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The night is well underway. Campfires can be seen all around you. The wagon that the Captain uses is as opulent and decadent as the men's dressing style. Far larger than what one man would need. Of course, thinking of his tree concubines the giant carriage suddenly feels a bit tight. Still, a piece like this could go for hundreds of gold coins.
Outside you see five Qartian soldiers around a man being berated by Sara. She is Sammyak's madame. Sweet and stern, like any northerner. Has a very thick accent too. She is as red as a tomato, spitting with every breath. You can see she is almost completely exhausted from just laying it down on them, especially the one in the center. A bigger fellow who's got a good head and a half on you. You only recognize him when you get close enough and almost take a step back. Not too long ago his feet was in your stomach and his giant hands had held your mouth so tight he split your lip from the force alone. "What a brute" you think out loud.
Captain Sammyak responds without looking at you. "He is a good hearted boy. Just overzealous." The way he says boy makes you think they have a deeper relation than the old rank and file of mercenary life.
He pulls you into the circle, distracting Sara and the big fellow. She turns to look at you, tears in her eyes. "Oh thanks to d'princes!" She comes running for you, holding your hurting head in her hands and cooing you. "You alrigh' me boyin? Is it hurtin' too harsh?" The pampering makes you feel patronized.
It is Sam who takes her hands away from you and pulls her away. She is on the verge of breaking down in tears, but something tells you it isn't for worry of you, someone she met just yesterday.
"Ashlad." Sammyak calls you. "This is Sivor. He knows the penalty for assaulting someone from the caravan is the same as that of theft. It is also the same as putting the caravan in danger! Where you found out of having, indeed, being in conspiracy to curse or bespell the caravan and harm its well-being... I would be under obligation to cut off your right hand." The captain's face is a dark storm now. He pulls out his fiendishly sharp sword.
You are waiting for the other shoe to drop when you notice the big man. Northerner. Of course. Your eyes jump towards Sara being kept outside the range by the soldiers wherein. She is beyond herself, doing her best to hold her cries. Now you understand it. The penalty for bringing harm to the caravan is harsh, but the penalty for assault and murder of a member of the caravan is death. Had he killed you, and were you found innocent, his head would fall. Now he has to contend with losing a hand, which is bad enough as it is, but northerners are proud archers and fierce warriors. This would mean he would be unable to find employment or work, and it would brand him as a thief or worse.
Sam walks to you and locks eyes to yours. He hands you the sword. "He wants you to do it." Then he steps back, looking at Sivor.
What a decision...
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