"Don't wanna talk about it
I say why not?
Don't wanna think about it
I say there's got
To be some good
Reason for that
Little black backpack
Upsmack -- turn around
He's on his back end..."
--Stroke 9
"For When You Return"
Part XIV
Location: The Time of The Sixth World
Two Eternities Before the Present Day
"Lookit that guy, Brogan."
"I'm lookin', Ando."
The pub in Merada was bustling with its Friday crowd. It was late evening and a perfect time to drink -- and that was what drew the village laborers there. The tables and the bar were filled, and the room was thick with chatter and laughter. One man, however, came out louder than the rest. No one knew his face, for he was a traveler to these parts, but a few of the people who were gathered that night would remember it from then on.
He sat at a filled table, with ten chairs crowded together. Some shoulders were stooped, others were straight... but his frame was lazy, idly resting against his seat. One arm went up and atop the back of his chair, and the other nonchalantly held a hand of cards. His eyes were hazel and bright and his smile was radiant in a casual sort of way. At the seat of his chair was a bulging backpack, and his long legs were stretched out. All in all, he was a thin and very carefree-looking man.
His hair ran in a short braid down his back and the rest was in choppy black waves. With elegant fingers he teased a few of those strands back, and he rolled a toothpick from one side of his mouth to another in a humored, coy little way. "So, boys.... lay them down?" They all gave him cool glances, but the man simply beamed his response.
It was that face that the men called Brogan and Ando watched. Both of them were large and meaty, mason-workers or something close to that. Brogan was clean shaven and Ando was as hairy as the ape that he resembled -- and both of their eyes shone with vehemence. The hairy man gripped his fist tightly with his free hand, and his companion ground his teeth.
"Ready, ready...?" With a flourish the lean man ran his cards across the table in a clean sweep. He seemed to have had practice in this, and he nearly posed with his hand up in the air, thumb touching index-finger. Casually he looked around the table.
A man threw his cards down bitterly. Another stood up and left. The others simply glowered. These looks were met with a smile, as the man shrugged humouredly and scooped the pile of coins that was their bet into an already enormous pile in front of him. He looked down at this again all of a sudden, and then let out a low whistle.
"Wow, I look away for a second and--bam--it gets bigger. Crazy, huh?"
"Yeah, real crazy." The voice came from one side, and the man slid his hazel eyes up in that direction. Sure enough, Brogan was standing next to him with Ando acting as backup. They had their massive arms crossed over their equally large chests, and the little smirks on their faces were far from pleasant.
"...Well," The dark-haired man said, "I'm sensing a bit of hostility here. I think I'll just--"
He had been sitting up to reach for his winnings when there came the definite sound of metal leaving its sheath. Before he had time to swallow there was the sickening paper-thin feeling of a blade at his throat, and the man's lips left his teeth in a smile that was most certainly tense. One hand, however, tapped its fingers on the tabletop.
Brogan, who had pulled the dagger, narrowed his eyes. "I've been watching you all night, buddy. You haven't lost a round yet. -That's- what's crazy, and you're going to get a different 'bam' out of it, if you know what I mean." And, just in case this was a poor illustration, Ando added to the comment by slamming a fist into his palm.
The man, who was still under the blade, managed a little shrug. The movement nicked him, and a little blood trickled, but he kept his face blankly amused. "Look, if you fellas are going to rape me, do take it outside. There are ladies pre--"
Spittle flew, as Brogan lost his patience and backhanded the man angrily across the back of the head. It hurt, of course, and the lanky fellow's face hit the table in rebound. However, the blade had been pulled away in the strike. The small cut in his throat stung as the salt of his sweat hit it, but the threat was temporarily set aside.
Keeping his face on the table--and feeling like a ostrich with its head in the ground in the meanwhile--the man listened to Brogan's angry retort:
"Comments like that kill people, traveler." He snarled. "And on top of cheating, it doesn't add up very well in your favor."
"Woah, now," The man lifted a hand in objection, although he just barely brought his head up, as if in fear of having it slammed back down again. "Since when is cheating an issue, huh?" There was a firm tug as Brogan grabbed hold of his braid and forcefully brought his face up. The table in front of him was a mess, the traveler saw, with cards scattered and chairs pushed back where the other players had been. Most of them had fled to join the circle of onlookers.
"Don't play games." Brogan hissed. "There's no way that one man can win every round he plays like that, with flying colors. You're too confident."
There was a great ache in the back of the traveler's head, on account that Brogan still held tightly onto his hair. Sweat beaded and ran down his temples, his cheeks, and the skin around his mouth and jaw felt tight. He felt so many eyes on him, and through the haze of his fear and pain he saw everyone in the room staring his way
"Look, buddies," He stammered. "I don't cheat. I'm just...lucky." Warily he slid his eyes back, until they strained against their sockets, but he was unable to see Brogan's face behind him. It didn't matter. He could feel the contempt-filled anger like a wave of heat.
"...Well, -buddy-," Brogan said. "Your luck just ran out."
A tight-bodiced barmaid was clinging frightfully to the shoulder of one of the men that was observing the scene. Her eyes were wide and her thin little fingers were white-tipped where she pinched herself against the fabric of his shirt. The traveler's misty gaze went up into her own, and then for a moment he slipped a little grin onto the corner of his lips and winked at her. She started, and then he was grabbing hold of a deck of cards.
Whirring, and with the ease of a court-jester, the traveler sent the cards flapping into Brogan's face. The meaty man had been pulled down as the braid in his hand was suddenly jerking forward and around, and with a ~fwap-fwap-fwap~ he was struck directly in the eyes with a flurry of all fifty-two squares.
Not wasting any time, the traveler--who was still leashed to Brogan by a firm grip on his braid--lifted his bottom off the chair and sent it hurtling Brogan's way by the shove of one foot. His braid was then released, and the large man was sent back into his equally large companion.
With the grace of an acrobat and a bounce of his knees the traveler leapt straight into the air. He came to a landing on top of the table with a clatter and scrape of his coins. From his back he pulled two swords out from the sheaths that were crossed on his hips. The blades were thin and only as long as his forearms, but they were still effective.
Behind him, the crowd released a breath that had been held back in unison. Brogan faltered for a moment and jerkily regained his balance. Wiping his mouth, he flashed his eyes with an insane sort of fury, and shoved his sleeves up on his arms. Ando, who had been equally startled by this display, curled his upper lip menacingly.
"Get him!" Brogan cried. He had quite a following -- eight out of the ten men who had lost their money to the traveler in the card game stepped forward. There was a flurry as blades were drawn, and Brogan flipped his dagger coolly. The traveler, however, simply leapt onto the next table.
A man called Arneson, who happened to have been a doctor, took a swing at him. With fluid and graceful ease the gangly journeyman parried the blow with the flat of his sword and, in the manner of an arrogant thespian smacked the doctor's cheek in respite. His second blade went back to block a blow that came from behind, and then he was jumping again -- this time onto a chair.
He landed awkwardly, so that his foot accidentally pushed onto the back of the seat -- setting the entire piece of furniture off-balance. Like a lever he fell toward the floor... and, unwittingly, avoided a fatal swing from another man's sword. Landing hard on his knees, he pushed himself out of the way of an over-turning table with a push of his legs and a throwing of his arms, tucking his blades against his sides safely.
That table acted as a shield to him, and a thrown dagger plunged into the wood before it reached the traveler's flesh. He wouldn't have known of this stroke of fortune if not for Brogan's cursings -- he had thrown the weapon, and the man who had hoped to pin the traveler down with the table was at the butt of the mistake.
Rolling, the gangly man got to his feet. People were closing in on him on all sides, and with wide eyes he lashed out with his blades--miraculously tangling up the swords that came his way so that one striking man accidentally blocked another--and whirled out of the circle as best he could. By then everyone but those involved in the brawl had fled for cover, either out the door or behind the bar, where a pair of eyes peeked out from every now and then before ducking back down quickly.
Unfortunately, the man had by then dodged and fled all the way across the tavern. Finding himself against a wall, he quickly tried to situate his bearings to locate a door. However, the hairy ape called Ando had pulled an axe out from somewhere--the thing looked heavier than the traveler himself was--and was coming quickly his way with the weapon overhead and ready to strike.
"Look, can't we talk abou--"
The traveler's lips drew back from his teeth in a painful grimace as the axe came down on his head. There was a thud, and an intense pain. This, however, he soon discovered, was from the resounding vibration of the wall beneath his skull. The heavy stone axe had dug in right next to his left ear.
His eyes cracked open, and then looked widely off to one side. His vision was completely blocked off by the axe's head, boxing him in. For a moment he stared, and just breathed. Into his nostrils came the sour sent of Ando, whose sweaty armpits were exposed by the fact that he was trying to pull the axe from the wall again. They were so close that they could have been embracing. From behind came the shouts of the crowd.
"It looks pretty stuck there," he said frankly. Ando continued to jerk at it.
"Try wedging it up and down a little, wriggle it a bi--" The traveler was sharply cut off by a blow to the stomach. Apparently Ando -had- given up, and he resorted to heaving his fist soundly into the pinned man on the wall before him. The muscles in his belly contorted and his face grew tight with pain... his lanky frame buckled over sharply and from the back of his throat came a choking gag.
His collar tightened as Ando took hold of his shirt and lifted him clear off the ground, so that his feet swung. His twin machetes dangled limply off his wrists like the wings of a child's toy airplane, and he began flailing out protests as Ando's thick fingers tightened around his clothes and flesh. With a gasp and a rush of expelled air he was slammed against the wall.
Another crash, and then another. By then the traveler's breath had been crushed out of his lungs, so that he could no longer breathe. There were cheers. This had nearly become a sporting event.
"Look," He managed to gasp between blows. "Can't I..." A wince, and then a painfully unplesant attempt at a good-natured grin. "...Just...apologize?"
He was answered by a full body lift. Somehow he had managed to retain hold on his weapons the whole time, although he had no use for them now. Every muscle in his body was loose and painfully unhelpful.
His stomach dropped and then shot into his throat at the realization that he had hit open air. Twisting, he was hurtled a good distance toward the center of the room. With a crash he landed on the table that he had playing cards on earlier, and the wood cracked and opened beneath him like a fissure. With a spray of splinters, cards, and coins he smashed onto the floor.
For a moment everything was silent. There had been an eruption of joy at his landing, but everything had died after a few moments on the ground. Wincing, and bleeding from one cheek, he lay on his back and listened. Footsteps. A whole bunch of them.
This was probably why his mother told him never to gamble.
Just as he started to shift, anxious to rise and flee while he had the time, there came a tight pressure as Brogan's boot pressed onto his chest and uncomfortably eased him back down. The man looked even larger when he loomed overhead like that, and the bulb in the traveler's throat bobbed uncomfortably.
With a toe Brogan eased the flap of the fallen man's vest off to one side. There was a glitter, and the large man's lifting eyebrow was met by the narrowing of the traveler's own. With his free hand he moved to cover the exposed prize, but Brogan was quick to kick his fingers away.
"...That's a nice necklace there, boy. Who'd you steal it from?"
"My mother gave it to me." The traveler said. The room filled with dry little chuckles.
Brogan looked back and shared that laugh, standing over the traveler with his foot mounted on his chest, as if he had conquered some great feat. When he looked down, the skinny man's hazel eyes were unreadable -- that playful, innocent nature was almost nearly gone, and replaced by a cold blankness.
"Something bothering you?" Brogan asked coldly.
The man smiled thinly. "No, no... It's just funny, ya know?"
"No," Brogan replied. "I -don't- know."
"Oh," As if he weren't under the heel of an enormous brute, the traveler lifted a thin hand and flittered it around casually, as if he were having a conversation about the weather, or that day's gossip. His voice, however, was tight and pointed. "It's just...Heh-heh... You know, kind of tickling to see that it's suddenly one-on-one now that the guy's down. See how everyone is standing back--Oh, hold on, let me get my head up a little," The man did so, and motioned with his chin against his chest toward the stuffy onlookers. "...Standing back now that I've been properly brought down. There was no glory before then."
Brogan, who finally caught on, threw his head back and laughed. "-You- want to fight me? All you'll achieve with that is a few moments in addition to your life and a whole lot more pain."
"Pain builds character," The traveler replied. "I like pain."
Wary, but too confident to be that concerned over the matter, Brogan eased his weight off the man's chest and carefully brought his foot back. The traveler couldn't hide it -- relief in the fact that he could finally take a full and painful breath. And, as he did that, Brogan put a hand back and motioned for everyone to stay put. "Get up, boy."
Tensely, the traveler got to his feet. With careful motions he re-sheathed his blades at their holders across the small of his back. Putting his arms to his sides, he watched Brogan with anxious eyes. "...You want to count it off?" He asked.
"No," Brogan said. "I'll give you the first blow."
"Deal," the lanky man said quickly, and he darted down to sweep his backpack out of the rubble that was the crushed table. With a jerk of his feet, he was running toward the door. Brogan, totally shocked by this sudden shift into cowardice, let out a cry and grit his teeth to tear after him -- no mercy, now.
There was one small hindrance, however.
There was a sudden jerk, and then Brogan was falling. He landed with a painful crash and twist of his ankle. With wide and surprised eyes, he looked back and saw that the shoelace of his boot was knotted to one of the pieces of the table. His nostrils fumed in realization, and with a growl he slammed his fist on the floor and looked toward the swinging doorway.
By the time anyone got outside, the traveler was gone.
End Part 14/?
To Be Continued
I say why not?
Don't wanna think about it
I say there's got
To be some good
Reason for that
Little black backpack
Upsmack -- turn around
He's on his back end..."
--Stroke 9
"For When You Return"
Part XIV
Location: The Time of The Sixth World
Two Eternities Before the Present Day
"Lookit that guy, Brogan."
"I'm lookin', Ando."
The pub in Merada was bustling with its Friday crowd. It was late evening and a perfect time to drink -- and that was what drew the village laborers there. The tables and the bar were filled, and the room was thick with chatter and laughter. One man, however, came out louder than the rest. No one knew his face, for he was a traveler to these parts, but a few of the people who were gathered that night would remember it from then on.
He sat at a filled table, with ten chairs crowded together. Some shoulders were stooped, others were straight... but his frame was lazy, idly resting against his seat. One arm went up and atop the back of his chair, and the other nonchalantly held a hand of cards. His eyes were hazel and bright and his smile was radiant in a casual sort of way. At the seat of his chair was a bulging backpack, and his long legs were stretched out. All in all, he was a thin and very carefree-looking man.
His hair ran in a short braid down his back and the rest was in choppy black waves. With elegant fingers he teased a few of those strands back, and he rolled a toothpick from one side of his mouth to another in a humored, coy little way. "So, boys.... lay them down?" They all gave him cool glances, but the man simply beamed his response.
It was that face that the men called Brogan and Ando watched. Both of them were large and meaty, mason-workers or something close to that. Brogan was clean shaven and Ando was as hairy as the ape that he resembled -- and both of their eyes shone with vehemence. The hairy man gripped his fist tightly with his free hand, and his companion ground his teeth.
"Ready, ready...?" With a flourish the lean man ran his cards across the table in a clean sweep. He seemed to have had practice in this, and he nearly posed with his hand up in the air, thumb touching index-finger. Casually he looked around the table.
A man threw his cards down bitterly. Another stood up and left. The others simply glowered. These looks were met with a smile, as the man shrugged humouredly and scooped the pile of coins that was their bet into an already enormous pile in front of him. He looked down at this again all of a sudden, and then let out a low whistle.
"Wow, I look away for a second and--bam--it gets bigger. Crazy, huh?"
"Yeah, real crazy." The voice came from one side, and the man slid his hazel eyes up in that direction. Sure enough, Brogan was standing next to him with Ando acting as backup. They had their massive arms crossed over their equally large chests, and the little smirks on their faces were far from pleasant.
"...Well," The dark-haired man said, "I'm sensing a bit of hostility here. I think I'll just--"
He had been sitting up to reach for his winnings when there came the definite sound of metal leaving its sheath. Before he had time to swallow there was the sickening paper-thin feeling of a blade at his throat, and the man's lips left his teeth in a smile that was most certainly tense. One hand, however, tapped its fingers on the tabletop.
Brogan, who had pulled the dagger, narrowed his eyes. "I've been watching you all night, buddy. You haven't lost a round yet. -That's- what's crazy, and you're going to get a different 'bam' out of it, if you know what I mean." And, just in case this was a poor illustration, Ando added to the comment by slamming a fist into his palm.
The man, who was still under the blade, managed a little shrug. The movement nicked him, and a little blood trickled, but he kept his face blankly amused. "Look, if you fellas are going to rape me, do take it outside. There are ladies pre--"
Spittle flew, as Brogan lost his patience and backhanded the man angrily across the back of the head. It hurt, of course, and the lanky fellow's face hit the table in rebound. However, the blade had been pulled away in the strike. The small cut in his throat stung as the salt of his sweat hit it, but the threat was temporarily set aside.
Keeping his face on the table--and feeling like a ostrich with its head in the ground in the meanwhile--the man listened to Brogan's angry retort:
"Comments like that kill people, traveler." He snarled. "And on top of cheating, it doesn't add up very well in your favor."
"Woah, now," The man lifted a hand in objection, although he just barely brought his head up, as if in fear of having it slammed back down again. "Since when is cheating an issue, huh?" There was a firm tug as Brogan grabbed hold of his braid and forcefully brought his face up. The table in front of him was a mess, the traveler saw, with cards scattered and chairs pushed back where the other players had been. Most of them had fled to join the circle of onlookers.
"Don't play games." Brogan hissed. "There's no way that one man can win every round he plays like that, with flying colors. You're too confident."
There was a great ache in the back of the traveler's head, on account that Brogan still held tightly onto his hair. Sweat beaded and ran down his temples, his cheeks, and the skin around his mouth and jaw felt tight. He felt so many eyes on him, and through the haze of his fear and pain he saw everyone in the room staring his way
"Look, buddies," He stammered. "I don't cheat. I'm just...lucky." Warily he slid his eyes back, until they strained against their sockets, but he was unable to see Brogan's face behind him. It didn't matter. He could feel the contempt-filled anger like a wave of heat.
"...Well, -buddy-," Brogan said. "Your luck just ran out."
A tight-bodiced barmaid was clinging frightfully to the shoulder of one of the men that was observing the scene. Her eyes were wide and her thin little fingers were white-tipped where she pinched herself against the fabric of his shirt. The traveler's misty gaze went up into her own, and then for a moment he slipped a little grin onto the corner of his lips and winked at her. She started, and then he was grabbing hold of a deck of cards.
Whirring, and with the ease of a court-jester, the traveler sent the cards flapping into Brogan's face. The meaty man had been pulled down as the braid in his hand was suddenly jerking forward and around, and with a ~fwap-fwap-fwap~ he was struck directly in the eyes with a flurry of all fifty-two squares.
Not wasting any time, the traveler--who was still leashed to Brogan by a firm grip on his braid--lifted his bottom off the chair and sent it hurtling Brogan's way by the shove of one foot. His braid was then released, and the large man was sent back into his equally large companion.
With the grace of an acrobat and a bounce of his knees the traveler leapt straight into the air. He came to a landing on top of the table with a clatter and scrape of his coins. From his back he pulled two swords out from the sheaths that were crossed on his hips. The blades were thin and only as long as his forearms, but they were still effective.
Behind him, the crowd released a breath that had been held back in unison. Brogan faltered for a moment and jerkily regained his balance. Wiping his mouth, he flashed his eyes with an insane sort of fury, and shoved his sleeves up on his arms. Ando, who had been equally startled by this display, curled his upper lip menacingly.
"Get him!" Brogan cried. He had quite a following -- eight out of the ten men who had lost their money to the traveler in the card game stepped forward. There was a flurry as blades were drawn, and Brogan flipped his dagger coolly. The traveler, however, simply leapt onto the next table.
A man called Arneson, who happened to have been a doctor, took a swing at him. With fluid and graceful ease the gangly journeyman parried the blow with the flat of his sword and, in the manner of an arrogant thespian smacked the doctor's cheek in respite. His second blade went back to block a blow that came from behind, and then he was jumping again -- this time onto a chair.
He landed awkwardly, so that his foot accidentally pushed onto the back of the seat -- setting the entire piece of furniture off-balance. Like a lever he fell toward the floor... and, unwittingly, avoided a fatal swing from another man's sword. Landing hard on his knees, he pushed himself out of the way of an over-turning table with a push of his legs and a throwing of his arms, tucking his blades against his sides safely.
That table acted as a shield to him, and a thrown dagger plunged into the wood before it reached the traveler's flesh. He wouldn't have known of this stroke of fortune if not for Brogan's cursings -- he had thrown the weapon, and the man who had hoped to pin the traveler down with the table was at the butt of the mistake.
Rolling, the gangly man got to his feet. People were closing in on him on all sides, and with wide eyes he lashed out with his blades--miraculously tangling up the swords that came his way so that one striking man accidentally blocked another--and whirled out of the circle as best he could. By then everyone but those involved in the brawl had fled for cover, either out the door or behind the bar, where a pair of eyes peeked out from every now and then before ducking back down quickly.
Unfortunately, the man had by then dodged and fled all the way across the tavern. Finding himself against a wall, he quickly tried to situate his bearings to locate a door. However, the hairy ape called Ando had pulled an axe out from somewhere--the thing looked heavier than the traveler himself was--and was coming quickly his way with the weapon overhead and ready to strike.
"Look, can't we talk abou--"
The traveler's lips drew back from his teeth in a painful grimace as the axe came down on his head. There was a thud, and an intense pain. This, however, he soon discovered, was from the resounding vibration of the wall beneath his skull. The heavy stone axe had dug in right next to his left ear.
His eyes cracked open, and then looked widely off to one side. His vision was completely blocked off by the axe's head, boxing him in. For a moment he stared, and just breathed. Into his nostrils came the sour sent of Ando, whose sweaty armpits were exposed by the fact that he was trying to pull the axe from the wall again. They were so close that they could have been embracing. From behind came the shouts of the crowd.
"It looks pretty stuck there," he said frankly. Ando continued to jerk at it.
"Try wedging it up and down a little, wriggle it a bi--" The traveler was sharply cut off by a blow to the stomach. Apparently Ando -had- given up, and he resorted to heaving his fist soundly into the pinned man on the wall before him. The muscles in his belly contorted and his face grew tight with pain... his lanky frame buckled over sharply and from the back of his throat came a choking gag.
His collar tightened as Ando took hold of his shirt and lifted him clear off the ground, so that his feet swung. His twin machetes dangled limply off his wrists like the wings of a child's toy airplane, and he began flailing out protests as Ando's thick fingers tightened around his clothes and flesh. With a gasp and a rush of expelled air he was slammed against the wall.
Another crash, and then another. By then the traveler's breath had been crushed out of his lungs, so that he could no longer breathe. There were cheers. This had nearly become a sporting event.
"Look," He managed to gasp between blows. "Can't I..." A wince, and then a painfully unplesant attempt at a good-natured grin. "...Just...apologize?"
He was answered by a full body lift. Somehow he had managed to retain hold on his weapons the whole time, although he had no use for them now. Every muscle in his body was loose and painfully unhelpful.
His stomach dropped and then shot into his throat at the realization that he had hit open air. Twisting, he was hurtled a good distance toward the center of the room. With a crash he landed on the table that he had playing cards on earlier, and the wood cracked and opened beneath him like a fissure. With a spray of splinters, cards, and coins he smashed onto the floor.
For a moment everything was silent. There had been an eruption of joy at his landing, but everything had died after a few moments on the ground. Wincing, and bleeding from one cheek, he lay on his back and listened. Footsteps. A whole bunch of them.
This was probably why his mother told him never to gamble.
Just as he started to shift, anxious to rise and flee while he had the time, there came a tight pressure as Brogan's boot pressed onto his chest and uncomfortably eased him back down. The man looked even larger when he loomed overhead like that, and the bulb in the traveler's throat bobbed uncomfortably.
With a toe Brogan eased the flap of the fallen man's vest off to one side. There was a glitter, and the large man's lifting eyebrow was met by the narrowing of the traveler's own. With his free hand he moved to cover the exposed prize, but Brogan was quick to kick his fingers away.
"...That's a nice necklace there, boy. Who'd you steal it from?"
"My mother gave it to me." The traveler said. The room filled with dry little chuckles.
Brogan looked back and shared that laugh, standing over the traveler with his foot mounted on his chest, as if he had conquered some great feat. When he looked down, the skinny man's hazel eyes were unreadable -- that playful, innocent nature was almost nearly gone, and replaced by a cold blankness.
"Something bothering you?" Brogan asked coldly.
The man smiled thinly. "No, no... It's just funny, ya know?"
"No," Brogan replied. "I -don't- know."
"Oh," As if he weren't under the heel of an enormous brute, the traveler lifted a thin hand and flittered it around casually, as if he were having a conversation about the weather, or that day's gossip. His voice, however, was tight and pointed. "It's just...Heh-heh... You know, kind of tickling to see that it's suddenly one-on-one now that the guy's down. See how everyone is standing back--Oh, hold on, let me get my head up a little," The man did so, and motioned with his chin against his chest toward the stuffy onlookers. "...Standing back now that I've been properly brought down. There was no glory before then."
Brogan, who finally caught on, threw his head back and laughed. "-You- want to fight me? All you'll achieve with that is a few moments in addition to your life and a whole lot more pain."
"Pain builds character," The traveler replied. "I like pain."
Wary, but too confident to be that concerned over the matter, Brogan eased his weight off the man's chest and carefully brought his foot back. The traveler couldn't hide it -- relief in the fact that he could finally take a full and painful breath. And, as he did that, Brogan put a hand back and motioned for everyone to stay put. "Get up, boy."
Tensely, the traveler got to his feet. With careful motions he re-sheathed his blades at their holders across the small of his back. Putting his arms to his sides, he watched Brogan with anxious eyes. "...You want to count it off?" He asked.
"No," Brogan said. "I'll give you the first blow."
"Deal," the lanky man said quickly, and he darted down to sweep his backpack out of the rubble that was the crushed table. With a jerk of his feet, he was running toward the door. Brogan, totally shocked by this sudden shift into cowardice, let out a cry and grit his teeth to tear after him -- no mercy, now.
There was one small hindrance, however.
There was a sudden jerk, and then Brogan was falling. He landed with a painful crash and twist of his ankle. With wide and surprised eyes, he looked back and saw that the shoelace of his boot was knotted to one of the pieces of the table. His nostrils fumed in realization, and with a growl he slammed his fist on the floor and looked toward the swinging doorway.
By the time anyone got outside, the traveler was gone.
End Part 14/?
To Be Continued