| A Barbarians Tale |
| Chapter 2 |
| Some shall die by the sword. Others will die peacefully of old age many years from now in soft beds. Only you can choose the more honorable path… "Get him out NOW!!!" The old man was escorted against his will towards to the back of a stone guilded wall of the castle basement. A castle, the only one left and known in this world to still be standing that soon he will not have control over. Pushing the entrance to the secret exit closed she turned suddenly as she heard her bodyguard being delivered to their gods with a terrible cry. She knelt and began to pray. All that could be heard was the footsteps of one man. As she was muttering some far off language a sword was unsheathed. The blade, glistening red against her neck, silenced her prayers. "I told you, you would be mine… No matter what the cost." She was forced to her feet… and restrained by two other soldiers that followed their leader. “You did not answer my letters. I forgave you. Your answer for me was “No” when I asked your hand in marriage in front of hundreds of people. I gave you more time to think about it, thinking, you’ll come to your senses one day. But what really bothered me, was that I wasn’t even invited to your wedding feast!. Bring him in.” A man, tortured, and battered, was dragged forth and stood upright some feet away. “Please Katul, have mercy on him.” “Mercy? I graced you with my presence to court you. That was mercy. I did not kill your love for he still draws breath before you… Isn’t that merciful?” He moved very close to her ear… “I’m allowing you to say goodbye…” “No” “No, you don’t want to say goodbye? Fine…” He pulled out a dagger and spun quickly throwing the blade at the young restrained man which connected dead on into his neck. The man was released and screams echoed through the basement floor carrying high on the air drowning out the blood gurgling noises coming from below. “A quick death, always a shame for someone to witness. It lacks all the perks of slowly torturing someone. Yet, tis… very… merciful…” She spit on his face. His left hand grabbed her throat and their faces were very close. He took his free hand, and wiped the saliva onto his finger which then was brought to his tongue. He licked it and then licked her face very slow. Whimpers were all that was heard from her. “I will tame you…Take her to the throne room. Search for the king. That old man couldn’t have gone far!” ------------------------------------------------------------- He ate sparingly. He had a destination. Somewhere. So many landscapes passed by him on his journey… He came to a seashore village and a reception was not found. It was much like his home village of the mountains of the Ip-Dowen. Simple people, and very few. Easily conquered and yet very secluded in their location. He ignored the watchful eyes and the wonder of the people to the stranger in their midst. He came upon a small group of wiry men attempting to push a boulder out of a small pasture area. They stopped what they were doing and looked over at Thunk wondering who this person was and whether more people like him would come after this supposed "scout". They watched him get off the horse and stepped back when he approached. They didn't know how to react, he didn't come at them with weapon drawn. The axe stayed on the horse. He took out some rope from the supply horse and tied the two ends to the saddles. He wrapped the rope around the rock and positioned himself behind the boulder. "Heyah!" he yelled to the horses and they began to pull. The horses weren't even budging the thing. He started pushing from behind. It began to move. It was slow going but step by step the dragging commenced. The men off to the side couldn't believe it. Grunting along Thunk almost became annoyed at them for not helping till one brave soul came up next to him and pushed too. The rest helped out which made little difference to the speed of this process but helped Thunk ease up a bit. After the men were satisfied they stepped back and Thunk released his own grip. He walked around to the horses and picked through his supplies. He threw down a few furs and the men looked at them. They understood what Thunk wanted without saying a word. He wanted to trade. Not long after a few men returned with tradable goods from the rest of the village. Mainly fish and fire-starting equipment. There was one thing of interest that caught his eye. A blanket, embroidered. He traded for this garment and some fish to last a few weeks and was done with it. He packed it all and left without a goodbye or any word at all. He left them confused yet happy for meeting such a person. Eventually this story would become a tall tale around the campfires of this village gradually becoming more and more exaggerated to the point that in a few years the story would be...That Rock hasn't been moved in many years. The last one to heft that boulder was a stranger to this village and he was able to lift it over his head and leisurely toss it off to the side where it resides to this day. The power of oral tradition can really help ones fame. Thunk headed toward the more mountainous areas. He clutched the blanket he bartered and wrapped it around the saddle to his horse. He touched his mothers cloth and compared the workmanship. It was the same. He knew where his mother came from now… |