Part 51

A post in two parts…


Drunken Despair:

Grave was swift to gather Novana up into his arms as Kaxa fussed over her fallen sister. Fendor still hadn’t bothered to greet his guests, drinking himself into oblivion. Painfully aware that his short lived rebellion had succeed in nothing shorter than handing the city over to barbarians and Southlanders. He wasn’t fit to rule,  he wasn’t fit to be a Father, he could not recall striking Novana though he knew he was responsible for her bruises. The drunken holes in his memory were becoming worse and it was inexcusable to abuse a pregnant woman.  His despair lead him to consume an unreasonable amount of whisky and by the time Kaxa and Grave (carrying Novana) found him in the main hall, he was half conscious and had pissed himself…



Kane struggled free from Davenport as he nursed his broken nose, cursing and swearing, promising bitter retribution. Kane had no energy to fight,  barely the ability to move, but he was fueled by hatred and the lingering effects of the healing draft gave him some measure of strength… He grasped Davenport’s head while he was still disorientated and plunged his thumbs deep into his eyes… Pushing harder,  forcing his thumbs through the soft flesh. Davenport was screaming,  or he was… Fury kept a vice like grip on the vile mans skull,  something cracked, his thumbs slipped deeper into the sockets with a sickening crunch Davenport ceased screaming and hung limp…  Still Kane held the broken head until every ounce of strength had left his limbs and Davenport slumped at an awkward angle, Kane knelt back panting hard…

“My word?! Is he dead?” Kane couldn’t see the speaker,  but the voice was young, male.

“I bloody well hope so.” Kane managed to reply through ragged breaths.

“Thank the Gods!” The relief in the voice was unmistakable and Kane felt arms tugging him to his feet…

Anne Harrison 17.03.17


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