Dwarfslayer

1

Damon Dwarfslayer liked to believe he had an infallible way of getting out of the situations he, very often, encountered.

And that was by punching them in face.

This was, ultimately, what caused him to be chased through the village marketplace.

He hadn't known Adelaide was in a relationship Amos Tailor. He certainly wouldn't have flirted with her if he had.

He would have realized that doing so would lead to moments such as his current situation.

But it was too late for that.

For now, he was just grateful that Amos hadn't recovered quickly enough for him to get a good head start.

Damon leapt over the counter of a stand, and landed on his feet. He had been in this situation more times than he liked to admit.

He weaved through the maze-like aisles of booths, knocking piles of merchandise off the occasional one, doing his best to slow Amos and his companions down. It didn't seem to be working. They were catching up.

Damon put on an extra burst of speed as he exited the marketplace. He was near his destination.

He looked behind, and saw his pursuers accelerating ever-so-slightly closer. He turned the corner. The door was only a few steps away.

He slid to a stop on the hardpack, and reached for the handle.

Before he could grab it, a large weight pummelled into him, and he slammed against the dirt. The body on top of him belonged to a very red Amos Tailor. Clenching his teeth, Amos pounded a large fist into Damon's cheek.

His head smacked against the floor, and he began to feel dizzy. His dazed state was suddenly cut off by a sharp kick in the ribs.

And so it continued in this way, Amos walloping Damon's head with his fist, one of his companions abusing Damon's ribs with his foot, and the other hurting Damon's ears with his constant squawking of, "Yeah, you got him Amos! Make sure he can't open his mouth again!"

The fist came down again, but, this time, when it hit, an audible crack sounded. The hand reeled back, and Amos cried in pain. He stood up, cursing. "I feel like I broke my damn hand." He inhaled sharply, and began walking the opposite direction. "Let's go."

"What about him," the rib-kicker said, nodding towards a semi-conscious Damon. "You don't want rough him up a bit more?"

Amos, still nursing his injured hand, looked at Damon, and shook his head, "No, I think he gets the idea. Am I right, Sir Dwarfslayer?"

Damon let out a slight moan that could have meant anything.

Amos took it as agreement, and, smiling, walked back down the road, his companions not far behind.

Damon watched them go, unable to move. He let out a pained cough, and out of his mouth came a liquid he assumed was blood.

"Well, you don't look too good," someone said from beside him.

Damon looked to his over, and saw a well-built man in a brown apron, arms crossed. Virtually every spot of his body was covered in soot.

"What do you expect?" Damon said. " I just got beaten up for Light's sake."

The grubby man chuckled. "Yes, I saw it."

"All of it?"

Smiling, the man nodded.

"You watched the whole thing, and didn't even try to help?" Damon said, agitated.

"Now why would I do that?" the man asked, walking over to the wall, and leaning on it.

"Because you're my father."

"Oh, I'm supposed to help you in situations like these because I'm your father? In my opinion, I feel like I've already done the father's duty by telling you not to do stupid things that can get you killed."

"I'm not dead."

"Yes, but you are stupid."

"Hey, it wasn't-"

"Your fault? Listen, Damon. I understand that you're young, and that you will do stupid things. Just learn how to defend yourself, and you'll probably be fine." Damon's father opened the door.

"Wait!" Damon said.

His father turned back.

"How do you expect me to learn how to defend myself?" Damon asked.

His father sighed. "Well, I guess you're old enough." He walked back, and extended his hand toward Damon. Damon grabbed it, and allowed himself to be lifted to his feet.

"Come on," his father said. "I have something to show you."