"Have you ever heard where women dominate men and govern a domain?" as I commit to exclaim my rhetoric outside of this rundown shack.
The people are staring at me with disdain. Obviously, I am frightened of what I will become or what will occur. They are armed by a margin - with shortswords placed in their belt buckles and steel knuckles sported in their fingers. I have none but all with my scripts and writs. I stand still as I am hellbent on delivering the message upon them through oral relay.
"Look over there! Beyond the seas, you can find them hiding…" adding, as I shout another time around.
I take a step aback when they are undertaking to do something. Unsheathing weapons from the scabbards and arming of spiky metals from their fingers, they are about ten men wearing skimpy size scaly things on their shoulders and their bodies. I prepare myself to probably outrun their chase. At full speed, I could par a leopard and with hindrances, obstructions, and hurdles; albeit it is a different story.
"... you, mongrels of the Crown and lapdogs of the Emperor Llewellyn." I induce them to somehow know their standpoint.
"Woof! Woof! Awooo!" I bark in a frantic way, as I howl afterwards.
One man dashes towards me as I elude his tackle by a tad graze. He fumbles on his feet but; as he attempts to resuscitate his footing, his legs crumble despite all of his interests to stand up, however. Face down. Groveling his entire face on the dusty crooked pavement.
"He who has collided his face to the dirt must surely have caught a dozen frogs…" I expatiate with flamboyance and elegance.
"So, how many did you get?" relating to the lad who head-on kissed the floor, as I say it in a mocking way.
"A victim falls to ignorance and a prey falls to the entrapment of a perpetrator… Thus, gentlemen, who amongst you has the audacity to lay a finger on me?" I dare them.
What bewilders me is that they are playing fair to my antics I held against them - how sportsmanlike they are, indeed. As the second entrant swings his blade in an upward motion, I nearly got caught where I anticipated the trajectory he struck. The strike he had made seems lethargic - too much force but no precision of hitting me. He strikes another, though, it is with his foot. A roundhouse towards my side to abdomen. I fall onto my knees. The lad smirks as he beckons me to get back to my footing.
"When a verbose one gets hit by a reality, then the namesake individual tends to retreat to its refuge - to its mother's teats and womb..." the crowd goes frisky in a quick magnitude, the man whom I've got tricked with mocks at me.
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"Oh, really?" I ponder.
"Pretty boy, you seem so active as a person. But why so languid in drawing up your sword?" I speak, with regards to his movement and his semblance, effeminate struts and androgynous looks.
I have been trekking for my whole life and right now, I just experienced something exhilarating. They seem aggravated when they have lost their patience pandering to my shenanigans. I vault countless hurdles whether it may be a huge rock, a fence, or a puddle that looks like a quicksand. I manage to shake a couple of pursuants while I use the ropes and the vines to swing across each hurdle presented. Slither through each insular cavities, jumping around the height of my waist, crawling across certain corners; as without losing my momentum - where I retain my speed and the integrity of my calves. Of course, there are certain times that they had me cornered but I slipped away in an immediate reaction. They work in a slight way off, hence the reason, they can manage to trap me inside this labyrinth but not entirely apprehended.
The most notorious that I ever had encountered was when a platoon of well-armed gents followed me from town-to-town during the time when I was fervently involved in my cause. I drive down to the path of pacifism - no weapons brandishing towards an enemy, no harm is intended to an adversary. It is a matter of which is righteous or not, as long as I know I didn’t hurt a fellow mortal through the manifestation to a physical or a spiritual degree. I know what I’ve said are all but nothing but the truth, then - it is them, how they can reflect and react to the words I’ve spoken.
“What expects me to use a blade against you?” I mock them, as the chase continues, where they are at the otherside of the unspanned passage.
“It makes me wonder… how am I respiring well? Simple. I run often against the likes of you.” vexing them, where I give a trifling note, as I add and continue to run afterwards.
“Why do the running? I supposed you’re all talk with nothing to prove.” yells the man who is catching up his breath.
They try to provoke me but the attempt fails. During my juvenile years, I may be proactive in confronting any calls. Easy. My response will be: 'Just stick a knife to their guts inconspicuously and then flee in a subtle manner'. The proximity of the victim’s survival is close to half - being semi-alive or semi-dead. Him, the target, being dead is a relief of your worldly lax but the conscience still haunts up until you are forgiven. Cleansing of the sin you have committed? Just Pray. Instructed by the Reverend Amas.
"So long, lads! Find me at Jabor… elsewhere you can search for me hiding across the ghetto." instructing them as I give a beforehand, if this chase would continue, where I am supposed to be seen.
I had fun with these amateurs. I never had so much fun toying these lads. It is a pity that the Emperor himself can only commission these lousy protégés within his ranks. So much of wasting - squandering his entire coffer for expelling 'Hirililal' faith out of the Inglovian lands.