God Rising: Battle of Atela 72 Part IV

"Armin!" The slaves shrieked at the loud call, and they all switched their glacial gaze to the Prince that was totally embarrassed. Even the slave master looked at him weirdly. "I'm sorry, none of them are appealing enough." He said before turning away.

"I give up" Maybe she'd got on a caravan as a Beastman, or so he thought. She said she didn't need him, and he recalled her advanced survival skills. Things might turnout her way after all. Maybe he was just overreacting for no reason at all.

He left to find some other way to train himself. 

He rode the camel for three weeks before he saw the end of the terrain, and a whole stream waiting for him at the other side. Now and then Artemis entered his thoughts, sometimes she didn't. He'd acknowledged that she was gone and there was no compelling reason to worry over her anymore.

 What he was more worried about was Zircon, what if it got into the wrong hands and ends up in his father's throne room? He didn't want to think about the worst-case scenario. He swapped his thoughts with something more cheerful. The strength and magic he wished he had.

He rode the camel further until he came across an inn. It wasn't the best he'd seen, but he didn't have a choice. He had no idea where he was. It was a community outside the dark elves territory, and it seemed more diverse than he'd imagine. The innkeeper was a lizardman, and while passing he saw some pixies dashing around the courtyards. 

He laid on the bed thinking of where Artemis might head to. They'd recovered three gems, and the last two were in the same province, and the closest to wherever he was was the goblin cavern. If she traveled at a fast pace, it would take her at least three months. So much time was passing, and before they'd know it, the 999th season would come again. 

He swung his feet off the bed and stayed in his position for a while before deciding on what next he'd do. He changed into something more comfortable and went out into the strange village for a walk. He moved down the narrow roads, eyes darting to the opposite sides with different houses all around. 

He continued his venture around the labyrinth of structures and a couple of palm trees. He stopped once he noticed a cheering crowd and overheard someone calling out prices for whatever was the magnet dragging in a crowd.

Darren pushed his way to the front. He raised his eyelids as a blonde dancer, dressed in a gauzy white tunic, twirled the streets and the crowd tossed golden coins at her. It wasn't Artemis, so he looked away.

He strolled further into the town, and stumbled across a large stall covered in costumes, masks and bright linens. What caught his attention was a mask.

He handed a golden coin to a merchant, missing half of his brownish teeth. The round Catman smiled and weighed it on a scale before handing him what he picked.

Darren's left hand rose to his face for a moment before leaving a mask of ornate red, dark, and gold calfskin over his eyes with a small hook nose. 

It was unlike him to visit a bar, but he somewhat felt like he needed to spend the remainder of the night doing something new.

He rested his hand on the rough paint work that coats the door and gave it a little push. A sharp stench of drink, sweat, and smoke waft towards him as soon as he stepped in. 

Uproarious discussions twirl in a grimy haze of smoke dominating the atmosphere. His eyes moved around from the barkeep cleaning the containers to the standing alcoholic lizardmen, pink cheeked Elves, and the heavy made-up faces of half naked human girls serving the men drinks and their chest.

If Darren could, he'd melt into the bar and move around as easily as the smoke. He'd absorb himself the carefree chuckling and alcoholic grins, dance upon the songs of the moon instrumentalists. But back in reality, he was scared of joining in and bringing attention to himself. He bought the mask for a reason.

The Prince winds his way into the shaded room hoping as the night goes on, he'll be more comfortable in the strange crowd, intoxicated by spirits, lust and beer. It was part of the Beastmen customs. He wanted to experience it. 

He raised a hand, and a maid approached him and held the large sign of available drinks for him. He read through and asked for pale malt, which she brought in a few seconds. 

Before she poured him a jug full, his eyes travelled from her face to her collarbone, delicate in the semi-darkness, then to her bosoms. Without a tight corset they sat lower, more natural, and each so perfect and moulded to her form. He gulped as he raised a hand up to touch and feel to his virgin mind's content.

He pulled his hand back the moment she turned to the direction of the sudden sound of breaking glass and a wooden table. 

"Sé beastmen are at it again!" The girl hissed as she moved away from Darren that was lamenting the misuse of the opportunity he had. He wondered what the ruckus was about, anyway.

Two beastmen grunted as they took handfuls of each other's clothing and attempted to wrestle the other to the ground. A wolfman other than Darren watched the two delinquents battle each other as he fondled the human girl in his laps. He wanted to join in the fun, and the Bartender gave him permission to. He got up, tossing his toothpick to the side, then he kissed the maid goodbye for the meantime.

Darren studied the face of the large wolfman. His eyes were on the small side, and his mouth was small and rigid, as if only used for the sort of smiles that mask cruelty.

He got in the middle of the two men circling each other. Then he used his right hand to jab the lizardman in the ribs. He turned to the orc both and grabbed the little hair on his head, before bringing his face down sharply onto his bent knee. Blood flowed from the orc's broken nose and he staggered backwards.

The lizardman's face had blushed with stifled fury. He swung a blade towards his new rival, however the wolfman rushed to pry the little table knife from the broiled goose on his table. Everyone watched in awe, and Darren moved further to see if his eyes weren't playing him. A sword against a table knife. It seemed like a one sided battle, but the wolfman was quite confident that it was in his favour.

He held the knife even, a perfect, undaunted horizon; always leveled with the nose, just as he taught himself years ago. He had stalled the lizard man's strike, and an evil grin split his lips as things were now going his way. He dropped to the ground and swung his legs at a well-known weak point of the lizard clan. The lizard used his tail to balance himself, but that few minutes of distraction was enough to cost him his life. 

He should have been like his buddy, the orc and runaway because no one had ever defeated the 'bar-fight' king. To save himself from further humiliation, the lizard men scurried away before the Wolfman 'd strip him. That was his finishing move.

The Wolfman was very frustrated. Every one of his rivals fled before he was finished. He thudded himself back on his seat then turned his head back to the bartender who already knew what he wanted. 

"You can only have two of your choice." 

The Wolfman sulked, "C'mon... three. Three is enough" The bartender didn't want to drag more with his younger brother, and the Wolfman respected his brother's command "Fine! fine!!" 

His eyes quickly darted to the masked face, and he snatched the intruder by the neck, "Who are you?" He asked in a shrill voice. 

"Someone that wants advice." Darren made sure he wasn't too noticeable, but the wolfman had perceived his presence ten times faster than anyone else in the bar.

"Sit down, kid!" He commanded, and Darren did as told.

"Beat me in a drinking contest, and then we can talk."

Chapter end