A tale it is you be wanting? Aye let me tell you where the misery began.
Drink is a valuable asset to those who have lived well beyond the comforts of their mothers teet. Trading Whiskey for milk is the natural course ones life will take in a world surrounded by the lure of death and heresy. It is when one finds themselves short on dram and wits they enlist but my wits were all I had left that day. A cart as big as my house caught my eye drove my inquisition. A shipment for the lords the next town over in dire need of assistance they said, how much the reward I inquired.
My ears flooded with the sound of drink when I hear their offer, enough to drown out the nagging murmer of my wits and beter judgement. I was a farmhand not a fighter yet offered to fight for them before sense returned to me. Oh woe I should have known better as the rocking of the cart sloshing drink as feet dragged the mud on the wet path before us. Wargs eyeing our fat donkey as we desperately try to scare them off. Our duty had nearly been fulfilled when disaster struck.
Thieves! I heard shouting up ahead and in a bold of bravery or stupidity I ran towards the shouts. Dead were the men who hired us and all we had to defend ourselves was but farming equipment. Sense drove me to hide among the barrels taking nothing but a small knife to defend myself. Fear heightened my senses forcing me to hear in great detail as those who enlisted with me were slain where they stood. Gurgled screams and moans of agony drummed in my head louder than the violent rocking of the cart. Barrels started to give and snap open covering me in more fluids a man should be.
At that point the donkey had enough and fled from its assailants. Cart rocking violently slamming myself and barrels against each other and the cart itself. Weeping and defecating in fear and acceptance that these wargs howling in the distance would have their evening meal on my behalf. I grasped the knife closely to myself hoping one firm knock of the cart would end it all for me when it all simple stopped. With the cart completely still I could hear voices speaking firmly and softly to the donkey.
The latch was lowered and I was left gazing in the eyes of my hometown guard still clasping a knife to my throat. For a moment I felt relief and then they dragged me from the cart. Immediately questioned and faced with the lord of my house. The blame fell to me as the lone survivor. Thieves alone could never have overpowered their escort they claimed. I must have and in their eyes simply had betrayed my fellow men for promise of drink.
Cowardice wouldn’t save me and the truth had forsaken me. I promised to show where we were ambushed but my neck they would have regardless. As a show of force for those left behind they escorted me shackled to the cart with over twenty heavily armed men. My legs almost giving way to the long uninterrupted trek when a thick foul stench lingered. There lay our dead men bludgeoned and bled out left to die and rot in the soil. Beaten bloated corpses pickled in the drink they swore to protect. Untouched by wildlife left a testimony to my claims.
But I was well aware they would have my neck and my neck they would have if I did nothing. But thoughts returned of home, fleeing would accomplish nothing as the wargs certainly had their eyes on me as weakest of the pack. Even if by some miracle I could elude the wargs, where would I go and what would happen to my family? So here I am stuck behind these wretched bars to suffer for not dying with the others with the only comfort of knowing my family has been spared.
. It’s all thanks to Draven, who took me on a field trip to see that NPC.