Chapter 11: Repercussions of satisfaction

The hour was late at night with streets rowdier as usual, populated by night walkers, party goers, clowns and conmen ready to fish out a coin or two from the visitors and the foreign. How did such a small town get so full with people, as more kept coming? It was all because of one man who loved to tell stories remarkably. His name...

"My name is Malcom Degeneres, the king of stoke Town, oh..." The man staggered on the table. He stifled a laughter with the snort and the gulp of liquor. Again his wobbly legs gave in and he staggered yet again. This time the barmen and women joined him in self laughter.

The man looked at the sea of people, the liquor had that effect. He saw himself as a liberator to these people of all kinds. The ale boosted his alter ego and as he stared at these people, he saw it... That desperate look in their eyes. The reason why men drank, why they filed in every day at the bar after a day's work of disappointment, hopelessness and fear. Most of them anyways, some had already achieved in their lives but was that true really? That man could be satisfied with what he had at the moment. The answer was no, and just like all the other men and women at the bar, they had a feeling of want, a desperate one. And Malcom knew how to comfort them or at least give them what they thought they wanted.

"Well bollocks, I couldn't even be king of my own life. Look at me!" The crowd laughed, even the owner of the bar smiled.

Malcom tasted the ale again, Nay drank it full gobbling it down loudly in one full swoop. His vision was blurry and his senses dulled." This liquor, oh Wallachia ale, better than wallacian. "

The crowd snickered in approval. 

"You see I once in that forsaken land, forsaken in deed. Dry with no water, the plants withered and the stone walls on areas better dampened with moss and green growth. The people there, a mere remains of the lands they stole from us! That is why half of theirs is waste. "

" Yeah... "the crowd yelled. 

" Ours is good. We are better than them in all ways. Aren't we? "

" We are...!! "

Malcom toasted the remaining of the liquor to the barmen as they drank in free spirit. 

" No you aren't "the voice was light and quiet but everyone's ear perked it up. Malcom turned his gaze to the lady who had said so. Pretty face with a sharp gaze, dressed elegantly except for the stain on the bottom edges of her dress. 

" Why say so, lady"

She stood up to face him. "You are wrong. Wallacians are industrious people who strive to fend well in the poor lands. You are not even half a Wallacian man." 

Malcom chuckled, the crowd was staring, a few snickered at him. The humiliation, he couldn't afford it. He held his head high and asked in the most gruesome voice possible," Says who? "

The lady did not budge and instead moved closer that they were then a pace apart. "Me. You got a problem with that,fight me!" 

The crowd stayed silent but to Malcom they spoke loudly. From their stares alone he could tell. A man like him, if he refused he could be passed as a coward, far worse if he lost. But he would not lose to her. To him it was not a matter whether he lost or won, but the damage he deemed enough to inflict on her to yield. But it was clear he had to accept. 

"Fine, if you insist so much on getting hurt." 

She did not even wait as she threw her fist, a quick jab aimed for the side of his head. 'Slow' he thought. He ducked. She threw another and another. By that time Malcom was in a trail of thought. For her to be this confident she must've had a trump card on her sleeve, but this was just too easy and so for the fifth attack he tried something different.He grabbed her fist tightly hoping to then knock her out. It was then something happened, he froze as an electric feeling spread through his body. 

She raised her leg but he felt numb and the end of the foot slammed his crotch. The lady knocked him out with a powerful blow on the head and he dropped unconscious. The lady seemed to be baffled like the crowd and she turned to storm off. 

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ** * * * 

The lightning sparks still zapped on her fingers as she barely covered them in her gloves. She stopped in the streets, it was late at night but her eyes could catch the figure clearly before her. 

"What do you want?" 

"I mean you no harm, Ezna Thorne?" 

"How do you know my name?" 

The man kept quiet this time. 

"Move away or I'll hurt you!" she barked. 

This time, the figure spoke, "You can try." 

Ezna took a pace forward but her gaze became blurry. The figure was not before him. It had happened in a dint and he was behind her. 

"Sorry" He said as he stabbed her in the neck with a sharp object. Her senses became dull and she collapsed.