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Tales of the Implock - Chapter 065
🕑 Added 2022-01-09 23:17:03 +0000 UTC∼ Northern Hospitality ∼
The sudden bite of cold splashing into his face sent the darkness reeling from Eric's mind, sputtering as he came to. Wrists aching, head throbbing, and freezing all over, he found himself straining against coarse robes digging into his flesh. He was strapped to a chair. The stale cold air made it hard to breathe as each exhalation condensed with the hot.
"Oi, would you look at that? The sleeping beauty seems to have finally awoken," A snide voice said in front of Eric, drawing his attention to a dark figure. The northern accent was thick in his voice.
"Aye, a pretty one she is." Another voice said with a snicker.
Eric was groggy, to say the least, and the room was just slightly too dark to make anything detailed out. But from what he could see with a blurry backdrop of softly glowing light at the exit to what appeared to be a hall, Eric realized there were a lot more than just two people in the room with him.
"Wh-" He tried but found his throat dried and sore, coughing and spitting blood-mixed phlegm and saliva onto the ground. "Where am I?" He managed, though he had already a good guess.
"∼Where am I?" One of the men parrotted mockingly before suddenly grabbing hold of Eric's collar and leaning in close. So close that he could smell the man's rancid breath. "You know very well where you are. Purgatory, kid."
Then Eric made it out, although only faintly. A face disfigured, nose unrecognizable, and a mug as ugly as it had been before. It was the head goon whose face Eric had beat in.
Seeing Eric's recognition, a cruel smile started to spread across the man's marred face. However, before it even managed to reach his ears, the sudden crack of bone rang out in the room, followed by a pained yelp. Eric spat another mix of old blood and spit onto the cobbled ground, smiling bloodily down at the man that writhed on the ground. "Looky, you. Forgotten already? One would've thought I knocked some sense into you last time. Unfortunately, it looks like I can't cure stupid."
"You little!" The man screamed in a rather undignified manner as he clutched his shattered nose - if it even could be called a nose anymore. He scrambled to his feet with his free hand drawing the very same blade he had used to cut Eric's cheek, the other hand held to his face as blood spilled through his fingers.
It was loud in the dank, dimly lit room, hollerings and laughter ringing off the walls as the man stalked towards Eric, clearly ready to cut him to pieces. However, a booming voice commanding such authority that it even made it hard to breathe rang from the doorway, making everyone freeze dead still. "So, just what's going on here? Am I missing the party or something?" The accent was thick.
Eric's eyesight was now not as blurry as before, and as two figures followed in behind the owner of the voice with torches lit, he could finally see properly. He for the first time, laid his eyes on the man making everyone shy away. The figure of whom he'd never come to forget for the rest of his life.
He wasn't terribly tall, but his thick muscular arms and broad frame more than made up for it. His clothes were that of a working man, but well-made and kept. Wearing grey-black pants, a vest with the chain from a pocket watch hanging out of the breast pocket alongside a pair of rimmed glasses. Underneath the vest, he wore a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and atop his head, a flat cap.
But most distinguishing was a truly mighty mustache adorning his round but hard face and those steely grey eyes that looked down on Eric. Eyes of iron. A man of the north.
He turned to look around at his men, eyes creased. "This the man who went and made all yer pansies go running with your tails tucked between yer legs? He's but a bairn. Yet to have a lick of hair on him! And yer call yerself men?"
"And if I wasn't strapped to a chair, I'd make you do the same - old-timer." Eric sneered suddenly, spitting at the man's feet.
The room went even quieter, to that of a deathly still lull. None of the men around dared even utter a sound, much less a word. The stocky man had frozen in place, slowly turning to look down at the bloody spit that trailed into the cracks of the cobblestone. The caterpillar of a mustache, with its corners tipped up pointily, twitched as he noted Eric's unwavering eyes. The glint of interest entered his expression before darkening ever so slightly.
"Young and arrogant. But a bairn." He sighed wistfully, turning to fully face Eric and stepping closer, his boots clicking crisply against the cobblestone. "You know what I dislike about yer rowdy kind with all me black heart. Ya ken, son?"
Eric didn't answer. He spared the man only a glare of defiance as the man came closer, leaning in with hands folded behind his back.
"Yer born in a little hamlet out in fucktown nowhere, and just because there are no other motherless wee 'uns that can beat yer little uppity arse, or any men with half a spine to teach you some proper manners, you think yer on the top of the fucking world."
He shook his head as Eric's glare only became harder, a smile coming to his face as he leaned even closer. "Oh, don't get me wrong, son. Confidence and pride in one’s strength are quality traits in any proper laddie. But the problem still remains that bairns such as yerself, can't see beyond the little ant hill that shit yer sorry arse out. Just can't see the bigger picture."
"And that is why, I always make sure to give those kinds of lads a little... introduction into the way of the world. To teach yer, the fact that - while yer might be a king where you come from," His voice turned progressively menacing. "there will always be an emperor just beyond that little shitty ant hill of yers."
Eric smirked as the man was finally close enough, suddenly springing forward with as much leverage as the ropes holding him to the chair gave him, attempting to make this stranger taste his signature attack. However, things didn't go as planned. The man's hand blurred faster than what should've been possible, his large calloused hand palming Eric's forehead and throwing him back, tipping his chair over.
[You have taken 5 damage!]
Eric's head cracked against the cobbled stone beneath, threatening to knock out his lights. The red notification flared angrily in the back of his mind, but the pain was too much to focus on it. He wasn't sure whether or not his skull had split open, but he sure as hell felt dizzy. But no respite was offered as the world distorted, his chair being righted back up. The way his head wobbled on his neck almost made it feel like there was something loose in there, sloshing around.
A sudden punch to the gut made him wheeze, followed by a fist to his jaw. If not for his large amount of endurance and vitality, he would've been long claimed by the bliss of unconsciousness. But his mind did not give up. It did not stop there, though. It had only just begun as each man in the room took their shot at the defenseless Eric.
Eric's head dangling, with a swollen eye, bruises, and lip split in multiple places, the man with the mustache walked back over, the click of his boots against the cobble ringing in the room. He held Eric's head up, turning it from side to side, checking him over. He then wordlessly reached out his hand behind him, snapping his fingers. One of the men promptly gave him a small green bottle with a cork in it. The man then deftly uncorked it and swished it under Eric's nose.
Jolting out of his daze and near unconsciousness, Eric came to a world of pain and nausea, a slight drool of bloody spit at his lip as his jaw refused to move.
"Yer there laddie?" The man inspected Eric's face closely, noting the eyes that followed him. "Thought we lost yer for a second there - bwah!" He guffawed.
"Look like yer can take a right beatin'. That's good. That's real good. Knew I saw some potential in yer, son."
Suddenly jolting up, the disfigured man whose nose had finally stopped bleeding, stepped hesitantly forward. "But Boss!"
"But what?" He said looking at the man askance.
He gulped, now realizing he had just stepped up to the boss. "S-surely, you can't mean to..."
Frown, turning into an eerily jolly smile, the man walked up to the taller thug, looping one meaty arm around his shoulder and taking him over to Eric. "Whatever do yer mean? Speak yer mind."
The disfigured man looked hesitantly from the boss to Eric, his face souring as he saw the source of his pain. "This damned kid. There's no place for him here."
Nodding thoughtfully, the boss unslung his arm from his shoulder and turned the man to face Eric, then before he could react, he grabbed his hair in a bunch and pushed in his knee pit, making the thug fall to his knees, black knife drawn and dragged across his throat in one smooth, unhesitating motion.
The disfigured man clutched for his bleeding neck, but it was to no avail. He merely held him upright by his hair as the dying man struggled. Eric was now conscious enough to see it all right in front of him. Moments later when the thug lost consciousness, the boss let go, letting the man slump limply to the dank cobblestone with a thud as his head banged off the hard surface.
He sighed, almost as if nothing could've been done to save him. "Oh∼well, seems like a position just opened up. Didn't it?"
Eric was horrified as he looked down at the dead man, some of his blood having gotten onto his shoes.
"Terribly sorry about that," The boss said apologetically as he saw the blood on Eric's shoes, pulling out a handkerchief and wiping off the small bloodstain. "Name's Crowley, by the way." He smiled, mustache twitching as he looked Eric over once more, this time approvingly.
"Well son, whatcha say? Join the family?"
Comments
BlackRazaras
Thanks for the chapter
