation and anger. "So do your fucking worst."
Though it was what he’d wanted, he did not smile or smirk while Belen screamed. The sounds emitting from him as he struggled against his inevitable cooperation weren’t born pain but from frustration. Anguish. Defiance. The last one, defiance, was the most stubborn and dangerous things one of his captives could have. He’d have to soundly beat it out.
He stayed near Belen, patiently waiting until he came to a sort of shallow calm. This was deceptive. Men like Belen might appear weak, and might be physically, but they had a moral quality that was harder to break down. The process would be long, but, for Lukos, ultimately cathartic.
“Fuck you.” Belen said. "Like I said before, you're going to have to do a lot worse, Pirate. So do your fucking worst."
Bending down, he got into Belen’s face, the way he’d done before, but this time, the point of his knife was held under Belen’s chin. The night was dark but this close, he could clearly see the other’s features. His eyes searched Belen’s. For a long moment, he was quiet, before he murmured, “You’re a man of character.” The tone of his voice was musing.
The knife’s point slowly pressed upward into the soft skin under Belen’s chin, slipping through the thin membrane of muscle until it met the bone in his jaw. That tiny little space, not even half an inch of flesh preventing the knife from digging into so painful an area. If Belen wanted to talk, he’d have to do it without moving his jaw. If the man writhed or jerked, Lukos was careful not to let the knife rip into his throat and kept the knife tip notched where it was supposed to be.
“Selfishness would have served you better.” He flicked the knife so that it sliced up the chin. Despite the hole at the jaw, the further cut was surface. Meant to irritate and burn, rather than maim.
Belen’s face was slick with blood, black in the darkness. Lukos smirked now. “This isn’t near my worst. Tell me where the women are.” As he’d hoped, the archer refused. “Lift him up,” he said and stood as Belen was hefted to his feet. The game had begun.
Jeers and hoots echoed from around them. His men were as restless for blood as he was. A well stood not far away. Lukos had his men take Belen there and suspended over it. The cold hole in the ground might as well have led to Tartarus itself. It’s inky black depths held secrets and potentially a new body soon.
He repeated his request, which was again denied. The way Belen was suspended, his torso covered the opening while each limb was held by a pirate so that he was splayed out. Lukos had picked up a blunt, thick stick used to bludgeon fish. As soon as Belen said no, he struck the man in the knee. Nothing to break it, but it wouldn’t bear weight for a day or so. He did the same to the other knee when Belen again refused to give up the women.
“Why sacrifice yourself this way?” Lukos felt his patience slipping back into irritation. “I’m not going to harm them.” This was true, so long as the women obeyed.
The night stretched on and light threatened on the horizon. A few of his men had broken away to load up the village men they did have and wanted to keep onto the ship. Lukos had Belen up against the side of the well, with the back of Belen’s head pressed against the stone and the tip of Lukos’s knife against the base of Belen’s eye socket.
For every hurt he’d inflicted, every cut, every broken finger, though the man could not stand and seemed barely awake, he still had not given in. Not only that, his incessant mouth only served to enrage him. One hand gripped Belen’s bloody jaw while the other held the knife. Lukos spoke low and quiet, trying to maintain some sense of calm.
“I swear to the gods, I will take your eye, archer. Tell me or so help me I’ll leave you alive to endure this life.” They were chest to chest. He could feel Belen’s erratic heartbeat against his own. The other man’s blood coated him as though he’d bathed in it. This was as intimate as one could get with another human being. Beyond love and lust, there lay torture and life and death. The power over someone to alter their fate so completely.
His breath washed hot over Belen’s face. He could feel the puffs of breath from the other man. When it was clear that here too, Belen would continue to be stubborn. Lukos clenched his teeth.
He slid the knife up and nicked open the delicate flesh beneath the eyeball. It lay in a red smile as he flicked open the skin flap to reveal the white of the eye, spinning madly out of control. The thing seemed like an animal, quivering, struggling, knowing that it was about to die.
Belen was hard to hold onto but Lukos slammed his body against Belen’s ribs, attempting to knock the wind out of him. He kept the man’s jaw in an iron grip, digging his fingers into the cheeks until his could feel the outline of teeth. Amidst Belen’s panic, gasps from those around him, brays of laughter from the men ringing them, he gently poked his knife into the white of Belen’s eye.
The thing crumpled around the metal like a punctured water bladder. Fluid oozed down the blade and he tugged up, dragging what was left of the eyesac out of Belen’s skull. It was still attached by the chord which he jerked totally free of the socket.
“Oh!” a collective shout rose up and Lukos shoved off Belen, flinging the mangled eye at him. It landed on the archer’s chest and stuck there like a wet piece of seaweed.
“Where are the women!” Lukos roared. “I will not let you die!” He shouted. “I will take you piece by piece! I swear to the gods! But you will fucking live with what I've done to you!”
“Captain!” someone called in the distance. “We found them! They was hidden up here in a cave.”
Lukos smirked. He stood over Belen’s body, bloody knife hanging carelessly in his hand. Kicking Belen’s boot, he said, “I hope you’re awake for this. We found your girls.”
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Though it was what he’d wanted, he did not smile or smirk while Belen screamed. The sounds emitting from him as he struggled against his inevitable cooperation weren’t born pain but from frustration. Anguish. Defiance. The last one, defiance, was the most stubborn and dangerous things one of his captives could have. He’d have to soundly beat it out.
He stayed near Belen, patiently waiting until he came to a sort of shallow calm. This was deceptive. Men like Belen might appear weak, and might be physically, but they had a moral quality that was harder to break down. The process would be long, but, for Lukos, ultimately cathartic.
“Fuck you.” Belen said. "Like I said before, you're going to have to do a lot worse, Pirate. So do your fucking worst."
Bending down, he got into Belen’s face, the way he’d done before, but this time, the point of his knife was held under Belen’s chin. The night was dark but this close, he could clearly see the other’s features. His eyes searched Belen’s. For a long moment, he was quiet, before he murmured, “You’re a man of character.” The tone of his voice was musing.
The knife’s point slowly pressed upward into the soft skin under Belen’s chin, slipping through the thin membrane of muscle until it met the bone in his jaw. That tiny little space, not even half an inch of flesh preventing the knife from digging into so painful an area. If Belen wanted to talk, he’d have to do it without moving his jaw. If the man writhed or jerked, Lukos was careful not to let the knife rip into his throat and kept the knife tip notched where it was supposed to be.
“Selfishness would have served you better.” He flicked the knife so that it sliced up the chin. Despite the hole at the jaw, the further cut was surface. Meant to irritate and burn, rather than maim.
Belen’s face was slick with blood, black in the darkness. Lukos smirked now. “This isn’t near my worst. Tell me where the women are.” As he’d hoped, the archer refused. “Lift him up,” he said and stood as Belen was hefted to his feet. The game had begun.
Jeers and hoots echoed from around them. His men were as restless for blood as he was. A well stood not far away. Lukos had his men take Belen there and suspended over it. The cold hole in the ground might as well have led to Tartarus itself. It’s inky black depths held secrets and potentially a new body soon.
He repeated his request, which was again denied. The way Belen was suspended, his torso covered the opening while each limb was held by a pirate so that he was splayed out. Lukos had picked up a blunt, thick stick used to bludgeon fish. As soon as Belen said no, he struck the man in the knee. Nothing to break it, but it wouldn’t bear weight for a day or so. He did the same to the other knee when Belen again refused to give up the women.
“Why sacrifice yourself this way?” Lukos felt his patience slipping back into irritation. “I’m not going to harm them.” This was true, so long as the women obeyed.
The night stretched on and light threatened on the horizon. A few of his men had broken away to load up the village men they did have and wanted to keep onto the ship. Lukos had Belen up against the side of the well, with the back of Belen’s head pressed against the stone and the tip of Lukos’s knife against the base of Belen’s eye socket.
For every hurt he’d inflicted, every cut, every broken finger, though the man could not stand and seemed barely awake, he still had not given in. Not only that, his incessant mouth only served to enrage him. One hand gripped Belen’s bloody jaw while the other held the knife. Lukos spoke low and quiet, trying to maintain some sense of calm.
“I swear to the gods, I will take your eye, archer. Tell me or so help me I’ll leave you alive to endure this life.” They were chest to chest. He could feel Belen’s erratic heartbeat against his own. The other man’s blood coated him as though he’d bathed in it. This was as intimate as one could get with another human being. Beyond love and lust, there lay torture and life and death. The power over someone to alter their fate so completely.
His breath washed hot over Belen’s face. He could feel the puffs of breath from the other man. When it was clear that here too, Belen would continue to be stubborn. Lukos clenched his teeth.
He slid the knife up and nicked open the delicate flesh beneath the eyeball. It lay in a red smile as he flicked open the skin flap to reveal the white of the eye, spinning madly out of control. The thing seemed like an animal, quivering, struggling, knowing that it was about to die.
Belen was hard to hold onto but Lukos slammed his body against Belen’s ribs, attempting to knock the wind out of him. He kept the man’s jaw in an iron grip, digging his fingers into the cheeks until his could feel the outline of teeth. Amidst Belen’s panic, gasps from those around him, brays of laughter from the men ringing them, he gently poked his knife into the white of Belen’s eye.
The thing crumpled around the metal like a punctured water bladder. Fluid oozed down the blade and he tugged up, dragging what was left of the eyesac out of Belen’s skull. It was still attached by the chord which he jerked totally free of the socket.
“Oh!” a collective shout rose up and Lukos shoved off Belen, flinging the mangled eye at him. It landed on the archer’s chest and stuck there like a wet piece of seaweed.
“Where are the women!” Lukos roared. “I will not let you die!” He shouted. “I will take you piece by piece! I swear to the gods! But you will fucking live with what I've done to you!”
“Captain!” someone called in the distance. “We found them! They was hidden up here in a cave.”
Lukos smirked. He stood over Belen’s body, bloody knife hanging carelessly in his hand. Kicking Belen’s boot, he said, “I hope you’re awake for this. We found your girls.”
Though it was what he’d wanted, he did not smile or smirk while Belen screamed. The sounds emitting from him as he struggled against his inevitable cooperation weren’t born pain but from frustration. Anguish. Defiance. The last one, defiance, was the most stubborn and dangerous things one of his captives could have. He’d have to soundly beat it out.
He stayed near Belen, patiently waiting until he came to a sort of shallow calm. This was deceptive. Men like Belen might appear weak, and might be physically, but they had a moral quality that was harder to break down. The process would be long, but, for Lukos, ultimately cathartic.
“Fuck you.” Belen said. "Like I said before, you're going to have to do a lot worse, Pirate. So do your fucking worst."
Bending down, he got into Belen’s face, the way he’d done before, but this time, the point of his knife was held under Belen’s chin. The night was dark but this close, he could clearly see the other’s features. His eyes searched Belen’s. For a long moment, he was quiet, before he murmured, “You’re a man of character.” The tone of his voice was musing.
The knife’s point slowly pressed upward into the soft skin under Belen’s chin, slipping through the thin membrane of muscle until it met the bone in his jaw. That tiny little space, not even half an inch of flesh preventing the knife from digging into so painful an area. If Belen wanted to talk, he’d have to do it without moving his jaw. If the man writhed or jerked, Lukos was careful not to let the knife rip into his throat and kept the knife tip notched where it was supposed to be.
“Selfishness would have served you better.” He flicked the knife so that it sliced up the chin. Despite the hole at the jaw, the further cut was surface. Meant to irritate and burn, rather than maim.
Belen’s face was slick with blood, black in the darkness. Lukos smirked now. “This isn’t near my worst. Tell me where the women are.” As he’d hoped, the archer refused. “Lift him up,” he said and stood as Belen was hefted to his feet. The game had begun.
Jeers and hoots echoed from around them. His men were as restless for blood as he was. A well stood not far away. Lukos had his men take Belen there and suspended over it. The cold hole in the ground might as well have led to Tartarus itself. It’s inky black depths held secrets and potentially a new body soon.
He repeated his request, which was again denied. The way Belen was suspended, his torso covered the opening while each limb was held by a pirate so that he was splayed out. Lukos had picked up a blunt, thick stick used to bludgeon fish. As soon as Belen said no, he struck the man in the knee. Nothing to break it, but it wouldn’t bear weight for a day or so. He did the same to the other knee when Belen again refused to give up the women.
“Why sacrifice yourself this way?” Lukos felt his patience slipping back into irritation. “I’m not going to harm them.” This was true, so long as the women obeyed.
The night stretched on and light threatened on the horizon. A few of his men had broken away to load up the village men they did have and wanted to keep onto the ship. Lukos had Belen up against the side of the well, with the back of Belen’s head pressed against the stone and the tip of Lukos’s knife against the base of Belen’s eye socket.
For every hurt he’d inflicted, every cut, every broken finger, though the man could not stand and seemed barely awake, he still had not given in. Not only that, his incessant mouth only served to enrage him. One hand gripped Belen’s bloody jaw while the other held the knife. Lukos spoke low and quiet, trying to maintain some sense of calm.
“I swear to the gods, I will take your eye, archer. Tell me or so help me I’ll leave you alive to endure this life.” They were chest to chest. He could feel Belen’s erratic heartbeat against his own. The other man’s blood coated him as though he’d bathed in it. This was as intimate as one could get with another human being. Beyond love and lust, there lay torture and life and death. The power over someone to alter their fate so completely.
His breath washed hot over Belen’s face. He could feel the puffs of breath from the other man. When it was clear that here too, Belen would continue to be stubborn. Lukos clenched his teeth.
He slid the knife up and nicked open the delicate flesh beneath the eyeball. It lay in a red smile as he flicked open the skin flap to reveal the white of the eye, spinning madly out of control. The thing seemed like an animal, quivering, struggling, knowing that it was about to die.
Belen was hard to hold onto but Lukos slammed his body against Belen’s ribs, attempting to knock the wind out of him. He kept the man’s jaw in an iron grip, digging his fingers into the cheeks until his could feel the outline of teeth. Amidst Belen’s panic, gasps from those around him, brays of laughter from the men ringing them, he gently poked his knife into the white of Belen’s eye.
The thing crumpled around the metal like a punctured water bladder. Fluid oozed down the blade and he tugged up, dragging what was left of the eyesac out of Belen’s skull. It was still attached by the chord which he jerked totally free of the socket.
“Oh!” a collective shout rose up and Lukos shoved off Belen, flinging the mangled eye at him. It landed on the archer’s chest and stuck there like a wet piece of seaweed.
“Where are the women!” Lukos roared. “I will not let you die!” He shouted. “I will take you piece by piece! I swear to the gods! But you will fucking live with what I've done to you!”
“Captain!” someone called in the distance. “We found them! They was hidden up here in a cave.”
Lukos smirked. He stood over Belen’s body, bloody knife hanging carelessly in his hand. Kicking Belen’s boot, he said, “I hope you’re awake for this. We found your girls.”
With the point of the knife sinking into the flesh of his jaw, Belen couldn't help but flinch. He could feel the cold metal scraping across the bone of his jaw, setting his nerves alight. The want to scratch the wound as the irritation ran through his face had already became overwhelming. Not daring to talk, out of fear of his throat being sliced to ribbons, he starred up at Lukos, his teeth clenched. With the knife suddenly flicked across his chin, adding another scar to the list, and allowing another of river of blood to rush down Belen's face. A low hiss from the archer could be heard, as he shook his head in an attempt to reduce the pain.
Belen didn't even bother to reply as he was lifted into the air, each of his limps suspended, with his torso lying over the well, threatening to be dropped in the depth of the night. If he was dropped now, he surely would of hit the water and shattered like old rotten wood as soon as he hit the surface. As soon as Lukos dared opened his mouth about the women, Belen met the pirate with an obvious shout of defiance before he could even finish his sentence. Yet with his reward being a strike to the knee, Belen couldn't help but lose that defying nature for a moment as pain was yelled into the open air. He received no sympathy for his efforts, nor would he, only laughs and cheers from the pirates as their leader struck his second knee.
"Why sacrifice yourself this way? I'm not going to harm them." Lukos spoke. Belen could hear his voice slipping back into irritation, and in all truth Belen found his temper being lost as soon as the women where mentioned again.
"Shut up, I'll gut you like a fish." Belen's threat may of seemed empty as he screamed them out into the night sky, and even though he was in no place to make threats, he still found himself doing so. He found his rage bubbling up in a bottle, the pressure getting tighter and tighter, and now it was exploding.
The night was long, and the archer found himself subjected to all kinds of torture. When the scars didn't make him talk, they moved onto something an archer needed. His fingers. Snapping them individually and letting the sound ring throughout the night sky, only brought cheers and awes from the blood thirsty pirates. Even then when Belen refused to talk, he found himself with a knife pressed against his right eye and a very real threat in front of him.
The only thing that gave Belen any solace was the fact that Lukos couldn't get a sliver of enjoyment from his torture tactics. For every cut, for every bruise, for every threat Belen was still talking, he was still laughing at the pitiful attempt to get him to talk. For every attempt to rip down his spirit, Belen just built a new wall for Lukos to fight through.
Yet it seemed Lukos had broken through the last wall. With Belen's concious fading, the archer found himself cracking under the pressure. With another thud against his chest, he proceeded to cough up whatever air was left in his tired lungs. He was left their breathing, half awake, only driven on by the fact there could be a chance for the women of this village to get out unharmed.
Feeling the blade delicately break the skin, like a surgeons knife. Belen found his body struggling once more, as if his body was attempting to fight it without the say of his mind. But that was soon put to a stop as the last remnants of energy were slammed out of his body, his jaw held tight, as he was forced too look up at Lukos.
He wanted to scream, he wanted to run, he wanted to pray to Artemis, he wanted to cry, but nothing. He didn't even open his mouth, he didn't even flinch as the view in his right eye faded into darkness. As the feeling of liquid poured down his socket. As the last cords were ripped from his head. The collective shouts were nothing but muffled noises in the distance as he slumped down. Lukos' roars of anger where nothing more than rumbles as the feeling of sick rose in his throat and swirled in his stomach. Nothing mattered, all but one sentence.
"We found your girls."
Belen felt his body jerk, he felt his body move. That spark of defiance growing. His eye, his broken body, his beaten spirit. It didn’t matter. He felt his legs quivering under his weight as he hauled himself to his feet. “Don’t you dare.” Belen spat, as he took his first step. Feeling the weight on his leg, he collapsed to the ground, his jaw making an awful crack as it connected with the dirt. “I will kill you.” He growled as he outstretched an arm, digging his broken fingers into the dirt, only to drag himself closer. Ignoring the pain for just a moment, he pulled himself closer.
“I will gut you, I swear I will break you if you dare touch them, I, I… I… I’m sorry Adrasteia…” It was at that moment Belen’s spirit truly broke. It was when the realisation that he was broken, beaten, better of dead finally came to him. A single stream of tears rolled down his face, as he slammed a broken hand into the ground, his whimpers echoing throughout the abandoned village.
By the time the pirates left, Belen found himself, alone with the first droplets of rain splattering across his body. Tears staining his face, as he failed to pick up the broken pieces of his spirit, his shrieks and screams filling the air, with no one to listen to him. By the first break of the sun, the start of a new dawn, Belen found himself fading into unconsciousness.
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This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
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With the point of the knife sinking into the flesh of his jaw, Belen couldn't help but flinch. He could feel the cold metal scraping across the bone of his jaw, setting his nerves alight. The want to scratch the wound as the irritation ran through his face had already became overwhelming. Not daring to talk, out of fear of his throat being sliced to ribbons, he starred up at Lukos, his teeth clenched. With the knife suddenly flicked across his chin, adding another scar to the list, and allowing another of river of blood to rush down Belen's face. A low hiss from the archer could be heard, as he shook his head in an attempt to reduce the pain.
Belen didn't even bother to reply as he was lifted into the air, each of his limps suspended, with his torso lying over the well, threatening to be dropped in the depth of the night. If he was dropped now, he surely would of hit the water and shattered like old rotten wood as soon as he hit the surface. As soon as Lukos dared opened his mouth about the women, Belen met the pirate with an obvious shout of defiance before he could even finish his sentence. Yet with his reward being a strike to the knee, Belen couldn't help but lose that defying nature for a moment as pain was yelled into the open air. He received no sympathy for his efforts, nor would he, only laughs and cheers from the pirates as their leader struck his second knee.
"Why sacrifice yourself this way? I'm not going to harm them." Lukos spoke. Belen could hear his voice slipping back into irritation, and in all truth Belen found his temper being lost as soon as the women where mentioned again.
"Shut up, I'll gut you like a fish." Belen's threat may of seemed empty as he screamed them out into the night sky, and even though he was in no place to make threats, he still found himself doing so. He found his rage bubbling up in a bottle, the pressure getting tighter and tighter, and now it was exploding.
The night was long, and the archer found himself subjected to all kinds of torture. When the scars didn't make him talk, they moved onto something an archer needed. His fingers. Snapping them individually and letting the sound ring throughout the night sky, only brought cheers and awes from the blood thirsty pirates. Even then when Belen refused to talk, he found himself with a knife pressed against his right eye and a very real threat in front of him.
The only thing that gave Belen any solace was the fact that Lukos couldn't get a sliver of enjoyment from his torture tactics. For every cut, for every bruise, for every threat Belen was still talking, he was still laughing at the pitiful attempt to get him to talk. For every attempt to rip down his spirit, Belen just built a new wall for Lukos to fight through.
Yet it seemed Lukos had broken through the last wall. With Belen's concious fading, the archer found himself cracking under the pressure. With another thud against his chest, he proceeded to cough up whatever air was left in his tired lungs. He was left their breathing, half awake, only driven on by the fact there could be a chance for the women of this village to get out unharmed.
Feeling the blade delicately break the skin, like a surgeons knife. Belen found his body struggling once more, as if his body was attempting to fight it without the say of his mind. But that was soon put to a stop as the last remnants of energy were slammed out of his body, his jaw held tight, as he was forced too look up at Lukos.
He wanted to scream, he wanted to run, he wanted to pray to Artemis, he wanted to cry, but nothing. He didn't even open his mouth, he didn't even flinch as the view in his right eye faded into darkness. As the feeling of liquid poured down his socket. As the last cords were ripped from his head. The collective shouts were nothing but muffled noises in the distance as he slumped down. Lukos' roars of anger where nothing more than rumbles as the feeling of sick rose in his throat and swirled in his stomach. Nothing mattered, all but one sentence.
"We found your girls."
Belen felt his body jerk, he felt his body move. That spark of defiance growing. His eye, his broken body, his beaten spirit. It didn’t matter. He felt his legs quivering under his weight as he hauled himself to his feet. “Don’t you dare.” Belen spat, as he took his first step. Feeling the weight on his leg, he collapsed to the ground, his jaw making an awful crack as it connected with the dirt. “I will kill you.” He growled as he outstretched an arm, digging his broken fingers into the dirt, only to drag himself closer. Ignoring the pain for just a moment, he pulled himself closer.
“I will gut you, I swear I will break you if you dare touch them, I, I… I… I’m sorry Adrasteia…” It was at that moment Belen’s spirit truly broke. It was when the realisation that he was broken, beaten, better of dead finally came to him. A single stream of tears rolled down his face, as he slammed a broken hand into the ground, his whimpers echoing throughout the abandoned village.
By the time the pirates left, Belen found himself, alone with the first droplets of rain splattering across his body. Tears staining his face, as he failed to pick up the broken pieces of his spirit, his shrieks and screams filling the air, with no one to listen to him. By the first break of the sun, the start of a new dawn, Belen found himself fading into unconsciousness.
With the point of the knife sinking into the flesh of his jaw, Belen couldn't help but flinch. He could feel the cold metal scraping across the bone of his jaw, setting his nerves alight. The want to scratch the wound as the irritation ran through his face had already became overwhelming. Not daring to talk, out of fear of his throat being sliced to ribbons, he starred up at Lukos, his teeth clenched. With the knife suddenly flicked across his chin, adding another scar to the list, and allowing another of river of blood to rush down Belen's face. A low hiss from the archer could be heard, as he shook his head in an attempt to reduce the pain.
Belen didn't even bother to reply as he was lifted into the air, each of his limps suspended, with his torso lying over the well, threatening to be dropped in the depth of the night. If he was dropped now, he surely would of hit the water and shattered like old rotten wood as soon as he hit the surface. As soon as Lukos dared opened his mouth about the women, Belen met the pirate with an obvious shout of defiance before he could even finish his sentence. Yet with his reward being a strike to the knee, Belen couldn't help but lose that defying nature for a moment as pain was yelled into the open air. He received no sympathy for his efforts, nor would he, only laughs and cheers from the pirates as their leader struck his second knee.
"Why sacrifice yourself this way? I'm not going to harm them." Lukos spoke. Belen could hear his voice slipping back into irritation, and in all truth Belen found his temper being lost as soon as the women where mentioned again.
"Shut up, I'll gut you like a fish." Belen's threat may of seemed empty as he screamed them out into the night sky, and even though he was in no place to make threats, he still found himself doing so. He found his rage bubbling up in a bottle, the pressure getting tighter and tighter, and now it was exploding.
The night was long, and the archer found himself subjected to all kinds of torture. When the scars didn't make him talk, they moved onto something an archer needed. His fingers. Snapping them individually and letting the sound ring throughout the night sky, only brought cheers and awes from the blood thirsty pirates. Even then when Belen refused to talk, he found himself with a knife pressed against his right eye and a very real threat in front of him.
The only thing that gave Belen any solace was the fact that Lukos couldn't get a sliver of enjoyment from his torture tactics. For every cut, for every bruise, for every threat Belen was still talking, he was still laughing at the pitiful attempt to get him to talk. For every attempt to rip down his spirit, Belen just built a new wall for Lukos to fight through.
Yet it seemed Lukos had broken through the last wall. With Belen's concious fading, the archer found himself cracking under the pressure. With another thud against his chest, he proceeded to cough up whatever air was left in his tired lungs. He was left their breathing, half awake, only driven on by the fact there could be a chance for the women of this village to get out unharmed.
Feeling the blade delicately break the skin, like a surgeons knife. Belen found his body struggling once more, as if his body was attempting to fight it without the say of his mind. But that was soon put to a stop as the last remnants of energy were slammed out of his body, his jaw held tight, as he was forced too look up at Lukos.
He wanted to scream, he wanted to run, he wanted to pray to Artemis, he wanted to cry, but nothing. He didn't even open his mouth, he didn't even flinch as the view in his right eye faded into darkness. As the feeling of liquid poured down his socket. As the last cords were ripped from his head. The collective shouts were nothing but muffled noises in the distance as he slumped down. Lukos' roars of anger where nothing more than rumbles as the feeling of sick rose in his throat and swirled in his stomach. Nothing mattered, all but one sentence.
"We found your girls."
Belen felt his body jerk, he felt his body move. That spark of defiance growing. His eye, his broken body, his beaten spirit. It didn’t matter. He felt his legs quivering under his weight as he hauled himself to his feet. “Don’t you dare.” Belen spat, as he took his first step. Feeling the weight on his leg, he collapsed to the ground, his jaw making an awful crack as it connected with the dirt. “I will kill you.” He growled as he outstretched an arm, digging his broken fingers into the dirt, only to drag himself closer. Ignoring the pain for just a moment, he pulled himself closer.
“I will gut you, I swear I will break you if you dare touch them, I, I… I… I’m sorry Adrasteia…” It was at that moment Belen’s spirit truly broke. It was when the realisation that he was broken, beaten, better of dead finally came to him. A single stream of tears rolled down his face, as he slammed a broken hand into the ground, his whimpers echoing throughout the abandoned village.
By the time the pirates left, Belen found himself, alone with the first droplets of rain splattering across his body. Tears staining his face, as he failed to pick up the broken pieces of his spirit, his shrieks and screams filling the air, with no one to listen to him. By the first break of the sun, the start of a new dawn, Belen found himself fading into unconsciousness.
