Raiders!

Rough hands rouse you from your slumber, hoisting you to your feet and holding you in place, your right arm wrenched painfully to the side, before you can even react. You feel a dagger at your ribs. The implication is clear. One wrong movement, a slow and agonising ****.

"Look at what we've got here, boys." A hulk of a man, nothing but muscles, warpaint and beard growls, to a small retinue, perhaps a half dozen, of equally fearsome ruffians. "Noblemen."

Your breathing grows heavy, panicked. The head of the brigands diverts his attention from Donald, towards you.

"Well, one man. One soft little boy. What's your name, cripple?" he asks you.

"Edward. King Edward of Itheria." Donald answers in your stead. "And if I desired a swift and painless ****, I'd give him the respect he deserves."

The giant of a bandit tosses his head back and laughs heartily.

"Oh, that is a good one! You lads must be travelling jesters, aye? I've bent over lassies would make a more impressive king than this pile of pig shit." he sneers, bounding on you.

"Come on then, lad. Are you a king?" he asks, looming over you.

"I am." You say, staring him in the eye. He laughs once again.

"Convincing. Mummers, I reckon."

"I dunno Kleg, I do remember me mum telling me how the queen in one of them lands down south, she gave birth to a cripple..." One of the bandit's subordinates mentions. A murmur of agreement ripples through the cut-throats.

"Well fuck the Spirits till the earth splits apart, maybe you are a King..." Kleg muses. "Tell you what, Your Majesty, if I throw you down on the ground and take your maidenhead, does that mean I get to be King? I could-"

"I wouldn't worry about that too much. The mountain goat you shagged on the way here was your last." Donald taunts. Kleg whirls around his attention fully on the Beathan.

"What did you just-" The bandit begins, but his protestation is cut short by a high-pitched whistle from Donald.

Daena announces herself with a crossbow bolt, directly through the eye of one of the men holding Donald down, before moving in wordlessly, sword drawn and hungry for blood.

The Beathan prince has wrestled the other man to the ground in an instant, braining him with a nearby rock as his elf moves in to protect him, fending off blows from multiple assailants.

"Edward, get clear!" Donald roars, as your captors abandon you, joining the fray.

You stagger backwards several paces, until your back hits the cliff face. Heart pounding, you can't bring yourself to look away from the chaos.

Daena has slain another of the brigands, though three of them are now setting upon her. Donald has finished off the man he had on the ground. Finding his feet, his eyes search for a weapon. Unfortunately, they instead alight on Kleg.

Battleaxe drawn, the grizzled old bandit charges the powerful young prince.

Daena feints, ducking a powerful swing from a bastard sword, it's owner instead tears open his own comrade's chest. The elf is outnumbered two to one, now. You sense it's only a matter of time until she stands victorious.

The same cannot be said for Donald. He'd rolled out of the way of the older man's charge, swept his legs out from under him. Now, he and Kleg wrestle beside the campfire, each trying to pry the axe free from the other, to deliver a killing blow.

Unfortunately, Kleg seems to be winning.

Daena is still engaged in battle. If anyone's to come to her master's aid, you realise, it must be you.

Your eyes alight on the knife before you. Dropped as one of the thugs holding you went for a more practical weapon.

Seizing it up, you stumble towards the scrapping men. Kleg has his back to you, the expanse of his powerful frame presenting ample targets.

Steeling yourself, you grip the knife in your good hand, cry out, and bring it down into Kleg's flesh.