“Not quite,” said Farkas, by now intrigued. He motioned for Argis to sit down while he rummaged behind the bar for some bottles of ale. “All right, if you're gonna stick around, I don't mind. But you're not getting your hands on me just like that. Here. Drink with me first.”
“Nords,” Argis said, shaking his head as he hauled himself on to a bar stool. “Knew this was a bad idea, but all right. I will drink some ale with you and then can we rut like sabre cats in heat?”
“Yes,” said Farkas, feeling his cock twitch at the mere thought of pinning Argis to the bed and frotting against him. “But first, can I ask you something?”
Argis looked vaguely pained but nodded. “What is it?”
“How'd you get the scars?” Farkas motioned at Argis' blind eye and scarred cheek.
“The... scars?” Argis said, looking confused. “Why'd you want to know?”
“All the best scars have stories. Been thinking about yours all evening, Half-Nord.” Farkas poured himself a drink and leaned forward, grinning at Argis. Now that was true enough, it wasn't often a broody, battle-scarred warrior showed up in Jorrvaskr exuding strength and fierceness like Argis did and Farkas wanted to know more. “I wanted to know what got the better of you.”
“Who said it got the better of me?” Argis smirked and Farkas knew right there he'd won him over.
“So tell me,” Farkas murmured, grinning as he leaned closer, and Argis obliged.
“All right. Among the Reachmen, you get your adulthood by doing two things. You have sex with someone and you kill something. Start a life and end a life, or well, potentially anyway. It's symbolic, see. Saying you're willing to start doing grown-up things.”
“Right,” said Farkas, although he didn't entirely understand it, but he'd killed an awful lot of things and shagged an awful lot of things in his forty years, so who was he to judge. “So you went out to kill something.”
“Yeah. Normally kids just sacrifice an animal the hunters have caught for them, and then it's open season on getting them laid. But the Nords had wiped the camp out before I was ready. I was living in Markarth by then with a friend of Da's looking after me, but I still wanted to do the rites the old way. Wanted to impress him.”
“What, the friend?” Farkas asked. Argis shook his head.
“No, Da. He's, well, tough, even by Forsworn standards. Most kids just do a sacrifice and that's it, but he was a runaway city boy when he was a kid and he was sick of the others in the tribe thinking he was soft and pushing him around. So he went out and hunted an elk down, killed it with just a hunting knife and brought the carcass back, throwing the head at the camp chief's feet and announcing he'd done the rite of death, he'd be in his tent if anyone fancied helping with the other one. I'm not sure he was even sixteen at the time.”
Farkas made a mental note to find out exactly which camp this man lived on, if he was still alive, and avoid any jobs involving it. Not only was killing Argis's father not likely to impress Argis, said father sounded dangerous.
“And did anyone help?” Farkas asked, already guessing the answer to this one.
“About three different women turned up apparently. He wouldn't tell me any more than that, saying it was personal. But it did the job, and he was a man from that day onwards. I wanted to follow in his footsteps.”
“You went out and hunted an elk?” Farkas asked, but deer did not leave scars like that. Argis nodded.
“Tried to. Found one too, only I wasn't the only one tracking it. A sabre cat had the same idea. We both cornered it at the same time, stopped, looked at each other, and then it decided I'd make an easier target. Bastard clawed my face but I had the last laugh. I bashed it with a shield and caved its skull in with my axe. Not sure how I got to Markarth, but I did and I'd killed something. Worked though, no one ever saw me as a boy again.”
“Did you have women lining up as well?” Farkas had to ask. Argis grinned, nodding.
“Oh yeah. Half the city wanted to fuss over me and tell me what a brave young man I was. Ladies love scars.”
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timeasmymeasure
Re: The Wolf Queen Awakens 25.7
Date: 2014-03-23 02:38 pm (UTC)“Nords,” Argis said, shaking his head as he hauled himself on to a bar stool. “Knew this was a bad idea, but all right. I will drink some ale with you and then can we rut like sabre cats in heat?”
“Yes,” said Farkas, feeling his cock twitch at the mere thought of pinning Argis to the bed and frotting against him. “But first, can I ask you something?”
Argis looked vaguely pained but nodded. “What is it?”
“How'd you get the scars?” Farkas motioned at Argis' blind eye and scarred cheek.
“The... scars?” Argis said, looking confused. “Why'd you want to know?”
“All the best scars have stories. Been thinking about yours all evening, Half-Nord.” Farkas poured himself a drink and leaned forward, grinning at Argis. Now that was true enough, it wasn't often a broody, battle-scarred warrior showed up in Jorrvaskr exuding strength and fierceness like Argis did and Farkas wanted to know more. “I wanted to know what got the better of you.”
“Who said it got the better of me?” Argis smirked and Farkas knew right there he'd won him over.
“So tell me,” Farkas murmured, grinning as he leaned closer, and Argis obliged.
“All right. Among the Reachmen, you get your adulthood by doing two things. You have sex with someone and you kill something. Start a life and end a life, or well, potentially anyway. It's symbolic, see. Saying you're willing to start doing grown-up things.”
“Right,” said Farkas, although he didn't entirely understand it, but he'd killed an awful lot of things and shagged an awful lot of things in his forty years, so who was he to judge. “So you went out to kill something.”
“Yeah. Normally kids just sacrifice an animal the hunters have caught for them, and then it's open season on getting them laid. But the Nords had wiped the camp out before I was ready. I was living in Markarth by then with a friend of Da's looking after me, but I still wanted to do the rites the old way. Wanted to impress him.”
“What, the friend?” Farkas asked. Argis shook his head.
“No, Da. He's, well, tough, even by Forsworn standards. Most kids just do a sacrifice and that's it, but he was a runaway city boy when he was a kid and he was sick of the others in the tribe thinking he was soft and pushing him around. So he went out and hunted an elk down, killed it with just a hunting knife and brought the carcass back, throwing the head at the camp chief's feet and announcing he'd done the rite of death, he'd be in his tent if anyone fancied helping with the other one. I'm not sure he was even sixteen at the time.”
Farkas made a mental note to find out exactly which camp this man lived on, if he was still alive, and avoid any jobs involving it. Not only was killing Argis's father not likely to impress Argis, said father sounded dangerous.
“And did anyone help?” Farkas asked, already guessing the answer to this one.
“About three different women turned up apparently. He wouldn't tell me any more than that, saying it was personal. But it did the job, and he was a man from that day onwards. I wanted to follow in his footsteps.”
“You went out and hunted an elk?” Farkas asked, but deer did not leave scars like that. Argis nodded.
“Tried to. Found one too, only I wasn't the only one tracking it. A sabre cat had the same idea. We both cornered it at the same time, stopped, looked at each other, and then it decided I'd make an easier target. Bastard clawed my face but I had the last laugh. I bashed it with a shield and caved its skull in with my axe. Not sure how I got to Markarth, but I did and I'd killed something. Worked though, no one ever saw me as a boy again.”
“Did you have women lining up as well?” Farkas had to ask. Argis grinned, nodding.
“Oh yeah. Half the city wanted to fuss over me and tell me what a brave young man I was. Ladies love scars.”