Belethor’s head tilted up. He blinked weakly in the firelight. One eye was dark purple. Blood dribbled down his cheek. His lips were chapped, swollen, and cut. Red bloomed through his clothes.
Ardbur’s eyes made a quick diagnosis. The man was injured and bruised, but if he received care soon, he would be fine. The dragonborn lifted his chin and averted his gaze.
“So what will it be, dragonborn?” the bandit ringleader asked him. “He clearly wasn’t worth your gold. Is there any hope someone like him could be worth trading your life?”
Ardbur stared at the woman. “Let me offer you a different deal,” he said. His voice was low. Quiet, even. Comforting. “Let Belethor free, and I won’t kill you all.”
It seemed as if all sound ceased while the dragonborn spoke. Everyone strained to hear Ardbur’s soft words. There was a moment of silence to follow. Then, someone giggled. Soon they were all laughing. The bandits let go of Belethor. The man sank to his hands and knees in front of the cage door.
“Belethor,” Ardbur spoke, his eyes not wavering from the bandit leader’s back.
The man groaned, but didn’t move.
“Belethor,” Ardbur repeated. This time his voice betrayed his impatience. The laughter around him was eating away at the last shreds of his forbearance.
The shopkeeper finally looked up. “What?” he asked, hoarsely.
“Move.”
The man’s eyes widened. Belethor scrambled aside, clearing the cage door.
Ardbur took a breath. “Fus,” he whispered.
Iron screamed as a blast of force tore the cage door from its rusty hinges and threw it across the room. Bandits yelled and bodies smashed against the stone walls. Ardbur strode free of the cage, lifting his sword to counter the downward arc of a bandit’s blade. He caught the weapon at the hilt and twisted it free of the man’s grasp. In the next motion, he gutted the bandit and kicked him off his sword.
He spun around to meet the other warriors. Three charged at him, including a big orc wielding a two-handed blade. “Zun,” Ardbur murmured.
The bandits cried out in surprise as their weapons leapt from their hands. Metal glinted as it flew through the air. Ardbur cut down the first two ruffians. His sword was still lodged between the ribs of the second man when the orc reclaimed his weapon and swung the blade at Ardbur’s head.
“Yol!”
A blast of fire howled across the cave, wiping away the orc and another three bandits. Ardbur stepped over their immolated corpses and readied his sword again, but the battle was done. Screams echoed off the vaulted ceiling above. Those bandits who survived were running, but Ardbur wouldn’t follow. Let their stories be a warning to any others who thought to cross the dragonborn.
“Even the Dragonborn Can Bleed” Belethor/M!DB, 1c/?
Ardbur’s eyes made a quick diagnosis. The man was injured and bruised, but if he received care soon, he would be fine. The dragonborn lifted his chin and averted his gaze.
“So what will it be, dragonborn?” the bandit ringleader asked him. “He clearly wasn’t worth your gold. Is there any hope someone like him could be worth trading your life?”
Ardbur stared at the woman. “Let me offer you a different deal,” he said. His voice was low. Quiet, even. Comforting. “Let Belethor free, and I won’t kill you all.”
It seemed as if all sound ceased while the dragonborn spoke. Everyone strained to hear Ardbur’s soft words. There was a moment of silence to follow. Then, someone giggled. Soon they were all laughing. The bandits let go of Belethor. The man sank to his hands and knees in front of the cage door.
“Belethor,” Ardbur spoke, his eyes not wavering from the bandit leader’s back.
The man groaned, but didn’t move.
“Belethor,” Ardbur repeated. This time his voice betrayed his impatience. The laughter around him was eating away at the last shreds of his forbearance.
The shopkeeper finally looked up. “What?” he asked, hoarsely.
“Move.”
The man’s eyes widened. Belethor scrambled aside, clearing the cage door.
Ardbur took a breath. “Fus,” he whispered.
Iron screamed as a blast of force tore the cage door from its rusty hinges and threw it across the room. Bandits yelled and bodies smashed against the stone walls. Ardbur strode free of the cage, lifting his sword to counter the downward arc of a bandit’s blade. He caught the weapon at the hilt and twisted it free of the man’s grasp. In the next motion, he gutted the bandit and kicked him off his sword.
He spun around to meet the other warriors. Three charged at him, including a big orc wielding a two-handed blade. “Zun,” Ardbur murmured.
The bandits cried out in surprise as their weapons leapt from their hands. Metal glinted as it flew through the air. Ardbur cut down the first two ruffians. His sword was still lodged between the ribs of the second man when the orc reclaimed his weapon and swung the blade at Ardbur’s head.
“Yol!”
A blast of fire howled across the cave, wiping away the orc and another three bandits. Ardbur stepped over their immolated corpses and readied his sword again, but the battle was done. Screams echoed off the vaulted ceiling above. Those bandits who survived were running, but Ardbur wouldn’t follow. Let their stories be a warning to any others who thought to cross the dragonborn.