Trials of a Wanderer

[Sheex]

What sunlight that managed to pierce the forest canopy glistened off the cold steel of the swords. Dressed in light armor, pieces of leather strapped together effectively (if not neatly), the soldiers moved in unison. With each step, their boots crushed twigs and leaves beneath their heavy soles. Almost as one, they moved towards their target.

"Not my lucky day," Sheex muttered to himself as he slowly raised his hands up into the air, the generally accepted form of surrender everywhere.

It had just been a shitty week for the wanderer. Actually, up until very recently, it had been a very good week. He had been traveling about, as wanderers tend to do, and found himself in a city whose name he had completely forgotten. The city had treated him well, as cities were wont to do. The wanderer caused little trouble, spent most his time frequenting bars, and enjoyed the local night life (when he had the funds). Sheex was not the type to cause devastation in his week.

Well, maybe a little. He did break a table by accident, but there had been a perfectly good reason (eh, not really).

Anyhow, it had been time for the wanderer to move on, and since he had managed to win a few coins at cards, Sheex had decided to spend one last night indulging in his favorite vice: drinking. One thing had led to another, and he found himself with one attractive brunette with a side of hangover. Not a bad night in his book.

Course the woman had only been using him to get back at her husband, which was fine with Sheex, as he had most certainly enjoyed using her. Everything would have been a-okay, had it not been for said husband, who did not take kindly to Sheex having what one would call "passionate" sex with his wife. As Sheex was a lover, not a fighter, he had quickly fled the scene (and the town).

This led to his current predicament. Sheex had not been concerned with where he was going, so long as he was putting as much distance as possible between him, and one very angry man with a meat cleaver. Off the beaten path had seemed as good as choice as any, so instead of sticking to the road, Sheex had headed into what looked to be a rather peaceful forest. Three hours later he had three armed men pointing swords at him, and whenever that happened it was enough for Sheex to call it a shitty week.

"So, ah, what's the deal? About this time bandits are usually demanding my money or my life," Sheex asked the men before him. One of them sneered in disgust.

"Do we look like bandits to you?" The man demanded of Sheex, who simply shrugged in response.

"I dunno. Maybe? If I say no, can I go? Cause in that case, I find you all to be fine upstanding citizens. May you go with the grace of, ah, whatever it is that people worship nowadays.” Taking not too kindly to Sheex’s lackadaisical attitude, one of them men pointed his sword towards the wanderer’s neck.

“We are soldiers! Proud soldiers of the Vayne Empire, and you are going to be held for questioning!” The man spat. “Unless of course you have some sort of papers that allow you to travel unhindered in a war-zone?”

“WAR-ZONE?” Sheex screamed in a mostly manly way, “Hell no! God damn it! I mean, why would I even want to be in one in the first place? Just the thought it...wait...just exactly what type of questioning are we talking about here?”

“It’s not the friendly type of questioning that happens over dinner,” one of the soldiers with a sense of humor said, “or the type that’s restricted by laws.”

“At least you’re being up front about it,” Sheex muttered as his eyes quickly scanned the surrounding area. Quaint little forest area, bunch of dirt on the ground. Lot of trees, easy to lose pursers in (probably). No signs of anyone else nearby; pretty steep downward slope a few feet away.

“Now then,” one of the soldiers closed in, “come with us.”

“You guys should be careful,” Sheex said with a smirk, “for all you know I’m one of those real terrors. One of those guys that can shoot you with a thousand magical swords, or one of those pricks that just don’t die. I might even be one of those wizards who if you so much as look at the wrong way, I’ll shatter the very air around you into a hundred glass shards. Shards that’ll cut you to ribbons, like, nine times.”

“Hey, I heard about a guy like that,” muttered the soldier with the sense of humor, “you’re not him.”

“Yeah, I know,” Sheex frowned as he began to play with the dirt with his foot, “there’s really only one thing that’s special about me.”

The soldiers humored him with raised eyebrows.

“I. Am. A. COWARD!” Sheex screamed as loud as he could while he enacted one of his favorite tricks, Dust In The Eyes. A secret and ancient art that consisted of kicking dirt into his enemies eyes (maybe not so secret, but it was definitely ancient).

With a fairly smooth motion Sheex spun his foot up and into the air, sending a crescent spray of dirt at the soldiers eyes. Two of them coughed violently, one who had more training charged forth. With all the skill he possessed, Sheex took two big steps, and flung himself over the hill.

“Ouch! Oh! Damn! Shit! Crap! Dang!” Curse after curse escaped from Sheex’s lips as he rolled down the hill, covering himself in dirt and other less savory elements of the forest. Still, his plan had worked, for he didn’t hear any cursing behind him. Checking back as he continued to roll, he noticed the guards were not chasing him. Congratulating himself silently, the wanderer bounced off a rock (painfully), and finished.

“Well, that wasn’t so bad,” Sheex muttered as he sat up. He made to take in a breath of fresh air, well, forest-fresh air (which was actually pretty fresh), but something was wrong. Sheex had smelled a lot of air in his life, and this one was anything but forest-like. It was cloth-like, with a rough texture that rubbed against Sheex’s nose.

Wait a second...air doesn’t rub against your nose...

“Ohhhh, very nice,” Sheex smiled as he reached his left hand upward, and felt a firm yet fine resistance. He gave it a good squeeze, and rubbed his face about a bit. Yup, he knew where he was; he had been in a similar place about a night ago.

He didn’t have much time to hear what was said; it was a curse of some sort. His head was jerked upwards by a firm hand. A tight pulling of the hair demanded his attention, a harsh glare captivated his body.

There comes a time when you just know someone is going to change your life. Maybe it’s the color of the hair, or the shade of the eyes. The voice, the fingers, the lips, it could be anything at all. Sometimes the wind just whispers, “ohhhh yeah” to you, in a tone that demands action.

And Sheex’s life was changed then and there. Maybe it was the girl’s dark black hair, cut short at the neck. Maybe it was her eyes of the darkest shade of brown. It could have been her skin, a pale white as if she should spend a little more time in the sun. It could have been her legs, clad in an unsightly harsh cloth. But Sheex thought, no, he was damn certain, that behind those clothes was a beauty. A real woman; not that knock-your-socks-off type of woman, but the cold and aloof type. The type of woman that said back-off with her looks, and with her fists. The type of woman that did not take kindly to a stranger, or anyone at all for that matter, rubbing his face in-between her legs.

Oh, Sheex’s life was changed all right. The amount of force she punched him with was guaranteed to shorten his life. His head jerked back violently, his vision swirled about him. He swooned, he gurgled, and then he fell down like a sack of bricks squishing three sacks of potatoes.

He hated that type of woman.

[Sheex]

"I give you full marks for bravery, charging at them like that. That being said, I'm afraid your technique was rather lacking. Actually, I really can't say you had any technique at all. I'll give you three out of ten, because I'm feeling generous," Sheex muttered as he lazily played with a few pieces of dirt to pass the time.

After receiving a life-shortening punch from the woman, Sheex had managed to regain consciousness in the span of a few seconds. Of course, when he had, he quickly wished he hadn't. The soldiers he had managed to escape had him and the woman surrounded, and now there were ten soldiers rather than three. The comedian soldier had congratulated Sheex on his escape, but then pointed out that all the soldiers had to do was go around the hill the wanderer had tumbled down; they had even managed to come across reinforcements along the way.

Realizing he was bested, Sheex quickly raised his hands in surrender (for real this time). Not the woman though. She had quickly rushed her foes, despite the fact she hadn't even had time to draw her sword. He had to hand it to her, she managed to take down three guards with her bare hands. In fact, it had been quite a sight to see. One lone girl punching and kicking at ten men all by her lonesome.

Hadn't work though. Even if she had managed to take down three, that still left another seven to deal with (Sheex may have been able to take one on a good day). So, while Sheex calmly submitted himself to surrender, the woman had been rush and dog-piled to the ground. It was a good thing that the soldiers were trying to take her alive, or she would have found herself skewered by several sharp pointy objects.

"I fail to see how you can judge me!" The woman snapped at him as she paced around her cell. "At least I tried!"

"That's why you got three points I guess. Let's face it, charging ten men head-on without a weapon ain't exactly tactical brilliance," Sheex responded as he eyed his surroundings. The two had been taken prisoner (as previously stated), and been sent to what could only be a temporary base of operations. Inside of a large tent, the cells they were held in were make-shift, nothing but wooden cages that had been constructed side by side. The soldiers hadn't even covered the floor; Sheex himself now sat upon quite the pile of dirt. At least the cages had one blanket a piece.

Over the course of his stay here (which was going on about two hours), Sheex had learned three things. One, he had stupidly waltzed into a war between two nations; the Vayne Empire and the Solidous Federation. Two, the woman in the cell next to him was a mercenary, and she was not in the employment of the Vayne Empire (Sheex had gleamed this information from the soldiers talking on the way here). Three, said woman was named Emilia Adachi, and she did not take kindly to any form of nick name. Babes, Sweet Cheeks, and Toots seemed to irritate her beyond all others.

"So, ah, can I call you Emi?" Sheex asked.

"No," was her very blunt response as she tugged at one of the wooden beams that imprisoned her. Makeshift the cages may have been, but they were far too sturdy to be simply torn down by one's bare hands. Not that Emi hadn't tried.

"Whatever, I'm calling you it anyways," Sheex responded, despite the glare. "Why not give it a rest? You're not going anywhere."

"You!" Emi whirled around and launched herself at the wooden beams separating the two of them. "How can you be so calm? Do you realize just how knee-deep in shit we are in, or do you lacking any sort of survival instinct?"

"Hey, I want to survive as much as anyone!" Sheex responded as he stood up, dusted himself off, and walked towards the door of his cell. There was enough room in the bars to reach his hands through, but nowhere near enough to do much else. He could reach the iron padlock on the door, and if he had the tools he might have even been able to pick it. Assuming of course he had that particular skill, which he didn't.

His attention drifted away from his freedom, and towards the one table set off in the corner of the room. There had been a guard there, but he had left to go get someone. A pile of belongings were on that table, mostly Sheex's; Emi had had very little in the way of belongings. The wanderer eyed that table carefully, and clucked his tongue. He turned to face his companion-in-prison, who at this point was carefully studying the lock.

"Yo. Emi. Did I tell you about the time I slew a dragon?" Sheex began as he leaned against his cell bars.

"Stop calling me that! And yes, you did," Emi brushed a few strands of her dark hair aside as she fiddled with the lock on her door, "and you are full of shit. You never killed a dragon."

"Very true. Stop it with the lock, by the way, unless you happen to be a master thief...you don't happen to be a master thief by chance, do you?"

"Nope. I can throw a pretty damn good left hook though," Emi responded as she slammed her body against the door. Nothing.

"Yes, I recall that," Sheex muttered as he rubbed his jaw, "hey, there was this one time I met this wizard. Rumor was that he could freeze you blood just by touching you-"

"And you didn't defeat him either," was Emi's cold response. Sheex shrugged his shoulders.

"Never said I did. All I said was I met the guy. Actually, he was pretty nice; had a drink with him. Good times. So Emi-"

"Enough! Enough enough enough! Enough with the mindless babble!" Emi (that was her name now Sheex had decided, like it or not) screamed as she reached through the wooden bars that Sheex had been leaning against. He yelped much like a girl as her hands tightened around his neck, but he didn't mind being pulled close to her face. She was pretty cute, despite being violent and mean.

"Let me explain just how much trouble we are in. The man commanding this little group here is called Nero. His full name is Gaius Nero. Do you know who this man is?"

Sheex shook his head. He hadn't heard of anyone by that name, or if he had, he had promptly forgotten about them.

"Is he an ex-boyfriend of yours?" The wanderer asked, more to lighten the mood than anything else; it had the opposite effect.

"He'll kill us Sheex. But it won't be quick, he'll cut us up piece by piece. He likes his trinkets; pieces of flesh. He loves to duel, and he's a master swordsman. He takes his time when he fights you Sheex. If he beats you, he'll happily give you another chance, but he'll charge you a finger; maybe an ear. He keeps the pieces of his victims in a small satchel around his neck...and this is the man we will be meeting as soon as the guard returns."

"You're shitting me," Sheex swore.

"Unfortunately for us both, I'm not like you. I am telling you the complete and utter truth. If you want to sit there and accept your fate, fine with me. But I'm going to live Sheex. God damn it! I'll live!" Emi swore to herself as she shook Sheex violently. He opened his mouth to retort, to tell her that he too wanted to live. It was just that, at the current moment, there was no way out of these cells. There wasn't any point in attempting futile things, that was what the wanderer believed.

He couldn't take on those ten soldiers, so he didn't try. He knows he can't escape his cell, so he doesn't bother. It's not that he doesn't want to live, he just doesn't want his efforts to be wasted. There's no real reason behind it, except for maybe fear of failure. Still, Sheex very much wanted to live, just like her. He tried to tell her this, but Emi cut him off in an instant.

"Cease with the noise!" She screamed. Sheex obeyed promptly; Emi nodded in satisfaction. "Very good. Now let me think. Go do something useful, like sit in the corner."

Released from the death grip, the wanderer sulked over to where his very ratty blanket lay. Heck, it was so worn, it was quite literally falling apart. Struck by a sudden inspiration, Sheex pulled at a loose string; the blanket quickly began to unravel. He grinned, and began to tear the blanket apart.

It took him five minutes, but eventually Sheex had enough string for his purposes. He heard Emi mutter something, but he paid her little heed. Instead, he tied his string into a lasso, and tossed it at the table. He missed three times, but he hit the jackpot on the third.

"Jackpot," Sheex whispered without his usual bravado as he pulled in his catch; Emi stared. He looked up at her, with her face red with anger. Her hands shook, her fists were clenched. She was on the verge of doing something terribly violent to him.

"What?" Sheex asked as he reached down, and picked up his recently acquired pack of cigarettes; he offered her one. "Did you want a smoke?"

[Sheex]

"You've got to be kidding me!" Emi shouted as Sheex held up his prize. "Of all the things on the table, you grabbed a that! You've got to be joking! I can't believe you would...words can't describe..."

Sheex chuckled as he put pulled a cigarette from the pack he had valiantly reclaimed from the soldiers that had confiscated it. He smacked the bottom of the cigarette pack; a couple of matches fell out of it. The wanderer usually kept a small pack of matches on him as well, but they were on the table with the rest of his stuff. He struck one of the matches on the bottom of his shoe, lit his cigarette, and the tossed the used match into the dirt while he puffed a smoke cloud at Emi.

"If you're so upset," he tossed her the lasso, "try it yourself. Bet it'll take you at least five tries."

Exactly one try later, Emi had yanked off of the table a tiny set of keys. Sheex blushed in slight embarrassment, but later laughed as Emi tried all three keys in rapid succession. None of them had worked. Angrily she flung the keys to the corner of her cell; nothing ever went right for her!

"You didn't really think they'd leave the keys to our cells just sitting on the table, did you?" Sheex egged her on as he puffed on his cigarette. "What kind of story book world do you live in anyway? Sheesh, are you expecting a knight to ride in on a white horse, and whisk you away too? If he shows, see if he'll lend me some coin, will ya?"

The wanderer was expecting her to scream at him, or to something else that was violent and in-character for her. What he did not expect was for Emi let out a long, soft, and haunting chuckle; low and quiet, but disturbing in every way imaginable. Sheex's skin crawled as he heard that laugh, and he finished his cigarette off in one very harsh drag, feeling a bit ashamed of himself at this point.

"I assure you, I most certainly do not expect anyone to show up to save me. Not by a long shot," Emi let out another chuckle as she slumped down in the dirt; the hopelessness of her situation finally assaulted her. "And you? What are you expecting?"

"Ah...a good question. Maybe for them to realize I have nothing to do with this war, and to let me go with an apology?" Sheex thought for a moment. "Heck, they don't even need to apologize actually."

The two said nothing for the next few minutes. Emi just sat in the corner, much like a beaten dog. Sheex sighed as he looked into his pack of cigarettes; bastard soldiers had stolen half of them. Still, even that wasn't as depressing as Emi's current state. Laziness suited a guy like Sheex; her not so much.

"I liked you better when you were yelling. Giving up doesn't suit you," Sheex whispered softly as he too felt the hopelessness of the situation creep in. For all his care-free attitude, for all his laziness, he couldn't shake the fact that the two of them were going to die. He didn't want to die, or get tortured for that matter. In a way, his taunts and jibes had been a way of ignoring the situation before him. But, there was no ignoring it now.

"Well, just for you, I'll take a few swings at the soldiers when they come for me. Just...give me a bit more technique points," Emi joked with a sad smile. Sheex let out a soft laugh.

"Ha. I liked you there, making that joke," Sheex muttered with a nod of his head. "I just hope I'm around to see you deck one of 'em."

"I'm sure you will be, but don't get used to my jokes. I don't like you; you're a worthless coward. I know your type, happy to leech of others, take what you can, and leave before anyone's the wiser. You know, I really hate trash like you," she said as she leaned her head against the cage in a tired manner. She meant for her remark to be hurtful, but it just struck Sheex as very sad.

"I won't lie, you've got me pegged," Sheex answered. He thought to make a sarcastic retort, but found that he just wasn't up to it. Instead, he thought of something else. "Hey? Why are you so sure I'll see you punch 'em?"

"Cause these guys are gentlemen," Emi muttered sarcastically as she flicked her head towards the entrance to the tent they were in. Four soldiers appeared, one wearing signs of rank. The men looked at the two prisoners, and the ranked soldier pointed greedily towards Emi. One soldier pulled out a key ring, and opened her door.

"Ladies first," the man muttered as two soldiers made to grab her.

"Just try it!" Emi spat, reverting back to her tough I-can-take-on-the-world attitude. She sprang to her feet, and smashed one of a soldier's head into the wooden cage. She grabbed another by the arm, and tossed him to the ground. She spun about as the man of rank strode forward, and punched his heavy hand into Emi's stomach. The girl coughed in pain, but made an effort to get away as best she could. With a cruel grin, the man grabbed her by her hair, and slammed her face into the cell door.

She let out a moan of pain as her body went limp and her eyes rolled back. One of the other soldiers got up, no doubt feeling embarrassed because he had been beaten by a girl. He felt a bit better when he delivered a swift kick to Emi's limp body. The girl coughed painfully, and put her hands up feebly to defend herself. Another merciless kick to her stomach, and the young woman (she couldn't have been much older than Sheex) collapsed. Laughing cruelly, the men picked her up, and walked away.

Sheex didn't even so much as try to stop them. All he did was look away, and do his best to ignore the scene before him. What the hell could he have done about it anyhow? Even if he could have gotten out of his cage (an unlikely event), he wasn't a fighter. Besides, even if he had been, he couldn't of helped her. Damn, he wished he had something to drink; he took out another cigarette to consol himself.

"Where'd you get those?" The remaining soldier spat. He hadn't gone with the other men; he had to guard the remaining prisoner. That must have put him in a foul mood.

"They were mine to begin with," Sheex answered as he lit his cigarette. He didn't so much as look at the soldier, which must have annoyed the man. After all, he was the one Emi had pretty much floored. Sheex heard the door to his cell fling open; the soldier stomped angrily towards him.

"You give me those goddamn things or I'll cut your-" The man stopped mid-sentence as Sheex tossed him the pack; the soldier caught it with both hands.

"You know man," Sheex muttered, "I really suck at fighting, but I think even I can take someone who isn't using their hands."

The soldier instantly dropped the pack of cigarettes, but it was too late for him. Sheex was already swinging, and the wanderer would be lying if he said he didn't like the sound of the man's face being smashed. The soldier stumbled back and made to yell for help, but Sheex had already gotten the jump on the man. Not one to waste his chance, Sheex slammed the man to the floor, and proceeded to punch the man until he was sure the soldier was unconscious. As the wanderer often said, he wasn't the best fighter, so it took quite a few punches; that didn't bug Sheex too much today though.

"Asshole," Sheex muttered as he picked up his cigarettes, tucked the pack away, and kicked the soldier once for good measure. He then tossed the soldier into the back of the cell, and then threw the torn up blanket atop the man to cover him up.

"So, I guess is the point where the hero chases after the girl, despite the fact she's been a total bitch to him. Not that the hero has been exactly gentlemanly to her," Sheex said to himself as he collected his belongings from the table. There wasn't much: some coin, two daggers, and a bit of food. He glanced about; the men had dragged Emi off to the left, so that would be the way to go.

"But, you know, I'm not a hero; not by a long shot. You had me pegged Emi, I am quite the coward."

Yeah, he wasn't a hero, and this wasn't some stupid story book. If he went after her, he'd be taking on an army. If he did that, he'd die, and Sheex did not want to die.

"Sorry," Sheex whispered to no one in particular as he turned right, forcing himself not to look back.

[Sheex]

Emi twisted her hands against the ropes that held her in place; the success level of rubbing the skin of her wrists was high, not much else. She wasn't sure what was worse, her situation or her surroundings. She hung from the wooden beam of a large tent, dangling for all to see. Swaying slightly from side to side, her bare feet were about two feet from the dirt floor. Her wrists above her head tied tight, she was utterly helpless. She hated being helpless.

Unsurprisingly her clothes had been torn off; she wore nothing but her underclothes now. A worn piece of cloth covered her chest (she never had the time or money for prettier things); her underwear was made of a similar texture. Both were a faded gray color, and those two strips of flimsy material was all that stood between her and four men.

She had always known that she was a pretty girl. Not drop dead gorgeous, not by a long shot, but pretty nonetheless. Her body was firm and toned from constant exercise, enough muscles to be fair, but not too much to take away from her womanhood completely; her hips in particular were rather nice. She kept her hair short to keep it out of the way, but there was a quality to her jet-black hair that she liked. A lot of men did to. Her breasts were on the smaller side, which was good, because she could only imagine how annoying it would be to swing a sword with her chest bouncing every which way. Still, they were far from non-existent, a fact she often lamented. Especially at times like these, when a man gripped her roughly, and twisted hard.

She had once thought about mutilating herself in some way, but there would be no point in such folly. The path she choose was a hard one for any person, triply so for a woman. It wouldn't matter if she was ugly, the end result would be the same; being hideous would only delay the rapes, there's was always a man out there desperate enough to take any woman he could. Besides, she was proud of who she was. If that was so, then there was no way she could deface herself. At times like this, pride in herself was the only thing that kept her going.

She let out a grunt of annoyance as one of the men continued to fondle her. There were four men with her. Two soldiers of no rank who eyed her hungrily, and a big fat one that stank of sweat who did more than just eye her. She checked her surroundings; the longer they played with her, the higher her chances of escape. Each of the soldiers carried a spear and sword; the fat man had only a jeweled sword at his hip for a weapon. Her feet were free; she reasoned there might be a chance of escape if she could free herself and grab a weapon. Those two soldiers didn't look so tough, distracted by her body as they were, and she was fairly confident the fat one who stank wouldn't pose a problem. The problem was the fourth man.

He sat at a table, paying her absolutely no attention what so ever. His sole focus was a little cylinder made of wood in his hands. He held the cylinder up to his ears and turned it about causing parts of the cylinder to twist and clicked; the man smiled charmingly every time he heard the piece click.

His hair (tied in a long ponytail) was more akin to gold than blond, and his eyes were deep emerald. His skin had a light tan to it, his hands moved the cylinder with extreme grace. Not a movement was wasted, not a motion was overdone by the slightest extent.

His outfit was fine, crimson red and ocean blue melded together with lines of gold tracing the cuffs of his pants and jacket. Around his neck hung a necklace, the bottom of it was tucked away under his clothes. A short cape of a deep white with red outlines was draped over his left shoulder, and a breastplate covered his chest; not a piece of armor more. The armor was either plated silver or made entirely of it, judging by the way it shined; she doubted it was the later. He had a fine sheath on his belt, made of wood, but his sword he had lain on the table he worked at.

It was simple, at least by the rest of the outfit's standards. The hilt was gold with a single small ruby affixed to the center of it. It was of a short sword make, meant to be held with a single hand. The blade itself was double-edged and straight, signs of it being meticulously cared for were evident. Thought the rest of the outfit was anything but useful for a soldier (flashy and extravagant had no place on the battlefield), that sword told a different tale. That sword was meant for a purpose, to kill efficiently, and Emi had no doubt it did. If she judged by appearances, than that man was nothing but a fop playing soldier. And yet her instincts, honed through countless battles, told her that that man was one enemy that she must never underestimate. He, above all others, was dangerous.

"If you want it open, why not break it?" the fat man asked as he moved to Emi's other breast. Emi saw that the man froze (annoyingly with his chubby hand still on her nipple), as the man at the table turned his gaze upon him.

"Do you read the end of a book first?" the man at the table asked softly. His voice was sweet, almost honey like in its simplicity.

"I...er..." the fat man stumbled.

"I don't like to skip to the end, do you? I find life more exciting if one takes their time, enjoying every fleeting moment to the fullest possible extent. I believe that way is the best way," as he finished, the man in red turned his attention back to his work.

"You are correct my Lord. That is the best way to live your life," the fat man answered.

"Do you believe that, or are you just agreeing with me simply to make me happy?" was the curious response. The fat man begun to mutter incoherently; Emi laughed.

"First time I've been groped by a man without a pair of balls," she chuckled as the fat man slapped her across the face. Blood trickled from her lip, but she glared defiantly anyways.

"The sparrow pecks, even though she is caged. I like that," the man in red said as he stood up, and walked over towards her, still playing with the cylinder all the while. One final click, and the thing came apart, revealing several sheets of paper that had been tightly rolled up within. He held up the papers, and asked, "Do you know what these papers are, Sparrow?"

"They're the papers I was paid to transport," Emi stated bluntly, desperately playing for time. She had to give them enough to convince them, but not give too much away. If she gave too much, it was over. If she gave too little, then the torture would start, and her chances of escape would drop drastically.

"A fair response, but one that did not answer my question. I ask again, what are these papers Sparrow?"

"Field plans, supply plans, troop movements. Unit strength, depot locations, names of commanding officers. It contains all sorts of information about the Vayne Empire," she stated quickly. No point in denying it, it was plain for all to see.

"You are correct Sparrow. And you are literate. A rarity I seldom see in sell swords. These papers are worth a fortune to an enemy army, yet they are in the hands of a mercenary. Why is that?"

"I...couldn't tell you that. A man paid me to transport them. I didn't ask questions," she lowered her eyes as she finished speaking. Something about this man scared her.

"I see. I believe I killed that man, Sparrow. Along with the rest of his spies. They must have been very desperate to entrust their work to a sell sword; most would simply sell these as fast as they could to make a quick coin. Why did you not sell them? Not only would the Vayne Empire have paid you well, there is no small number of entrepreneurs who would like these. Why not sell?"

"I take a job, I finish it," was her only response. That was her creed, once she took a job, she followed through. No matter the odds, no matter the order. If she took the money, she got the job done. That was what set her apart from the rest, why she could hold her head up high, and why she was a world apart from the average mercenary.

“A mercenary? With morals? Ha!” the fat man let out a loud, haughty laugh and gave her another squeeze. “Unlikely, though I wonder, at what cost do you sell yourself? I might be interest.”

“I am no whore,” she spat at him.

“I’ll make you into one. I’ll price you at...three coins. Two on Saturday. My own personal whore,” the man was practically slobbering on her. The man in red looked at her curiously, waiting to see her response.

“How sad,” Emi shook her head, “I bet that’s the only love you’ll ever have too. I wouldn’t want my virginity to be taken by such a cheap whore, but I suppose that’s the best some men can manage.”

Her remark earned her several punches to her stomach, but she fought through the pain. If she could only force the man into making a mistake, she would have her chance. It was only a question if her body could take the punishment.

“The sparrow pecked you again,” the man in red smiled, “This bird is not without its charm.”

“Cut me free and I’ll do more than peck,” she responded with her own smile, “I’ll slice up the virgin and the two soldiers for five coins total. I charge double for pretty boys though.”

“Very good,” the man in red caressed her face gently, far differently from the fat one. This touch was soft and delicate, as one would touch a lover, or maybe a prized treasure. “But to peck me is dangerous. I am the only reason you retain what little honor you have left. One word, and every man in this camp will have their way with you. There are roughly five hundred men here. Will you fly Sparrow, or fall? I would very much like to see.”

It was his eyes, that was what scared her. Those pretty eyes, those emerald eyes, were the danger. They were a wolf’s eyes, and they were hungry. Did the man even see her as a human, she wondered, or as some sort of object? They scared her, but they also looked down on her, and that was something that she would never tolerate.

Emilia Adachi refused to be anything less than equal to anyone. No one looked down on her, no one thought of her as an object. She was strong, damn it, and she could take care of herself! She always did. So, even though she was scared, she chose the path she had always chosen, regardless of the consequences. She elected to fight, and bit the man’s fingers.

He smiled at her all the while. His eyes were filled with delight, like a hunter who had finally found a worthy prey. He did not scream or cry out, or even try to pull away. He simply smiled, and shoved his hand further into her mouth. Her eyes went wide as she began to choke on blood and spit.

“That is not my sword arm, but you stand to deal me a significant wound if you continue. However, you may very well choke to death if you don’t let up. What will you do, Sparrow?” the man whispered into her ear as her eyes began to water. She bit down harder at the man’s fine fingers, but the more she bite, the more blood came out. It was filling her mouth, forcing its way down her throat. She began to gag.

“You have cast the dice Sparrow. You have pecked me, and I will peck you back. Make it worth it,” was all the man said as he forced his hand further down her throat. She opened her mouth wider and made to bite down harder, but instead she coughed violently. Blood mixed with spit and pieces of flesh that were caught in her throat, and the man’s fingers were almost to the back of her mouth. She found herself making a pathetic whimpering noise. The soldiers laughed at her, and she hated herself for it.

She gagged violently, her entire body shook. Emi opened her mouth and yanked her head away; the man sighed, and removed his hand from her throat. She started a curse, but all she succeeded in doing was vomiting up a bit of blood on herself.

“You lose Sparrow. Now, shall I bite you?” he traced his lips over her face, her body quivered. She felt a wet sucking on her ear, and the sharp sting of teeth. Instinctively she let out a gasp, and pulled her head away from him.

“No? As you like. If you wish them over me, I will respect your wishes. Farewell, my pretty Sparrow,” the man offered as he flexed his bitten hand. Everything still seemed to be in working order. He gave a nod to the soldiers, and walked away from Emi, not looking back.

“Shall I have that looked at, Lord Gaius?” someone said, but she wasn’t paying any attention now. She was trembling in fear of that man. And more than that, she felt ashamed. She, who had always held her head up with pride, had lost a battle of wills. No, she hadn’t just lost. She had been totally and utterly defeated. That man had stood their smiling as she tore his hand apart, but one little bite from him, and she had instantly jerked her head away. That stung worse than any wound.

But it wasn’t over. No, as she wallowed in shame, she had forgotten everything around her, but she was shocked back into reality soon enough. She had prided herself on her self-control, but now she found herself screaming loudly as a rough hand found its way between her legs.

“Now then, where were we?” a cruel voice whispered in her still perfectly fine ear.