The cracked, rusty bell chimed its dull jingle as Kor'Ak slid the door to the tavern open, the old door groaned and moaned as it swung open on it's long-decrepit hinges. The tavern was more or less empty, the wooden floors stained brown and red in small splotches from long spilt drinks. The Djálik warrior was given the same nonchalant greeting he'd become all-too familiar with. "Ah Mr Gale, another mug of my..." the raggedy old, gnomish barkeep seemed to spit out the latter half of his words in mild anger "vile swill?"
"Apologies, I did not know you made it yourself... nevertheless, it is still rancid, Ranpa" The gnome looked up at the Djál, eyes questioning and lips parted into their permanent sour grimace "You're fully aware my name is not Ranpa, it is Fo-Shizzle Fizzle; I'd rather you remember that name, considering you've been living, drinking and eating here for over a month now!"
A badly-cleaned ceramic tankard was pulled from behind the bar by Fo-Shizzle, the empty object was hurled across the tavern towards Kor'Ak as he was busy closing the heavy wooden door behind him. The mug soared just above the steel collar of Kor'Ak's armor. Ceramic shattered into pieces as it crashed against the Dark-skinned, iron hulk's skull.
You have suffered 1 damage
The hulk turned around slowly, seemingly unfazed.
"Fuckin 'el lad, what's your skin made of?" the elderly gnome chuckled on; ever since he'd watched a rowdy patron shatter their own arm when they struck his new lodger, the barkeep had made it his quest to see what it would take to get any real reaction out of Kor'Ak. So far everything short of a dagger was something the dark beast had merely shrugged off.
Kor'Ak groaned, he hung around in the empty bar, handing over a Silver Krown for each mug of 'vile swill' that he forced down his throat.
It took an hour and a dozen drinks of what tasted like a mixture of feces and blood for Kor'Ak to start feeling that gentle, warm buzz that ran through his body. A loud belch signified to Fo-Shizzle that his primary, and only customer was ready to crash for the night. The gnome slid over a rusty key, a heavy wooden tag with a faded room number was looped through a hole in the key. Stumbling, Kor'Ak managed to find his way to his room. A simple bed, small handfuls of hay sticking out from within the rough mattress. The one source of light, a small window in the room let in shafts of filthy, almost eerie light. Thick grime clung to the cracked circular window. The last object in the room was little more than a wooden lockbox, unlike his room key, Kor'Ak kept the key to that chest to himself, but would return it when he eventually left.
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Admittedly, it would take very little effort to bypass the shitty, non-magical lock.
Kor'Ak collapsed onto the makeshift bed, it's oaken legs groaning beneath the weight of his full-plate armour and gear. And, both peacefully and loudly, Kor'Ak drifted off to sleep.
The memories were vivid. Not hazy, as solid as if they were happening now. As if they were Kor'Ak's present, not his past.
"Captain, what are we supposed to do!" Gru'Haka called out to Kor'Ak, the young man was a recent addition to his squad, it was not his first fight, but it was most certainly his first battle. They'd spent months drilling their formations and tactics into the boy's head, but when the arrows starting falling and blood was first drawn, all that training seemed to just vanish, wiped from his mind in panic.
Nevertheless, the tried and tested Djálik Shield Wall didn't require much complex thinking, atleast for now. Gru'Haka was sweating profusely, he could tell the boy was straining, unable to raise his heavy tower shield and withstand the endless barrage, Kor'Ak ached too. His entire squad ached; some of the endless arrows had managed to slip through the tiniest of gaps, most projectiles merely bounced off their armor, but others pierced through gaps in their armor, slicing at the back of their legs and sinking deep into the small weaknesses on the inside of their arms.
It wasn't far, a combination of mages, alchemists and siege weaponry had broken a hole in the fortresses wall. Just a dozen more feet and they'd be within the walls, unable to be hit by this unending barrage.
Kor'Ak could barely see ahead of him, but he did notice as the sky seemed to lighten from it's dull orange at sunset, to a bright, blazing yellow. He managed a glance at Gru'Haka, who looked just as bewildered as his captain. Then he looked terrified. His fear was warranted after all, a blazing ball of flame battered the young boy to the ground, the sheer force of the blast crashed his shield down on top of him.
"Ah Krist..."
The memory still burned, the boy's screaming as his shield began to glow red, flesh cooked in his own armor.
That stench.
Burning, charred flesh, something he was yet to forget, but wished he could clear his mind completely of.