[Storage Houses] Pest Control (Owan)

[Horlamin]

<10th day of Summer, 512 AV> Syna had reached his peak in the sky above Sunberth, shining down on the many scenes common in Sunberth. The god reached the whole city, bathing everyone in light. Nothing went unnoticed. Not that Horlamin wished to go unnoticed. He wasn't dealing drugs or raping women; he was merely replying to a possible job offer. The storage houses were empty at this hour. Very few people would attempt to raid a warehouse in broad daylight. But that didn't mean there were no guards standing around; there was a food shortage about, and desperate people might just risk breaking into a food store. But Hor just passed by the guards without a second glance; he planned on entering the warehouse, but only with permission from an employer. Hor didn't quite know how he heard about the job offer; word had been passed around the Drunken Fish that a merchant by the name of Denzil was seeking a few helping hands to rid his warehouses of rats. Hor didn't quite understand why he didn't get his guards to do it, but it was a chance at easy money, so Hor didn't complain. How hard could killing rats be? Hor wandered for a few chimes until he came upon the man he believed to be Denzil. The qualities of a merchant radiated off of this man. Although he wore wool clothing, it was all of fine quality. His long, brown hair was well-kept, his facial hair neatly trimmed. His hands never left his coin purse on his pouch, even though it appeared he had a few guards in the alley to the left of him. The man's brown eyes fell onto Hor as Denzil assessed him. "You here to rid my warehouses of rats?" "Aye. I'll kill those rats for ya." "Very well, then. I'm sure you're not the only one who heard about my job offer, so let's wait a chime or two before I debrief you. All I will say those is these rats are petchin' huge." Hor grunted, but a small grin still crossed his lips. Big or not, rats were still vermin. And vermin were easy to handle. But he waited for anyone who sought the glory one would earn in slaying the rats that infested Denzil's warehouses. If glory could be earned from that.

[Owan Bardson]

Owan walked slowly through the streets of Sunberth. He wiped sweat from his forehead with the back of one gloved hands. Gods but it was hot. He glared up at the sun in the sky before turning his face back to the street ahead. The street were crowded with those going about their business; all bumping shoulders in a mass of unwashed humanity. The smell of sweat was enough to make him pine for the solitude of the forest, but he pushed on.

He had mizas on the mind. The word that was drifting through town was that a man named Denzil was offering work. He wanted some rats cleared out of his warehouses and was offering good hard silver for those who'd rise to the call. Owan snorted at the thought. Here he was -a bandit, a mercenary, a fighter- hunting rats in some petching warehouse. It meant money though. He wiped another fat dollop of sweat from his face and continued his walk through the city.

Before long he found himself in front of a small building. He asked a passerby if this was Denzil's shop and the man muttered a gruff affirmative. Owan thanked the man with a scowl and shoved the door open. Inside -and finally out of the blazing sun- Owan allowed his eyes to adjust to the dim interior. There were two men standing close to one another. One was obviously there for the job, his demeanor and equipment screaming fighter. He was big -though he still didn't top Owan- and looked as if he could handle himself in a fight. The other was smaller, dressed all in wool and groomed almost impeccably.

"Heard ye were lookin' for some help with rats," Owan said, taking a long step forward and placing himself next to the merchant. The man nodded. "Daylight's burnin' and I'd rather not find myself snoopin' about the warehouses after dark. That's a good way to get yer head split," Owan said. The man nodded and smiled.

"Aye. If anyone else comes I'll turn them away. You two look like you can handle some rats on your own," Denzil said. Owan nodded and looked at his new comrade.

"Owan Bardson, at yer service."

[Horlamin]

This Denzil must've personally sought out help because it only took a few moments after the conversation had died down for a second seeker of work walked in. Hor had seen much growing up in Sunberth, but this guy who walked in surprised him. This man was huge! Hor was no small man, but he felt dwarfed by this giant. And this merchant couldn't help but feel just as small. But he didn't look unnerved by the man; he even smiled. So Hor just stood there, hand on the hilt of his sword, watching this man. And the ax on his back. Such a big ax. One step forward was all this man needed to draw himself from the door to where they were standing; one step! He sure didn't speak like a well-educated individual. Then again, who did in Sunberth? Being proper with your words meant nothing when it came to swinging a weapon. And this guy didn't seem to care. He was here to make money just like Hor was. And he saw the danger of being out in Sunberth after dark; wisdom in Hor eyes. Hor was rather glad he was a fellow hired hand and not the rats they were about to face. And yet all Denzil did was smile. It seemed he was glad that this man was on his side too. Seeing Hor and this giant standing here, he knew it would be enough. And he stated it too. But that didn't seem to interest Owan long, as he turned towards Hor. Hor looked at him, the giant looked at Hor. They were both fighters, both seekers of gold. They were copies of an average citizen of Sunberth. But the giant was Owan Bardson. And who was Hor? "Horlamin. Ya can call me Hor." A slight bow of the head followed. This man's size deserved respect, and Hor would give it to him. Denzil waited long enough for Hor to introduce himself before exiting his shop. Horlamin would follow, with Owan probably right behind him. While the men walked, Denzil explained the situation. "The change of season brought forth a swarm of rats on my grain stores. I have two warehouses that need clearing out of vermin. You'll enter the first one through the door I show you. The second warehouse can be entered via a door found inside the first warehouse. Just leave anything you kill inside; I'll send my sons in later to clean up the mess. All I want you to do is get in, clear up my problem, and get out. Payment will be given after the completion of the task." By the time Denzil had finished speaking, they had arrived at the first warehouse. No time for questions from Hor and Owan, if he had followed behind Horlamin when they had exited the shop. Denzil bent over a lock, standing straight moments later with the door unlatched. Turning back to face the men, he gave them one last nod. "Good luck. And try not to harm the merchandise." With that, he stepped aside, allowing unrestricted entrance into the first warehouse. Hor would wait for Owan, allowing him to say what he wished to Denzil before he stepped through the door. He was sure Owan would follow behind him; this man was just like Hor. They both sought money. And to make money, sometimes you had to slay rats.

[Owan Bardson]

"Nice to meet ye," Owan said curtly, returning the man's nod with one of his own. Denzil left the shop shortly afterward, tailed by the two fighters. Owan listened to Denzil speak, detailing his problems with the rats. He didn't need to say much. It was a citywide epidemic and Denzil wasn't the only merchant complaining about it. So far though, he was the only one offering coin to be rid of them. When Denzil was done speaking the trio stood in front of one of the warehouses. Owan leaned against the wall as the merchant unlocked the door and straightened up, imploring them to leave the merchandise unharmed. It all depended on what the man was selling. If it was something of modest value...well, maybe a piece or two would go missing. A man had to eat after all.

"Luck? What kind of rats have ye got here?" Owan said, smiling wryly. He doubted he and Hor would need much luck to hunt rats in a petching warehouse. Denzil laughed softly and stepped aside. Owan nodded at the man and stepped into the warehouse.

The inside of the warehouse was dark and full of corners and crates; all perfect hiding spots for rats. Owan cursed as he pulled his axe from his belt, flipping it in the air and catching it below the blade. Braining the rats with the hilt'd be easier than trying to slice the little bastards. Plus it'd keep the mess down for the poor boys that'd have to clean up their mess. Owan doubted Hor'd be afforded the same luxury. He'd have to try and cut them with his petching blade. Even if he mastered the skill his boots'd end up covered in guts: filthy petchin' guts. Owan would prefer the blood of a man to the blood of a petching rat.

"Come on Hor," Owan said over his shoulder. "Faster we get these bastards killed the faster we can have a drink."

[Horlamin]

At six-foot-seven, Horlamin hadn't taken Owan as much of a joker. But there he stood, leaned up against the wall, smiling about Denzil's little statement about luck needed to kill rats. Who would've thought the giant could laugh; Hor would've almost bet a boulder would've cracked a smile before Owan did. But he cracked his joke and went to work without any questions asked. Hor respected that. They were both here to get the job down without much difficulty. Plus, that drink sounded pretty good. Even though he doubted any bar had tankards big enough for Owan to hold. As both men stepped into the warehouse, Denzil shut the door behind him, but it was not relocked. "Come out of this door once you've cleared out both warehouses." And then silence followed. While Owan moved about, Hor took the chance to look around at his surroundings. The only light the men had came from windows located some feet off the ground, but even then they didn't get much light. Crates and sacks of grain and other food products were piled high, but there were aisles to walk through. As Owan had probably noticed, there were many places for rats to hide. With his observations done, Hor turned to Owan, who had his axe flipped upside down. Hor assumed Owan had some method to the madness, but the fighter couldn't help but jest with him. "And to think I figured you knew how to use that meat cleaver." Hor said as he pulled his own weapon free from his scabbard. He left his buckler strapped to his back, as he had no need to block. That is, unless Owan felt the need to attack him. Which Hor doubted if the giant could take humor just as well as he gave it. Although, for some odd reason, Hor felt comforted with the scale mail armor he wore, even though he knew no rats would scathe him. A soft sound to the left of Hor caught his attention, and he turned to spot a rat the size of a Owan's foot trying to tear open one of the sacks of grain. Looking back at Owan once, Hor stepped forward, and planted his boot on the spine of the vermin. It squealed, but Hor silenced it when he drove the tip of his sword through the neck of it. Of course, blood splattered on his boot, but that was to be expected. Hor looked back at Owan, a grin on his face. "Let's see how you do it."

[Owan Bardson]

"I'll make ye eat those words," Owan said, chuckling softly. Hor'd drawn his blade and begun to search for rats. Owan did the same, shoving bags of grain aside to look deeper into the shelves. He could hear the pitter-patter of tiny feet, scuttling away from the dim light. Petching things. They couldn't stay still and make his life easy. He heard the rat squeal and watched as Hor speared in with the tip of his blade; blood spattering on his boots.

"Guess it is my turn eh?" Owan said. He took a step forward and smiled darkly as a rat dashed into the aisle. He swung the handle of the axe hard, feeling the creature's tiny spine shatter under the force of the blow. The rat twitched and flopped, eyes misting over as the life left it's body. Not a drop of blood leaked from the furry corpse. He turned to Hor -tiny smile almost out of place on his gruff face- and shrugged. He opened his mouth to speak but something stopped him. He heard...laughter, voices? It wasn't rats. That was for petching sure. He held a hand up to signal Hor to keep his voice down and took a quick step toward the man. He bent slightly, putting his face close enough to whisper.

"Ye hear that? We're not alone. Sounds like it's comin' from the next storehouse. What do ye think?" Owan asked, keeping his voice low.

[Horlamin]

What a day to spend a morning in Sunberth. Two grown men who grew up in bars and fights standing around slaughtering rats. That was the life of a fighter; you never knew which way your life would turn. But Owan and Hor were making the best of it regardless. It didn't take Owan long to respond to Hor's joke by snapping the spine of the rat. He even had a smile on his rought face. Hor could see some witty words forming on Owan's lips, but instead he held up his hand for silence. Hor froze, and his first instinct to grip the sword came into effect. Owan wouldn't do that just for rats, would he? What was it? And then the fighter caught the sound of laughter. Who else was in the warehouses? Owan spoke next, voicing his own thoughts that mirrored Hor's own thoughts. They weren't in this warehouse as they could see, so it had to be the other warehouse. It could've been the guards for all either man knew, but fighters didn't make assumptions. Looking over at Owan, who had bent down to speak with him, Hor replied, "I think we might as well check it out." With that, Hor stepped away from Owan and walked softly towards the door to the second warehouse. As quietly as he could, Hor slipped off his buckler and attached it to his left arm; better safe than sorry. Coming up to the door, Hor didn't wait to check if Owan had followed before stepping in. The door opened slowly, but Hor made his entrance dramatic by kicking the door the rest of the way open before stepping in. Several bags of grain laid torn on the ground, their contents covering the concrete. And rolling around in it were two teenage boys, no older than fifteen, with about three others standing around, laughing and popping food in their mouth. But the laughter ceased, along with the wrestling match, as soon as they notice Hor standing there. If Owan had followed, their fear probably would've doubled. Not many boys could look at a giant with a big axe and not feel frightened. All except this one boy, who chuckled from his resting area atop a crate. He was definately the oldest out of the boys, with sandy blond hair cut short, and piercing blue eyes. He wore common clothing, fit for a street urchin, but around his neck was a silver necklace with a decent size sapphire in the center. Now that was worth some money in this city, and Hor wondered how the boy had come across it. Or held onto it. Pointing his sword at the boy, blood still covering the tip, Hor addressed them in a gruff tone. "Ya bastards ain't suppose to be in here." Hor took one step further into the room, and stepped to the left; this would allow Owan to walk in unrestricted and take up any position he liked. Without looking back to see if his partner was even back there -that would appear cowardly- Hor spoke aloud "What should we do with 'em, Owan. In my eyes, they just as bad as the rats." Those words caught most of the boys between the ribs, and those laying on the ground rose to their feet and backed away from the fighters. But the blond hair boy only smirked before releasing a hock of spit in Hor's direction. It landed well short of Hor's feet, but the message was clear. And Hor had intentions of answering the message. But not before Owan gave his own thoughts. Did Owan even follow him?

If my writing style seems weird, I'm trying not to control Owan's movements.