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Wulfric
"Now, know that your bullying towards me will be accepted, but I can foresee further acts of cruelty to my friends by your hands. Only then will I fight you! I am willing to let things go as they are. However, if you wish to demand satisfaction for my “insults” then you will have to take it out on my flesh."
Wulfric laughed aloud. This was absurd.
"Bullying? Acts of cruelty? Fight us? Are you mad, crone? I am not bullying you, I am commanding you as a rightful noble of this Hall. I have no interest in harming your insulting scoundrel friend: he seems old and hardly fit. You, on the other hand, are still serving as a soldier despite your years, I understand, and will therefore not avoid my anger if I decide to fight you.
And speaking of fighting... are you seriously thinking of attacking the two of us with that cramped and crippled funny-looking friend of yours? Come on, you're old and aching and so is your friend, we are two young and fit warriors!"
He laughed again, it was so absurd. Wilheard, however, was not laughing. He rolled his sleeves up, glaring at the two friends.
"I think he wouldn't attack us," he said, eyeing Lithor with sheer loathing. "For I see it clearly now. This man, if somebody, wants harm to our family. He has insulted our father and now us, but he has been cowardly enough not to let his fists talk. That is because you only attack the ones who are smaller than you, don't you, soldier?"
"I don't understand what you're talking about," Lithor said coldly.
"Sure you don't," Wilheard said with a bitter laugh. "Wulf, I think we've found the jerk who did something to our sister."
Before Wulfric could react in any way, his little brother aimed a mighty blow at Lithor's head.
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