The thick mists were unending in the bog, the muck slushing and sucking at his shoes. Each step forced him to balance, as curds of algae obstructed any views of where he tried to step. He had been using his oversized sword to poke his way through, the wide and long blade made for awkward work, but it's hefty length made it practical for the job above any other tools on his person.
Mosquitos and other insects hissed about, the red haired man swatting them away, as he adjusted his hooded cloak more securely about his shoulders and face. It kept his face painted in shadow, just his unshavened mouth and the end of his nose visible. The rest if the man was covered thickly in leathers and thick, wool traveling gear, with a patch work of buckles lacing up his legs clean to his thighs. The thigh belts held man items, from pouches if herbs to a series if daggers- some wide as his hip while others were skinny, long things aimed at a more punctured bite.
The massive sheath across his broad back bounced emptily as the man cursed and slipped down to a knee in the muck, hands and legs now coated in the curdled muck as he shook it off from his hands and spat out what had gotten into his mouth past his gritted teeth. That was why he has been so careful while using his blade as a guide in the swamp. Now that he slipped once, he was irritated, but just chewed upon his cusses as he stood tall again and glanced at the swamps before him.
It was a pathway he took everyday, the roads of muck deterring others from entering the cryptic swamp, where gnarled, moss curtained trees curled about in an unwelcoming scene, and legends of poisonous frogs and snakes and other beasts were born. After all, it wasn't a practical location for a man to live or even traverse. That's why he accepted it.. his new hone in the temperamental bog lands far to the north of Bayred.
Despite bearing their marks, a Bayred he was no longer, and he hardly wanted to be bothered by the clan nor even the lands surrounding it. No, he had put that life behind him. Lemmick had taught him that. The fool of an old man did more to change his life than he dare admit, though Les wasn't much of a man for warmth and words. He just knew how to cut things, which is why it was rather fitting he had to use his incredible blade to make his path in the bog lands.
But he chose this life. And though he did not embrace it, he felt as empty as the decaying, rotting woods he now called home. He paused a moment now, coughing and sniffling some- the swamps always did this. The conditions here were hardly ideal, and made his nose irritable and stuffy.
But he was almost home- the damn hours-long walk he did just about every night. He smacked at a mosquito, cursing again as he tugged more securely at the hoof of his cloak. It was a surprise the man hadn't been eaten alive each day from the insects alone. Even still, he grunted at the fresh paste he made of the large mosquitos corpse but continued onward.
He was feeling extra empty that day, his mind lost in the whirl wind of thoughts that plagued him each day.. at the lost of his former mentor, a father figure really.. Lemmick.. and the man's daughter.. a woman who truly taught him all about love.
He took a swig from his pouch, the alcohol burning on the way down. He grimaced as he swallowed, and took a deeper swig still.
Valerie... ever since the pair had split over a year ago he just hadn't been the same. Life was as empty and disgusting as this swamp, devoid of sunlight and ripe, green trees. It was stagnant and grey.. much how Lesley felt now- for the legend of who he once was and his purpose died that day when he and his lover split.. and that spark.. that fire to do more.. to do better...
There was no one to curb that depression away.
He took another swig and stumbled int the mud, cursing at himself for not using his sword to prod for more secure footing. Now he was more thoroughly coated in the swamp waters and had lost his drink.
It was nearly empty anyway and he..now properly drunk. He punched the swamp ground defiantly, screaming at it. It was perhaps why he didn't realize he had been followed. He was too far distracted inside his head and navigating the grounds.
But...First of all, who in their right mind would travel out into the muck lands? There wasn't anything to offer a man out here. No food, no clean water.. poisonous animals.. tons of mosquitos and thick, ominous fog that never lifted.
So color Lesley surprised when a thick corded net smashed into his firm. It would have bowled him over were he not already on his knees. The net blossomed on impact, the weighted ends sailing to land heavily behind him while the rest entangled him, keeping him down in the muck.
He was much slower to react because of the alcohol, but as he struggled with his blade, he knew it would be useless and went for a coarse dagger at his hip. But cutting the roped would be futile, for by the time it was in hand horses, of all things, came galloping from the fog.
Before he could even question it, he felt the net jerk suddenly as the horsemen raced by, the force knocking the red haired man clean off his feet as he was suddenly dragged through the mud.
He didn't have much time to think as he was smashed into unseen rocks behind the galloping horses- Lesley only able to hang on for the ride- the constant skimming in and out of the swamp waters making it impossible to use a blade. Fortunately, or unfortunately for Lesley, he managed to stay awake for the entire ride and them.some as the men on horse back made their way into the thicker parts of the Draconi Forest, much dryer but no less harsh on Lesley as he was trying to get his wits. His skin was rubbed raw and he has lost his dagger- but his massive blade (which he had used to shield himself from some of the ground scraping him dead from the ride), law beneath him as he tried again for another blade. This time the thick, rope net had earned a few snags of its own from the long haul out of the swamp lands and Lesley had just enough wit and strength to cut open a hole wide enough that he spilled out- his body going into a rough tumble before smashing heavily into a large tree.
Too stunned to move, the world swirled around over head. He wanted to run, to scream or he'll, even piss right then but his whole body was numb, his mind dazed as he blinked in confusion. A few moments later, a figure stood over head- and then the world went black.
He awoke- and every inch of his body hurt. His head was throbbing, his skin felt chapped and raw, and he was having a hard time focusing on where he was...
But that was because the world was moving around him, and Lesley Berticus Bayred realized he was bond at the wrists and lodged inside a slaver's cage.
"What.. the hell.. " he groaned, still not quite sure what was going on. That was until he noticed the markings on the caravan thar he traveled. It was the symbol and flags of the Bayred.
Well.. shit. He had 'left' the clan... how many years ago? And now... what was all this? Granted, he knew the bandits reputation and well.. one simply did not leave the Bayred bandits.
Forcing himself to sit up, he realized, with some confusion, that the caravan was making its way into a village. Really, they'd carry this type of cargo so openly? Perhaps it had been too long since he'd been a Bayred.... but even still...
He noted a snickering dark haired rider eyeing him through the bars.
"I see sleeping beauty is awake."
Les eyed the other man sharply.
"Hello, Reddick. "
The rider flashed a wide grin.
"Hello, Les. Or.. hrm, is the monnicker now.. Striker?" The dark haired man laughed. "You look angry. I would have hoped to see more surprise on that face of yours, ya?" He laughed again. "No matter. We've got plenty of surprises for you. Ahnyinn will be pleased we were able to retrieve you. You do offer us a pretty penny on your head. But.. in the same breath Ahnyinn does enjoy sticking to the rules. But as a Bayred yourself.. I do not think I need to clarify your fate."
'Striker' gave a cold smile, his body still felt heavy- and his whole being felt ragged. But he was born of the most stubborn lot. Even still, he forces himself to look around Reddick. You never looked away from a Bayred. No. That showed far too much weakness.
"So, Lesley.. no, sorry, I meant Striker, do you.. happen to recall what town this is?"
Striker blinked, generally confused. Then spared a glance as he began to roll into town. And his stomach sank.
Senttus. They brought him to the God damns city of Senttus.
