The town of Turent held some of the safest streets in all of Anglia. Thugs and thieves called the city home of course, but the respected men of the Turall School usually kept the town safe given their proximity. Few fights were started by the men of the Turall School. But tonight, the men of the school were not walking the streets. The boys were.
"Raise a glass lads, we'll have more than a few stories to tell after tonight!" said a large youth, leading a band of younger ne'er-do-wells who struggled to keep up in his wake. The youth stood tall and proud, all muscle from his years at the college. His head was shaved clean, which only put all the more attention on the thick ginger beard the youth had managed to grow. One of the many things that made all the younger boys look up to "Rogvic the Strong" as he fashioned himself. And look up they did as he shouted on. "I'll show you kiddiwinks the best drinking holes 'round here. Maybe they'll be a tavern wench or two waiting for one of you spotty gits!"
As each young lad cast their eyes upward, dreaming of such an encounter, Rogvic smacked one such dreamer in the nose with the hilt of his dagger, quick as a button. "And then I'll pick 'em all up for myself! Ha! You pay your dues for sneaking out with me, kiddiwinks!"
One such kid, no older than 14, spoke up. "Yeah, let's raise a glass to Rogvic the -Clumsy-. Or did you mean to trip on that rock and yelp like a b-"
Smack. The lad fell back into line behind Rogvic. "Lesson learned little tyke, don't speak out of turn. Next time I'll-" and then the large youth cast his eyes on the road ahead. A lone man approached the group, staggering from one too many drinks. The lad who had been hit rubbed his chin as Rogvic proclaimed. "Look here lads, a man for me to prove myself against. Watch this." The tall blonde youth stepped forward, pointing at the man. "Put up a weapon stranger, and I'll show you the strength of the Turall Blade Masters!". The man but looked up drunkenly, blinking a few times. Not waiting for a response, Rogvic spit. "I take it you accept my challenge then you cowardly wretch. It's time to-" and then the blonde youth looked down to find his pants around his ankles. His belt was gone, and with it the daggers usually on his hips.
Gulping, Rogvic realized the younger boys had all fled from him, back towards the school. As he glared at a side alley, he saw the youth he punched turn the corner, his belt, and weapons, in hand. "That little bast-" was all Rogvic the Strong had time to utter before the drunk punched his lights out and staggered off, singing to himself.
Leering from behind a shipping crate, the youth admired his newly won daggers. That had been his most daring move yet. Still, after a quick glance at the still unconscious Rogvic, the little pickpocket left his alley and tucked the belt and daggers beside the fallen warrior. Patting his head, the pickpocket sat and waited for Rogvic to stir. When he did, the tiny pickpocket flicked his forehead with an outstretched finger and said in a rehearsed, giddy tone.
"Lesson, learned."
"Lesson, learned."
