Ruffians And Roughnecks: The Thug
The idea with this post series is that I take a word that means either a “bad guy”, eg ruffian or rogue, or a “rough diamond”, eg a roughneck, and match it with a character from my novels.
As in the A Geography Of Haarth series, each entry will be accompanied by a relevant passage from the books, which could be one of the two Wall Of Night series novels currently published, or my Kids/YA standalone, Thornspell.
The definitions are taken from Merriam Webster Online, my current go-to dictionary when writing
—
The Thug
Thug: a brutal ruffian or assassin
Hmm, sounds very like Emuun from The Gathering Of The Lost:
‘ “Emuun.” Nirn swung his feet onto the floor as the latch was raised gently from the outside, and a much shorter and far more thickset man stepped into the room. The newcomer closed the door behind him and tossed his heavy cloak and traveler’s wide-brimmed hat onto a chair.
“Wards on the stairs as well as every door and window! Do you have to be so thrice-cursed cautious, Nirn?” The voice was gravel, echoing eyes that were dark and hard as stone in a square face framed by a multitude of narrow braids, decorated with tiny bones and fetishes. Three ridged scars marched horizontally down his right cheek, echoing the two vertical cicatrices on the left. His mouth was little more than a gash in his hard face, but just now it had a sardonic cast. “They shouted out to me, kinsman, so they’d positively scream your location to anyone capable of tracking power. Although fortunately we’re well over a thousand leagues from Ishnapur and their thrice-cursed demonhunters.” Emuun pulled out a chair and seated himself astride it, his heavy forearms resting along the back.
“Is that so?” the taller man asked. “Then you will be as concerned as I to learn that an Ishnapuri demonhunter arrived outside Ij in the early hours of this morning.”
The other grew very still. “You are sure of this?”
Disdain touched the emaciated face. “I am. My uneasiness has been growing for several days, but now there can be no doubt.”
“Alone?” The question came with a baring of teeth that could have been a feral smile.
Nirn’s thin lips twisted into a sneer. “Apparently not. It seems the magi have grown tired of finding the remains of their adepts staked out over anthills…” ‘
~ from © The Gathering Of The Lost, The Wall of Night Book Two: Chapter 9 — Portside