Cerak At’Thul was where Oor came to nurse his wounds. Chaceledon was fully capable of long and bitter verbal fights with his captor, and when push came to shove, Oor had no issue beating the dragon down. But the stinging of Chaceledon’s words lingered long after they’d faded, and put the wraith in a foul mood. Volker accompanied him to drinking and whoring involuntarily, as a bodyguard. He stood outside rooms quietly as Oor took his fill of girls and boys available for such uses, and stood at the ends of bars while he drank.
Above all, Volker aspired not to be seen. Felt as a presence, yes, but being seen caused problems. His steel face mask was there to protect and intimidate, and marked him as a member of the Volker family. He hated it, but here? In this moment? He’d never missed it more.
Oor had gotten drunk and mouthed off, and had put Volker up against another slave. The wraith held Volker’s knives in a withered fist, forcing his slave to use teeth and punches to tear his opponent to pieces. His opposition was a large, muscular slave, thirty years younger and a foot taller.
To Volker, such things didn’t make much of a difference, but the other man was taking a long time to die. Volker had easily dodged his heavy swings, and he was bleeding from several bites to the face. To his credit, he’d figured out getting anywhere near Volker’s teeth in a grapple was a bad idea.
Volker could hear money being exchanged behind him as the fight wore on. He darted in and seized the side of the other man’s neck. He was close to the jugular when the other managed to tear him away. They were both tired, bruised and bleeding. That was what both masters wanted. Bloodshed. Other slave owners had tuned in to watch, of course. Volker and his family had reputations. They wanted to see how he fared.
It was quick. Volker wove his leg around the other man’s and pulled. The other was too tired to stagger, and fell on his back. Volker seized his throat, and held. Like a pit bull, nothing could disentangle those jaws. He let the other man struggle, until he felt the veins between his teeth go still.
“Ah! Take it! Fucking useless!” The other slave master threw the money at the cackling wraith.
“Teach you to call my slave old. Listen here Rheinhard. Get me to bed. Then take the night off. I don’t give a damn. Just be breathing come morning.” Oor snickered, and held out his arm for Volker. Volker helped him up, and slowly made their way back to the rooms Oor had reserved for them. He helped the wraith into bed, and went outside. He put the face mask back on....
Oor didn’t like his dog running around without a muzzle.
Orion Spawn-Of-Man
Above all, Volker aspired not to be seen. Felt as a presence, yes, but being seen caused problems. His steel face mask was there to protect and intimidate, and marked him as a member of the Volker family. He hated it, but here? In this moment? He’d never missed it more.
Oor had gotten drunk and mouthed off, and had put Volker up against another slave. The wraith held Volker’s knives in a withered fist, forcing his slave to use teeth and punches to tear his opponent to pieces. His opposition was a large, muscular slave, thirty years younger and a foot taller.
To Volker, such things didn’t make much of a difference, but the other man was taking a long time to die. Volker had easily dodged his heavy swings, and he was bleeding from several bites to the face. To his credit, he’d figured out getting anywhere near Volker’s teeth in a grapple was a bad idea.
Volker could hear money being exchanged behind him as the fight wore on. He darted in and seized the side of the other man’s neck. He was close to the jugular when the other managed to tear him away. They were both tired, bruised and bleeding. That was what both masters wanted. Bloodshed. Other slave owners had tuned in to watch, of course. Volker and his family had reputations. They wanted to see how he fared.
It was quick. Volker wove his leg around the other man’s and pulled. The other was too tired to stagger, and fell on his back. Volker seized his throat, and held. Like a pit bull, nothing could disentangle those jaws. He let the other man struggle, until he felt the veins between his teeth go still.
“Ah! Take it! Fucking useless!” The other slave master threw the money at the cackling wraith.
“Teach you to call my slave old. Listen here Rheinhard. Get me to bed. Then take the night off. I don’t give a damn. Just be breathing come morning.” Oor snickered, and held out his arm for Volker. Volker helped him up, and slowly made their way back to the rooms Oor had reserved for them. He helped the wraith into bed, and went outside. He put the face mask back on....
Oor didn’t like his dog running around without a muzzle.
Orion Spawn-Of-Man