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"Do

you think there will be a war with the Redcloaks?" A

voice asked close-by.

"As

if you're asking! You know how Nords are." Another voice

responded. "They didn't call them the

Vengeance Wars for no reason!" They added.

Akalgan looked up slightly from his mug

of sujamma for a moment. His hearing was keened at the mention of the Vengeance

Wars. Memories began to spark at the mere thought of Nords and Dragonians. The

Dark Elven patrons noticed his look and hurriedly hushed themselves upon

realising how rude they may seem in the presence of the mercenary. Akalgan

rolled his eyes and cast his gaze across the inn. It was dimly-lit and

relatively empty, but that was not to describe it as small. Akalgan had

expected that once the day's work was over, dozens of patrons will be cramming

the inn and partying merrily to bard's tunes. It was Fredas, after all.

Everyone had probably forgotten about

the events of that morning by now. Akalgan still thought about how defiant the

Nords were, and his thoughts came back to what the two patrons had been

discussing. A war... A vengeance war... He wondered. His mind wandered back to

his memories, and what he thought of Nords. It was difficult for Akalgan to put

himself firmly in any place, mostly because he did not belong anywhere no

matter what. He closed his eyes and took another swig of the strong spirit,

undiluted by anything else as he savoured the burning feeling in his throat

that most beverages rarely possessed.

He began to recollect what knowledge he

had of the Vengeance Wars. It was a controversial title to be bestowed upon the

series of conflicts between Arkathia and Skrijaheim. It is just as often

attributed to the desire for vengeance that Nords had for the transgressions of

Ylath, the Dragon-God of Storms, as it was also attributed to the thirst for

revenge that Dragonians had in response to the slaying of Ylath by the

now-Divine Talos. For centuries, the Vengeance Wars outlasted any other war not

in duration but through constant revival of old hatreds. Not even the War

beneath the Mountain involving Dwarves and Shadow Elves compared to the horrors

of the Vengeance Wars. And yet, despite the comradery and unity found in the

coming of the 2nd Ending, there was still a resentment between

Dragonians and Nords, as well as the Dwarves of both Arkathia and Skrijaheim.

Akalgan recalled numerous times on his

travels through Skrijaheim were he was found unwelcome in many Nordic

settlements. There were few people, with names he will remember in respect,

whom showed him a form of kindness or decency. But otherwise, Akalgan will

always recall looking down on Nords because of a single name: Lizard. As though

puny Humes such as they thought they were greater than dragons because one of

their own slew a Dragon-God. Moments like those insulted a deep sense of pride

Akalgan held onto, even if he was an exile--

At that moment, he thought no more on

the matter. Akalgan's hand tightened its grip on his mug and he took another

swig of sujamma with raspy sigh. His eyes opened wide the moment he felt

something; a filcher's hand pilfering his coinpurse. At that moment Akalgan

turned right round to grab at the pickpocket, a Dark Elven boy who looked no

older than 17. He smiled and laughed in Akalgan's face as he deftly evaded the

arm thrown outwards to catch him, before sprinting towards the tavern door and

heading out into the street. Akalgan's brow furrowed as he bared his teeth in

anger.

"GET

BACK HERE!" He roared as he leapt from his seat and

immediately chased after the little runt.

Akalgan burst into the streets with

people jumping back at his appearance, and he watched as the pickpocket took the

next turn up the street. Akalgan shook his head as he realized how much he was

weighed down by his gear. He then looked upwards and had an idea. He stretched

out his wings and then ran up the wall opposite him, with the people leaping

out of his way in a panic. He beat his great wings as his feet left the wall,

which gave him a boost up to the rooftops above. He climbed up quickly and ran

swiftly over towards the street that the filcher turned into. After searching

the street, he found the filthy bugger running into a merchant and his cart, as

he stumbled over what appeared to be berry jars. Akalgan's eyes narrowed and he

made his way quickly across the rooftops, unhindered by people as his quarry

would be.

Not once did the boy escape Akalgan's

eyes as he kept looking back behind him but never up. The little smirk that

appeared on his face at the apparent belief that he had lost Akalgan infuriated

the Dragonian more as he leapt across the street from roof to roof. A few tiles

slipped at his feet as Akalgan grunted and grasped at the roof, down they fell

to the street below, surprising a few fortunate people who were only narrowly

missed by the falling tiles. Akalgan ignored the outcries as he watched his

quarry once more, who realised he was still being chased and instead watched

the rooftops.

Akalgan pushed himself up from the

sloped roof and leapt from roof to roof once more to close in on his prey. The

boy started to run and tried to escape, but made a wrong turn into a side

alleyway which Akalgan basically had within his next leap. With a triumphant

smile, he jumped down from the rooftop and landed with a thud right in front of

the boy. The pickpocket's eyes widened as he slipped and tried to recover to

run in the other direction, but Akalgan was well within being able to snatch

the boy by the scruff of his neck. Within the spur of a moment, Akalgan had the

little filcher by the collar and slammed him against the wall angrily.

"Okay!

Okay! You got me!" The Dark Elven boy cried out after he

felt the solid force against his back. "I-I'll

give them back to you, just let me go!" He pleaded as he held out the

shining sovereigns he had stolen. Akalgan raised an eyebrow with disappointment

as he took the sovereigns. He shook the boy by the collar and the boy cried out

as he struggled against the Dragonian's firm and vice-like grip, but Akalgan

was not letting go so easily. "Okay! I'm

sorry! I'm sorry! I'll give the rest back, I swear!" The boy cried as he

took a few more sovereigns from his vest pocket and held them out to Akalgan.

The Dragonian took them with only the barest look of thanks, before his eyes

became as sharp as daggers.

"Give

me a reason why I shouldn't just gut you right now." He

darkly whispered as he pocketed his liberated coins. The boy shook his head in

fear.

"It's

against the law here!" He quickly uttered.

Akalgan tilted his head and thought of

something else, more humane yet more degrading.

"But

I doubt anyone will bat an eye when I strip you down and tie you up to a

rooftop." Akalgan thought aloud. The boy's eyes

looked into Akalgan's with a genuine fright.

"I'd

rather you strip me down and tie me to a bed to d--" He

pressed bit his lips to stop himself from finishing that sentence, but it was

enough for Akalgan's eyes to relax and even put a slight smirk on his face.

"To

do with you as I please? Huh... Well." Akalgan finished for

the boy. He looked him down in that same instant, and beamed in approval of

such a cute thing, now that the filthy smirk was rubbed off his face. "That is a better idea than what I had in

mind. After all, Akatosh knows I'll need something to relieve the stress and

finding someone to do that for me would be expensive in this city--" He

explained. The boy grimaced and clawed harder at Akalgan's hand. The Dragonian

rolled his eyes and jerked him up suddenly. "--And I think you have to repay me one way or another." Akalgan

finished.

The Dark Elf shook his head

defiantly. 

"If

you think I'm going to go along with you--" he began. But Akalgan

was not interested in what he had to say. He cut the boy short with a sudden

blow to the head, only hard enough to knock him out. In that instant, the boy

was out like a light.

"I

don't think I was giving you a choice." Akalgan scoffed as he

slung the boy over his shoulder. He turned towards the street, but then paused

after thinking about how odd he would look carrying the boy out of an alleyway

in such a manner. He sighed and then knelt down for a moment. He moved the boy

under his wing and then onto his back. Akalgan wrapped the boy's arms around

his neck and held onto his legs, as if to be giving him a piggyback. Akalgan

hobbled over slightly so the boy wouldn't fall back and smash his head. He then

took a deep breath over the look of himself and went out into the streets to

return to his inn of residence.

On the way back, Akalgan only got a few

looks from passing citizens. A few of them were actually positive, to his

surprise. His stomach rolled over at the thought that some common folk thought

that this image of a Dragonian giving piggyback to a 'sleeping' Dark Elven boy

was... Cute. Akalgan shivered at the thought of somebody bothering to stop him

and make that singular remark, and subsequently hurried to get back to the inn.

Perhaps

it would have been easier to just humiliate the boy publicly instead... He

thought briefly.

Akalgan slightly opened his door and

then carefully pushed it open with the boy still with him on piggyback. He was

only a little flustered with patrons and the publican giving him adoring looks

over his seeming heartfelt action. The thought made Akalgan grunt and dropped

the boy suddenly on the bed. There and then he turned around and saw how

innocent the boy looked in his unconscious state, despite the obvious bruise

Akalgan had given him. The Dragonian almost had second thoughts about what he

intended to do. So instead he just re-imagined the filthy smirk back upon the

boy's face. That made Akalgan more than happy to undo the boy's sack cloth

pants and slip them off along with his poorly-made leather vest. The conclusion

that the boy was just a street urchin made Akalgan feel a little more

justified--Or in the least a little bit better, as he tied the boy's wrists to

the bed with rope from amongst the gear he kept in his room.

Once he was done, Akalgan took a step back,

and looked upon the boy's face again. The devilish smile that made him angry

before was now gone, and he was just as he really was the whole time; an

unconscious Dark Elven boy, who was now naked on Akalgan's bed. But for the

most part unconscious. Akalgan then sighed.

"Still

out like a light." He murmured. He then figured the boy

would not wake for another couple of hours at least. Akalgan then stepped

toward the window of his room and glanced to the sun in the sky. "But it looks like there's plenty of light

in the day. I might as well find a job to take on while I'm at it." He

looked back at the boy, or rather his bindings, and then back at the boy once

Akalgan was sure he wouldn't slip away anytime soon. "I'll be back for you later tonight. Sweet dreams, little knife-ears." He

softly jeered, before he stepped out of his room and locked the door.

Akalgan then whistled cheerfully as he

stepped downstairs to the main area of the inn, where the innkeeper looked at

him.

"Did

you want to finish your drink?" He asked as he

gestured to Akalgan's abandoned mug, seemingly untouched since Akalgan had

given chase to the little thief. The Dragonian spared it a glance, before

picking up the mug and sculling the rest of its content. With a raspy yet

satisfied sigh, he put the mug down hard and then stepped out into the street.

The innkeeper stared out after the Dragonian in wonder, and then shrugged as he

took Akalgan's mug and started washing it. "S'pose

the boy was a dear friend of his by the looks of it." He muttered to

himself, seemingly unaware of the boy being the thief from before.