Chapter 170: Someone to Protect (II)
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Chapter 170: Someone to Protect (II)
POV: Eliot Flint
At a table in the middle of The Singing Maiden.
While 'A Rose of Gold' was sung by the Maiden named Charlotte...
------
Eliot was once again amazed by the charm and warm simplicity of that Tavern. He was having just another lovely evening in the company of his new friends and squires of the same age, Jerha and Garoan.
Jerha Ged was the son of a family of minor knights of White Harbor and personal squire to Lord Wyman Manderly, and Garoan, though not of noble birth, was the trusted squire and sworn shield of Lord Jon Umber.
Of the three, Eliot was the most dressed up for the evening, as was only to be expected... But the 18-year-old still felt a little guilty about his chosen outfit. His set of the finest Flint wool and Karstark leather made his companions look bad, making them look like ordinary Eliot guards... but his great-aunt insisted, repeating to him:
["You are the future of House Flint, my dear. From the day of your appointment, your every image, deed, or word will be weighed in the eyes of Westeros... So stop whining and put on the gown I have had tailored for you by the finest tailors and leatherworkers in the North!"]
Lady Lynessa Flint's only son, his second cousin Robin, had tragically passed away, leaving no heir, falling valiantly a few moons ago in the naval battle for the conquest of Pyke's Port...
A treacherous stab in the belly by a dying Ironman ended the rightful heir to Widow's Watch. So now, Eliot, the great-nephew of Lady Lynessa, became the only unlikely heir and future Flints of Widow's Watch.
But this was not what Eliot desired. The boy had never imagined that he might one day become Lord.
If Robin had not died in battle before his time, if his brother, Ser Byam, had not joined the Night's Watch, if his deceased great-uncle's sons had not been struck down by smallpox last winter, if his older brother, Dale, had not been unhorsed by a crazed horse two years ago, Eliot could still have pursued his path... Living a free, adventurous life travelling all over the vast, unknown world, earning a living as a tournament knight or, if need be, as a sword in the pay of some peculiar lord of the East.
Perhaps spending a year of his life in each great Known City... Oldtown, King's Landing, Sandspear, Pentos, Volantis, or even Qarth... and who knows, he may one day make it as far as the legendary Asshai of Shadows. So many possibilities, so many places to see and discover... Just imagine such an experience brought a smile to his face.
But now, Eliot was certain that his duty to his family was to remain at Widow's Watch for the rest of his existence...
His Aunt Lynessa had been clear. She would not allow her only heir to put himself in uncalculated danger before giving birth to three or four successors who could pass on the name of the Flints of Widow's Watch...
[Participate in the Great Tournament, or any other tournament in Westeros...? Forget it].
[Going on a boar hunt...? What for? If you want boar meat, you'll get it on a silver platter before dinner!]
[To go around in the evening, in the streets of the most heavily guarded city in the North, without at least an escort of four armed guards and a healer ready when needed with a needle, suture thread and a supply of antidote?! Have you lost your mind, nephew?! Do you know how many enemies House Flint has?]
And this was no joke... Two men from House Flint were just outside the Tavern waiting, and two others, along with a new healer hired by his Aunt, were at a table just behind. The shields and Eliot's personal healer were pretending to enjoy a pleasant evening.
Should Eliot perish, Lynessa's legacy could be passed on to the Flints of Flint's Finger. There had been bad blood between the two family branches for centuries. Not to the extent of Blackwood and Bracken, of course, but his Aunt would instead have locked Eliot in a tower with a hundred maidens to impregnate than see her manor, her lands or riches at risk at the hands of arrogant rival Flints...
There were worse fates, that was certain, but still, Eliot could not get used to the idea.
The Flints of Widow's Watch were becoming famous across the continent for the profitable wool trade.
In the last three years, Flint's clothes, quilts, tapestries and carpets were among the most sought-after in the market. Finally, a real fashion had broken out among the nobles of Westeros. Demand was so high that Widow's Watch was forced to acquire 20,000 sheep's clothing lots and triple production...
The 'Overlady of The Sheeps', as the envious lords of the South nicknamed his Aunt Lyness, the one who was gaining a monopoly on the wool market, forcing the other lords, ladies and great merchants of Westeros to sell off their lots... No one could rival him in quality and workmanship on woollen clothing. There was even a rumour that many merchants had requested an audience with the Crown to remedy the injustice... Visit no(v)eLb(i)n.com for the best novel reading experience
"Hey, Eliot! Cheer up, my friend! You're not even casting a single glance at sweet Charlotte on stage. What's that? Has your beautiful Flint bewitched you already, by any chance?!" So asked a tipsy and festive Jerha.
"Ahahah! More than bewitched! Last night, that beast of a maiden must have scaled the mansion walls to sneak into Eliot's rooms. Our little prince of Widow's Watch must have been secretly drained to the bone!" Retorted Garoan, soundly patting Eliot's shoulder.
A few steps later, the biggest and most muscular man Eliot had ever seen stopped in front of his target... A secluded, enamelled ash-wood table half-attached to the wall, more spacious and luxurious than the other positions. The small group of four merchants, seated at the best table in the inn, looked anxiously and fearfully at the monumental predatory figure, who cast a shadow of doom over their pleasant and sumptuous evening.
After a few seconds of murderous stares, a moustachioed merchant shivering and clad in silks and valuables about to be larded with excrement hesitantly asked:
"D-do you need help, S-ser?" The black shadow did not answer, but his hounds beside him snickered with malicious laughter as if they were waiting for a macabre and delightful spectacle.
"... Let us leave!" Finally, one of the four merchants succumbed to fear, and his companions tried to follow him at breakneck speed, "but" one of the Mountain men stopped the last poor wretch.
"My good friend, what are you doing? You and your companions are running away like this without even paying a shred of a penny for the drinks... ? Here on the Silk Road, there is no leniency for thieves." Said the tall, half-bald man clutching his long arm covered in leather and iron studs.
"In truth, S-ser, w-we have already paid... Consumption, here, is paid in advan-" The other man with rotten teeth anticipated him:
"Yet, to us, it didn't look like we saw any fucking coins coming out of your pockets. Are you calling us liars, perfumed ass?"
"Come, come, Shitmout...Our good friend here had no intention of calling us liars, 'Am I right?" That vile rabble certainly wanted to extort some coin from the merchant...
"N-no, Ser... Now that you mention it, m-maybe, my drinking friends and I forgot to pay for our consumptions..." The poor guy shakily pulled out his semi-inflated purse. Not even time to open it, it was snatched from his hands.
"We will take these, my good friend. We will be sure to pay our dues at the Tavern, leaving a just tip to the waitresses for the inconvenience and paying the fine to the relevant authorities to redeem your good name to the city guard since you are thieves...
Don't look at us like that, my good friend. You admitted it yourself just now, don't you remember? There is no need to alarm the guard too much for a trivial 'involuntary' theft... Don't you agree?" All the men turned predatory glances at the poor man with faces with expressions mixed with fear and outrage... But fear won out.
"No... There will be no need. Have a pleasant evening, gentlemen." The man slipped out of the loose grip and ran for his life.
The Black Giant began to sit in the middle of the table, his back to the walls and his buttocks resting on the cushion of fine-treated leather goose feathers. It was only after the undisputed leader had made himself comfortable, pouring himself what remained of the fine and expensive liquor left by his victims, that the rest of the vile pack began to laugh and howl at the success of the heist, putting their asses on the spoils of the raid.
Like the other witnesses who witnessed the scene, Eliot was scared shitless of this individual. It wasn't just the build, the height, the muscular arms as thick as tree trunks, but the look... That was the look of a merciless being.
That dark, angry face that repudiated any glimmer of love or kindness gave him goosebumps. Every survival instinct screamed at him not to approach that individual under any circumstances.
Seeing the fearful expressions on their faces, Jherna and Garoan must have had a similar feeling to his own... But then, one of the three gritted his teeth and managed to overcome the instinct of fear.
*Sbam!* Garoan pounded his fist on the table, growling:
"Tsz... What a bunch of bastards...! They literally robbed those poor people under vile blackmail. We should intervene!"
Jerha pounced on the drunken comrade intent on getting up, holding him in his seat.
"No...! Garoan, those are looking for trouble! They are twice as numerous, better armed, armoured, polished than us and ready to draw their blades at the first legitimate opportunity." Eliot joined in support:
"Calm down and look at their faces; they're practically begging for someone to bother them.
Jerha's right... It's none of our business, and should that vile rabble go too far, the city guard will take care of it, kicking their asses and throwing them into the dungeon of the Frosty Queen." Garoan hesitated, still tugging slightly at his restrained arms and shoulders.
"But..." grunted the Umber's man, but Eliot insisted, "Please, Garoan... You will force Jerha and me to follow you if you stand up. If you drag me into a fight, in the off chance that I don't come out with a broken neck, my Aunt would have a tower built especially for me, complete with moat and garrison, for the sole purpose of segregating me until next spring." The impetuous boy, worthy of the name Umber, dropped the bone, spitting jokingly but with a hint of relief:
"I'm only doing this to save your quivering asses, pussies!"
****
End Part II
****
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Chapter 170: Someone to Protect (II)
POV: Eliot Flint
At a table in the middle of The Singing Maiden.
While 'A Rose of Gold' was sung by the Maiden named Charlotte...
------
Eliot was once again amazed by the charm and warm simplicity of that Tavern. He was having just another lovely evening in the company of his new friends and squires of the same age, Jerha and Garoan.
Jerha Ged was the son of a family of minor knights of White Harbor and personal squire to Lord Wyman Manderly, and Garoan, though not of noble birth, was the trusted squire and sworn shield of Lord Jon Umber.
Of the three, Eliot was the most dressed up for the evening, as was only to be expected... But the 18-year-old still felt a little guilty about his chosen outfit. His set of the finest Flint wool and Karstark leather made his companions look bad, making them look like ordinary Eliot guards... but his great-aunt insisted, repeating to him:
["You are the future of House Flint, my dear. From the day of your appointment, your every image, deed, or word will be weighed in the eyes of Westeros... So stop whining and put on the gown I have had tailored for you by the finest tailors and leatherworkers in the North!"]
Lady Lynessa Flint's only son, his second cousin Robin, had tragically passed away, leaving no heir, falling valiantly a few moons ago in the naval battle for the conquest of Pyke's Port...
A treacherous stab in the belly by a dying Ironman ended the rightful heir to Widow's Watch. So now, Eliot, the great-nephew of Lady Lynessa, became the only unlikely heir and future Flints of Widow's Watch.
But this was not what Eliot desired. The boy had never imagined that he might one day become Lord.
If Robin had not died in battle before his time, if his brother, Ser Byam, had not joined the Night's Watch, if his deceased great-uncle's sons had not been struck down by smallpox last winter, if his older brother, Dale, had not been unhorsed by a crazed horse two years ago, Eliot could still have pursued his path... Living a free, adventurous life travelling all over the vast, unknown world, earning a living as a tournament knight or, if need be, as a sword in the pay of some peculiar lord of the East.
Perhaps spending a year of his life in each great Known City... Oldtown, King's Landing, Sandspear, Pentos, Volantis, or even Qarth... and who knows, he may one day make it as far as the legendary Asshai of Shadows. So many possibilities, so many places to see and discover... Just imagine such an experience brought a smile to his face.
But now, Eliot was certain that his duty to his family was to remain at Widow's Watch for the rest of his existence...
His Aunt Lynessa had been clear. She would not allow her only heir to put himself in uncalculated danger before giving birth to three or four successors who could pass on the name of the Flints of Widow's Watch...
[Participate in the Great Tournament, or any other tournament in Westeros...? Forget it].
[Going on a boar hunt...? What for? If you want boar meat, you'll get it on a silver platter before dinner!]
[To go around in the evening, in the streets of the most heavily guarded city in the North, without at least an escort of four armed guards and a healer ready when needed with a needle, suture thread and a supply of antidote?! Have you lost your mind, nephew?! Do you know how many enemies House Flint has?]
And this was no joke... Two men from House Flint were just outside the Tavern waiting, and two others, along with a new healer hired by his Aunt, were at a table just behind. The shields and Eliot's personal healer were pretending to enjoy a pleasant evening.
Should Eliot perish, Lynessa's legacy could be passed on to the Flints of Flint's Finger. There had been bad blood between the two family branches for centuries. Not to the extent of Blackwood and Bracken, of course, but his Aunt would instead have locked Eliot in a tower with a hundred maidens to impregnate than see her manor, her lands or riches at risk at the hands of arrogant rival Flints...
There were worse fates, that was certain, but still, Eliot could not get used to the idea.
The Flints of Widow's Watch were becoming famous across the continent for the profitable wool trade.
In the last three years, Flint's clothes, quilts, tapestries and carpets were among the most sought-after in the market. Finally, a real fashion had broken out among the nobles of Westeros. Demand was so high that Widow's Watch was forced to acquire 20,000 sheep's clothing lots and triple production...
The 'Overlady of The Sheeps', as the envious lords of the South nicknamed his Aunt Lyness, the one who was gaining a monopoly on the wool market, forcing the other lords, ladies and great merchants of Westeros to sell off their lots... No one could rival him in quality and workmanship on woollen clothing. There was even a rumour that many merchants had requested an audience with the Crown to remedy the injustice... Visit no(v)eLb(i)n.com for the best novel reading experience
"Hey, Eliot! Cheer up, my friend! You're not even casting a single glance at sweet Charlotte on stage. What's that? Has your beautiful Flint bewitched you already, by any chance?!" So asked a tipsy and festive Jerha.
"Ahahah! More than bewitched! Last night, that beast of a maiden must have scaled the mansion walls to sneak into Eliot's rooms. Our little prince of Widow's Watch must have been secretly drained to the bone!" Retorted Garoan, soundly patting Eliot's shoulder.
A few steps later, the biggest and most muscular man Eliot had ever seen stopped in front of his target... A secluded, enamelled ash-wood table half-attached to the wall, more spacious and luxurious than the other positions. The small group of four merchants, seated at the best table in the inn, looked anxiously and fearfully at the monumental predatory figure, who cast a shadow of doom over their pleasant and sumptuous evening.
After a few seconds of murderous stares, a moustachioed merchant shivering and clad in silks and valuables about to be larded with excrement hesitantly asked:
"D-do you need help, S-ser?" The black shadow did not answer, but his hounds beside him snickered with malicious laughter as if they were waiting for a macabre and delightful spectacle.
"... Let us leave!" Finally, one of the four merchants succumbed to fear, and his companions tried to follow him at breakneck speed, "but" one of the Mountain men stopped the last poor wretch.
"My good friend, what are you doing? You and your companions are running away like this without even paying a shred of a penny for the drinks... ? Here on the Silk Road, there is no leniency for thieves." Said the tall, half-bald man clutching his long arm covered in leather and iron studs.
"In truth, S-ser, w-we have already paid... Consumption, here, is paid in advan-" The other man with rotten teeth anticipated him:
"Yet, to us, it didn't look like we saw any fucking coins coming out of your pockets. Are you calling us liars, perfumed ass?"
"Come, come, Shitmout...Our good friend here had no intention of calling us liars, 'Am I right?" That vile rabble certainly wanted to extort some coin from the merchant...
"N-no, Ser... Now that you mention it, m-maybe, my drinking friends and I forgot to pay for our consumptions..." The poor guy shakily pulled out his semi-inflated purse. Not even time to open it, it was snatched from his hands.
"We will take these, my good friend. We will be sure to pay our dues at the Tavern, leaving a just tip to the waitresses for the inconvenience and paying the fine to the relevant authorities to redeem your good name to the city guard since you are thieves...
Don't look at us like that, my good friend. You admitted it yourself just now, don't you remember? There is no need to alarm the guard too much for a trivial 'involuntary' theft... Don't you agree?" All the men turned predatory glances at the poor man with faces with expressions mixed with fear and outrage... But fear won out.
"No... There will be no need. Have a pleasant evening, gentlemen." The man slipped out of the loose grip and ran for his life.
The Black Giant began to sit in the middle of the table, his back to the walls and his buttocks resting on the cushion of fine-treated leather goose feathers. It was only after the undisputed leader had made himself comfortable, pouring himself what remained of the fine and expensive liquor left by his victims, that the rest of the vile pack began to laugh and howl at the success of the heist, putting their asses on the spoils of the raid.
Like the other witnesses who witnessed the scene, Eliot was scared shitless of this individual. It wasn't just the build, the height, the muscular arms as thick as tree trunks, but the look... That was the look of a merciless being.
That dark, angry face that repudiated any glimmer of love or kindness gave him goosebumps. Every survival instinct screamed at him not to approach that individual under any circumstances.
Seeing the fearful expressions on their faces, Jherna and Garoan must have had a similar feeling to his own... But then, one of the three gritted his teeth and managed to overcome the instinct of fear.
*Sbam!* Garoan pounded his fist on the table, growling:
"Tsz... What a bunch of bastards...! They literally robbed those poor people under vile blackmail. We should intervene!"
Jerha pounced on the drunken comrade intent on getting up, holding him in his seat.
"No...! Garoan, those are looking for trouble! They are twice as numerous, better armed, armoured, polished than us and ready to draw their blades at the first legitimate opportunity." Eliot joined in support:
"Calm down and look at their faces; they're practically begging for someone to bother them.
Jerha's right... It's none of our business, and should that vile rabble go too far, the city guard will take care of it, kicking their asses and throwing them into the dungeon of the Frosty Queen." Garoan hesitated, still tugging slightly at his restrained arms and shoulders.
"But..." grunted the Umber's man, but Eliot insisted, "Please, Garoan... You will force Jerha and me to follow you if you stand up. If you drag me into a fight, in the off chance that I don't come out with a broken neck, my Aunt would have a tower built especially for me, complete with moat and garrison, for the sole purpose of segregating me until next spring." The impetuous boy, worthy of the name Umber, dropped the bone, spitting jokingly but with a hint of relief:
"I'm only doing this to save your quivering asses, pussies!"
****
End Part II
****
Chapter 170: Someone to Protect IIPOV: Eliot Flint At a table in the middle of The Singing Maiden. While 'A Rose of Gold' was sung by the Maiden named Charlotte... ------ Eliot was once again amazed by the charm and warm simplicity of that Tavern. He was having just another lovely evening in the company of his new friends and squires of the same age, Jerha and Garoan. Jerha Ged was the son of a family of minor knights of White Harbor and personal squire to Lord Wyman Manderly, and Garoan, though not of noble birth, was the trusted squire and sworn shield of Lord Jon Umber. Of the three, Eliot was the most dressed up for the evening, as was only to be expected... But the 18-year-old still felt a little guilty about his chosen outfit. His set of the finest Flint wool and Karstark leather made his companions look bad, making them look like ordinary Eliot guards... but his great-aunt insisted, repeating to him: "You are the future of House Flint, my dear. From the day of your appointment, your every image, deed, or word will be weighed in the eyes of Westeros... So stop whining and put on the gown I have had tailored for you by the finest tailors and leatherworkers in the North!" Lady Lynessa Flint's only son, his second cousin Robin, had tragically passed away, leaving no heir, falling valiantly a few moons ago in the naval battle for the conquest of Pyke's Port... A treacherous stab in the belly by a dying Ironman ended the rightful heir to Widow's Watch. So now, Eliot, the great-nephew of Lady Lynessa, became the only unlikely heir and future Flints of Widow's Watch. But this was not what Eliot desired. The boy had never imagined that he might one day become Lord. If Robin had not died in battle before his time, if his brother, Ser Byam, had not joined the Night's Watch, if his deceased great-uncle's sons had not been struck down by smallpox last winter, if his older brother, Dale, had not been unhorsed by a crazed horse two years ago, Eliot could still have pursued his path... Living a free, adventurous life travelling all over the vast, unknown world, earning a living as a tournament knight or, if need be, as a sword in the pay of some peculiar lord of the East. Perhaps spending a year of his life in each great Known City... Oldtown, King's Landing, Sandspear, Pentos, Volantis, or even Qarth... and who knows, he may one day make it as far as the legendary Asshai of Shadows. So many possibilities, so many places to see and discover... Just imagine such an experience brought a smile to his face. But now, Eliot was certain that his duty to his family was to remain at Widow's Watch for the rest of his existence... His Aunt Lynessa had been clear. She would not allow her only heir to put himself in uncalculated danger before giving birth to three or four successors who could pass on the name of the Flints of Widow's Watch... Participate in the Great Tournament, or any other tournament in Westeros...? Forget it. Going on a boar hunt...? What for? If you want boar meat, you'll get it on a silver platter before dinner! To go around in the evening, in the streets of the most heavily guarded city in the North, without at least an escort of four armed guards and a healer ready when needed with a needle, suture thread and a supply of antidote?! Have you lost your mind, nephew?! Do you know how many enemies House Flint has? And this was no joke... Two men from House Flint were just outside the Tavern waiting, and two others, along with a new healer hired by his Aunt, were at a table just behind. The shields and Eliot's personal healer were pretending to enjoy a pleasant evening. Should Eliot perish, Lynessa's legacy could be passed on to the Flints of Flint's Finger. There had been bad blood between the two family branches for centuries. Not to the extent of Blackwood and Bracken, of course, but his Aunt would instead have locked Eliot in a tower with a hundred maidens to impregnate than see her manor, her lands or riches at risk at the hands of arrogant rival Flints... There were worse fates, that was certain, but still, Eliot could not get used to the idea. The Flints of Widow's Watch were becoming famous across the continent for the profitable wool trade. In the last three years, Flint's clothes, quilts, tapestries and carpets were among the most sought-after in the market. Finally, a real fashion had broken out among the nobles of Westeros. Demand was so high that Widow's Watch was forced to acquire 20,000 sheep's clothing lots and triple production... The 'Overlady of The Sheeps', as the envious lords of the South nicknamed his Aunt Lyness, the one who was gaining a monopoly on the wool market, forcing the other lords, ladies and great merchants of Westeros to sell off their lots... No one could rival him in quality and workmanship on woollen clothing. There was even a rumour that many merchants had requested an audience with the Crown to remedy the injustice... Visit noveLbin.com for the best novel reading experience"Hey, Eliot! Cheer up, my friend! You're not even casting a single glance at sweet Charlotte on stage. What's that? Has your beautiful Flint bewitched you already, by any chance?!" So asked a tipsy and festive Jerha. "Ahahah! More than bewitched! Last night, that beast of a maiden must have scaled the mansion walls to sneak into Eliot's rooms. Our little prince of Widow's Watch must have been secretly drained to the bone!" Retorted Garoan, soundly patting Eliot's shoulder. A few steps later, the biggest and most muscular man Eliot had ever seen stopped in front of his target... A secluded, enamelled ash-wood table half-attached to the wall, more spacious and luxurious than the other positions. The small group of four merchants, seated at the best table in the inn, looked anxiously and fearfully at the monumental predatory figure, who cast a shadow of doom over their pleasant and sumptuous evening. After a few seconds of murderous stares, a moustachioed merchant shivering and clad in silks and valuables about to be larded with excrement hesitantly asked: "D-do you need help, S-ser?" The black shadow did not answer, but his hounds beside him snickered with malicious laughter as if they were waiting for a macabre and delightful spectacle. "... Let us leave!" Finally, one of the four merchants succumbed to fear, and his companions tried to follow him at breakneck speed, "but" one of the Mountain men stopped the last poor wretch. "My good friend, what are you doing? You and your companions are running away like this without even paying a shred of a penny for the drinks... ? Here on the Silk Road, there is no leniency for thieves." Said the tall, half-bald man clutching his long arm covered in leather and iron studs. "In truth, S-ser, w-we have already paid... Consumption, here, is paid in advan-" The other man with rotten teeth anticipated him: "Yet, to us, it didn't look like we saw any fucking coins coming out of your pockets. Are you calling us liars, perfumed ass?" "Come, come, Shitmout...Our good friend here had no intention of calling us liars, 'Am I right?" That vile rabble certainly wanted to extort some coin from the merchant... "N-no, Ser... Now that you mention it, m-maybe, my drinking friends and I forgot to pay for our consumptions..." The poor guy shakily pulled out his semi-inflated purse. Not even time to open it, it was snatched from his hands. "We will take these, my good friend. We will be sure to pay our dues at the Tavern, leaving a just tip to the waitresses for the inconvenience and paying the fine to the relevant authorities to redeem your good name to the city guard since you are thieves... Don't look at us like that, my good friend. You admitted it yourself just now, don't you remember? There is no need to alarm the guard too much for a trivial 'involuntary' theft... Don't you agree?" All the men turned predatory glances at the poor man with faces with expressions mixed with fear and outrage... But fear won out. "No... There will be no need. Have a pleasant evening, gentlemen." The man slipped out of the loose grip and ran for his life. The Black Giant began to sit in the middle of the table, his back to the walls and his buttocks resting on the cushion of fine-treated leather goose feathers. It was only after the undisputed leader had made himself comfortable, pouring himself what remained of the fine and expensive liquor left by his victims, that the rest of the vile pack began to laugh and howl at the success of the heist, putting their asses on the spoils of the raid. Like the other witnesses who witnessed the scene, Eliot was scared shitless of this individual. It wasn't just the build, the height, the muscular arms as thick as tree trunks, but the look... That was the look of a merciless being. That dark, angry face that repudiated any glimmer of love or kindness gave him goosebumps. Every survival instinct screamed at him not to approach that individual under any circumstances. Seeing the fearful expressions on their faces, Jherna and Garoan must have had a similar feeling to his own... But then, one of the three gritted his teeth and managed to overcome the instinct of fear. *Sbam!* Garoan pounded his fist on the table, growling: "Tsz... What a bunch of bastards...! They literally robbed those poor people under vile blackmail. We should intervene!" Jerha pounced on the drunken comrade intent on getting up, holding him in his seat. "No...! Garoan, those are looking for trouble! They are twice as numerous, better armed, armoured, polished than us and ready to draw their blades at the first legitimate opportunity." Eliot joined in support: "Calm down and look at their faces; they're practically begging for someone to bother them. Jerha's right... It's none of our business, and should that vile rabble go too far, the city guard will take care of it, kicking their asses and throwing them into the dungeon of the Frosty Queen." Garoan hesitated, still tugging slightly at his restrained arms and shoulders. "But..." grunted the Umber's man, but Eliot insisted, "Please, Garoan... You will force Jerha and me to follow you if you stand up. If you drag me into a fight, in the off chance that I don't come out with a broken neck, my Aunt would have a tower built especially for me, complete with moat and garrison, for the sole purpose of segregating me until next spring." The impetuous boy, worthy of the name Umber, dropped the bone, spitting jokingly but with a hint of relief: "I'm only doing this to save your quivering asses, pussies!" **** End Part II ****
