Not well at all.

While you try to be sneaky, the crunch of your boots on the road is audible to everyone. The blond pays no attention to you, even keeping up his shouting and empty threats perhaps as some kind of attempt to give you time.

In your inexperience you think the men don't notice your arrival, when really they're ignoring you. You're nowhere near as sneaky as you think you are, and when you pull your sword and raise it above your head with intent to crash it down over the ringleader's head, he turns while pushing your arm to an uncomfortable angle.

When you groan and try to twist away, a punch to your abdomen takes the wind out of you and brings you low enough for him to grab you in a headlock under his beefy, sweaty arms. All you smell is the stink of booze, and of him. Your vision blurs, but you can see that the other men have grabbed the blond and are busily stripping him and readying themselves.

You can scarcely breathe, he's holding your neck so tightly curled in his arm, and while you struggle he's thrown your sword away. Bent over as you are in his grasp, he openly leers at your bare, sweaty back and huge, round ass. Changing arms just long enough for you to get a choked and ragged breath but not fast enough to recover, he immediately jams that other hand down the back of your pants to grope your fleshy, muscled backside and reach for your tight, sweaty hole.

"Look here, we've got another fresh whore just eager and ready for us, eh lads?" he laughs, his thick, hairy fingers starting to prod at your hole. They laugh, egging him on, agreeing even while one of them has his meat stuffed down the blond's throat and the other works his beautiful pale ass.

You mouth an apology he never sees as your vision starts to fade, dimly aware you're being maneuvered somewhere before everything goes black.