Post by Agron on Sept 19, 2017 2:27:44 GMT
Tag: Nasir
blood and battle
ARE ALL I HAVE EVER KNOWN
Agron knew it was not wise to get into any verbal conversation with the man. But when they had come face to face, one thing led to another. Agron's spirits were . . . not what they had once been. The crucifixion has stripped him of his capabilities. The simple ability to hold a sword -- something that he grew up on -- was not taken from him. His identity, was taken from him. And Castus certainly made a point to remind him of it. Agron was already known for his short fuse but this time, it was different.
This time, he did not hold the advantage of skill. His ability to fight was compromised. Highly compromised. And once again, the Cilician took advantage. It was the mention of Nasir, the taunting of not being able to hold his lover with crippled hands that had been the final provocation that caused Agron to attempted to push his body into Castus. He could not swing for he could not fist his hands, nor could he raise a weapon to strike him with. Castus on the other hand, knew where to strike. Verbally, and physically. The first blow came across Agron's already bruised face, something that the German quickly recovered from. The second, Agron managed to block with his forearm, but Castus knew his weaknesses.
The altercation left Agron biting back any cries of pain as Castus targeted his wounded hands, and the strikes against his torso in which the larger male felt the tear; the reopening of his wound, hands instinctively going to his upper body and quickly the warmth of the blood spread over his fingers. Agron was on his knees, unable to make eye contact with the Cilician. Words of Nasir deserving better, a man of worth were the final daggers that struck Agron to the core of his heart as the pirate made his leave. Agron closed his eyes, hating that he let the fucking shit effect him in such a way. Both physically and emotionally.
He staggered to his feet, making his way quickly to his shared tent with Nasir and hoping that his lover was not present so that he would not have to see him in such a way. Fortunately, he wasn't, and Agron took the opportunity to reach for the pitcher of water. Unable to grip it and already consumed with pain, he knocked over the pitcher with his elbow, dampening the cloth that was there. His hands, his fingers felt numb, the intense throbbing and sting of his wound distracting him. Unable to lift anything with enough purpose to treat his wound, Agron kicked the table to the ground and continued to sit on the edge of his bed, eyes closed as he felt a defeat unlike any other he'd encountered before.
This time, he did not hold the advantage of skill. His ability to fight was compromised. Highly compromised. And once again, the Cilician took advantage. It was the mention of Nasir, the taunting of not being able to hold his lover with crippled hands that had been the final provocation that caused Agron to attempted to push his body into Castus. He could not swing for he could not fist his hands, nor could he raise a weapon to strike him with. Castus on the other hand, knew where to strike. Verbally, and physically. The first blow came across Agron's already bruised face, something that the German quickly recovered from. The second, Agron managed to block with his forearm, but Castus knew his weaknesses.
The altercation left Agron biting back any cries of pain as Castus targeted his wounded hands, and the strikes against his torso in which the larger male felt the tear; the reopening of his wound, hands instinctively going to his upper body and quickly the warmth of the blood spread over his fingers. Agron was on his knees, unable to make eye contact with the Cilician. Words of Nasir deserving better, a man of worth were the final daggers that struck Agron to the core of his heart as the pirate made his leave. Agron closed his eyes, hating that he let the fucking shit effect him in such a way. Both physically and emotionally.
He staggered to his feet, making his way quickly to his shared tent with Nasir and hoping that his lover was not present so that he would not have to see him in such a way. Fortunately, he wasn't, and Agron took the opportunity to reach for the pitcher of water. Unable to grip it and already consumed with pain, he knocked over the pitcher with his elbow, dampening the cloth that was there. His hands, his fingers felt numb, the intense throbbing and sting of his wound distracting him. Unable to lift anything with enough purpose to treat his wound, Agron kicked the table to the ground and continued to sit on the edge of his bed, eyes closed as he felt a defeat unlike any other he'd encountered before.