RP:Out of the Frying Pan

Part of the Thy Kingdom Come Arc

Summary: Balder, Balgruuf's son, pays Ayras a visit in prison. The two spit insults at each other for a while before Balder gets to the point; Ayras' fate will be decided by a trial by combat in the Titans of Winter tournament.

Prisoner Cages

"Move aside," calls a brash voice, unmistakably a frost giant. The guards outside the prison door rise to their feet and answer. "Balder, back again." "Didn't bring your crew?" One begins fumbling and jingling his keys. "No time for questions," Balder shoots back, just as the door pops open, and the brazen warrior brushes past the sentries and into the midst of the many cages. "I've got someone to see." Strolling up directly to Ayras' cage, Balder pulls out his axe and knocks the butt of it against the door of Ayras' cage. "You there. You in there, murderer-scum. That's what they call you, right?" He laughs, wrinkling his nose in disgust "ugh. You look like some sort of blood-thirsty little gremlin, though, you really do. I don't care if you ripped that guard's throat out or not, you sure *look* the part. What've you got to say?" He hasn't shut up since he walked in. "Speak up! Answer for yourself."

Ayras had just been enjoying the quiet of the jail, had been listening to the guards outside banter. It had been a strange conversation to overhear, one of the jailers less than pleased with the situation in Frostmaw, the other all for the eviction of the outsiders. When Balder came with his raucous and self-important demands of time, Ayras winced. The sound echoed within the cells, rang in his head after the solitude. The string of demands and the lack of time provided for answer grated on the elf's nerves, and a sneer plastered itself on the vampire's face as he beheld the son of Balgruuf. "Shut up for a second and maybe I would," he retorted, his voice mildly harsher than normal for thirst. "But yes, I sure do look the part of a murderer, don't I? Perhaps because, like the rest of the guards, I am trained to kill. Are you to say that every giant that wears the uniform of Frostmaw is to be labeled a murderer now? I mean, I'm -so- sorry that your little butt-buddy was killed, but you lot really do need to learn how to investigate things."

Balder sneers and spits a giant-sized glob of phlem at Ayras' feet. "Sjovald told me you had a tongue in your mouth. Somebody's dead, and we're gonna blame you, so get used to the idea. It's what you undesirables get, rotten outsider. Bet you're wondering why I'm here by my lonesome?" Bet he won't give you a chance to guess. "Could have brought my crew to drag you out and deal with you ourselves. Probably should have." Balder lifts his axe, taking a moment to admire its very keen edge. "But that doesn't seem too sporting-like, does it, gremlin?"

Between his recollection of his interview with Sjovald and his disbelief at just how -much- Balder could talk, Ayras actually managed to remain silent through Balder's racism. It wasn't until after his mind returned to the here-and-now that Ayras noticed that keen axe the giant held, silver eyes trailing the blade like a man eyeing a busty woman. It was clear that Ayras longed for the feel of a weapon in his hand again after his time imprisoned. "You mean you could have tried to deal with me yourselves. Your father's the warrior. You're just a spoiled git." The vampire returned the gift of a wad of spit, sending one to the ground before Balder. "What do you want, you over-filled balloon?"

Balder's eye gives a visible twinge when Ayras calls him spoiled, and he slashes his axe across the cage bars. "You think you can call yourself a warrior, then?" The giant bellows down at the captive vampire. "I doubt the Halls of Aramoth would ever take the likes of you, but you'll still have your chance to prove yourself." With a feisty snort he turns and paces to the other side of the cage so he can get a closer look at Ayras. "They're going to throw you in the arena, runt. Then we'll see where all your cheap talk gets you. You'll be wishing they'd left you here to rot when the war horns sound and the crowd is calling for your blood." The vision accompanying Balder's description brings a cruel smile to his face. "You can bet I'll be watching. They say you're a free man, if you win, but we both know how this ends." In case Ayras hasn't gotten the point, "it's a trial by combat. That's the real way to deal with cowardly night-stalkers like you."

Ayras didn't bother to watch Balder as he stalked about his cage. He only half-listened, uninterested in the ramblings of a xenophobic grunt like Balder...until he mentioned the arena. He perked, that vampire, and though he tried to hide his interest, it was too late. It had crept onto his face, on the way his shoulders had turned slightly towards the frost giant. A wide array of emotions flooded through Ayras at that moment; jubilance, rage, heartbreak. "Aye, we do know how it ends. In the end, it'll come to Hildegarde's boot snapping your neck under heel while you stare at your father's headless corpse." That trademark smirk of his, that disobedient and arrogant expression that was always plastered on his face, came to him in that moment. "But as for the tournament, no, you don't know how it will end. I wonder if your brother would have any ideas, though. Haven't seen him lately, have you?"

Balder sneers again, and it's obvious that Ayras is touching nerves. "You'll regret this." His words are cold and sincere, and he takes a step back from the cage, raising his axe to sight down it at the captive. "Your sentence is simple, outsider. Win, and earn your freedom, lose, and even if you live, you're a slave in my father's house. In *my* house." Gradually lowering his axe, the reckless youth takes another step backward. As he studies the vampire, another bout of rage twists Balders face, and he turns to leave, heading straight for the guards. "Sjovald's done with this one. It's the tournament for him."

Ayras watched the man go. A slave in Balder's house. He snorted, sneered, laughed. He would not be a slave again. He would look forward to the coming tournament. "I will play your game!" he shouted after the giant, though he knew not whether the man heard him after he passed through the door. "I will play, and you will lose! No matter my victory or defeat in the arena, you will lose!"