He went from corpse to corpse and went about his grisly business, and he tried to block them out. He'd done it before, on battlefields and killing grounds back home, but... no slaves. No survivors. Myrians had no need of them, unless they were to be taken for sacrifice, and in that case they were gagged.
This was different, and as Razkar drifted around the clearing like some kind of wraith or tethered ghost, his hands moved surely and his eyes flickered from prize to prize... but he could not block them out.
The slaves were still crying, and no amount of bawling or hammering from Ekvan would fully quiet them.
"Quit, gods fuck all of you!" The barbaric bastard roared again and slammed his sword against the nearest cage with a deafening clang, sending a handful of slaves inside scurrying away from the place it impacted. "Any more of that and I'll start cutting off fuckin' noses, cocks and tit. Fuck knows you're still worth selling as long as you got yer fuckin' hands!"
Razkar pushed away the dark and seductive thoughts that whispered to him; not for liberty had they marched, but simple theft... and they were stealing whole lives. The thought of it was strange to him; he'd killed dozens in his life, maybe more than that, but... slavery? Bondage?
The Myrian sighed and crouched down over the latest cooling corpse, setting down a bundle of weapons he'd already looted. He'd only gone to the corpses of those he had slain, of course, abiding by that unspoken and ancient rule of battle and spoils that sound if you killed it, you were entitled to it.
And whatever else there was...
A Child of Myri before anything else, the first thing he did with each body was scalp them, drawing his kukri across their foreheads just below the hairline and then ripping the scalp clean away with strands of muscle and hair clinging to the bare bone.
Each one was carefully tucked away, and then he got to more... corporeal matters.
The Myrian went through the corpse's pockets, finding a handful of bronze, silver and gold in there. He knew from experience that sellswords were usually pretty good for mizas once they were stiff and dead; they didn't exactly believe in banks. He added the gold to his purse, the spoils of eight other dead men in there, then moved on... to...
"Hmm... not bad..."
He lifted up the short sword that Ardan had wielded, the boy's body now forgotten. His pockets had been emptied, his scalp taken... now only the metal he had swung had any meaning to Razkar. In the bundle next to him were two bastard swords, two short swords, a cutlass, a mace... even a crossbow from that very first kill he had made with his bow.
Spoils of war. You kill it, you own it.
The Myrian inspected the short sword with a critical and veteran eye. Well-maintained, overall, but... yes... not the best construction. Just one of tens of thousands of cheap, mass-produced swords cluttering up the market. Still, like all the rest, he'd be able to sell it for a few mizas.
He added it to the bundle and stalked over to the Dhani, triumphant smirk on his face. Usually Razkar tried to keep such... gloating, off his features, especially in these lands. But when faced with the corpse of one of the Ancient Enemy, cold and stiff and with agony still stamped on its face...
"You died far from the jungle, scum," he said, delivering a kick to the corpse after he'd taken the short, curved wakizashi that remained, the other one being broken by his ax. He kept talking as he went through its pockets. "Good. Maybe that means... you won't get to rest... and we have one less snake-shit soul to worry about..."
He gazed down with contempt at the hairless-skull, hands rifling through pockets until...
"Well, well, well..."
A heavier purse than expected, but then again, this was the leader, apparently. Razkar stowed it away and drew his gladius instead of his kukri for this one, grinning into the sightless snake eyes.
"Time to cut some steaks and sides, serpent," he whispered, questing fingers finding a nice soft point in the thing's arm... right above the elbow... his first piece to take home. "And I still need rations..."
Ten chimes later, and the horse was confused as to this new state of affairs.
It didn't seem that long ago he'd been clip-clopping along with his rider atop him, thinking not much of anything to be honest. He had a fairly decent life, though his master - who carried some strange piece of long metal and often hurt other two-legs - hadn't even bothered to name him. Then there was terror and confusion and blood and fear and...
Suddenly the horse was alone in the clearing, looking around at his brethren shackled to the carts, a few others walking around the clearing in similar disorientation... and then...
"Come here, my friend... easy, now..."
A dark-skinned two-leg. He was... approaching... with his hand out... and a thick, clanking bundle under his arm. He smelled of blood and death but he was not in a hurry, voice so soothing...
... as Razkar placed his hand against the horse's snout, and soulful brown eyes peered into his.
"Not going to hurt you, big boy. Just need your back and your strength, then we'll find you a good home." Razkar spent a few moments stroking and whispering to the horse, if only to put it at ease. He wouldn't try riding him, but the masses of pilfered metal and Dhani meat would need more than his strength. "Good horse... now, now... be calm while I deal with the others..."
Razkar turned around, hand looped through the horse's bridle as his gaze scanned around. His trio were doing much the same as him, flitting or stalking from body to body, but whatever they found was a mere bonus compared to what he had in his rucksack.
"Hear me!" He boomed, getting their attention and beckoning them over. "Time to get paid..."
One by one, the Kelvic, the ghost and the other Myrian approached him, and Razkar went through the bags of clinking gold the Smoker had given him that morning. There were five of them, one for each of his band... thought two would now be superfluous.
Razkar grunted. Gold? Superfluous? The words did not go together.
"Each have ninety gold miza." He said, passing a bag to each one as he walked in front of them. "But, because other two ran-" he looked around and raised his voice scornfully, just in case the cowards were within earshot. Silence answered him. Oh, well... "Then we have more to split."
He dropped one of the bags into his own purse, and the last one he split three ways, counting out thirty gold-rimmed coins into each of his peoples' hands until the purse was nothing but an empty cloth pocket with a drawstring.
Loot :
OOCHave at it, guys! Loot and pillage your weaselly lack guts out, to paraphrase a great and sexy man! As far as the looting goes, and the gold, I really don't know how it works. No dead man's going to need the weapons and the contents of their pockets, so feel free, I guess. As far as the payment for the job, I was allowed to roleplay thus far, and if I'm wrong, I'm sure the Grading Admin will correct me
