Gods DAMMIT, Styrm would've thought had he the time. A practiced reactionary, he was nonetheless momentarily paralyzed by the two paths before him: the fight--that long moment that he knew--or the chase, back after the boy and what he might know.
Styrm had no time to think all of this, but his gut had already decided for him. He'd found the kid before, but if this man got to him first he'd never find him again, like as not.
Fight.
The man's hand shot out of his coat as he took a running step forward, wet boots stumbling slightly over the puddles and street stones. Styrm's huge hand shot out as well, closing around the smaller man's fist and forearm. Styrm squeezed and the man's running step turned into a full fall as his scream raced against the loud cracks of bones becoming splinters.
The roe swung the man by his now unnaturally limp arm into a crate, splintering it, and maybe a few bones more.
He opened his fist; there was blood. Most was the man's, seeping out through messy perforations in his arm. Some was Styrm's, heavy droplets drooling out from the small dagger stuck in his hand.
He felt woozy. Poison? he wondered. He pulled out the knife and snorted. Poison. But it wasn't enough.
He sank to his knees to rest, breathing heavily over the broken man.
"Now...it's gonna be...yer turn," he spoke out, voice laboring under pain and fury.
The man whimpered and clutched weakly at the bone flecked rope that was his arm. His teary eyes rose to consider Styrm and they were full of fear. Styrm somehow felt that all that fear wasn't his alone. He leaned closer.
"Talk."
Styrm had no time to think all of this, but his gut had already decided for him. He'd found the kid before, but if this man got to him first he'd never find him again, like as not.
Fight.
The man's hand shot out of his coat as he took a running step forward, wet boots stumbling slightly over the puddles and street stones. Styrm's huge hand shot out as well, closing around the smaller man's fist and forearm. Styrm squeezed and the man's running step turned into a full fall as his scream raced against the loud cracks of bones becoming splinters.
The roe swung the man by his now unnaturally limp arm into a crate, splintering it, and maybe a few bones more.
He opened his fist; there was blood. Most was the man's, seeping out through messy perforations in his arm. Some was Styrm's, heavy droplets drooling out from the small dagger stuck in his hand.
He felt woozy. Poison? he wondered. He pulled out the knife and snorted. Poison. But it wasn't enough.
He sank to his knees to rest, breathing heavily over the broken man.
"Now...it's gonna be...yer turn," he spoke out, voice laboring under pain and fury.
The man whimpered and clutched weakly at the bone flecked rope that was his arm. His teary eyes rose to consider Styrm and they were full of fear. Styrm somehow felt that all that fear wasn't his alone. He leaned closer.
"Talk."
