(( While this was supposed to be an auditions thread ... it sort of evolved in a different direction. Depending on how things go, there'll either be a second auditions thread or this one will re-open. Thanks. ))

Sarinah tied her hair up in a high ponytail, wrapping the leather around as she glanced up the pole on the stage. Putting her hands on her hips, she chewed thoughtfully on one cheek. When she'd climbed it earlier in the day to adjust the lighting, it had been easy, albiet slightly tender on her almost healed thigh. Fortunatly, the wound was on the outside, which meant that she could still practice.

Climbing up on the catwalk of the stage, using a stool for leverage, she walked around the solid metal bar, holding it lightly with one hand, still looking up its length. It was higher than anything she'd performed on. Exhilerating. Dangerous. Dressed in the comfortable jodpuhrs she'd taken to wearing, rolled up above her knees, and the black top from her favourite outfit, the witch performed an experimental spin. Her thigh niggled a little at the weight support, but it was bareable. Looking down, she glanced at the doorway of the burlesque house, waiting. The woman in the bar should be here soon, if she was still coming. And word of mouth had been spread via the local watering holes. Surely people would come.

With a little jump, she climbed up the pole using her knees and her hands, stopping about six feet up. Looking around from her new vantage point, the dancer smiled. It looked benny in here. Really professional and welcoming. Creating a figure four with her legs, the dancer dropped her behind, let go of the pole and leaned back, taking hold of the metal below her.

"Vrunta!" She swore, quickly pulling herself back up and wincing, placing a hand on her thigh. That had hurt. Sighing, she released her grip gently, sliding down the pole in a slow spiral, standing on the stage again. How long would she be out of action? The thought turned her stomach as she looked down at her bruised thigh.

Stupid drunk.

"Just as lovely as ever." Viktor said. He'd heard quite a few rumblings about the place since he'd returned. It was safe to say, a torch was still being held for Sarinah. Some pleasant and familiar feelings returned as he watched her from the doorway.

"The place is looking good, when's the grand opening?" The blacksmith grinned from his spot at the door.

Glancing up, the dancer's face ran through a mix of things. Confusion, recognition, suprise and delight.

"Viktor?" A sort of squeal escaped her lips as she jumped off the stage, jogging over to him with a slight limp and throwing her arms around the blacksmith.

"Kov! Where have you been!? I visited the forge, but there is someone else there now, and then I asked about you..." Stepping back, she laughed, keeping one arm around his neck and shaking a scolding finger in his face.

"Ye need to let a girl know when you up an' leave." Pouting a little, she shook her head, delighted by the smithies return. He'd been on her mind since visiting the Rose, and since missing from the forge, the idea something bad had happened couldn't be denied. It wasn't the safest of places, as she well knew now.

Vik hugged her tightly and smiled bigger than he had in a long while. "I've had some interesting experiences since I saw you last. Was on a boat for a while, trying to help out a friend."

He took in every last detail of her face, her hair, and having the common weaknesses of a human male--her body. Her limp was worrisome but he let it go for the time being. It had been too long and he wasn't sure if she wanted to tell that story just yet.

"I'm sorry I wasn't there, its a full time job keeping up with the craziness in this town. But I'm here now, you're in Old Rose, things can only get better from here on." Vik said. Her eyes were just as hypnotizing as he remembered.

Smiling, the witch raised an eyebrow.

"A boat? Ye do get around kov. Ent really sure I can picture ye on the open sea, but stranger things have happened." Moving her arms from his neck to his biceps, she sighed, looking down for a moment, missing his wandering gaze.

"This town certainly wins being crazy. I thought Vienda was bad but this..." Shaking her head, she brushed off the thoughts of days prior and squeezed his arms, looking up into his eyes with a teasing smirk.

"Oes kov, we are gonna paint this town red. After this week, I need a drink." Oblivious in his arms, she held his greyish green eyes, happy to have a recognisable face in the wretched pirate city.

"Neither could I, the crew found me less than useful." Vik said as he layed his large arm around her shoulders. "Its good to be back, as underhanded and dangerous as Old Rose is, I've found a way to fit in. Before too long we may just have a small community of good people in the Harbor."



Vik's hand slid down to her waist and a smile split across his face again. "It would be my honor and my pleasure, sweet lady."

While Tristaan wouldn't have admitted it, he'd perhaps been a little off, a little different, even a little distant over the past few days ... since everything. Since that word. Since the shooting. He'd worked more and talked less, but not so much in an angry way as an introspective one. Jolted without warning into facing who he really was—what he really was—once again had been just as uncomfortable as always. It wasn't as though he found it easy to forget he was a passive so much as it was pleasurably easy not to think about such things so much when there was a lovely and kind distraction like Sarinah. Unfortunately, even that distraction of sorts had become a reminder of what Tristaan felt were his blatant flaws. So, he'd just found more to do, almost sullen for these past few days, as if he was in trouble or ashamed.

Still, regardless of his state of mind, one could only sand and paint and reorganize for so long. Eventually, everyone needed a break, even from an escape.

He managed to notice the hour, and remembering that Sarinah had planned for auditions, the passive decided it was about time for him to head downstairs. Pausing to dust himself off and tug back his hair, he wandered out to the banister that ran the perimeter of the upper floor, leaning over the repainted railing to peer over the edge toward the stage.

No one yet, but where was the lo—

Apparently, when folks weren't trying to shoot you in Old Rose, they were trying to bed you. At least, from an unknowing vantage point, such open ... uh ... friendliness as Tristaan seemed to observe between the dancer he loved and an obviously familiar stranger he'd never met could totally have been taken that way out of context. Not that the passive knew what context he should be expected to see things in, given the way his week was already going.

For a moment, he actually considered just going back to work, but only for a moment. Instead, the swordsman cleared his throat, folding his hands together where they hung in front of him over the banister, not making a move to walk downstairs just yet,

"I didn't think t'expect dancin' auditions from folks of th'manly persuasion." He didn't grin so much as smirk, voice carrying across the room from above, deciding it best he kept from staring at the position of anyone's hands, "Though somethin' tells me y'know that one, hama. Old friends?"

Smiling back, the dancer didn't find anything out of the ordinary with his arm across her shoulders. It was a friend, her friend. She laughed a little at his comment.

"I have to ask, why did a boat need a blacksmith? Ent it sort of bad to have fire on a wooden vessel?" Even as she spoke, his hand moved to her waist, and quite suddenly the witch realised the compromising way it looked, the sound of his voice. Her hand moved from his bicep to his own hand, but it seemed it was too late.



Turning her head, one hand on the blacksmith's bicep, the other on his hand at her waist, she looked up and smiled. Since the shooting, he'd been different. Withdrawn. Less passionate in everything. Like a shell of the person she'd come to know. It was upsetting, and the dancer felt more guilty everyday. She missed him.

"Tristaan! I thought you were still working. Yes, well, unless he wants to dance, this one is definitly a friend. Viktor Mirko, meet Tristaan Greymoor." Extracting herself from Viktor gently, leaving her hand on his bicep, she beckoned Tristaan to come down. She felt somewhat awkward, as though she'd been doing something wrong. But surely, he knew she would never...could never...she cared about him and him alone. Viktor was a friend, a long lost and very missed friend.

Tristaan blinked, feeling only slightly sheepish for his immediate assumptions ... sort of. While he offered Viktor a smile and his tone was light, the passive was reluctant to tuck away all of his suspicions. Friend had plenty of connotations, after all ... though he preferred the kinds of contexts that didn't include too many wandering hands.

"Junta." He nodded his head, recognizing the man's name from his visit to Ue's with Sarinah. He stood up from the railing, adding before turning and heading to the stairs, "You must be th'missin' blacksmith."

The passive rolled down his sleeves and buttoned at least a few buttons of his shirt on his way down, either to pretend to be presentable or to hide the heritage he now felt as oppressively obvious once again. Sure, he talked a good wick and played a good wick, but he'd been reminded once again that he wasn't, that he couldn't ever entirely be. Fieldless, magicless son of a galdor, noticeable if you knew what you were looking for; Tristaan disliked feeling so exposed, even if his features were hidden behind a week's worth of stubble, decent Tek, and a handful of earrings.

Once downstairs, he crossed the distance, barefoot, slightly dusty, with some fresh paint still drying on his pants. Coming to a stop in front of the pair (only subtly closer to the dancer), he offered a slightly warmer, friendlier expression along with his calloused hand after a brief wipe on his shirt,

"You've got benny work there with Ue, Viktor. I gotta feelin' I might have some more business for you soon enough."

Friend, she'd never labeled their strange flirtatious relationship that way before. Vik watched her as the new fellow came down the stairs. This was a person of some importance to her it seemed. Enough to make her feel uncomfortable in his arms. The blacksmith couldn't help but be hurt a small bit by it.

"Well, I've never been much of a dancer so friend will work for now." Vik said. "It is good to be back at Ue's, he's done well for himself in my absence. I'd be happy to help with whatever smithing you might need."



Viktor accepted the hand shake and couldn't help but add just the smallest bit of extra pressure than he normally would. His smile was genuine, if only just.

"Good meeting ya, Tristaan is it?" Viktor asked. His grey eyes locked on to Tristaan's. The man acted and spoke like a wick but something was off that Vik couldn't quite pinpoint. Well, if Sarinah's with him he couldn't be a full blooded, magic wielding golly he figured.

Tristaan might have noticed the hint of disappointment in the blacksmith's tone at Sarinah's gift of a friend label, but he certainly didn't miss the extra firmness in the handshake. Not at all. Still, he kept it out of his expression, save for perhaps something in his grey eyes, something subtle and suspicious and hard. Though he'd been rather distant since the shooting, something about the hint of what could only be interpreted as posturing—not quite territorial so much as a clear enough sign of interest—warmed the coldness that had been clouding his thoughts.

"Oes. I think I'll be in th'market for some new weapons. It ent gonna be convenient t'be carryin' my sword 'round indoors once th'Hingle gets started." He answered once his hand was released, shifting a little to cross his arms over his chest. His tone of voice was even enough, but surely talking about sharp objects was on purpose.

Finally, he dragged his eyes away from Viktor to Sarinah. He would have to ask just how much time she'd spent in the Harbor before they'd returned here from Surwood ... later. In front of the blacksmith may have come across as a little too direct, possibly rude, despite his sudden curiosity.

"No one else's showed up yet for auditions, hama?" Sure, he might have emphasized the last word a little, though the swordsman had no idea how much Tek the human knew. He knew, and that was enough.

Sarinah turned her smile on Viktor, squeezing his arm as she let it go so they could shake hands, before looking back at Tristaan. There was tension, she could feel it, but there had been tension for days now. Being around the passive was like walking on eggshells on occasion, and the feeling now was about the same.



Nodding, the dancer reached up to remove the leather wrap from her hair, releasing it in a red and black cascade.

"Viktor is quite good with his hands, kov. Ye saw the saber Jaqueline retrieved from the Place when the gollies went mad..." Pausing, she placed a hand on Viktors wrist.

"The gollies went mad in Vienda, kicked all the writless wicks out, ye chen? Moony, anyway," Turning back to Tristaan, she continued.

"That saber was his work. Best damn smithy I've found in Vita." She said with a wink at the smith, feeling proud she could boast for her friend.



Looking at him, her smile faltered a little. He was still tense...and something more. Was it her imagination he put a little too much emphasis on the last word. Looking around, she shook her head.

"Ah, ne actually. Maybe I should prop the door open..." Excusing herself, she moved away from the two men, pulling open the door and using a chair to keep it open.

Vik was sensing some insecurity from Tristaan, he was acting very possessive of Sarinah. If he wasn't mistaken, his lovely friend seemed a bit uncomfortable around the man. Vik folded his arms causing his forge built biceps to bulge as he took in this new challenge.



"Weapons are definitely my specialty, though I tend to sell them to folks I know can handle them." Vik replied. "You any good with that sword?"



Vik returned the wink at Sarinah and smiled. "Wasn't about to let you run off to Dorhaven without a worthy weapon now was I?"



Hama. Tristaan had emphasized the clock out of that word. Did he assume that Vik didn't understand? Viktor had learned a fair share of Tek working the smithy in Dorhaven. More likely he assumed it was to cast him as an outsider, an ignorant human.

"Kind of low to make Sarinah uncomfortable just to make yourself look big ain't it, kov? Viktor asked, arms crossed and his shoulders back. He'd made himself about as imposing as he knew how.

"If there is something you're needing to prove, to me, yourself, our lovely Sarinah, I'm standing right here."

Good with his—Tristaan swallowed. Hard. He was still mulling over that statement when a string of totally unnecessary things seemed to spill out from the other man's mouth.

Could he use his own weapon?

Uncomfortable?

Did he have something to prove?

For a moment, it was all the passive could do but stand there, wordlessly incredulous. While this place was eventually to be a place of entertainment, it still was also for all intensive purposes, his home. His business. His—

Wait. Did the blacksmith also say our?

There was a weighty pause during which he might have glanced at the other, larger man before meeting his gaze. So, he was small-framed, he was wiry, and he was hardly intimidating covered in sawdust and paint. So, he'd had a bad week, he'd let something most may have considered insignificant crawl and dig its way back under his skin, he'd been a little pissed off at being reminded that no matter how he chose to attempt to live his life, he was still not entirely free from his own godsbedamned heritage.

What in Alioe's name did Viktor know? Nothing.

"I ent got anythin' t'prove, especially not t'someone who doesn't know me at all." Tristaan answered quietly, though even as he spoke the words, he wasn't entirely sure of their truth, a bit of indignant fire sparking in his chest, "An' I'd have t'say it's a bit lower t'be makin' assumptions 'bout somethin' that's none of your business while you're standin' here as a guest."

Now, if he wanted to say such things outside ...

Viktor laughed. "Lower to you maybe, I was only trying to spare the lady any additional pressure about her auditions."

The blacksmith walked casually toward the open door and paused in front of it. He looked at his friend and gave her his special smile, one he reserved for her. "Anything you need, darlin', anything at all...you know where I am. Good to see you again, glad you're here."

Glancing back over his shoulder at Tristaan he added. "Anything you might need from me, I'll be outside for a few minutes. I think we both know the road we're on, we might as well close our heads and get to it."

"Sana'hulali." A quiet, liquid voice from the doorway disturbed the tension in the room momentarily. The clink of weaponry sounded as Amani shifted positions. Her sultry voice seemed to starkly contrast her appearance. She had two curved swords at her hips and was wearing worn, all purpose clothing. She didn't look particularly curvaceous, and her hair was tied up. The severity of her appearance mad it look as if she should be out killing things, not auditioning to dance. Amani shifted and pulled her bag a little higher on her back.

"I heard there were auditions for dancing here? I have not danced in awhile but I think I can remember how." Dark blue eyes scanned the two men and slid to the woman who stood next to her. "Amani. Is there somewhere I could change? Do you have music?"

Her eyes were picking the wick apart, and Amani flexed her field almost unconsciously.

(( ooohhhh...fight! fight! fight! lol ))

Sarinah stood with hands on hips, sticking her head outside briefly, before pulling back in with a sigh. It was dark and empty out there...perhaps she hadn't put out enough word of mouth. Across the room, she glanced at the two men, eyebrows creasing slightly as Viktor crossed his arms. It looked almost threatening, but of course, he was a smithy. He would probably look threatening in any situation. From here, she couldn't quite hear their low conversation, but she could see Tristann's face. He looked...mad?

Shaking off the thought, she focused on Viktor as he laughed, smiling back at him with warmth. He had been there, a comrade in a dark time, and there was a connection.



Her smile turned a little dissapointed, he was leaving? But, he just got here. Gently, she reached out, tracing a finger along his jaw in an old and familiar way, pouting slightly.

"Expect a housecall soon, ye chen. I ent letting ye get away now I've found ye again."



"Wha..." The dancer began, smile fading, brown eyes jumping from Viktor to Tristaan. What did he mean, get to it? Was it male shop-talk? Did she miss something?



The sultry voice made the witch jump slightly, turning from the situation at hand to see a woman. Dark skinned and heavily armed it seemed. And wanting work. Smiling, Sarinah nodded to her, beckoning for her to come inside, away from the door. Surely Vik would wait for her to say goodbye.

"Hesta chip. Come inside, and we can talk in a moment. Change rooms are upstairs if ye want to do that first." The sudden wave of field wrapped around her, and the dancer turned her chocolate gaze back on the woman.

Galdori.

Gauging the situation for a moment, she gestured towards the stairs, extending a hand to point up them. Hopefully, Tristaan had not felt the pulse, felt to be aimed at her alone. He was acting odd enough as it was. At least Viktor had asked him to step outside. Away from the potential disaster that had just walked in the door.

Tristaan stared at the floor without giving Viktor the dignity of a response as he walked away, recognizing the invitation. Jaw clenched, he let his gaze drag across the floor boards to the scarred bullet hole from the night before, glaring as a wave of something angry—something buried and old and dangerous—washed through his thoughts. No stranger to him had a right to tell him how to live his life, a life of freedom paid for in sweat and blood and broken bones. No long-lost anything should be making assumptions or giving advice when they sure as the Circle was round hadn't been involved. The blacksmith knew nothing, but it was clear to the passive that he felt something and had no clocking clue how to keep it to himself.

The brush of a field tore his eyes from the floor in time to watch the scene unfold at the door. A golly. More touching, something anyone could see as mutual. Words and actions that felt inconsiderate fueled the fire that had been lit days ago.

Scrap.

There was no escaping the mark that'd made, so vehemently spoken that night by his own kin, by someone who knew what they shared from the beginning. Old wounds bled freely, a pool of insecurity that stained his thoughts with red, a painful reminder of what he wasn't and what he couldn't have.

Well, he'd be damned if he'd let someone else tell him now.

Without a word, the swordsman brushed past both the dark-skinned galdor woman and the dancer, not even looking at the latter. He had nothing to say; nothing that he felt could possibly matter, anyway. Apparently.

"I'm not sure who in Alioe's name you were or think you are," Tristaan hissed at Viktor once he was outside, a string of words curiously devoid of Tek (he was too angry to bother, too caught up in dusty things best left untouched), "but it seems obvious you've been out to sea too clocking long."

He didn't care if he was overheard, tone heavy with the defiance of his youth as he hooked thumbs into his belt and eyed the blacksmith warily, "Or, more correctly, you've missed one boat in favor of another."

Amani nodded and hesitated as she saw both men heading outside. She opened her mouth to say something, and then closed it. None of her business, really. Sometimes men just needed to let off steam. Better to let it happen than to stand in the way.

...Right?

None of my business. She walked past the three and up to the changing rooms and began to change.

"Don't worry Sarinah, I'll be around quite a bit. You're one of my only friends, I don't turn my back on those I care about. I just have some words with your man, it's a guy thing." Viktor replied to Sarinah.

The field from the newcomer caused him to set his jaw. Seemed more and more gollies were finding their way to Old Rose. He was doubly glad he'd invited Tristaan outside. "I'll see you soon Sar." Vik said and winked at Sarinah.



Vik folded his arms and listened quietly as Tristaan finally let loose on him.

"I can't argue that I was at sea too long, that's not an experience I'll be repeating. But the fact remains, we're both obviously interested in Sarinah. We could go on throwing little verbal jabs at each other every time we come together. But that's not fair to her and it won't get us anywhere either." Vik said.

"So here's my solution, anything we need to say, we say it now. If fists need to be thrown, we do it now. And then that's the end of it. No doubt neither of us is going to back down, but for her sake I won't undermine what you have. But I will be around and I will be her friend."

"As long as Sarinah wants to be with you, I'll deal with my feelings. However, the second I think you're doing wrong by her or you're a danger I will step in." Vik continued. He could tell Tristaan was sincere but he could also sense a lot of insecurity and that worried the blacksmith.

"So, what'll it be Trist? Words or punches? Now's the time." Viktor extended his arms out to the sides in welcome. However it ended, he and Tristaan would understand each other and may even work out a working respect. The guy looked like he could work off some steam anyway.

The passive had stopped listening somewhere around when the combination of words "both" and "interested" were used in the same sentence. Sure, he heard all the other words above the rushing of his own pulse in his ears ... sort of. Everything sounded distant, like Tristaan was far away or in another room. It was ridiculous, being talked down to by someone who seemed to consider themselves the better man, whether because of some sense of seniority or some sense of honor. He wasn't sure. What he was sure of is that Viktor didn't seem the type to respect boundaries, though that was possibly because the blacksmith was somewhat aware that wasn't necessarily a trait of wicks, either. Most of the time.

He'd worked side by side with plenty of humans: lanky, underfed things from the streets all desperately trying not to mangle their limbs or get beaten beyond recognition before the next day started it all over again. It bordered on the insulting, the effort at placating that was going on outside in the damn Loshis rain, even if that wasn't the intention. Tristaan may have preferred a fist instead of the mouthful of words, expression deadpan. He didn't really expect understanding from a human born free to make choices of his own; no matter how limited those choices may have been, they still were his to make.

Did he really consider himself better? More capable of protecting someone? In some ways, Viktor had no idea how correct he could've been, or at least how deep those words dug into the scarred hide of the passive who'd lived his whole life being told he was broken. No idea.

"You've already made th'choice, not me." The swordsman replied firmly, weathered hints of aristocratic features buried beneath too much stubble tightened into a scowl, "And I'm quite sure that Sarinah's capable of making decisions based on more than just th'size of a man's muscles, though I'm not sure you are."

Viktor was smaller than the Ox of his childhood, but definitely larger and younger than Guaril of his time with the Crows. Still, the anger that had been kindled nights before was blazing now ... Somewhere in the bck of the passive's mind he was very sure that a real fight was unnecessary, that it would only complicate things, that it had nothing to do with the blacksmith and everything to do with a damn word ... but ... well, too bad.

He was already bleeding, just not on the outside. Not yet. He might as well have been.

Tristaan didn't wait for a response or a reaction: eyes sliding from the man's face once his arms shifted in an vaguely friendly gesture that left him open. He just moved, scowl flattening into something numb, calloused hands curling into fists. Without another word, he swung for Viktor's side, below the ribs where it was softer.

As the passive brushed past her, before she could respond to the smithy's curious comment, Sarinah took a small step back in shock. He seemed furious, beyond furious. What had she done?



The witch stopped, turning towards the doorway, looking out into the evening air. That was not Tristaan, was it? His voice was completely changed. No Tek what-so-ever. It wasn't right. Slowly, she walked towards the opened threshold, resting her hand on the door frame and looking at the two men. They were standing in the street, in the rain. And they were not being friendly.



The dancer felt her heart sitting in her throat, frozen in place. His feelings for her? Punches? This was all happening way to fast, without explanation. A few things fell into place then, and how things must have looked to Tristaan. Stepping out under the eves of the Hingle, she began to raise her hand, to stop this foolishness. To calm everyone down.



Frowning, Sarinah found the whole argument silly and borderline offense. Couldn't she talk for herself? Since when did Tristaan ever feel threatened or insecure about their feelings towards each other. He knew she loved him, and him alone, why did it matter what Viktor felt for her? They could talk, she would explain things to the smithy. As friends.

Without warning, the passive moved, swinging for the underside of the burly mans ribs. Gasping, the dancer raised her hands to her face in shock.

"No! Tristaan stop!" She cried, standing in place, unwilling to be involved in yet another situation that could end badly and make him even angrier at her. Wide eyed, she watched, heart racing.

Tristaan was quick, if he had been given nothing else in life, at least he had speed. Vik saw a blur and while he did not have time to stop the blow, he might have had a chance to prepare for it. Tristaan's fist hit his side, with bruising force.

Tristaan was going to need to dodge. Vik was far stronger than he was and could probably take a hit better because of it. Vik was tender where he'd been hit and found he couldn't entirely straighten the right side of his body without a large amount of pain. Tristaan was small but he was well trained. He knew where to hit a man. Vik's right arm was going to be harder to use.

It was a dangerous thing to underestimate an opponent and Vik had done just that. His side burned from the skillful strike but it wouldn't stop him. It wasn't the worst sting he'd ever received but he would have ranked it near the top. The fact that he'd given Tristaan the opening purposely was the worst part.

Viktor sucked in a deep breath. He was alert now, there weren't going to be any more easy punches, this guy had his work cut out for him. Vik put up his fists and shook off the pain in his side.

Keeping his chin tucked, Vik closed the distance between himself and Tristaan with a few quick strides and threw two quick jabs to his face. He couldn't quite keep the little smile off his face. He lived for a good fist fight.

Oh, sure, he heard his name called out in that tone of concern, but it was too clocking late for that. If Tristaan had bothered to speak up, the only response that came to mind would've been too angry and sarcastic to be appropriate. It would've hardly been comforting for him to shout that the lovely witch should've thought of that before.

Way before.

Possibly before this man ever had the nerve to show up.

Not that the passive had a lot of time to consider caustic remarks or hurt feelings. He had to move. Bigger, harder things wanted his face more than his words.

Tristaan was fine with Viktor closing the distance, being narrow-shouldered and shorter. He didn't smile, expression more blank and distant, dusty with memories of a harder, bloodier youth. Turning sideways to step aside from the blacksmith's swings (at least to avoid a blow to the face by presenting a shoulder), he went for the opposite side as before, hoping to land some knuckles into those nice soft organs. Like a kidney.