The House Of Blood and Dust, Book One: Darkness Rising

Garden Of Fire

What is it with the whole sexuality thing, why do we have to choose whether or not we like or despise a person? We find a person attractive with is their a stigma attached to the fact that we wish to spend an unholy amount of time with them, we’re all the same in a respect, different ideals indeed, but we all fuck the same no queer ways of fucking from elf nor dwarf other that under the influence, but enough of that back to keeping my eyes of the damn road. Rain hits hard down upon me and the road, the chopper streaming at sixty down the motorway, cruising my way throughout the traffic making my way to the border of Fames. It’s taken me long enough and even if I’ve only heard good things of the Kalhin occupied province of Brokxian, I still feel as though I may feel the burden of death once again. I meet a toll, I throw in a copper coin and pass through, the man looking at me queerly, perhaps because of the mask and it’s clown like appearance,

          “Good day, sirrah.” He smiles and I ride on, upon the tarmac and through the rain towards the destination. It’s a nice surprise that the Injex mask actually fits under a helmet. I stop off at a pub named oddly The Winged Shoe to allow the rain to run its course and of course get a drink; it feels as through I’ve been tea-total for three months. As rough as this place looks and properly is, one wishes for a clean ale and hopes they serve one or I’ll start fights. Their festive decorations of Frostfall litter the pub and as rough as this place looks the people do not, attractive ladies and men sit down happily drinking their troubles away.

          “You’re a handsome man… what can I get you?” The barman says happily with a wondrous smile, I’ve kept my head up, the Injex mask wrapped around the back of my head.

          “I’ll have the guest ale, my good sir.” He smirks and does as I ask, handing me the drink that I ask.

          “So what brings you out to here.” The barman with short blonde hair, clean shaven and multiple earrings in both ears with green eyes,

          “Oh you know, I was riding the old motorbike and saw this fine place and I wandered in.” He seems to smirk at me ever so more,

          “Alone?”

          “Aye… alone, but ‘tis better that way anyway, no one nags and your feelings do not get hurt.” He laughs and a wench comes over to us,

          “Who’s this?” I smile and take a drink of the ale,

          “I’m Avenji Arkness... and who are you?” This woman is not a pretty sight, face battle worn, taller than I and perhaps more muscular,

          “Well this is my queer of a brother, Dogal and I am Wendy, now you lookin’ to cause trouble here?”

          “No, I just wanted to get out of the rain and have a drink.” I fought a lot of things and this woman terrifies me more than most of them, Welkin’s would run from her.

          “Hmm, noble sounding son of a whore you lookin’ to fuck me brother.” I have to laugh as that is me, but two men stand from their seats,

          “I do not believe that I am, but if those two do not sit back down I’ll fracture their skulls.

          “Is that a threat, fuck-face.” I’ve always liked that insult, but I’ve never liked uncultured people.

          “I came in here for a nice drink not to be used in homoerotic tall tales.” I have to reward myself for that with a chuckle. The blonde man rushes into the back and his sister pulls an axe out from under the bar,