[Flashback] [Solo] The Path to Knighthood: The Return

[Don]

Timestamp: 15th of Spring, 508AV. A long days run brought them to the edge of the forest, and Groth had possessed barely enough energy to reach it. His face was now ghostly, and he was losing blood like a tree lost leaves in the wind. Don was extremely pleased he had managed to survive this long, yet he was even more surprised. Chastity had remained by his side the entire trip, and her short legs had forced Don to carry her on several occasions. Anthor was barely able to carry the bandit any longer, and had to place him on the ground as they reached the edge of the forest. The man had done nothing but whine and moan the entire journey, much to the others displeasure. Don planned to send him to the nobleman along with his daughter, for questioning. He did not want more death on his shoulders, certainly when the man could have held valuable information inside the cruel head of his. “We have no time to rest, but we also have no energy to continue at this pace.” Don huffed, running a hand through sweat-ridden hair. Chastity stood by him, coughing and spluttering as if she was ill with some contagious disease. It was clear she did not get outside much, let alone get any true exercise. He felt sorry for her, and constantly wondered how she had travelled this far from home without dying. Being captured by the bandits was nothing compared to what else roamed the Wildlands. Even though the Knights Order constantly kept Sylira under watch, preventing most threats from ever nearing the city, there were still those who slipped under their watch. All who did, if caught, were punished severely. “I don’t think I can run much further sir.” Chastity coughed, trying hard to regain her breath. She was a small girl, thin and wiry. She appeared dehydrated and famished all the same, and Don knew that she spoke only the truth. There was not much left in her, any more running would have killed her. They had to rest; but if they did, Groth would not make it. It was times like this Don wished he had a horse, so that he could traverse across the lands with minimum effort and ease. “I fear we have a situation.” Don sighed, looking at Chastity, then to Groth, who was also struggling to catch his breath. The forest’s shadow loomed over them like towering giants, and the darkness before them was far from comforting. Yet, it was the only way, and the quickest way. “If we stop, we can all regain our energy.. Yet if we do, Groth won’t make it. I refuse to abandon you to death, my friend.” He nodded to Groth, and the large man managed to press a smile, waving his hand. “Don’t worry about me, I will be fine.” Groth laughed, though Don knew he was lying through his blood-covered teeth. The sun was beginning to set, and soon darkness would be upon them. They could not travel through a forest at night, especially with a young girl at their side. It was suicide. Yet if Groth died of his injury, they would lose a member of the party. Their only option was to set up camp, whether or not Groth was giving in to his wound.. the forest was far more dangerous, and entering it ran the risk of losing more than one life. Donathon just had to believe that he could make it through the night. Don sighed, and tossed his rucksack down beside him. “Very well, we camp here.”

[Don]

When he awoke in the morning at the rising of the sun, Don turned to his left. Beside him lied Chastity, her innocent face plunged deep into the travelling bag that she used as a pillow. Her snores were faint and petite, and a thin line of saliva ran down from her pale lips. She seemed like a doll more than a human. Don pondered on why she had ever left her home, it was like a puppy leaving its mother. It was just not natural, and for such a small, petite girl to run so far from home on her lonesome.. it scared him. What motives did she run away on? Did she pursue something? Or was she scared? Don took the quest without questions, as per usual. Sometimes, he sorely regretted it. As he rolled to his right, Don saw the pale face of Groth. For a moment, he seemed like he was asleep. It was only when Donathon noticed that he wasn’t breathing when trouble arose. His chest did not move, nor did breath come through his lips. He was frozen, his pale body left dead on it’s side. Don said a silent prayer to the gods, before rising to his feet. Startled, Anthor slowly rose too, and quickly noticed that his brother no longer lived. It was a sad loss, and one that Anthor only dealt with through crying. Don felt the burden fall onto his shoulders, and could not hold back the several tears that ran down his cheeks. The captive man lied alone several yards away from where Anthor was, and Don could see him snigger in the corner of his eye. Bastard. “It’s my fault, I am sorry Anthor.” Don apologized, crouching down beside the body. Anthor shook his head, and rose from the ground to rest his head in his brothers hip. “It is not your fault. He should have been more careful.” The large man let more tears fall, before he managed to compose himself and rise to his feet. The captive cracked a laugh, and Anthor turned to face him, his face red with anger. “What on earth are you laughing about?” He asked, then stormed over and lifted him by the hem of his tunic. The man was filled with rage, and the captive could see; responding with a look of pure fear. “Nothing, I’m sad for your loss.” He replied sarcastically, and Anthor tossed him to the ground. His presence amongst the party was unwelcome, and Don did not believe he could tolerate any more of it. Taking a deep breath, the Knight-hopeful approached the captive, who was now sitting on the ground, breathing heavily through his nose. Don turned back to Anthor before he continued, his voice ripe with sorrow. “We will bury him, it’s the least he deserves.” He nodded down towards the body of Groth, and Anthor nodded. “At least he died sleeping, he had always wanted to die sleeping.” No more words were exchanged between the two, and Don approached the captive. The man’s cropped hair was full of dirt and grass, after being tossed so effortlessly by Anthor. Donathon kneeled down so that he was at eye-level, one hand rested upon his knee. “What were you and your friend doing with the girl? Where were you taking her? And who hired you. Tell me now, or you won’t speak another word again.” His voice was as serious as the look on his face, yet the man still smiled, as though he had won a great victory. “Her father hired us. To capture her, and take her to Sahova so she could die in the hands of another family.”

[Don]

“Blasphemy, he hired us to retrieve her.” Don spat, as though the man had just told a terrible lie. The man only laughed, his breath reeking of alcohol and stale bread. “Why do you think she ran in the first place? He is a cruel, horrible man. Joseph and I are.. well, he was.. a mercenary. We took contracts wherever they came up, and this one was no exception.” The man replied, though Don shook his head in disbelief. “Why would a client hire men to do complete opposite tasks? One to rescue, and one to remove. It makes no sense.” Don replied, stroking a bearded chin. The man simply laughed again, as if this was all greatly amusing. “Who would want to seem like a father who did not care about their child? Especially a rich man like Christos. He would not want to be known as the man who let his daughter escape, never to be found again. He hired you to retrieve her, though obviously did not expect you to ever win. Joseph was a great swordsman, and I am surprised at how easily you defeated him. We’ve both lost a companion in this situation, it seems.” The man said, looking over to the body of Groth. Anthor had been digging a hole beside where he died, tears rolling down his cheeks as he did so. Before Don could speak, the captive spoke again. “No doubt there will be more, awaiting you in the forest. Christos isn’t a man to leave loose ends. If he finds out you’ve retrieved her, he’ll go about killing you.. and the girl. He doesn’t want her.” He explained, rolling his shoulder to cause a loud crack. “So this man, he sent us all to our death beds?” Don asked, biting his lip nervously. It was something he did a lot. “Yes, sadly enough. We’ll all be dead before tomorrow eve.” The man replied, his voice drowned in sorrow and despair, opposed to the sarcastic tone he had held so brilliantly moments before. Don shook his head. He had come to believe what the man said was true, yet he would not come to terms with his own death. He had a goal in life, and he would not die until it was complete. “No we will not. Tell me, will you help us? When it's done, I assure you your freedom to go where you please.” Don proposed, proceeding to reach for the man’s bonds. He did not say anything, but merely nodded. His bonds were untied with ease, and the man stood up as Don did. After a moment standing in silence, a fist soon collided with the Knight-hopeful’s face, followed by another into his stomach. He stumbled back, dazed, and watched as the man was swallowed by the darkness of the forest. It all happened so quick that he had no time to react, only time to soak what had just transpired into his head. One mercenary was dead, and the other had escaped. Groth had passed away in his sleep, and they were now faced with the idea of an ambush within the foreboding forest. Life was splendid.

[Don]

Moments later, Anthor approached Don. He had been standing in silence, trying to fathom what just happened. He should have known not to trust such a man. As Anthor approached Don snapped from his stare at the forest, and turned to the large man. His face was stained with tears, his eyes still watery and bloodshot. Don truly felt sorry for him, Groth had so much to live for, and so much strength and determination that would have taken him there. “You let him go?” Anthor asked, looking into the forests. The man had been swallowed whole by the darkness, leaving nothing but crushed leaves in his wake. Don turned to Anthor, and began to walk back towards Groth with his head hung toward the ground. “I let him go so he would help us. He did not.” He replied sternly, and approached the body of the large man. The hole that had been dug beside him was now fairly large, yet still not enough to put him in. Don looked across at Chastity, who was somehow still sleeping soundly in her bedroll. He smiled, though it was not one of happiness. He was just glad she was safe, but still he was not excited for what lied within the forest. As he began to think about it, a grand idea struck the Knight-hopeful, and he beckoned for Anthor to come to him. When he did, he spoke in a hushed whisper. “I will venture into the forest alone. I will find the bandit, and I will kill him. Along with anyone else who tries to stop me.” He paused, and pulled a crossbow from his opened rucksack. Soon he was scrimmaging through the bag for bolts, in which he found plenty of. “You stay here, bury Groth. Give him a proper burial. Once that is done, take the girl into the forest. I will leave a trail so you know where to find me.” Don finished by strapping the crossbow around his shoulder, and lacing his sword onto his belt. Anthor seemed sceptical and confused about it all, yet he would not argue. He only nodded, and wished his companion good luck. “I will see you soon, friend.” Don smiled, and turned on his heel back towards the forest. He knew that it was time for the forest to swallow him. Soon he was charging into the darkness, kicking up leaves and dirt with his worn leather boots. Trees flickered by like shadows, and the uneasy feeling of being alone in such a place soon began to consume him. As he ran, Don was unable to locate the tracks of the escapee. He looked hard for them, yet the sheer pace he was travelling at also made everything a blur. He stopped on several occasions to look, yet none were ever found. It seemed like he would have to find the man off coincidence alone. Yet, the forest was no small place; and it would not be an easy task. He ran fast and hard enough to leave heavy footprints behind, hoping that Don would catch on when he entered the forest.

[Don]

The lingering silence slowly began to eat him away, it slowly began to send shivers of fear and solitude down his spine. He had spent an hour in the forest alone, an hour that had been spent constantly running, watching his back, and just waiting for someone to ambush him. So far, he had not seen another soul. Several birds had flown from their branches upon his run past, but other than that he had seen nothing, or nobody. It was all too peculiar, as if someone had planned it. Don did not know if Groth had been buried yet, he didn’t know if Anthor was on his trail. He knew nothing but the fact that so far.. so far, he had gotten nowhere. The bandit had escaped, a man who was dangerous with the information he possessed. He had to be stopped, so that this girl would truly be safe. Yet, this running was getting him nowhere.. or was it? Just when hope seemed lost, Don caught sight of a shadow flicking by him. He pulled his crossbow from his back, and loaded it with a bolt. Don swerved his head around at the surrounding trees, yet the silence still lingered like a bad smell in the air. He knew someone was there, he just did not know who. The bandit? An animal? Only time would tell him. Or a response. “Who’s there?” Don asked aloud, his voice echoing throughout the forest. Birds flew from their perches and into the shadowy canopy, ascending up into the now-cloudy sky. Don asked again, spinning around with his crossbow still drawn. For a moment he heard nothing, received no response, until the shadow flicked past again, and a deep voice spoke. He recognized it immediately. “You found me it seems. Very well done, I was expecting as much.” “Why did you run, if you intended to get found?” Don replied, aiming his crossbow in the direction the voice spoke from. A cackle ensued, and Don gripped tighter onto his wooden weapon. “Why run from somebody who will just catch you anyway? You want to be a knight, don’t you?” The man spoke as if he had known Don his whole life, and the knight-hopeful furrowed his brow. “Y-yes. How did you know that?” Don replied, his knuckles squeezing hard onto the crossbow. He was ready to fire as soon as the man revealed himself. “The way you talk, act. It all screams the word Knight. I was a Syliran Knight once, until I received a dishonourable discharge. Apparently killing another Knight in a duel is a crime.” The man spoke as if it was all funny too him, laughing as he finished. He still did not reveal himself, and Don was eager for him to do so. Still, patience was key. “Of course it is, they are like your brothers. Would you kill your brother?” Don replied, trying to take a step to the side to see if he could get a view of the man. He could not. “I would if he swung a sword at me. In fact, when I was a boy, I nearly killed my older brother. Beat him a few times with a stick. He was unconscious, and I continued to beat him. Lucky my father pulled me away.” Don grimaced, the man was sadistic. He could not believe he had let him go, and at that point, he hated himself for it. “You’re sick, you will be brought to Syliras for your crimes. And exposed for all you’ve done.” Don replied, bringing the crossbow to his face, as if he were ready to fire it. He kept one eye squinted, waiting for the man to speak again. “You are right. There’s no point conversing with a—“ before he could finish replying, Don unleashed a bolt towards the tree he was aiming at. The small piece of metal whizzed through the air with unmatched speeds, too quick for the naked eye to notice. It pierced the side of the tree with a powerful force, splitting the very wood that it slammed against, causing shards of bark to fly over the forest floor. The man stepped out from behind the tree, a scimitar in either hand, a smile on his face. “Very nice shot, if you were a blind man. Unfortunately, killing me will do nothing. You still have my friends to worry about.” He glanced around at the trees, and suddenly several men sprang to life from the lower branches, each pointing a notched arrow at Don. They were camouflaged, yet Don could see them kneeling atop the branches, ready to fire upon orders. He was surrounded and outnumbered.

[Don]

“Friends in high places eh?” Don laughed, even with the near-doomed situation he was faced with. The bandit took a few steps forward, trailing one of his scimitar against the ground. Don had not noticed it before, but one of his eyes were missing, replaced by a large scar. His face was leathered and scarred, and he seemed like he was a man of many battles. Don could only assume that he was experienced with the scimitars he wielded. The man only laughed at his words, as he edged closer to the Knight-hopeful. Donathon could feel eyes all around him, he could feel the bows that were all aimed at him. It was not a welcoming feeling, nor was it a very nice sight. Don knew that his only option was to keep calm, and try to find a way out of the dire situation he was currently in. Yet, even he knew that it would not be easy. “You knew I would pursue you, you had this planned all along. I take it these are your lackeys?” Don asked, gripping the crossbow so tight that his hands started to burn. He had lowered it slightly, so it did not seem like he was ready to fire again. A bolt had been loaded however, so he could fire whenever the time called for it. “Some yes, some no.” The man began, flicking one scimitar up into the air and catching it. He seemed so casual about it all. “I did intend for this to happen, though these aren’t my men. They are the girl’s fathers, sent to eliminate you and your.. friend, along with the girl. I told you earlier, he does not like loose ends.” Don grimaced. So it was true. The father had sent Donathon, Groth and Anthor to their deathbeds. Already had he put one to sleep, and it was only a matter of time before the other two fell. All this to kill his own daughter.. it was madness. Donathon was afraid of death, yet he would not embrace it without first putting up a fight. Pulling the crossbow to his shoulder he turned suddenly, firing a blind shot towards one of the archers. The bolt made its target, and the metal dug deep into the man’s collar bone. He screamed as it collided, and fell haplessly from his tree perch. The camouflaged man hit the ground with a thud, and a thin trail of blood began to run from his nose. He was not dead, yet he would no longer pose a threat to the Knight-hopeful. Still, many others were still ready to reign a steel hell upon him when it was ordered of them. Surprisingly, it was not, and the bandit only laughed. “Nice shot indeed. I take it you are trained with a crossbow then? I wonder if you could pick off the other dozen men above you with such ease.” He mocked Donathon, the knight-hopeful could tell. He knew the line between a compliment and sarcasm, and this man was not concealing his crossing of such line. It was not a compliment, but a warning. Donathon now knew exactly how many men sat above him, how many men were ready to end his life by merely releasing a string. “Well.. what are we going to do with you?” The bandit asked, glancing around at the men above.

[Don]

“I’d like to know myself.” Don retorted, following the man’s eyes to the enemy. There was one on each tree around him, and the only tree that seemed safe that was close-by was the one he had knocked a man free of. It was the furthest away from the men, so if he got behind it, he would be able to take cover from their arrows. Doing so would have put him at risk, for the bandit on the ground would have attacked. Don could not fight with a crossbow and one hand and his sword in the other, yet he knew that he needed both to overcome all the enemies. “Well, I sure would like to cut you open for what you did to Jericho. Yet I doubt I could beat you in a fair fight. As they say, sometimes life isn’t fair.” The man laughed, and sheathed one scimitar on his back, followed by the other. Don half expected him to withdraw a bow of his own, yet he did not. Instead, he begun to turn in the direction he had appeared. “I’ll leave these men to kill you. If you do somehow manage to survive, I won’t be too far.” He waved to the men in the trees as he ran off into the shadows once again, and Don knew exactly what to do. Arrows followed him as he ran for cover, managing to get behind the tree as one zipped by his face, causing a small amount of wind to move his hair. It was a close-call, but Don was lucky enough to get to cover without being hit. He knew that the men would only load another arrow, and he had to be sure that he eliminated all of them before he moved from the tree. Notching another bolt into the drawstring, Don wound the crossbow, so that the bolt sat tightly. He only had one chance to hit, and knew that a miss was something that he could not do. Taking a deep breath, Don peered his head around the corner of the tree, moving back as an arrow shot directly at him, ploughing into the grass beside him. He breathed a sigh of relief, and managed to catch the shadowy figure of a man on a tree directly across from him. It was a shot in the dark, but a shot all the same. Don moved around the corner as fast as he could, took a quick aim, and let a bolt fly toward the silhouette. As he moved back into cover, the Knight-hopeful heard the sound of a self-satisfying thud, signifying he had hit the man. He did not know where, nor did he care. The eagle had fallen from its perch, leaving only eleven to do the same. Taking a look in his pouch, Don realized he only had ten bolts left. It was a grim situation indeed, and one that would be hard to walk out of alive. If he managed to shoot the other ten down from their trees, perhaps he would be given enough time to scavenge their bow and an arrow, and dispose of the last man. Donathon loaded another bolt, prepared to fire on the men once more.

[Don]

“Come out ya scoundrel!” Don heard a man call, somewhere to his left. The men grew frustrated that Don was biding his time, awaiting the right moment to take his shot. These men were being paid to eliminate a small girl, and there was nothing Donathon could do to redeem them. Mercenaries of this type were the worst mercenaries, men without hearts or conscious. They would murder a new born child if they were paid enough. The forest went silent for a moment, besides an abrupt cough from a man close-by. It was the perfect opportunity, and Donathon swerved out from behind the tree, steadily aiming his crossbow at the man who had coughed. He was quite far away, yet his silhouette could still be made out amongst the darkness that the forest canopy ensued. Donathon took a deep breath as he loaded off a shot, and smiled as the bolt whizzed through the air and into the man’s head. Some would have deemed it skill, but Don only saw it as luck. Another eagle fell from its perch, this one followed by a trail of dark crimson. The bolt cracked the man’s skull like a hammer cracked an egg, and blood lingered in thin crevices that had formed along his forehead. Don gulped as he narrowly avoided three arrows, each shooting down at his kneecaps. He was quick to find his cover again, right before an arrow shot through where his head had just been. These men were excellent marksmen, clearly trained in archery for a long time. Donathon was actually surprised he had come this far in the shoot off. As he found cover, so did the arrows of the men find it. Three arrows slammed against the other side of the tree, digging deep into its bark upon impact. Donathon gulped, trying to keep his composure in the dire situation he was faced with. The sounds of the men talking amongst one another was inescapable, and it was obvious they were devising some sort of plan. Don knew he had to keep a level head, he had to remain calm amongst the storm. Ten remained, ten men that were ready and eager to kill him. He had to be in the same mind frame as the enemy, if he ever wished to overcome them. They were dangerous and accurate, and one false step could have brought him to an end. Loading another bolt as quickly as he could, Donathon peered around the side of the tree. He could not see anyone, so instead placed a large leaf from below out the side of the tree. An arrow ripped it in two, and Don managed to catch the direction in which it came from. He spun around the tree and took aim, looking the man in the eye before he fired. He seemed young, lithe, and adorned in leather armour covered in leaves. The enemy grimaced as Donathon let a bolt fly at him, and screamed as it pierced his flesh. Don retreated back around the corner, breathing heavily. The crossbow was beginning to hurt his shoulder, and his arms were aching from carrying it for such a prolonged period. Still, he knew that he had to press on; he knew that he had to keep fighting. Death was not an option in this situation, nor was it one in any other situation he had been in. He would soldier on until his dying breath, and until his heart stopped beating he would never surrender. He was born to become a Knight, and he was determined to fulfil his birthright. Nobody, not even a group of mercenaries, was going to stop him. Nobody.

[Don]

Donathon caught ear of more men chattering amongst each other, and soon he heard the sounds of crunching grass beneath heavy feet. The eagles had fallen from their perch, only to walk amongst the ground. Donathon peered out around the corner to find the remaining men walking towards him, bows replaced with fearsome curved daggers. Don smiled, and threw the crossbow to the ground. Finally he was able to use a sword, finally he was in his own domain. He whipped around the corner with one arm outstretched, the other holding his sword outward. The men snarled and laughed as he did so, realizing that he was outnumbered nine to one. Still, Donathon had far more confidence overcoming the men with his blade. He was always more skilled with a blade, always held more accuracy, more poise, always more dangerous. He kept a grin plastered upon his face as he walked sideways, eyes never leaving the swords of the enemy. They drew closer by the moment, until one stopped to speak. He was old, balding, with a small grey beard and dull brown eyes. He was adorned as the rest were, in thin leather armour layered in leaves from the forest. His curved dagger was pointed outward as he spoke, his voice cracked and old. “You have come this far, knight. But you’ll go no further, we’ll be makin’ sure of that!” The rest of the men snarled and laughed, appearing more like a pack of rabid dogs than a group of men. They were all driven by mizas, each in the contract for the riches. They held no honour, they showed no morals, they only pursued coin. It was a sad life to live, in any case. Donathon said nothing as the man began to move closer, followed by the other eight men. He was confident that he would overcome them in ground combat, despite the amount of men he was outnumbered by. The forest was a playground to a swordsman, and everything in it could be used as a tool of death. As the men moved closer again, the old man lashed out, swinging a wild arc towards Don’s chest. He moved back to avoid the attack, and grasped the side of the man’s head with his free hand. The man grimaced as Don tossed him sidewards, slamming his aged cranium against the thick trunk of a tree. Blood ran rapidly from the man’s nose and mouth, and he fell to the ground in a heap. Not defeated, only injured. Yet the injury was enough to render him incapable of fighting, just like the bolt had ruined the other man, who still laid face down amongst the dirt. As the first man met his match, two more approached. Don parried off either blade with his own, slamming iron against iron with inconceivable force. The men stumbled back as their blades met Donathon’s own. The Knight-hopeful moved forward, slashing at the chest of one man with a wide swing. The enemy was unable to defend, and watched as his chest was sliced open, almost screaming as blood began to pour from it. He fell to the ground shortly afterward, dead before his face collided with it. The other man edged back a few steps, and Donathon raised his blade in his direction. The other men remained several feet away, eager to watch the duel unfold, and ready to attack Donathon when their comrade fell. Which inevitably, he would.

[Don]

The two blades soon met, and within a matter of moments came to a stalemate. Don pushed the man back with admirable force, his eyes continuously glancing at the men who watched him. They could strike at any moment, and most likely would. He had to be ready for when they did. “C’mon bastard!” The other man shouted, his frame far more tall and skinnier than Don’s own. His golden hair shined in the shafts of light that shone down through the forest canopy, and his eyes gleamed a piercing blue. The man would have been a spectacle to gaze upon, had Don not ripped his sword through his throat as the man charged at him. Blood spurted into the air like a fountain of crimson, and the blade was wrenched free with the aid of Donathon’s foot on the man’s chest. The Knight-hopeful turned to face the other men, many of which seemed scared to suffer the same fate as their comrades. His chest and thighs were covered in thick shiny blood, and his hair was matted with sweat. “Is this not enough? Do you not surrender? There is no need for any more bloodshed, you can all leave now. Go. Leave these forests and forsake your quest. You will all live to see another day, to return to your families. Stay, and I will slaughter you like pigs.” Don looked into the eye of each individual man, and each seemed more scared then the last. They did not want to fight, yet the mizas kept spirits high. “We are here to kill you, and we will.” One of the men said, and rushed from the group. His blade was held above his head, prepared to swing down upon Donathon. He was not capable of doing so, as Don’s own blade dug deep into his stomach, causing him to drop his blade behind him. The other men stood in silence as their comrade fell to his knees, and watched as Donathon loomed over him, sword raised above his head in both hands; just as the mercenaries had been. “You will not.” No more words were spoken, nor glances exchanged, as Don slammed his blade down into the man’s skull, causing his very brain to rip in two, blood flooding the rest of his face and matting the hair that was left intact. A gurgling sound was heard as his head began to swell, followed by the thud of the man hitting the ground. His head was dangling in half, entrails lining the dirt below. It was a swift kill, yet a gruesome one all the same. The other men were now truly afraid; as the mess that Donathon had left was not one you would come across every day. Fresh blood dripped down from the Knight-hopefuls blade, and the blood from the kill had spurted up onto his face, covering his right cheek. He looked more like a barbarian than a civilized man, though he cared not for his appearance in such a situation. Don merely wanted these men to stop, he wanted them to leave; and never return. He was not going to allow them to kill an innocent girl, no matter how much they had been paid. “Leave, now. Stay and you will all end up like your comrades.” It was his final warning, and he only hoped they would heed it.