Stories of Calik – Shawsworth Part Two

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Stories of Calik are Tales of a wild land filled with bandits, mercenaries, whores, rapists, assassins, murderers, brigands, outlaws, crooks and cannibals.

Other Stories of Calik in this Series:
Lata the Lawless
Stories of Calik – Shawsworth Part One

All voices and merriment ceased as Lata strode purposefully into the tavern striking a pose at the entrance.

The rain had intensified combining with bellowing thunder and streaks of lightning that filled the sky like shards of jagged glass.

He lingered taking in their fear and ingesting the despair of the patrons before walking to the bar. The noise level gradually returned and the dozen or so bunch of ragamuffin pissheads returned to their drinking.

‘I could take any one of them without thinking’, he thought to himself sneering derisively.

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Focusing his attention on the barman, he uttered a single rasping word, ‘WHISKY’.

Peridor was a broad-chested bloke with huge arms, a massive belly and stood around 6'6. He peered down at the slightly built Lata with contempt.

‘You got coin’, the barman asked the smaller man.

‘Another dumbass lumbering fool who thinks his large blubbering mass of fat can overcome me’, thought Lata scornfully. ‘This one would last me a few days’.

Silently bookmarking the barman on to his internal list, Lata placed a silver coin on the bar while Peridor poured a shot. He downed it quickly pulling a face angrily and slammed the shot glass on the bar.

‘This is fucking piss’, he protested to the barman.

Peridor simply shrugged. ‘That’s all we have, a party of Vargs raided us yesterday and took the good stuff’, he continued with a resigned look.

The Vargs were a bunch of cutthroat outlaws who relished in pillaging villages for their alcohol.

Their leader was a brusque character named Barrage. Word was that Barrage could fight like a bull and had the strength to physically crush a man’s skull with his bare hands, that was when he was not pissed out of his head on whisky.

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‘Damn the Vargs', thought Lata. They were a thorn in his side but he didn't want to get on their bad side. He was a loner, a hunter, stalker, eater of flesh and the last thing he needed was Barrage's group of thieving pissheads on his trail.

He thought of the ‘other thing’ he was lusting over. Resting his back on the bar he scoured the room with greedy eyes for any evidence of the fairer sex.

Within a bunch of four or five swaying singing misfits, he spotted something reminiscent of a woman.

She was dressed in a dirty blue dress with a fraying gusset, looked thoroughly unwashed with a dirty brown complexion and was missing several teeth.

‘This one will do for now’, he thought, arousal stirring in his loins as he stared at the sorry state of a woman who could barely stand, never mind fend him off.

He walked toward the bunch of what he assumed all were in this town; dropout alcoholics who knew little else and roughly grabbed the woman by the arm.

‘Let’s go bitch’, he said with a gleam in his eye pulling her away from the men.

‘Hey man…’, protested one of the freaks who had previously been cavorting with the woman.

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The next word never left his mouth as a ‘Glitter’ sliced into his jugular dousing his comrades in a torrent of sticky red blood.

The would-be saviour clutched at his throat in a futile attempt to stem his lifeblood and slumped to the ground, eyes staring lifelessly at his audience.

‘It's always the same in these worn-out shanty towns', he thought. ‘Nobody has any balls, and if they have.. die quickly'.

The others retreated into a corner of the tavern visibly shaking with fear. All symptoms of drunkenness suddenly gone and the reality that the ‘stranger’ had returned realised with startling clarity.

‘Any more of you maggots got anything to say’, he scoffed with a visible aura of supremacy.

The woman screamed and desperately tried to loosen his grip without any success. Lata was not a big bloke, more lean and sinewy and this skinny whore was no match for him.

‘Want to lose another tooth my pretty’, he taunted her with a crooked grin revealing his own row of broken blackened incisors.

The screaming dwindled to crying and sobbing as Lata half dragged the woman up the stairs with her hair, feet dragging along the ground.

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Two hours later, Lata lay on his back in a half-conscious state. The whore was long gone and he was feeling a little more contented.

Women were just playthings to be used and abused. He didn’t consume them as they were considered reusable. Besides his lust for flesh felt sated, at least for a time.

‘One day I will feed on one', he thought with an evil smile.

He started to rise but then heard dull thudding approaching footsteps from the other side of the door.

The door burst open and a furious red-faced Peridor framed the entrance. Smoke was exiting his ears and he looked like he was going to explode.

‘Renting rooms is not free motherfucker', he bellowed and attacked..

Original Fiction (c) Slobberchops, July 2019.

To be continued...