I was feeling a bit better at my captivity, sure I was still shackled and probably being drug off to some horrible cave where I'd be kept for weeks until they realized I wasn't actually an ambassador (which is bad), but I was freed from my canvas prison and allowed to sit up and see the rather brown dirt road we were traveling down. That was nice! I actually got to see the lands of the west. Which apparently were brown dirt roads through fields of some kind of vegetable on our way to mountains somewhere. I describe things amazing I admit. The road we were traveling on was quite narrow though, barely big enough for the horse cart I was on. Which lead to a situation I didn't quite expect to play out as it did.
We came across a swordsman of sorts (I'll get to the of sorts) he was wearing leather armor with one prominent shoulder part on his right arm (what I assumed to be his sword arm) and a signifigantly smaller part on his right. The tunic was a simple one looked to have been homemade, I could see parts where the leather had been patched up expertly done but as a tailor myself I can tell the difference. Leggings were a scale type based on a beast I'd never seen before, shoes were black boots. But why I called him a swordsman of sorts was he had what appeared to be a very ornate blade from the look of the hilt on his back, but the blade was secured in the hilt with a golden cord. So he carried a sword but looked to not actually use it. A very strange swordman indeed. He wore no hat, his hair was tied in a pony tail and he had a long flowing beard that came halfway town his tunic. Our swordsman was walking on the right side of the road, carrying a pack over his right shoulder most likely his traveling gear.
"Move to the side beggar." The captor who spoke before spoke now, the side he wanted the man to move to was a couple feet lower than the road and had been some kind of sewage ditch for the fields and the road.
"There is plenty of road for both of us." He spoke with a hoarse voice, sounded like a long term smoker or someone who had suffered a throat injury (it was the latter but I'll get to that).
"No there is not you will move or you will be moved." I did not understand why they couldn't just go around, he was not wrong the road was narrow but not that narrow.
"No I will not." He turned and I noticed the scar at his throat and the marking above his eye brows, it was a red circle with several lines coming out of it. I didn't know what it meant but my captors did. They chuckled and then all three of them got down from the cart.
"Marked one? Let me guess some kind of pervert, did they catch you staring at a bath house?" They had fanned out to surround him, one on each side and the talking one in the middle.
"Instead of going around you'd rather fight me, you'd delay yourself this much." It was a reasonable argument which like all reasonable arguments it fell on deaf ears. The one on his right struck first, a straight left that the marked one pushed forward with his own left arm and then in a swift motion struck the arm with his right hand open palmed right before the elbow shattering the arm and sending the man collapsing to the ground. The man formely on his left now had his back, but before he could strike he took a kick to groin which crumpled him. The talker was the last man standing and he seemed better at fighting than either of his, I couldn't see the entire exchange but he lasted longer than his companions, ultimately though the marked one got the upperhand, spun the talker around and had him in a choke hold before I heard a snap that could only have been his neck. The talkers body fell to the ground lifeless. The other two faired no better, broken arm took a shot to the throat that caused him to gasp for air (throat crushed most likely) he passed out to die horribly. Ball clutcher took a blow to the top of his head that broke his neck through some kind of bone breaking magic. Which left the Marked man and me.
"I suppose you are not going to join your companions." I held up my shackled hands.
"We weren't exactly on great terms." He smiled and then got onto the cart taking up the reins of the horses.
"I was tired of walking anyway." And away we went, someone went into a ditch, but it wasn't the marked guy. I thought things had gotten better, and they had, sort of. Ok not really. No Mordere journal, as yesterday was the last one he talked about me specifically, I know breaks my heart too.
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