Chapter Text
Usually the feeling of being watched didn’t bother Almeric. He found it flattering really, it meant that he was doing his job well. Keeping an audience captive with his sword dance was something he used to survive; without that, he had no way of making money. He swayed and gracefully leapt across the cobblestone, trying to focus his attention on the more difficult moves instead of the feeling of unease rising in his throat. His face was a smiling mask, one that every performer masters, so no one would notice his hesitance. As he spun around, he scanned the crowd for the source of the eyes burning holes into him.
As people stooped down to drop coins into a small dish in front of him, he noticed the hulking mass of a man in full, battered armor watching him from afar. The shock of red hair down his back had drawn Almeric’s eyes to him. The man had a very noticeable scar across his face; it must have been a nasty wound. Their eyes met for only a fraction of a moment, Almeric had already sprung away into a lofty calypso. Almeric wondered what he had done to have attracted the attentions of someone with such a hostile stare.
As the dance came to an end, Almeric took a bow. His small audience applauded him and spared him a few more coins before losing interest and dissipating. Almeric picked up the dish and started counting. He’d made enough to make himself a meal or two, but not much else. Sighing, he emptied the disk into a small coin pouch. He heard the sound of metal armor clanking as the man with burning eyes advanced towards him. Almeric quickly stuffed his coin pouch into his pocket. He didn’t know what this guy wanted, but there was no way in hell he was going to let him do whatever he pleased. Almeric rested a hand on the pommel of the sword at his side, but lazily smiled at the man to seem at ease.
“Hey there, haven’t seen you in my audience before. Have you come to ask for an encore?”
The man scoffed, crossing his arms. As the man glowered down at him, Almeric noticed the difference in their height. He was not a short man by any means, but the other seemed to have such command over his space that what little difference there was felt infinite. “What an intimidating character… it’s like he’s trying to puff up and make himself seem bigger…” Almeric thought.
“I’m not interested in another dance. I want to see if you can actually use that sword you wave around. Spar with me.”
The man cut to the chase. Perhaps he was a mercenary? Some soldier looking for a fight? Almeric was amused; who walks up to a street dancer and asks to spar?
“Sure, why not. If there’s a place that we can spar without inciting panic, lead the way.”
The man nodded, and turned away, expecting Almeric to follow. Watching the man’s back as they walked to the outskirts of town, Almeric noticed the lance strapped there. The lance was ornate and embellished with carved designs on the metal of the blade. It was in stark contrast to the battered armor that the man wore. Was it just for show? The more Almeric thought about it, this person was getting stranger and stranger. His curiosity was piqued.
Soon they reached the outskirts of town. The sun was starting to go down and the air began to cool. There was hardly a person in sight. If the man planned on killing him, this was definitely the place to do it. Having no one around meant that there was no one to hear him scream, or rush to his aid. Not that it mattered to him, Almeric knew that even if there were people around, no one would come to help someone like him. He only had himself to watch his back as he grew up, and so he trained for the worst. People who were lower than commoners, people without even a family name like him, were worth nothing in a world where one’s blood determined one’s status. The wind cut through the sheer fabric of his performance outfit, but he suppressed a shudder. Whatever this guy was after, he didn’t want to show any sign of weakness. As the man across from him took hold of the lance strapped to his back, Almeric took the sword from where it was hanging at his side. Without further ado, the scar-faced man charged forward, lance pointed directly at him. Almeric parried to the side, the clash of metal disrupting his thoughts. He was at a clear disadvantage as he wore no armor; any glancing blow could be deadly. They met each other blow for blow, the larger man’s strength starting to wear at Almeric’s stamina. He had to end this quickly. He’d be overpowered if this continued. Almeric leapt into the air, bringing his sword down to cut at the man’s head. The blade met with the steel pole of the lance deflecting the blow. He pushed against the lance, the point going into the dirt as he thrust forward. He had aimed for the chink in the man’s armor, where the chest piece met his abdomen. The sword scraped uselessly against the chest piece as the other man beat the sword away with the pole of the lance. He lunged in for the kill, Almeric’s sword was too far away from his center to block it. He did the only thing he could do: he beat the lance to the center and grabbed hold of the pole. He turned his body to lead the lance into the ground. The other man’s reckless charge to grounded the point, while Almeric held the blade of his sword against the other man’s exposed neck. The scarred man looked at him in shock. Clearly, he wasn’t expecting much from the dancer. Both men breathed hard, they had both tried their best to beat the other, but in the end, one had to lose.
Almeric withdrew the sword from the scarred man’s neck and sheathed it. The other man did the same, the ghost of a smirk on his face.
“I’ve been looking for more people like you to join my group. If you’re interested in making more money than you’d ever make dancing on the street, meet me here tomorrow at sunset.”
Almeric was skeptical.
“You can’t be serious. I don’t even know your name and you want me to join some mercenary group? What’s the catch?”
The other man looked a bit irritated, almost as if he wasn’t used to being talked back to.
“If you must know, my name is Miklan. My last name is unimportant. We’re not the most morally upstanding group, we steal and pillage for a living. I figured we needed someone to boost morale on the field.”
Bandits huh? Almeric was no stranger to thievery to keep himself alive, so he didn’t think much of it. He didn’t necessarily care for who he was stealing from, but the prospect of money and perhaps security in numbers was enticing. That wasn’t what he was the most interested in however…
“Alright, Miklan. I’ll join you under one condition.”
Miklan raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms.
“And that is?”
Almeric leaned in a bit and tapped on Miklan’s chest piece.
“I want to get to know you a bit better. Just because I’m joining your group doesn’t mean that I trust you or anyone there. I’m purely in this for my own benefit and I’ll leave if I please. However, if you let me know more about you and the secrets you’re keeping, well… maybe I might just stick around to learn more.”
Almeric held Miklan’s flinty gaze steadily for a moment before turning to walk away. Just as Almeric thought that he had gone a bit too far, he heard Miklan call out behind him.
“Wait. You didn’t tell me your name.”
Almeric looked over his shoulder.
“It’s a bit late to be asking me that, isn’t it?”
Almeric turned back around. Miklan shifted uncomfortably.
“My name is Almeric. Unlike you, I don’t have a last name to withhold. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
As Almeric walked away, he could still feel Miklan’s eyes burning holes into his back, but it no longer bothered him. He could tell this man had secrets, shoddily concealed weakness, and his curiosity was a ravenous hunger that had to be sated.