A Knight's Journey (Currently Being Remade/long Hiatus)

Chapter one: revised

The streets were crowded at this time of day, filled to the brim with shop owners, visiting merchants, and villagers. The air was heavy, thick with the scent of sweat and body odor. A little kid squeezed through the crowd, pushing through the sea of bodies. Suddenly, he stopped; people were crowding much closer together than before in the middle of Town Square. That was when the noise finally made it through the group, the sounds of skin-on-skin, grunts of pain, and the scuffle of feet in the dirt. All sounds of a brawl.

He watched for a second before deciding it would be better to go around. The kid skirted around the crowd, trying not to seem suspicious. Once around, he continued on his way, looking back once, and picking up his pace. The kid’s longish raven hair fluttered a bit in the wind as he looked back again, seemingly interested in the brawl happening just a few feet away. No one would have suspected that he was sneaking oddly shaped fruits into his satchel. That is, until the vendor did.

Mr. Haxus was a large man, his face always sweaty and red, almost appearing swollen. He had anger issues, easy to set off. He used to be a part of King Zarkons army, but retired and became a merchant. He sold all kinds of exotic fruits, like the one the kid was stealing. It almost looked like a pineapple, only blue, with bright yellow leaves and a pink inside, akin to a kiwi in taste. Where he gets these fruits, no one knows. If they asked, they probably wouldn’t live to tell the tale anyway.

    The fighters had finished brawling, thanking the other as the crowd dispersed. That was when Mr. Haxus noticed some of his fruits missing and a familiar head of black hair disappearing into the swarm. Mr. Haxus was also not a patient man, loving to take out his anger on others, nor was he merciful. He walked surprisingly fast, grabbing a fist-full of the kid’s hair and pulled him back, throwing him on the ground. His satchel stayed on, barely, having been clutched in a death grip, but it opened, letting two fruits fall out.

“You thief! Scoundrel! I’ll make you pay.” Haxus shouted triumphantly, raising his voice enough that the guards took notice. “You have gotten away with this for too long,” he growled. He had a look on his face, like he would enjoy beating someone, hurting someone, just because he could. The kid looked up in fear, the large man towering over him like a troll; It was quiet, the world void of noise. The entire market went silent, all pushing together to watch the commotion. The ringing in his ears, paired with their whispers and stares, was deafening.

“Sewer rat”

    “Scouldral”

    “Thief”

    “Scum”

“Unwanted”

“Orphan”

    “Tainted blood”

    “Unpure”

    “Bastard child”

    “Halfbreed”

He felt as if he was in a trance, locked in a cyclone of defamation and slander.

‘Come on, come on!’ he thought, snapping out of it and frantically trying to pick up the fruits and run as fast as he could.  He did not make it far, barely getting the last fruit in his satchel before Mr. Haxus grabbed him by the back of his shirt, hoisting him off the ground and staring him straight in the eye. The kid curled up, looking akin to a scruffed kitten. 

“You won't get away this time” Haxus said, throwing the kid back to the ground and stomping on his arm. He rolled away just in time for Haxus’s boot to hit the ground. Mr. Haxus lost his balance from missing his target, stumbling a little. That just made him even angrier. He looked like a bull, red faced with steam coming out his nose and ears. He charged at the child, playing even more into the bull comparison. The ravenette scrambled away again, clutching the bag to his chest and tight as he could, and kicked the back of Mr. Haxus’s knees. You could almost hear the loud CRACK Mr. Haxus lost it, landing on his knees. When he looked over his shoulder, his eyes were blood-shot, and he had this manic look in his eyes.

“I’ll kill you-!” He shouted as he moved to lunge, but he didn’t get to act on it. The guards had just arrived, looks of confusion on their faces.

“Care to repeat that, sir?” One of them interrupted, cutting Mr. Haxus off. It was like a switch was flipped. Mr. Haxus whipped around, still manic.

“Oh, praise the King, you're here! I demand this halfbreed be arrested. I want him dead!” He spat, looking crazed and incensed, his words increasing in acrimony.

“Sir, can you explain to me why you want a child condemned to death?'' the guard questioned, his pale blue eyes looking incredulously at Mr. Haxus. He did not enjoy that, taking to squawking and screeching at the guard, getting spit in his choppy light brown hair. The guard looked thoroughly disgusted, as he should be, wiping the saliva off his face.

“That is no child” he hissed, grabbing onto the guard’s uniform, bringing him close to his face, “that is the Devil himself, a demon, in the cover of a child’s prison.”

 During this conversation, the kid finished grabbing the rest of the fruit and tried to move away, trying not to get noticed, but the crowd was too thick, too pressed together, that it was practically a solid wall.

“Is this the kid?” He heard behind him, before he was dragged back to the squabbling adult and almost-adult. Like a flip switched, again, Mr. Haxus glared, veins popping in his neck and forehead.

“I demand we take this welp to the King, immediately,” he said, making to reach out and grab the kid, but Mittens pulled him back, his feet barely scraping the ground as he was moved. The kid squeezed his eyes shut and kept his death-grip on the bag. Mr. Haxus and the guard had an almost stare-off, the tension growing thicker than thought possible, before Mittens sighed.

“To the King it is, then,” He said, dragging the ravenette behind him and motioning for the rest of the guard to get back to what they were doing. Most of them took about to shooing the sea of bodies away, making a path for the other men, a few following behind with, casting wary looks at Mr. Haxus and the bystanders.

As he was dragged away, trying to walk but tripping over the barely touched ground, the kid looked back, hope draining at the sight of the disappearing market and useless onlookers.

‘Quiznak’