It had all started quite well. He had opened his eyes in his own quarters, the sheets still fragrant with the smell the two women had left- he was somewhat reluctant to change them, it always fixed his mood with a few simple whiffs.

Of course, these days are the ones all hell breaks loose.

It was all routine- dressing up, armoring up, buckling up- everything up, including his mood. He strolled out of his quarters with a smile, half-whistling, half-singing, as the early morning sun bathed the corridor in its timid rays. As he climbed on the stairs, he passed a couple of men-at-arms going to their own quarters, and greeted them cheerfully- one replied in earnest, while the other half-heartedly and eyeing him at that.

Olyx waltzed straight through them regardless, and continued on towards the assembled troops waiting in line for the morning drills. He had grown quite bored with those, of course, but hey, it was his job, and he intended to do it well, no matter what those ne'er-do-wells that posed as genuine guards thought.

Except they weren't exactly in line.

Several were milling about, and two were even dicing away, sitting on the rough-packed gravel and cursing loudly the moment he arrived. Even though several loud-mouth, obnoxious individuals had voiced their disobedience -and summarily received the lash for that-, this was pushing it indeed. Irately, the Master at Arms approached them, and even though he was not particularly tall, he towered over them since they were sitting.

"Do you two gentlemen want to get intimate with the lash?", he barked at them. They looked up obviously annoyed at him, and the one closest to him, muttered something between his teeth. Olyx, his voice dripping venom, asked, "What did you say, you vermin?", as he leaned closer.

Mistake number one.

A hand shot upwards and grabbed him from his sword belt, pulling him downwards and causing him to lose his balance and land abruptly on the dirt. Before he managed to get up, propping himself against his arms, he noticed the tip of a dagger coming straight down at his face, and instinctively launched out an arm to intercept it. However, an elbow on his back made him lose his balance again, and instead of catching the hand, he merely displaced it and it landed uncomfortable on his rib cage, tearing the fabric of his tabard. But he felt the strong, fine links of his battle-tried armor stand up to the meager point of the crude knife.

Cursing, he used his legs to propel him forward in a tumble, getting on his feet at the end of it. In the meantime, however, all hell had broken loose- loyal men had rushed forward to support him, while a few traitors held them back, delaying them while the other two men finished him off. Fools.

His own dagger was in his hand in an instant, and as one of the men charged forward again, he slapped the incoming elbow with his own free hand, opening the way to stab him straight in the eye. But the other man put his hand to shield his face, and ended up getting a dagger through his wrist. The traitor took a few steps back to recover, screaming from the pain- and wrenching with his spasmodic movement the dagger from Olyx's grip. Another curse left his lips as he took the chance to assault the other man, who still hadn't drawn a blade.

In a rapid succession of quick movements, Olyx's hands slapped away the other man's wrist, opening up his back to the master at arms who used his left hand to grab the man's shoulder and control him while his other hand shot around his neck in a choke. With a quick snap, he had lowered himself, putting all his weight on the man, one arm controlling him while the other was crushing his neck and choking him, aided by his metal-covered arm. Several seconds later, a lifeless body hit the ground.

He spun around, only to face the same dagger as before, doing the same movement as before- plunging downwards to his face. Instinctively, his right hand shot upwards to displace the oncoming strike- it grazed his mail-clad forearm, but it wasn't much of an issue. Instead, he took a step forward, putting his right leg behind the man's own and slamming his right hand in the bastard's face, pulling him backwards in a hip throw. As the other traitor landed disoriented on the rough packed dirt, next to an ongoing wrestling match between a couple of soldiers, Olyx lost no time in getting the drop on him and pummeling his face. One, two, three punches- not sideways like a child's fight, but head-on hammer punches, each one resulting in the poor son of a bitch hitting his head against the hard-packed ground in the recoil. And then, while he was almost out of it, he grabbed his face and started pounding him against the earth, again and again until blood poured out from the man's open skull, and he left his last breath.

By the moment he got up, the situation was almost contained. Several men, mostly traitors, lay dead or severely injured, and the men had already began tying them up. Looking around, he fished his dagger, cleaning it from the blood of the now-dead man, and sheathed it.

He spit a wad of thick saliva and blood- had he bit his tongue in the fight? It seemed so-, he barked loudly. "Good work, men. You are loyal troops of his majesty. Every loyal and honored man on this day shall be awarded for his loyalty and courage. Now tie those bastards down and I'll have the General fuck them up good".

And with that, he stormed off towards the castle.