The man approached, wreathed in torchlight. A pinched weasel like face with manged hair leered at me atop a wiry from, bedecked in ragtag hide and rusted bits of metal. "De fuck are you?" He said, hand clutching a notched hatchet opposite of the uplifted torch. My mind raced. This was a terrible idea, what could I do when up against a bunch of bandits? I shouldn't have come. "Please sir, I am a wanderer in need of a place to warm my ragged feet. I saw the light of your fire, and thought I would beg a place to rest." I rasped, trying desperately to keep the tremble out of my already weak voice.

     At this, the corner of the man's lip turned up in a sneer. "Jus wanderin about in e night eh? I'd think ye a fucki-" He stopped a few steps from me, eyes widening as he began to notice that under my travelling cloak I was wreathed in bandages. He paused, a dumb look on his face for a moment. "The fuck happen to ye? Ye look like a fuckin leper...." He trailed off at the last statement, dull realization flickering behind yellowed eyes. He took a step back and readied his hatchet. I raised my hands and stammered "P-please, I am not catching. I can promise you and yours wont fall ill if you grant me a place to stay for the night."

     He paused again at this. At least the man wasn't a quick thinker. My mind was still racing as I fought the rising well of fear within me. What was I thinking? Now instead of just Olvia being slain it would be the both of us. The ragged man then said "I ere it's sum bad luck to kill a leper. Tell ya what. This isn way too odd ta be just a wanderin leper in the wood. Yer comin inta camp, and yer not gonna make a peep, got it? De boss been pissed as all ell since some mad elf bitch killed five o the men before we shackled her, an I don't fuckin feel like wakin im up for yer sorry skin eh? I'll let im decide whatever the ell he wants to do wit ye in the marn. Got it?" I didn't really have too much of a choice. "I understand. Not a word." I stammered.

     "Walk in fron a me." He said, pointing with the hatchet. It took effort to shuffle through the undergrowth, especially without my cane to lean on. We arrived at the camp, a ramshackle collection of scavenged canvas and lean-tos made into some sorry semblance of a base. The man with a lower voice, now that I was closer I made out suspiciously porcine features, spotted us as we approached the entrance. "Oo de fuck is dat then?" He asked, fingers drumming on a crude spear. "Some fool leper e says, stublin through de woods fer a place ta sleep." The man with the torch said. "An keep yer voice down. I was jus gon kill em and be done wit it, but I don't wanna piss off the boss somehow. Tink o it dis way eh? If the boss is still ravin in the marn, he might cheer up with he sees e has the pick tween railing th' elf, er killing this weak fuck slowly." At this they both gave a sickening smile at one another.

     The distinct urge to shit myself after I heard this needed to be fought off, as the top of a hatchet nudged me forward. This was it, I survived a dragon to be captured and tortured to death by some fucking inbred bandits in monster country. I mentally sighed as I tried to come to terms with where my "Bravery" had gotten me. We walked through the camp, snoring, stinking bodies lie under ragamuffin tents, some just out in the open, snoring seemingly where they had fell. The smell of piss and booze was gagging, and we made our way to the back of the camp. A few clustered rusted cages sat against the trees.

     I was roughly kicked into one that the weaselly man had opened. The click of the lock behind me was metallic finality. The sealing of my fate by my own stupidity. Why do I do this?