Sled'j and the Trophy

 



Ritter stood next to his friend Sled'j and listened to the Orc growl each time a townie complained about the fighters' ability to protect the people from bandits.

Many fighters had answered the call, but the bandits were everywhere, hitting a homestead, looting, and fading away into the dense forest called the Dream Wood. Sometimes, they took hostages.

"Maybe we should negotiate with them," a soft merchant said as he wiped chicken grease from his glistening lips. A few townies agreed.

Sled'j growled again. He had had enough of these plump, entitled fools. He tied on his trollskin bracers, took a long drink off his tankard, and walked to the middle of the room. His fellow fighters watched and smiled. They knew something was about to happen.

"Silence," he roared, and the townies obeyed. Instantly. Some drew back. Some clutched their pearls or fanned themselves. None reached for a weapon. Not one.

"I say we kill them all." He made eye contact with each person bearing a sword. They had fought together many times before, but none had seen Sled'j this vocal.

They all left the meeting together.

A week later, they came back, tired, dirty, and bandaged. Sled'j led them to the market square, and the townies watched him tie a lanyard to the town's notice board. 

Hooked on the lanyard like a string of fish were twelve thumbs that had been hacked from twelve bandits.




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