Closed Ashes to Ashes, Debt to Debt.

[Senghor Vilhjalmr]

48th of Winter 513AV Right than and there, he could feel the cold emptiness that had always been his undoing, he remembered every single moment he shared, every moment now lost to, ash. Senghor could only kneel in the snow and drop his head, in shame, regret and pain. He was still but a little cub lost without his guardians, his mother and father. The ivory tears of snow covered everything that once belong to his name, but beneath the snow laid ash and memories now gone, burnt and destroyed. Before him were the black opposing jagged pillars of what remained, taken by fire. The contrast of black and white was beautiful in a way and only someone who looked clearly could admire it. An estate once stood there, an estate earned through blood and sweat now that he knew, a house, no a home of grand proportion once towered over him and now it was lost, to his selfish careless nature. He'd returned to Sunberth so long ago and only now did he come here, where he grew, learned and lived a happy life before they passed on, before he fell to his own loneliness and succumb to drink and whores. A steamy sigh fell from his lips as he felt the shattering of a breaking heart, the cold of winter to him was the cold of disappointment, here where he knelt down and tried his best to hold back the pain and sadness he harbored. He couldn't cry, he just couldn't because his father told that tears cannot be shed, a statement opposed by his loving mother that tears only made him stronger. He was conflicted, lost, and angry, why he asked himself, why did he not just die that night and join his parents in the afterlife? He didn't find his answer, he couldn't... As another sigh slipped from his lips and he looked up at the falling snow, he could see it now, engulfed by its grand shadow, a home lost with everything within. An estate lost, to fire and stupidity, Senghor couldn't fathom why he'd been so stupid, why he could be such a disappointment. He knew that wherever his mother and father were, they hung their heads and shame whenever they thought of their son. For so long he kept the memory hidden yet today it would return, as his mind saw figurative mansion just laying there, he inclined his head to ghosts of the past, they came and huddled around his home. He saw as the debtors knocked at his door and bellowed his name, yet he remained inside still asleep from a night of wasting away his life, than first came the rocks, shattering every window violently and scaring the flesh of the house, than the door came down and they searched the house, finding nothing, no one for he'd slipped out... A few minutes became hours as the went through the manor hungrily searching for wealth, by now Senghor had ran as far as his lungs allowed and truly they allowed for a great distance, he perched himself upon a hill from what he remembered and watched, hoping they'd just leave. But than , the fire... It's tendrils of warmth and destruction soon engulfed the house greedily whilst they cheered and spat words about never messing with the boss again and taking payment, yet where was he to even account for the words lost in the wind? As the memory came back to him Seng all but clenched his head in pain and grunted as the fogged fragments still remained lost, he just couldn't remember anything else from there onwards. Luckily by than only he had remained and both his parents had succumb to natural causes and passed and only he remained, only he could be blamed. He didn't know what else to do, with the snow slowly falling and all that pain returning with a vengeance all he wanted was just to get a drink and suffocate the memories like old times, but hell what would happen if now he suffocated the memories and his cottage in the Quarters got burnt down? As Senghor stood and looked at the lost home once again, he could only drop his head in shame, he turned and gazed towards Sunberth embrace once again, he wanted a drink so badly yet knew that it always got him in trouble, as he turned away from his home daring not to look back in fear that he might his aged parents glaring at him in hatred and spite, he headed forward towards the bosom of his city. "Shyke..." was all that his lips could mutter at that moment, it was all that he ever truly say...

[Noven]

Winter, Day 48, 513AV

Noven pushed the giant mug towards his giant friend. "Drink."

Gobs above, Seng looked more miserable than a fresh pack of Nykan slaves. His usually vibrant eyes were now hollowed with torment, his dark features drawn in grief and shame. Nov knew that look all too well. He'd only worn it about half a hundred times after Nona's death.

Two bells ago, he had been out checking the markets for any decent deals on chops. Course, there were none to be found, not after prices had doubled once food began mysteriously spoiling at unprecedented speeds in the dead of Winter. Instead, Nov found a very dazed, very bleary-eyed, dark skinned giant making a beeline for The Pig's Foot.

He raced after Seng right then and there, coerced his friend to head back towards Sunset Quarters, and hastily bought a quarter of cocoa and a gallon of milk along the way, not even bothering to waste time haggling. If and when Seng protested, Nov ignored him. He simply kept one hand on the towering man's shoulder, his other holding the newly purchased goods. When they arrived, Nov unlocked his door, ushered Seng in, and began boiling water for the cocoa.

Two battle-scarred, veteran fighters, one carefully brewing a hot cup of cocoa while the other remained wedged in a wooden seat, his bulk testing the chair's craftsmanship every tick he stayed sitting. A strange sight indeed, Nov thought idly as he mixed a bit of milk into the steaming mug. Good thing he had fortified that chair long ago, after the first one broke.

"Seriously, Seng," Nov growled. "I spent a fortune on that shyke. Drink it, before it gets cold."

He sat back against his chair and folded his arms, hoping his gruff tone had cut through some of his friend's incredibly thick miasma of despair. Sure, Seng had mentioned his family estate enough times--and drank himself to oblivion over it, too--for Nov to know this was what was presently eating at his conscience. But the state he was in now...well, Nov had never seen him this low. It was mildly alarming.

Ah, at least he isn't getting himself piss drunk and breaking more heads than he can apologize for after, Nov mentally shrugged. That in it of itself was a blessing. Seng's fists, paired with his foul mood and a few bottles lying around, tended to lead to bad things. This was a pretty good start, sitting here in Nov's quiet living room with a mug of cocoa.

Could be worse. Could be much, much worse.

After a stretch of silence, Nov cleared his throat and shifted awkwardly in his seat. "So, uh...wanna talk about it?"

oocdeducted 7GM 7SM from ledger for purchase

[Twister]

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Meanwhile...

It wasn't in their nature to forget a debt. Squeezing the money had been what kept them alive in this city for such a long time, even if that meant driving others into oblivion to protect their investments or recollect their ill spent fortunes on broken fools who went way over their heads. Senghor may've been young at the time, but Sunberth is full of foolish children. Some come through, and... others don't. Senghor was one of their more successful cases, all things considered. His family estate had been packed with riches well and beyond what he and his family had owed in the first place, but every intervention is about making a statement. With the kid absent from the house, their only choice left had been to leave a message he couldn't possibly ignore.

Sure, he felt guilt. Once upon a time, anyway. It was an alien concept these days and where he'd normally feel a tug in his chest the girl grasped at his jacket, tears and snot falling at his boots and scattering to the wind when his slow-witted companions pulled her away from him... he felt nothing this time but contempt, mixing slowly with creeping frustration. They'd been out here for several hours and the way things were looking right now, they'd have to come back again tomorrow. Things were quiet now in the rurals just south of the Castle Commons. ... The slums, more like. It was close enough to carry the same stench, so the difference was in the fine print. There wasn't a lot in terms of money to collect in this place, but, like in Senghor's case, it was all about the message. No respectable businessman would get by without his charges and customers respecting his rules, after all. Well, businessman might be pushing it. He was litle more than a common thug as far as the populace was concerned; hard to shake the old habits and reputation.

A woman in rags. That's who they were bullying this time. His companions had pressed her down against the floor of her barely isolated shack. It was cold; enough so that steam rose out of his nostrils with every breath. Snow was falling in sideways through the open window and some was starting to fall through the cracks in the makeshift door leading out to a back alley street. Most of it was covered in snow, save the trail the party had made as they arrived a couple of hours ago. It had started as a friendly negotiation, but had descended into violent madness once the girl's guardian got between them and her. His body lay sprawled in the snow outside, face down. It had attracted the attention of nearby dogs, but none had quite dared coming close enough to inspect it what with the two armed thugs watching the alleyway.

When they left the alleyway a while later, only the shivering and bruised mess of a woman remained inside that shack. Her guardian still rested in the snow outside, soon crowded by hungry hounds that had been prowling, waiting for the thugs to leave. They finally did, and the hounds didn't miss a beat. If the girl was smart and lucky, she wouldn't leave her shack in a while. Some things, no one should have to see. "So what have we got?"

The group halted in the middle of a street leading up into the Castle Commons. They were quiet, most merchant stalls closed to protect the few and precious wares that were left. People have retreated to their homes or to the warmth and relative safety of the taverns and inns, leaving groups like these to do their dirty work in peace. "Not much, boss. She got a ring on her and her husband had a pair'a silver teeth, but that's not gon' cover much." A snarl, a huff, and the band leader turned to march across the Commons on his way to the river. "Good enough. 's too late to shake her down and the pugs'll be aggressive if we get close now. Just got to squeeze a bit harder when we come back tomorrow."

With that, the party made way to the Pig's Foot, themselves, for a brief stop before they headed back home.

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OOCSorry, heh. Improvising a bit since there wasn't much of an opening yet.

[Senghor Vilhjalmr]

As the giant mug slid towards Seng he didn't even notice it stop precisely before his eyes, it was the necklace his mother had given him to pass on to his own child. Huh... Unlikely. Whilst his thumb ran over the smooth yet jagged stone the young Vilhjalmr was lost in his thoughts, of his childhood and love for his parents. Since he'd walked into Nov's place the only thing he'd occupied himself with was the heirloom given to him, he'd taken it off and held it for so long that he all outside noises fell deaf to him. It was than, that his sigh echoed in the grasp of winter and he turned to look at Noven when he growled at him, the gaze he shot at him was cold and fueling with rage before it cooled down. "I need a stiff drink, none of this shyke..." Seng said lowly before putting his necklace beside the drink and wrapping his fingers around the hook of the mug. He drank the hot drink slowly and quickly it was downed as if a strong Sunberthian ale worth its money. It was when Nov fell into his seat that Senghor looked down at his half empty drink, than his necklace and finally his friend. That question, it caused so much conflict within the Vilhjalmr's core whilst he tightened his grip around the mug, it crackled under his strength and coming rage, slowly through grit teeth he spoke. "I went home... Why Noven?, Why did I petch everything up?... Why?" Senghor asked with a hoarse voice, that deep nature of his self slipping momentarily as sadness and self loathing took over. "Those bastards... They took everything from me and all I did was sit back and run!... I let them burn it, I let that damned fire take my life away from me!" the mercenary said as he stood from his seat and kicked it back, the mug in his hand flew across the room and shattered from the velocity that it flung from, the ebony drink dribbled down the wall whilst Senghor did what he always did when he was angry, let it all out. His throat shook with ferocious rage as he bellowed out his rage with words "I caused all of it!, me... The whoreson, the animal, that savage!?" he seemed to ask himself as kicked another chair, another inanimate victim to his rage. Damnit, damnit all!!... He wanted those bastards to pay, he wanted to fix everything, to fix each one of his mistakes and he soon found a hot pain shot up his forearm. His right hands knuckle throbbed in pain whilst from the blind punches he'd given to the wall, his eyes began to well up with tears he could never shed As he turned his head in shame after a chime of standing there, with laboured breathing he reversed his position and stepped over to the door yet that wasn't before picking his longsword laying just by the wall next to the door. As he strapped himself with its sheath and slipped his blade into its home, he abruptly opened the door and spoke. "I'm going to the Pig's Foot, either join in or stay here in there cold... I don't care" he said, his voice cold and slipping with rage he wanted drink to tame. He closed the door, and moved towards the well known tavern of Sunberth...

[Noven]

Nov tensed in his chair. The rage was coming again, growing stronger with ever word that Seng uttered.

As his furious companion spat out a serious of hateful and angry words, Nov watched and listened in silence. There really wasn't much else he could do at this point he knew from past experience. Seng was angry, and there was no stopping it now.

At some point, he got up and punched the wall with blind fury, no doubt causing himself a significant amount of pain. And still, Nov stayed quietly in his chair, still as a statue.

When Seng was more or less done, he stood there, head hung in shame and breath labored from his outburst. Then he abruptly sprung into motion again, picking up his longsword by the door and slipping it into its sheath. As he opened the door, he announced in an ice cold tone, "I'm going to the Pig's foot, either join in or stay here in the cold...I don't care."

Then he was gone, the door slamming shut behind him.

Nov stared at the empty chair before him for a few ticks, then slowly extracted himself from his seat with a heavy sigh. Seng had forgotten his precious necklace. It was lying there, next to his empty mug, which still steamed a little from its former contents.

He rubbed his eyes tiredly for a moment, then pocketed the necklace, threw on a coat, and made for the door. It looked like he couldn't prevent Seng from getting drunk this time--in all honesty, he rarely could to begin with. But at the very least, he owed it to his friend to watch out for him as best he could, and to return the priceless heirloom that lay so near to his heart.

With a shake of his head, Nov pelted after the fuming warrior, mentally preparing himself for an evening rife with conflict and trouble. As he caught up to his friend, he slowed down and stuffed his hands into his pockets. He kept a bit of distance, just in case Seng was still in the process of cooling down a bit, and held out the man's necklace.

"Here, you almost forgot this," he murmured. The rest of the trip to the Pig's Foot was silent, but Nov knew that silence would be short lived.

[Twister]

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The Pig's Foot was crowded. Crowded enough that the businessman's cadre were stuck wading in the snow outside waiting for space to fill up while some of his henchmen had squeezed themselves into the crowd to see if they could threaten or bribe some of the eve's patrons to vacate the premises and return to their homes. So far, there hadn't been any significant procress and the chill of the winter still bit in the man's flesh. He grunted, leering through the packed doorway and whiffing the steaming air that puffed out from between cracks in the windows and whatever space was left between the bodies that ground against eachother in their effort to stay on the right side of the doorframe. From inside, the entire street could hear the desperate cries of the maids as they pushed through the crowds, and the impatient scowling of the gruff man Merv who was tending the bar tonight.

At least there wasn't any fighting. There just wasn't enough space for that tonight, and Merv wasn't the only one relieved. This was just a short stop on their way back with today's winnings, after all, but they needed a brief chat with Merv and a couple of drinks to go. They deserved as much after a hard day's work. Besides him and three of his henchmen, the other two inside the bar, there weren't very many out in the streets. A couple of dregs a bit further away, one sitting on his butt in the snow and staring vacantly in their direction, the other standing next to him and peeking inconspicuously into the window above them. Light tumbled out from inside and judging by the smoke and steam trail that rose from a crack in said window, cooking was underway. ... Another hint was the drool on the dreg's chin that glistened in the broken light that fell on him from said window. Mr. Business over by the Pig's Foot scowled in disdain and disgust.

He was a rich man these days. It wasn't always that way, of course. Once, he'd been in the streets with the rest of the dregs, living off dirt and the rare citizen's sense of charity. That was before he discovered the power of his own wit and gained enough of a following to become a street terror in his own right. It had made him rich, at the expense of his fellow citizens. But, that was the natural way of things here in Sunberth. You prey on others, or you're preyed on. There was no sense feeling guilty about it, since no one else was going to offer him that courtesy or had ever done so in his days of wading in the muck.

"Eh... Boss."

Snapping out of his daydream, he turned his attention to the man who'd crept up at his side. It was one of the younger men he'd coerced into his service, not even in his twenties yet. The poor boy was hugging himself tightly to fight off the cold, but his bare shoulders were already blushing and wet, unprotected from the chill and the snow that fell around them. "How long are we goin' to be waiting here? It's cold and it's been almost fifty chimes a least since they-" He was cut off by a firm slap. The businessman's large handprint shone a brutal pink against the young thug's pale cheek, the henchman curling up and backing down away from his boss.

"Seventy, at least!" he corrected, loudly. "Get your ass in there and find your comrades instead of standing out here whining like a pup!"

The younger man scurried off into the tavern and vanished behind the mass of bodies. ... Then it was just him and two others outside, both looking at him oddly. They weren't as young as the one he'd sent inside, both were better dressed and more experienced. They'd been in his service for longer, as well, and knew better than to speak to him at all. Instead, they offered him judgmental stares and Mr. Business just turned away with a snort to gaze down the nearby streets, tapping his food against the compact snow beneath him in a demonstration of impatience... and cold. Beyond the two dregs, no other souls had decided to join them as of yet. Well, beyond the two figures emerging from beyond the snow curtain, steering their steps straight for the Pig's Foot, one lagging slightly behind the other but both guiding their steps in much the same direction. The figure in front marched with purposeful steps and...

He looked familiar.

It took a few moments for him to realize just how he looked familiar. In his line of business, he was greeted with many new faces on a daily basis and he struggled to remember every single one. He could recognize distinguishing features well enough and place a name to the faces he had most immediate business with. ... Usually, once his business was concluded, the faces of his clients and victims alike tended to escape his memory and fall into oblivion forever. He rarely had to come face to face with his "closed cases", he figured. Or he just failed to recall, even when finding himself in their presence long after their business was over. The gears in his head turned, but not nearly fast enough. Senghor and Noven were both almost at the door by the time the pieces fell in place.

"... Whoreson."

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[Senghor Vilhjalmr]

As the crunch of his lean figures weight fell on the flakes of snow the cold winter didn't even effect his rage, his blood boiled in fury to such an extent that he felt nothing, it wasn't long for another's steps to echo behind him, it was Noven and he knew it. "Here, you almost forgot this," his friend said as he outstretched his hand to give him his mothers necklace, Senghor turned to stop and took it from his friend. He felt stupid, confused and angry, here he was once again falling back to the path that caused his current situation yet his friend, one he was considering his best was still there, anchoring him by being at this side. "Uhm... Thanks." was all he could utter, lowly and laced with shame and regret. He couldn't be angry at Noven, it wasn't the cooks fault it was his and his alone. Such a silence that befell them on the way towards the tavern was unsettling, it truly was out of character for the two friends to stay quiet this long, even though Seng held the calm and stoic demeanor between the two didn't mean he didn't allow for a few laughs, some jokes and conversions after all, Noven had once lived with him. The clanging of his longsword brought him back to his senses for a moment, in his hand was still his mothers gift to him, he soon held it out and laced it around his neck where it belonged, it was warm from his grasp and even than it felt cold, cold from how he was feeling. Halfway through the journey towards the Pig's Foot, Seng mentally decided to change his mind, he wouldn't drop drunk like he used too he decided that he'd repay Noven's cocoa and mug by buying him one of the best meals of his life and he wouldn't bother with the cost. Even though he quite that thought to himself, it didn't take long for he and Noven's head to raise and in the distance was the crowded tavern. As they kept walking and his friend still keeping a distance, Senghor eyes observed the scenery for a moment and picked up the bleak essence of the snow, he looked at the crowed entrance an spat a swear, damnit! he thought momentarily before his eyes shifted again justly enough to fall on... That Bastard... It was him, the one who'd taken everything from him, the walking piece of dog shyke that burnt his inheritance, his home, his possessions! Senghor Vilhjalmr paused in his tracks, right when he though his hatred and rage was ebbing away, just when it all seemed to be alright, just when... Ah petch it!. "Nov..." he uttered his friends them, now his deep honey coated voice returned laced with that deep seething hatred, that rage that caused his throat to tremble as if he was about to bellow a war cry. "Someone's going to die today..." was he said as he walked up to the door, that bastard had a look of confusion on his face before Seng stepped up to him... "... Whoreson." he uttered loud enough for the Vilhjalmr to hear. Within the confines of his subconscious, a cage rumbled, it shook violently and ungodly wails filled the abyss in which it dwelled within. From within the abyss a scenery of blood and darkness burst and colored the emptiness eternally, the cage shook and rumbled, growls so otherworldly caused it to erupt... Rage was reincarnate in Senghor as he moved, ferociously, viciously. His left hand shot out and grasped the bastard by the collar of his fancy clothes, clothes Senghor was responsible for! Senghor's right hand rose and reared back, as he closed his palm his very knuckles cracked loud enough to be heard. An the first rage fueled fist fell, connecting with the nose of the man who had taken everything away from him! Blood had already began to trickle, before another connected, and another, and another, and another, and another... The Vilhjalmr only saw red, he and the bastard before him were in an empty space where all his rage would come out. As soon as he raised his hand for probably the fortieth or so punch he felt arms around him... It was than that he returned to reality, the two bodyguards he'd been outside with grappled Seng and where wrestling him to the group. A inhuman mixture of a growl and roar sprout from the dark skinned man's lips as he began to utter angry words, questions he knew answers too. "Remember me!?... Huh, Remember me!?..." he bellowed as he shrugged off the man's hold on the right, Seng's hands both held the debtors collar as he reared his head back, a trickle had already become a fountain as Senghor headbutted the man, again, and again. He let go and watched the man fall in the bosom of the snow, his left hand came towards the man on his right and grasped his hair, pulling angrily on it and pushing him off. As soon as he staggered back, the one on his left was felt Seng's knuckles connecting with his ribs until he loosened his grip, Seng could only shove him aside and occupy himself with the man still in the snow. Heaving the man up and shoving him into the body of the building it was long until Senghor vengeful palms laced there way around his neck. The smaller man was soon lifted from his feet which shook as he dangled in Seng's hold. Senghor was no more human at that moment, the blood that'd painted his face made him out to be a savage, a beast, it was as if he'd attained ancestral rage that was waiting to come out... An maybe it just had, his golden brown pools pierced into the those of his former debtor slowly as he spoke, deeply, angrily. "Look in my eyes... Look!!, You took everything from me, and now, now I'm going to squeeze out every single breath from your lungs and when I'm done, I'm going to Kill All Your Men!!" Senghor bellowed as tightened his gripped around the man's throat who'd started kicking and writhing in pain. Senghor was lost in an ocean of hate, rage and revenge. He'd forgotten about Noven, about the guards that were slowly creeping behind him, the world around him was lost, even the cheers and anarchic behaviour of those who'd gathered were deaf to him, he wanted the bastard dead and that was what he was going to make happen...

[Noven]

"Nov...Someone's going to die today..."

One moment, they were walking in uncomfortable silence, leaving an entire void of words unspoken between them. It's better that way, Nov thought, let him get his shyke together first.

The next, Seng went from brooding human to raging fighting machine in the blink of an eye, blind with hate and anger for the man who caused the greatest tragedy of his life. It was a slug fest from there on out, with Seng occasionally bellowing in rage as he pummeled the living snot out of...well, everyone.

Nov watched in mild despair as bodies were flung about like ragdolls. He really, really wasn't in the mood to fight. All he had wanted was to get something warm and scrumptious in his belly to bear through this cold, miserable day. Now, Seng was an unstoppable force of bloody vengeance as he roared at the debtor responsible for all of his pain, iron hands gripped around the man's throat and lifting him like he weighed no more than a sack of potatoes.

There were people now, gathering around to watch a bit of free entertainment. Noven, however, was less concerned about them and more focused on the other guards creeping up behind his bloodthirsty friend.

He sighed. Didn't really have much of a choice, now did he?

Nov pulled out his Tamos, marched up to the first guard he could reach, and whacked him soundly across the head. The mean crumpled forward, forcing his comrades to stop dead in their tracks and spin around.

"Hey," Nov greeted, giving them a toothy grin. Then he chucked his baton-like Tamos straight at one guard's face, momentarily blinding him, and plowed into the third. He gave the fallen guard a good sock to the jaw before rolling off to meet the other, who was still half blind and angrier than a woman on her one-third-of-the-season flow burdened with five children, a mountain of dishes, and a lazy fleabag of a husband who can barely bother to wipe himself after his own shykes.

Nov lived in an apartment with paper thin walls and an abundance of poverty. He knew the aptness of his comparison.

The man looming over him now was a burly fellow, with wide shoulders and thighs thick as tree trunks. Fortunately for Nov, such things didn't concern him in a quick fight. And quick it was, because he was already starting to feel a headache coming on after an entire day of inactivity, and he was more than ready to take a dose of his remedy.

He dodged slightly to the side as the guard threw a clumsy punch, meaty fist meeting nothing but frigid air. Then Nov grabbed the man's wrist and bit as hard enough to draw blood, calling upon Krysus as he did.

A cool, twisted sense of satisfaction filled every crevice of his being as the growing pounding in his head magically lifted and terrible screams of agony filled his uncaring ears. The guard fell like a stone--a writhing, wriggly sort of stone--and wept uncontrollably in pain. He reminded Nov of a baby. An angry, angry little baby.

He collected some of the spit in his mouth and spat to the side, ridding himself of the taste of the guard's blood. Then he stood to face the remaining fellow he had socked earlier. The man's lower jaw was bruising a nice shade of blackish blue now, but he was still inconveniently alive.

Nov balled his fists up before him, swayed back and forth on his knees, and beckoned for the fuming guard to make the first move.

"Bring it."

[Twister]

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Okay, this wasn't how he'd envisioned the day ending. Even less his life, which he found himself desperately clinging to while his eyes struggled to stay open, his lungs bursting in his chest as the Whoreson's hands closed in on his throat and threatened to collapse it entirely. His awareness flickered and he was barely aware of his feet desperately kicking underneath him, hoping to catch any mound of flesh to lodge the tips of his boots into. Whatever he could muster to fend off his assailant and live to see another sunrise; it was questionable, at this point, whether he would or not with the passive spectators surrounding them showing no interest in intervening for the sake of someone else's life. Figures. That was the Sunberth he both loved and hated. Right now, though... Right now he was afraid, in earnest, for his life.

That is, until the remainder of his cadre managed to wrestle their way out of the Pig's Foot upon hearing of the commotion outside. Three grown men managed to push themselves out, emerging from the packed flesh body with something like a 'pop'. A few disgruntled patrons followed them outside; by the looks on their faces, not voluntarily. The three companions of the dying Mr. Business took a few moments to assess the situation before two of them teamed up, unceremoniously barreling away towards Senghor to tackle into his body at full force. Seeing as the man was blinded by his own anger and focused entirely on the man against the wall, Senghor failed to acknowledge them before both their shoulders connected and the full weight of their bodies unrooted and pushed him aside, threatening to topple him down into the snow.

Mr. Business was breathing again. Wheezing, spluttering and coughing, he sank against the wall of the Pig's Foot. He couldn't see anything and his face was thumping and swollen in pain, blood trickling into his eyes after the merciless beating he'd received earlier. Breathing was a chore even after Senghor had been forced to let go, but at least he was alive, for now. Kicking at the snow underneath him to press up against the wall and use it for support as he attempted to stand back up again, one hand reached for the wall to grab a hold of it while the other fumbled at his belt as if searching for something. It didn't take long before it found what it was looking for--a hilt. Gripping it, the temporarily blinded man scoffed, holding on to it for dear life while he wobbled sideways along the Pig's Foot's wall in the direction of the noise. ... That is, of the doorway.

--

Meanwhile, the remaining guard that had been locked in battle with Noven bounced on his heels impatiently, feeling the snow underneath him and patting down a nice and smooth, packed layer of it under the soles of his boots. Grunting, he adjusted his jaw slightly with a sickening pop and crack, wincing from the pain but without breaking his focus on Noven. The way he had just downed his companion had been most unsettling, leading to the guard's apprehension in actually approaching carelessly. Not to mention being unarmed. He had a blade resting against his hip, but it was questionable whether there'd be time to draw it. Behind him, two of his old comrades were barelling their bodies into Senghor's and his boss was struggling to regain his composure, but Noven was unoccupied, ready and beckoning. He'd never been known for the speed of his wit, but he knew he'd have to think fast. Whoever this man was that he was unlucky enough to come toe to toe with, he was experienced enough. ... Just their luck. They were headed home just a few chimes ago, and then...

Spitting to the side, the man lowered one hand to the hilt of his sheathed sword, beginning to pull it out while his free hand was still raised in a fist, waving it in front of him as a form of deterrent for Noven. 'Still prepared to sock you good', it seemed to be saying. Or, at least, that's what he intended. With his sword drawn, he changed his position slightly to grip on the hilt with both his hands, blade pointed straight at his opponent. He wasted no time standing and adjusting his stance further, but instead bellowed a roar as he lunged forward, heels digging in the snow before he pushed himself forth to leap across the white blanket. He brought the sword overhead, bringing it back straight down in a powerful downward sweep.

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[Senghor Vilhjalmr]

So much anger, so much hatred all going into squeezing the very essence out of the man before him, syllables had escaped him, logic and reason had left their homes to fuel his rage. "You deserve to Die... You... Hhmp!" when he spoke that last sentence he felt something connect to his side, large and multiple arms wrapped around his body and pushed, his grip onto the man was soon lost and Senghor could only focus on removing the distractions at his side and than pursuing the bastard staggering back to his feet. Senghor clasped his hands together and raised them overhead, bringing them down on the back of the first man to grasp tackle him, he continued the assault repeatedly until the prick let go. Quickly switching opponents, Seng turned his waist and wrapped his arms around the man's neck, his other bombarded his face with quick punches to the face. Grunts emitted from the Vilhjalmr as the reluctant goon finally let go. When Senghor turned his gaze back to the first man, he was attacked, he felt the side of his face throb momentarily before it throbbed again, the goon was punching Seng repeatedly before he countered. As he swung his arm towards Seng, the deserted skinned brawler brought his forearm and parried with his forearm, pushing it aside with his left and countering with a swift right hand, with a full frontal jab towards the man's face. He staggered back, gathering his senses whilst allowing Senghor ample time to turn to his friend, somehow he'd stepped back long after that if Seng turned towards him he'd came charging fully. There was something about this guy that Seng remembered, than it hit him, he was one of those who came, ran through his home looking for him. As he came lumbering towards Seng knelt down on one kneeled simultaneously grabbed hold of the man's left thigh with one arm and one of the man's arm, he than pulled the opponent on his shoulders and rose him up slightly, using the motion they'd gained Seng pushed the man off his shoulder and fell with him to the side, slamming him back first into the snow. It didn't take a winters damn before Seng stood up, the guy he'd jabbed was coming towards him and Seng did what instinctive he'd been taught and learned so effectively to do, he drove forward in a short burst of speed and crouched down his connected with the man's abdomen with a spear-tackle, it was intriguing swift because Seng lifted the man up into the air and dropped him on his back. His shoulder throbbed well enough to let him lay in the snow for a couple of ticks before rolling over and stand up, pain was there yet was soon numbed by that rage that'd started all again. As he stood up, it was long before he remember he'd brought his longsword just for added protection. He looked around and brought his right hand up and over his shoulder, for a moment he wondered if the hilt may have hit into the man when he tackle him. As he gripped the head of the sword with a reassuring hold, he slowly began to unsheath it... Even after all the punish all three (Senghor included) the men had endured, they still wanted keep going, they were either equally matched or equally insane. It was than that Seng spoke, through grit teeth and pained grunts... "I will paint the snow... with your blood..." he said angrily whilst watching the men stand, Seng cautiously stepped back only to allow them to creep towards him, it wasn't long before he grasped the hilt with both hands. 'They took everything,' that was the mantra in his head, that was the drive, the dark melody that caused his perseverance. As the side of his face throbbed with warmth, the blood going down his lips didn't even feel there, nothing but rage was felt there...