Merlin 2 - 4 Within the Walls of Utopia
Another version of republic, reigning society and wandering beatific mistress and minstrel, well worn, bred, clothed, strong and garrulous denizen all to whatever dominion of faith that has recused, relinquished and remanded the evils of society that warrant such. In places, large stones the construct of the city walls bear the symbol of either an encircled large tree or a great serpent swallowing its tail, the very same symbol that dons the certain shoulders of the occasional wandering guards. The restaurateurs are delighted to have the business of the visiting mercenaries that come and go as they please, eating and making merriment or throwing daggers, playing boulder dash, dead lifting ore for gambling and wagers. The occasional pheasant pushed into the face to those who pace but mostly children of many ages running to impede the way, vendors shaking fares and wares much ado nothing in unrest, and the weaponries with old smithies behind tables under tent, and sons of their own or others guarding each.
A working nation idealistic of resonating celebration and bolstered by the capital achievements, then until worthy doth patient spurn the insolence and love for starvation, death secured disturbed heaven's path to sins corruption is a learned absolute. Fault of tragic dark havoc repentant to foils intent to murder rise selflessly frustrated and cruel to turn conspiracy in conversion, cynicism exempt the deceptive plotting ambitious cruelties marred by their own sin in captured ability for subtlety haunt the streets of the great city. The animal covered carts, large and small, blacksmiths, whitesmiths, vehement millwrights and alchemists and their books of barter trade all bustle in an artifice empire within the walls of forthcoming deviser ailments and an accordant windowsill for every ill.
Amongst the city is the arena, forged by stone and bone avouched as now a usurped training yard now supplanted as for given the duty of some distant military colony. Our triumvirate of magic, the trinity of reflection, old Nick who never ages, Merlin the son of sages and Ana whose fire within rages all beneath a shoddy wooden balcony in the front row stands, each eating with paring knives a leg of lamb, tearing pieces in contempt of time wasted waiting in the highness of the noon sun.
Ana: “You said you were to meet Troy in the aviary.”
Merlin: “I will.”
Out and ushered into the arena from three large box carts attached to doorways with no way to escape are criminals, released upon three large men who battle forge, spears prod into the boxes at those in tarnished thieves’ armor whom once usurped the law do now pay prudence or punishment. The eyes may at this point seem the only of familiar aspects often discourse of the gladiator to embattle their perception, trained by a master to fight before suffering crowds, of all weapons without choice. A stoic man given to counterbalance allegory so much as to fight as many men as fingers, none other than a memory of countenance who had escaped certain damnable fate by the fangs of vampires so many years ago with the same scar across his shoulder, stretched for age and wear and painted to camouflage it from his enemies.
Some of them run for the ruined weapons mounted to the wall as bell quite large sounds aloud for them before their acquisition, the smallest the first to go among them, then the more daunting battle among the brutes. With boundaries league all awhile perchance hidden weapon, until with little armor, he wins and scavenges for better armor and weapons from the dead, dying and dormant, the even warrior then leaves through the draw door, save killing everything he had wounded. All but men of pride had died, but most lay in wounded wretched piles of anguished agony, battered bruises and crippling cuts as he vanishes through the large door at the head of the arena and goes into the crowd.
Far beyond the metallurgists, later in a pub on a market street in the hot sun after seeing the skilled soldier verily win the fight, Nickolas notices him in a stupor, a chaotic undulating drinking spree versus a much more affable fellow of diminutive mental torpor and wavering apathy in the company of an obviously dwindling wine bottle.
Nickolas: “You're the man from the fight.”
Bartender: “Would you care for a drink sir?”
Nickolas: “I’ll have what he’s having.”
David: “Only half of what you have,” he said to the bartender and drinks the last of his large wooden stein and waiting for the last droplet.
Nickolas: “A thirst as such must be endless. It was quite the battle...”
The bartender pours another drink and begins to look to Nickolas before pouring a drink; Nickolas nods his head to allow the bartender to pour David a drink, David drinks engorged.
Nickolas: “How does freedom taste?”
David: “That was no, battle...”
He drinks the bottom of another cup an ambivalent attempt to become immune to drunkard demure.
David: “…I was sharpening my skills…”
David begins to walk after dropping a silver coin that spins on the table, the coin rotates and the bartender rushes over and stabs the table to fret the thieving scoundrels, Nickolas had paid for his of having sat. The irreverent situation ends in silence aside the passing transit thoroughfare, Merlin was listening to the entire conversation hiding the twilight of the shadows hiding behind the flagrant rays of the midday sun, as David leaves under a cloud. The old wizard Merlin nods his head as if to agree and Nickolas walks to follow David. As Nickolas runs on the street, Merlin approaches the winery.
Merlin: “Bring out your best cacophony...and I'll give you two of these...”
Whatever it was, Merlin kept his back turned against, none could see what was, ever, but the barkeep's eyes widen in glorious excitement. Nickolas is losing pace and runs to catch a hastened step and audience with David.
Nickolas: “What if I told you there was someone you could not best?”
David is at his throat with a dagger without a moment’s notice, dragging Nickolas across the ground almost supernaturally ever so quick to street wall, sober as the day.
David: “Then I'd say he hasn't met you yet.”
Nickolas pushes gracefully away the blade from his neck and begins speaking with his fingers still against the blade as he listens to David’s heart of anger relay leathered growl and silent stare.
Nickolas: “W, w, wait a moment, follow me and I will show him to you.”
After some brief point of consternation and susceptible suspicion, the legionnaire clad follows Nickolas to a place where Nickolas undresses to only trousers held by his black belt without post tucked into his boots and a steel sword in one hand, standing in a shaded desolate alleyway between two main streets. Terribly skilled with inhibitions discarded he is ready to dance the conflict and lifts his blade’s aim to David.
David: “I’m to fight you?”
Nickolas: “Yes, unless you’re still healing from that wound.”
David: “You won’t run?”
Nickolas: “Are you going to fight or not?”
They battle through vindication of absolution and the reverence of completion until Nickolas dies and rises in an alley with split sign over a passage doorway and several broken boxes on and off the broken cart fence that is now irreparable from their inebriated chaos and concatenate conduct where he lays during rejuvenation. The strong soldier hearkens to his instinct, the same that had driven him to escape from his watching of all so many vampires healing in the storm light years prior and he flees, only to run into Merlin at the end of the alley.
Merlin holds a distinctly large pouch closed by a string of the same leather in one hand at the end of such the alley arena with a clean face and hair wetted in a trough around the corner where he had listened to the fight and thence pulled it out of his face.
Merlin: “A mercenary for this bag of gold…you will protect us and, disperse our issues of trust.”
The fighter stands confused and sweating in the face as Merlin literally floats passed him to Nickolas dressing and wiping his own sweat with a potato sack, and passes further into the alley before making it to obstruction.
Merlin: “It is better that our battles be fought by someone dressed appropriately.”
Merlin turns afloat about and sinks to the floor to face him in wait of response, a glimpse of his feet by Nickolas wearing a look of confusion.
Merlin tosses the bag to him with a smile. Ana enters from the alley exit and heals the scratches on David while countermanded in thought, staring at Nickolas as he lures.
Ana: “I can heal this scar.”
David: “No, it belongs to me.”
Ana recovers his short sleeve over his shoulder once again, and then walks to Nickolas to help him close his new shirt.
Merlin: “I'll be in the monastery, go with them to the aviary and join me after dark.”