What a shithole thought a man tall and broad and long of hair known as the Destroyer as he made his way through town from the north harbor. The island of Freland and the town that sat on top of it was not exactly the most savory of places, which was fine all in all since Ragnarok was not the most savory of people. He was, however, used to a bit of class and civility in his company, hard as that was to believe. As he walked, he thought of the days with Morrigan and his uncle Jaxson, of Black and Karl and Nicolai, the list of names went on and on and they were all just wonderful company. Here he was though, on a foreign shore on his quest to see the world. It was going to happen eventually, but as he walked he wondered if perhaps it had happened too soon? No time to look back on it now though; he was here and here was a land full of pirates, which was grand for him since he was a pirate. He'd hardly be noticed if his reputation didn't follow him like the shaggy dog that it was. It was also grand for him because if he wanted he could kill another pirate, take his worldly goods as his own and it would just be business as usual in this place. Gods he loved pirate towns.
As he passed a small group of ruffians and a couple of old men sitting at a table outside talking, their eyes secretly looking at him, Ragnarok pulled back his black cravat and had a look down inside at his chest. He frowned slightly, noting the color of his skin and not liking it. The rot was on him again, not good. He needed something to eat and quickly. This was a new place to him though, he didn't know anyone here and no one owed him any favors. He didn't know where the meals would be served raw or bloody and he especially didn't know where he could just find a dark hole to drag someone into to satisfy his carnivorous appetites. These were the disadvantages of being new in a place. You never knew where anything was.
A small group of lads, couldn't have been anymore than twenty in years the whole lot of them, came walking down the street towards him, laughing and hooting about. Ragnarok saw them but did not avert his course. He thought surely that given his size and the amount of weapons he carried in plain sight would be enough to avert their path away from him. Not for the first time was he wrong and he knocked one of the boys off balance, sending him reeling as he walked by. Appalled to have been bumped into, the youth gave an angry scowl and turned to look at Ragnarok who had already walked past without a word. "OI! What do you think you're doing walking into someone like that!?" he asked angrily. Ragnarok kept walking, content to ignore the barking of pups when he was so used tot he baying of hounds. Frazzled at being ignored by the man, the boy, who must have felt he had something to prove to his mates, walked forward towards the man in the black captains' coat and grabbed a hold of his shoulder, giving it a hard tug and prompting him to stop with a volatile, "I'm talking to you you salty drunk!"
Now how best to deal with this? He could have picked him up by the throat and thrown him back, his size would let him do that easily enough. He could have cut him down, but that would be a waste of a sharp edge. He could have responded, perhaps in words that were foreign to this island that might confuse him. Or he could act the typical pirate and shout and bray at the boy, accepting his challenge of might. There were plenty of options, and as his walking came to a stop he turned and looked at the boy, his eyes cold and unfeeling towards him as they were most other men. He was just a boy after all, and Ragnarok was not overly fond of harming children unless it was necessary. No, he was already causing a small scene by being the loud barking puppy that he was. It would be best to just turn and walk away as is how you train a dog. This in mind, Ragnarok turned back around and began walking down the street once more.
Enraged at having been ignored again, now thinking that this mans silence was a challenge and now knowing in his heart that he had to be a big strong ruffian of a man in front of his crew, the boy who couldn't have been older than nineteen produced a knife from somewhere on him and grinned vilely, thinking to stab the man and be off a victory all his own. Running after Ragnarok, the boy stepped out in front of him, holding the knife down at his side and made to jab at his guts with it! It never made it though, at least not on that thrust, for Ragnarok had grabbed the boy's wrist and stopped in his tracks. His hands were like iron and the boy could not wretch free. Cold eyes looked down at him yet it was a calm and quiet voice that came from the mans' lips. "This is one of my best shirts. I don't want any holes in it," he said simply, keeping a hold of the boy's wrist while his free hand undid the buttons on his shirt to expose his stomach to the open air. By now a crowd of onlookers was beginning to form at the curious spectacle and the boy continued to try and wriggle free, wondering why his crew were not helping him. When the buttons of his shirt were all undone, the man held it open with one hand before throwing the boys' wrist away with the other to take a hold of the opposite side of his buttoned down shirt, exposing his stomach by not his chest. "This is your one and only shot I'll give you," Ragnarok said calmly, "you'd best take it or walk away."
Having now been issued a direct verbal challenge, feeling as though he had something to prove and having killed a man at some point in his life already, the boy gave out a cry and rushed forward, plunging the blade deep into the mans' gut with a practiced thrust and holding it there wit the flat of his palm against the pommel!
It hurt, it always hurt, but pain can be ignored with practice. Gut shots were painful, arguably the worst pain, but he hadn't hit his stomach so he would be fine. Just his guts, the lower intestines. He may have even hit his liver. Ragnarok made a note not to drink anything later just in case, his eyes staring out onto the street and seeing nothing and no one. The lack of reaction at first lead the boy to believe that he had killed the man in one thrust as blood began to spill out from him. This belief continued until Ragnarok grabbed both of his wrists and glared down at him. Surprised and a bit frightened, the boy looked up at Ragnarok and tried to pull free of his stomach but the man was holding him there, holding him for all of the gods' sake! There was pain, but it went ignored. Practice makes perfect after all. Ragnarok pulled the blade out of his stomach by the boys' own hands and held it out into the open air, blood dripping onto the street below. He took in a deep breath, the kind that expanded your gut, splattering a bit of blood onto the boy from his open wound, a messy splatter paint on his young face. He was thankful his lungs hadn't been hit, those were the worst. Breathing became difficult, movements became slower, it was all just a bad, bad deal to be hit in the lung. Now the boy was screaming something but Ragnarok was not listening.
Squeezing both of the boys' wrists with his iron hands, the boy yelped and dropped his knife out onto the street. Now disarmed, Ragnarok shot his right hand forth and took a hold of the boys' shirt, lifting him up in the air by that and his wrists alone. The Destroyer brought him to eye level and said but a simple sentence, "I need this," before lifting his bare foot and kicking the boy int he stomach, letting go of his wrists and keeping a hold of his shirt. Ragnarok had intended for the shirt to be ripped off of him but he had no such luck. Instead, Ragnarok lifted up the boys arms and he simply slipped out of his shirt onto the street below in a heap. Taking the shirt, the Destroyer wrapped it around his gut as much as he could and pulled it tight, he'd be bleeding for a while if he didn't get something to eat soon and blood-loss was another annoying thing to deal with. Turning to the left and the right, Ragnarok saw scores of frightened and confused people looking his way but no pubs or bars or restaurants. Then he saw, not too far down the street, what appeared to be a bar that was opened for business. Perfect, he'd buy whatever they were selling in the way of meat and be right as rain. Stepping over the crumbled body before him, Ragnarok made his way towards this bar as others scattered to inform whoever of what had just occurred. His mind was on the meat though, the scene that had just happened already forgotten.
