Aaaand, my response.
Hello Grandmistress
''Oi come over 'ere. I'll make worth yer while.'' Something twinkled just beyond the grasp of his comprehension. The voice was weird. Like it wasn't entirely clear. As if it was muffled with a cloth or that otherworldly effect that accompanied screaming underwater. Astros furrowed his brow and stared the man down. Leaning forwards heavily making every attempt to make out the man's face. Why was he feeling so hot? His hand shot out to grasp a pillar that signified the end of the bar. It aided his sense of balance. I didn't drink that much did I? The thought swimming around in his mind.
He felt a tug on his harness. So strong. What?.. The bar-stool crashed to the ground and he experienced firsthand how wobbly his legs were. His head flopped to the side as he braced himself against the bar. A massive gulp of air brought temporary respite. His nostrils akin to those of a horse as they sucked in the air. ''Who.. are you?'' The words all but blurted out of his mouth. The beggar agent didn't bother replying.
Something wasn't right. The air smelled sour, or was that his cup? He stared down at the bar that housed his mug but it seemed miles away. Certainly too far a distance to bend down and sniff. It suddenly felt like a herculean task. Astros curled his upper lip in distaste. Not worth the effort. He turned his attention back to the cowled man. The moon-like twinkle was still there. He was holding it out to him. Greed, a natural instinct for Astros kicked in. His big left hand swung out haphazardly and tried to catch the shiny object the man was holding out. The attempt failed.
What is happening to me? An eye wandered the length of the bar and scanned the room as far as he was able. It was dimly lit and the windows were shuttered. Preventing all but a few rays of daylight into the establishment. Was it nighttime? The thought crossed his mind as he noticed more than a dozen of his men passed out on the other end of the bar and nestled on or around one of the round tables nearby. Something tugged at him again. ''Feck off!'' Astros growled. His left arm menaced the air but found no target.
''Baldie! ey! Baldie, come over here.'' Astros squinted at the general direction of the sound. ''What did you call me?'' He managed to challenge, feeling a deep insecurity rise in the recesses of his mind. He instantly hated it. Practically tasting the hate he willed it to overpower that sense of insecurity brought on by the needling words. ''You want these shinies baldie?'' The voice took on a teasing, mocking tone even. ''You think he even understands what you're saying?'' Another voice asked the first. ''Oh he does. Just look at his eyes. Baldie knows doesn't he?'' The first voice asserted.
A hot substance stirred in his heart. It coursed through his veins and bloomed throughout his body all the way to his fingers and down to his toes. Astros growled audibly. Hate made him feel powerful. Anger swelled the veins on his bare neck. Adrenaline battled the effects of the tranquilizing herbs that had been used to spike the Thalmarkian wine. Some of the herb induced fog that had been plaguing his mind began to be burned away, by the yet infantile blaze of rage that had ignited.
Eyes informed Astros that two rattish men stood before him. Just outside of arm's reach. Spindly framed and with crooked noses. What they would've boasted in height they negated by their bend stance. They revolted Astros. Vermin. The Balls of his eyes showed extra white as they transmitted unspoken hate across to the room to the two beggar agents. Turning his massive head left and then right Astros took in the sight. His men were knocked out, drooling or sleeping in puddles of fallen drinks, plates of half eaten meals or vomit. Trickery! The word materialized in his mind as clear as a flagpole bearing a red flag taut during a spring storm.
For the first time that morning, the two beggar agents felt the hand of fear grip their spine. Astros forced himself to stand on his own two feet. Pushing himself away from the bar. His right hand grasped the handle of his greatsword. Its familiar touch lend him strength. ''How is he..?'' The second agent stammered. ''Why isn't he knocked out like the rest of them?'' More than a hint of panicked urgency laced the words. Prudently both of the agents backed off. The first one had the presence of mind to bait Astros a bit more. Presence of mind or foolishness, you pick. Glancing back over his shoulder the first beggar agent judged the distance to the exit before turning back to Astros. ''Oi! Baldie! Not even your own mother loved yer Ugly excuse of a face!'' The words hurt. Driving home like a squadron of cavalry charging down a sorry lot of service pressed peasants with clubs.
A low rumble started in Astros' throat. His eyes huge and his head leaning forward like a huge predatory cat. His shadow dancing around him in the torchlight. The faint shimmering of his naked greatsword added to the ethereal look as he arched his head backwards slowly. The growl rose in volume as he did so. The two agents were rooted in place as the raw sound made the hairs on their neck stand up.
Reaching a high crescendo Astros let out a fierce roar that preceded his sudden charge. The black handled greatsword trailed behind him like a steel tail. Knocked chairs over, bashing tables aside with his body. The two agents all but fell over one another as they bolted for the exit. The first made it. He shoulder rushed the door open. Never slowing down as he ran for his life. The second was blinded by the sudden burst of daylight that washed over him and invaded the darkened tavern.
White light pierced his vision. All inside his skull was white. He couldn't see a thing. Astros roared in frustration. With all his might he swung his inhumanly big sword. It hummed through the air. First it resisted the motion but as Astros powered it with his muscles the blade assented to the motion. It took on a life of its own as the blade's considerable weight joined the force of Astros' muscles. It bit into something hard. A groan could be heard. Followed by a crash. Astros felt his balance being lost and tried to turn and find stable footing. Broken plaster and rock-dust rained down onto his bald scalp. Squinting through the slits of his eyes, bending forwards as his greatsword rested on the ground before him, the world started to reveal itself before his eyes.
An old, shattered beam stood next to him. It used to be part of the door-frame of the tavern but no longer. Astros' blow had struck the door-frame and all but destroyed the left-side of it. Utterly wrecking one of the two support beams that held up the wall above the door. Parts of the plastered wall sported a brand new scar in the form of a gash where the greatsword had marred the wall.
The two beggar agents looked on in dumbfounded horror. In particular the second one as his mind graphically described to him how his body might've looked like if he'd been the one struck instead of the door-frame.
Heaving, pulling in air with his lungs, Astros knew a moment of uncertainty. The street was empty save for the warriors of the brand new Grandmistress. His chalk powdered head white with dust. A single hand still on his greatsword, he roared a challenge. Words yet unavailable to him. Ruin written in his eyes as he looked at the nearest warriors. Warriors of the Enlightened that felt a tinge of fear as they received Astros' bestial look.
Behind him, Astros had little idea of the trained assassins that prepared themselves for what might come. They unsheathed daggers and the only thing that gave them away was the creaking of the wooden tavern floor. Astros barely glanced as he instinctively knew the danger. Uncertain of what it was but like a deer being aware of hidden wolves, so he knew there was a threat behind him.
After a moment that seemed like an age, not five heartbeats. Astros saw the Grandmistress. He saw how she held a bow and had an arrow trained on him. She wasn't the only one. His eyes informed that there were at least a dozen with easy shots on him. More probably. The street was filled with warriors. None of them on his side. They were everywhere. He heard an audible step behind him. It was accompanied by the rhythmic breathing of at least three more men. Trained men. Astros thought. He bared his teeth. A low rumble rose from his throat. ''What is this?!'' The initial surge of hate fuelled adrenaline started to fade. He swooned where he stood. ''Explain this!'' He demanded as spittle flew from his mouth.
So Astros was confronted, all alone, with the men and women under the command of the Grandmistress outside of a seedy tavern in Avengmil.
