Tales of the Roving - City on Wheels

[Legolas]

Two the guards left riding the Cage, seeming most displeased with the criticism.

"We said it's unwise to tell people how to do their job. You don't like it, you ride somewhere else. Want to feel sorry for someone, find the slave wagon. This scum's going to get what he deserves."

The clash of steel dies as soon as it began, but sends near a dozen guardsmen running and riding down to the end of the train, raised voices trying to grasp the situation. A man laughs, nervously. In opposite direction flows the fright and confusion, passing from merchant to merchant all the way to the fore. Breathless men reach for their sticks and cudgels, and for a short moment naught happens but the turning of the wheels.

[DrowArchmage]

I am not trying to tell you how to do your job, though someone obiously hasn't done a well enough job on teaching you how to speak to those of very good blood.

His hands turn to fists and he takes a deep breath.

Talk to a son of The Red Hand with such disrespect again and i will have your head. Not a threat, a promise. And i wouldnt even think about going for your sword right now if i were you, because it will get you killed faster than not.

His voice sounded like steel and his eyes were blank. He hated revealing his House to anyone. And since he had done so, his mood was foul. Respect would be shown this day, whether or not this man thought he had earned it.

So, apologize to me and recall your men. Whatever is out there wouldn't hesitate to kill them.

[dplax]

"A son with red hands ey? Were you caught red-handed while being less than decent with the ladies?" The Rattler gives the bars of his cage a mighty pull, but of course they hold. The rattling noise echoes throughout the caravan.

"And whoever would you want to call back? Can't you smell battle, can't you smell blood? Mind you, you might just be feeling the blood rising to your head. But me, I have perfect hearing and perfect smell. I smell blood. Human blood." He laughs, a clear laugh, such a contradiction to his character.

Buoyed by the apparent non-responsiveness of his guards the Rattler goes on. "Blood, blood, blood! Lovely stuff, isn't it? The blood pulsing through your veins, barely separated from the surface by a few layers of skin. How I'd love to peel those layers off you red-handed youngster to see what lies underneath that red surface. How I'd love-" he suddenly turns towards the desert sands and dramatically cups his hands to his ears, imitating the sounds of someone listening to distant sounds. "Your hands might be red with blood soon enough. I can only hope it will be yours."

He wonders who shall react first, his guards, who were always cool and composed, or this hot-heated traveler. Either way, the day can only get more interesting.

[DrowArchmage]

I can hear fine. But i would have thought most assuredly that my ears must decive me, for i hear, yet again, disrespect. So can i assume that im not going to recieve an apology? Very well. Sundown. You and I, to the death. I hope you have more than words then.

With that he rode back to where he was, his face absolutley stone, and his movements totally cool. The day would end with respect.

[Legolas]

"Man's taken leave of his senses," mutters the other guard driving the Rattler's cage.

His companion shows less bafflement, substituting with an angry sneer at the prisoner.
"Think that was clever, do you?" he demands, smacking the prisoner through the bars. "Hoping for an early death?" Another blow. "Trying to land us in trouble?"

Each question gets answered only by more abuse, until the man has his fill, or realizes he might kill the prisoner himself with any further venting. Over his own rage, neither he nor his fellow guardsman pay much heed to the other goings on...

[dplax]

"Do I have a reason why I don't want to get you into trouble?" he asks, to which the answer is a final, bruising jab with the butt end of a spear.

Lying on the floor of his cage the Rattler delivers a pitiful kick aimed at one of the bars, which hurts his foot more than he expects. Painfully, very slowly he stands up and spits a mouthful of blood in the direction of his guards. "BLOOD!" he lets go a high-pitched scream and starts pulling and pushing at the bars as strong as he can in his weakened state. The loose bar makes a cacophony of noise as its rattling sound travels all the way to the other end of the caravan.

[DrowArchmage]

The sun was finally starting to do down and everything was slowing down. Rohan was trying to find a spot that could be seen by most of the caravans, for that would be the best place to set the example.

Why can't people just give proper respect? He had met bandits with more respect for him than that, probably because they thought that he would have mercy. But he was out of mercy. Maybe if that obnoxious gaurd apologized for his rudeness, it wouldn't actually come to blows. That was one of his pet peeves, people showing no respect? Who was this Lord, this Lord who allowed his men to act like he was a criminal as well?

Frustration wasn't going to help, he had to be calm when he faced the man, the man who hadn't even had the curtesy to share his name. No! Don't think anymore. Just empty the mind. The time was near.