The Man In Woad REH FAN-Fic
Sept 22, 2017 9:32:34 GMT -5
Post by philip on Sept 22, 2017 9:32:34 GMT -5
Oxio the reaver slinks alley to alley painted head to toe, woad. Sleek pumping calves bolt across the rough hewn cobble stones. The whites of his feral eyes shine like silver on onyx. Hot-blooded hands scale the huge looming tower that pierces the stormy sky. Powerful iron fingertips clutching. The tiny stone edges crumbling. Far below pebbles bouncing. A soft leather loin cloth flaps in the cold night. A blue black sword strapped to his sinuous back . Steel arms climb with raw bestial agility. Gobs of braided hair shake side to side. Nostrils flaring. Narrow eyes dart above him toward the fire lit window.
The ruffling sound of fire. Six warm smiling brigandines cheat each other at cards. The bark of biting laughter echos through the night like a mocking war drum. The rattle of clacking dice. Hot sharp coughing. Coins clink in their counting. An arrogant guard leans back in his chair. Hands behind short cropped hair then his beefy arms rake in his winnings . A huge emerald gem like the tongue of a jade god drools intoxicating light next to his card hand. Exiting the door a hunched fat cook stares into the floor mumbling to himself about how that cursed gem beacons the lustiest men to possess it. Each man steals glances at the jewel that burns like an aurora borealis when it rolls in the night sky. Winning cards smack down shaking kettle helms loosely stacked on an oak table. Armored shoulders rumble with fun-loving laughter. Tankers bashing. Dark beer sloshing. Froth just splashing everywhere. A fire like the maw of a lion roars. A whole skinned lamb roasting. Fat dripping from the bone. Sizzling on the black firewood. The tall shadows dance on stone walls. A battalion of red painted shields, rows of long iron tipped spears, fat headed maces, hand forged arming swords all wait for orders on the wall.
Oxio like a living shadow leaps over the window sill. Smeared in greasy blue woad. Sword in hand. Predator eyed. His shoulders drop. Relaxed . The hard muscles of his chest ripples from nape of his bull neck to his steel spring abs. Soft stalking steps. The cold soles of his feet warm on the stone floor. A hard grinning guard looks up. Dread pours down his slouched spine. His throat dries up. A cotton ball of spit quivers in the corner of his mouth. Panic twitches and forms in the corner of his wide eyes. His lower intestines loosen a squishy mop head of shit. The color draining from his sturdy face. Oxio's teeth flash white. Sword high. Wild eyed. Primordial. The savage elemental man in woad.
The brigandine's skull splits to the tongue . It coils like a tentacle in his neck. His body drops like a sack of shit. Oxio jumps on the table kicking helms, tankers, coins, dice, cards. Shiiing! The shiny blade whistles. It slithers though a bone. A trembling man slashed nose to jaw. His lower face, beard and all just falls into his piss soaked lap. His uncomprehending look just stares at his whiskers floating in the night air. Oxio battle breed whirls on his heel. He slams a whalebone hard fist crushing in a forehead. His iron fingertips rip a throat . Oxio severs a man shoulder to hip . Guts rope the floor and lubricate it in oily black bile. Their hearts beating like hummingbirds. A pleading hand split to the elbow peels apart. The fleeing guards slip in the slick gore. Oxio's sword just hacks and hacks and hacks. The roasting lamb is lathered in their blood .
Oxio takes the green polished gem in his bloody hand and squeezes white knuckle hard. He raises it above his head. Rays of green light shines powerfully from the jewel that he clearly sees the skeleton of his fist.
