Relentless Rage

[Cherub657]

The cloaked figure walked into the musky tavern, the smell of booze and sweat heavy on the air. He sat down on a stool in front of the barkeep; placing a copper piece down on the counter he waited for a drink. He swung a single callused hand upwards, whipping the hood of his cloak back, revealing his shortened, light auburn hair and square face, his jaw set in a permanent tensed look. He received his drink and took a few swigs of it, not speaking to anybody. His elbows moved up to rest on the counter, a hand sliding up to press into his eyes, trying to relieve a pain that plagued him. He pulled his fingers across his face, pinching the skin on the bridge of his nose before slapping his palm down on the counter. He took another swig and noticed movement out of the corner of his eye.
A man, plainly dressed, obviously a little bit drunk, walked over to him.
“Hey there friend!” he said jovially, clapping him on the back. “Care to buy a poor old fisherman a drink or two?” the man gave him a crooked smile as his hand patted his shoulder a few times.
A scowl flashed across the cloaked man’s face and he ripped the fisherman’s hand off of his shoulder, slamming it down on the counter, palm up.
“Don’t call me friend and don’t touch me you scum.” He snarled at him, deftly grabbing a dagger that was hidden by the cloak. He spun it quickly so the blade faced down and he thrust it downwards, piercing the fisherman’s hand, pinning him to the counter.
He screamed as he was wounded, stopping all other noise in the tavern. A few men stood up to try and grab the cloaked stranger, but he began punching out in a rage. “Back the fuck off!” he growled, making contact with a few faces. It seemed that a brawl would ensue, but armored guards from outside came bustling in, peacekeepers it seemed. They tackled the cloaked man and held him still, though he fought with the ferocity of a cornered animal. They hoisted him up, making sure he couldn’t move and they dragged him away.
The cell doors clattered open as the cloaked man was thrown in. He heard the bars rattle shut and the clank of a lock being set. He rushed at the bars and grabbed them, shaking them with force. He screamed deeply at the peacekeepers, nothing coherent, just noise. He resigned himself from fighting against the heavy metal and pushed himself away from it, beginning to pace back and forth like the caged animal that he was.

 

[Osheaga]

• 
  
  What the natives had constructed into a prison was a series of spacious caverns embedded within a bluff-side. The cliff was habitually lapped at by the starving tongue of the shore; most of the men who were responsible for the prison's architecture were forced to erect quarried stone walls to keep the seasonal storms from flooding the cells. Even now as winter was coming to an end they struggled to maintain the prison's wellbeing. Even as they escorted this man - this very, very vehement man - into his cell, a handful of able-bodied men were working together to secure new walls. "Get 'em in there!" one of the wardens cried. At the man's behest two men thrust the violent man into the cell and hastily locked it when they were done. "What if it floods?" The warden made a face of brief concern.
  
  "It should be flooding much more this season," he muttered only half reassuringly as he stroked his beard, "By the time the next spring comes these walls will be sturdy enough to withstand the ocean waves, no matter how high they may grow. That being said ... I cannot speak for this season." He shot their new prisoner a menacing leer the commanded his appointed guards to continue their previous task. "I've never seen your face here before. Even so, that is no excuse for you to be mistreating the indigenous as such. We are a peaceful, hospitable people; we let you, a stranger into our establishments only to be viciously scorned like animals. We do not approve of this behavior, stranger, and as a result, you will be punished."
  
  At that instant the warden could hear a heavy, deep thud. A wave had crashed up along the bluff-side, another sizable one at that. He cringed at the sound of his men scrambling, then the dying sizzle of the water which had managed to seep into the cavern. Their cries were incoherent and muffled; he could do nothing but swat his forehead. The warden had before vowed that this prison would be a "safer" stronghold, but it was still in its early stages as it was completely irrelevant before the crime rate had risen drastically. Virtually three hours had passed and the warden had returned toting about a questionably large - and primitive looking - crossbow. A shadow would prance around in the background from time to time, its foreignness exaggerated by the low flicker of the torches lining the corridor.
  
  "Hey! H-hey, warden ...!" One of the prisoners cried. He wove his arms through the bars of his cell and pointed off in the distance to a woman who stood still as stone. She watched a blank wall with no expression, merely a stony stillness. "You!" the warden barked. No response. "You!" he cried again. This time the woman adhered to his beckoning and turned. She came into the full light, her olive-colored eyes littered with flecks of entrancing gold. The look of raw nonchalance on her face made even the warden feel his pulsing heart come to a slow, steady strum. "She's been in here before," one of the prisoners remarked. The warden hushed him, glanced at the new prisoner then to her. She stood still, still like stagnant water. She made a motion to the man with her head. The warden gawked then pointed. "Him? What about him?" She parted her full lips and let her sweet, sultry voice spill out like a river of honey and molasses. "Let him free."

 

[Cherub657]

The angry man had been spending his time standing still, cold waves washing over his body. He welcomed it, it was an opportunity to forget himself. His cold eyes looked out as each wave washed over him. He should’ve been worried about hypothermia and other things, but he couldn’t care less, if death came, then it came, it wasn’t something he could fight, as much as he wanted to. He had spat at the guards and the warden, curses spilling out of his mouth as he glared at them with scorn. He hated them. He despised them. He wanted to demolish them, tear them apart, hurt them in every imaginable way.
He had been thinking about what he could do to harm the warden when he heard some commotion. He turned around and grabbed the bars, pressing his face against the cold metal in order to get a better look. He saw a woman who stood stiller than anything in the room, making herself stand out. He focused on her eyes, which seemed like deep, intense pools, drawing all those around her into them, to be lost forever.
He eyed the situation before hearing the words. “Let him free.” He was taken aback by them, it was obvious that this woman had power, but why do anything for him? He stepped back as the warden walked over, releasing the latch and sliding the doors open. The warden’s eyes glared at him in spite, feeling that he had lost a battle, but the newly freed man leered back at him with an intensity unbeknownst to most people.
He walked out, his body dripping wet. Looking over to the woman he cocked his head, taking a stance in front of her. “What do you want with me?” he asked her aggressively. “Why free me? What do you get out of it?” he insisted, avoiding looking at her eyes, instead looking impatiently all around, feeling tense, itchy.

 

[Osheaga]

• 
  
  "I don't know what land you come from, stranger, but here we do not always expect compensation for our good deeds," spat the warden. He towered over the mysterious woman and gnashed his teeth impatiently. Standing aside the warden, this woman was coined an anomaly, her clothing in specific. She wore a thick robe which seemed to be the remnants of a tanned snow leopard pelt whilst the opposing portion was a faded shade of ash. Strapped to her backside was an intricate looking satchel, seemingly something used to carry letters or something of the sort. It was sizable compared to the width of her hips.
  
  In a sense, she was tribal looking. The natives would often refer to her as a "ritualist" or a "prophet", while of course, that was not the case. Regardless the ritualistic tattoos covering her arms and midsection, or the ring pierced through the flesh of her septum, she was a kind hearted woman whose patience knew no bounds. When her elegant fingers furled about her staff, the warden felt a sudden rush of unease. He took a step back whereas the woman - already having unsheathed the rod - guided it towards the stranger's face. It hovered a mere inch between his jawbone. The warden cringed the very instant she tapped the man's face with the hilt of the weapon. It fell short of a lovetap, nothing severe, but the warden assumed it was more then enough to provoke the man.

 

[Cherub657]

The stranger immediately snarled at her, baring his teeth to her; his canines were sharper than a human male’s ought to be. He was amazed at her audacity to even touch him with her damn staff, no matter how prissy or holy she thought she was, you never do that to him. He batted her staff away from his face. He took a menacing step forward, his jaw jutting out in an intimidating manner. “Don’t think that I won’t hurt a woman, because I will, you just try that again and you’ll get what’s coming to you.” He said seething his malice out. He stepped back, glancing at the warden, cocking his shoulders back, defying him to attack.

Something was wrong, he normally would’ve attacked the woman for hitting him, even in the slightest, with her damn staff. He looked her over a bit uneasily, staring briefly at the tribalistic tattoos and shining pierces. Something had had an affect on him, though he didn’t know what it could be.

 

[Osheaga]

• 
  
  "W-what are you doing, Vertigo?" Finally, her name. The warden spoke it as if he had spoken it for many years. In a sense, this was true. To the natives, she was foreign; she would appear once season then disappear the next. Any trace of her would never linger long; she was a mystery, much like how the tide would reach such impeccable heights. The Warden, however, was flabbergasted to notice that the man hadn't yet attacked her. He blinked then listened with much chagrin to yet another wave. "It's raining outside ... rather badly," one of the guards grunted. He was drenched from head to toe, his shaggy blond hair pressed flat against his boyish face. The warden grumbled darkly to himself, glanced between Vertigo and the stranger then sighed. "The lower sanctum is flooded. Badly ... we've evacuated prisoners. But the architects are determined and have refused to leave their posts. They're almost finished erecting the walls - once they were we can begin draining the caverns. In the mean time, one less prisoner to worry about would be ... well, nice."
  
  "Fine!" The bearded man roared. He threw his arms up to the air with crossbow in hand. "He may go ... free, woman, but if he drums up any more trouble I will have your head. Time and time again you run a tyranny over us. Just because you are of the cho'war does not mean you can do as you please. Your bloodline is dead. You are the last of the purge. Remember that and start walking on egg shells." Without much further adieu the warden disappeared. The woman, Vertigo, eyed the stranger up and down then swiveled on her soles which seemed to be a strappy rendition of what seemed to be flayed bears' feet, claws and all. "As you say, warden," Vertigo uttered. Outside, where she had traveled, the rain was falling heavy from the heavens. It poured over what little snow drifts remained then heaved into the sea only to repeat the process over again. Her hair, which had been thrown back into the lazy being of a bun, fell in auburn waves about her tanned visage. She brooded.
  
  "What would you do with your freedom?"

 

[Cherub657]

The man let his mind drift away, to the beginning of his long trek. “I…I don’t know.” He said quietly, the tamest that he had been in a long time. “I would keep walking, moving from place to place like I have been doing ever since I left…left the..” he didn’t finish the sentence, remembering his past. Brothers lost, dreams shattered, lives and homes destroyed, innocent love turned perverse and malicious, friends turning on each other, and the fire. The fire that had taken his comrades, the fire that consumed him, made him continue the battles of old, the blood spilled. Most importantly he remembered the scars gained.
While he had been reminiscing his jaw had slowly become clenched, his lips pulled back to bare his teeth once again and his fingernails digging into his palms, blood slowly dripping down his knuckles. “That’s what I would do. Keep moving, walking, not looking back. I would search for whatever it is that I feel I need.” He replied rudely to the woman.

 

[Osheaga]

• 
  
  Through the man's gritted teeth she could easily percieve his frusterations. They were violent, lamenting almost, with traces of confusion and loss. Obviously his anger had very twisted roots, this much she had been cognizant of. Off in the distance she could see billows of smoke pour up over the canopies, thick and heaving with dark whisps. Through the rain it resembled a mischievious snake weaving and winding through shattered glass. She exhaled a slow, shaky breath - she knew night fall was immanent. Dark, twisted creatures were known to wander the tundra as it was notorious for its darkness, save for the nights where stray gases would float up to the heavens and light the horizon aflame, often resembling shimmering curtains of cornflower and gold.
  
  She feared this man would see much more blood, much more horror before he found his innermost peace. That was of course if he had managed to find it. She exhaled a second time and rolled her shoulders in a circular motion. "I asked you a simple question that required a simple answer. I'm not particularly interested in listening to whatever it is haunting you, stranger." In a sense her tone was mocking but, still, outlandishly nonchalant. "Good night to you. If you expose yourself to this rain any longer you'll grow ill."

 

[Cherub657]

He was astounded by her casual and lackadaisical dismissal of him. He figured she at least would have some sort of request for him, if nothing else. His immediate reaction was to throttle this woman, and he almost did, were it not for the shifting of the light. He looked over to his right, noticing what the woman had noticed before him. He couldn’t very well leave now, not if he cared for his own life, which he still did. He needed time to set up a camp, which wasn’t possible tonight. This woman had rescued him from a cage only to throw him to gnashing teeth. “Wait!” he said in an incredulous tone. “You expect me to try and get through the night by myself? No shelter, just me and my small armaments?” he sneered at her in a flash of disgust. “You saved me only to abandon me. I can’t believe you.” He told her before rushing past the warden, heading out into the night air in a fury.

He was in such anger that he had forgotten to grab his weapons and supplies that he had been stripped of when he first came to this prison. “I’ll fucking take any damn creature on tonight, and my hands will rip them to shreds.” He spat out in the air, seething. “I’ll stay warm in their blood.” He moved swiftly into the forest, not looking back, only preparing for a fight; a fight that he didn’t care if he lived or died in.