His plan could finally come into play, now that he had everything ready. 'Riverside' had served well, giving him all the information he needed, to abuse Henry's flaws - their conversation before the meeting had been short: "He has anger issues," Riverside had said, "nearly stabbed me once; he can't read either, according to my pets. He's indeed of the Redstem family, and will be a useful asset to you, I'm sure."
Quintyn didn't pay 'Riverside' much for his services, save the pouch of gold, and his unscathed, unbled, unbroken life. He, Quintyn, thrived on such circumstances - he preferred to use fear to his advantage in place of gold, for he knew well, that someone else could pay 'Riverside' more, and have Quintyn ruined. He wasn't going to let that happen.
He sat now, atop his bed in the inn, rubbing his tiresome eyes. Henry, as far as he knew, was terrified, and kept-in-check. Deep down, Quintyn said to himself silently, they're all scared.
The Scarred Man walked in, his face as grim as ever. He was now in recovery; he had not died from his wounds, fortunately, though he most certainly smelt like he had. "Hello," Quintyn began, a strange smirk on his face, as if there were some crude joke, "how's the arm? Or was it the chest?"
"Damn you." He replied, spitting out his words as a man may spit out bitter food. "Damn your damned hide, you damned bastard."
"Damning, damning! So much damning today, and yesterday too. I see you're better, then. I've got a job to do, and you've got to do it with me."
"Bandits, again? I already said, I wouldn't be doing... that again." The Scarred Man said. He was right, Quintyn knew; the last time they met three bandits, resulted in three dead, rotting corpses. It was a beautiful sight.
Except, these weren't bandits that Quintyn was referring to.
"No, not bandits," Quintyn said calmly, "and I assure you, there will be less blood-spilling. I don't plan on getting too joyous just yet."
To this, The Scarred Man simply shook his head slowly, but when Quintyn stood and left the room, he was quick enough to follow.
It took them less than an hour, but not more than half of it, to get to their destination; Quintyn knew well-enough as to where they were, but The Scarred Man didn't. He wasn't much good at direction, Quintyn knew, and so this was all the more perfect.
They were dismounted when they came upon a farmer, what seemed to be his wife, and three children.
"Hello, to you!" Quintyn said, laughing in an almost-sincere mood.
"Ah, hello." The farmer-man said, dropping his head. He seemed to be of the 'bend the head' type - a group Quintyn particularly liked.
"Right, you probably don't know why I'm here, so let us begin." Quintyn smirked, as he drew forth a dagger, and pushed it in the man's direction, threateningly. The Scarred Man stood, and stared. "Come on, friend." Quintyn said, "I said. Come. On." he ordered.
The Scarred Man unsheathed a dull broadsword, and spat at the ground. He was not able to carry anything heavier, but that didn't matter; he didn't like what was happening, as Quintyn knew well.
"What? What's happening!?" The farmer cried, stepping backwards quickly, only to stop, trying to defend what looked like his family.
Quintyn smiled, "This is happening." He drove forth the dagger, piercing the man's right leg - forcing him to the ground. He let out a cry, but swiftly turned to face his family, screaming out something wordless. The wordless scream must have been something along the lines of 'Run!', because his family immediately ran.
Or rather, tried to.
"Stop right there," Quintyn ordered, chuckling as he stared at the family, "you aren't... going, are you? You see, you don't know who I am! If you go, you won't get far."
They stopped, the lady immediately crying, while the children dug their faces deep into her; tormented and confused.
"What do you want? What have I done?" the man asked, clearly distraught.
"Do you know Wilham Windgardens?" Quintyn asked. The man answered with a nod. "That is what you have done." He hit the man across the face, sending him to the floor, where the dirt filled his mouth. "Wilham was sick, and you made him worse."
"No, we just took him in, helped him! His father told us --" the lady cried, before being cut-off by the sound of her apparent-husband being kicked.
"You made him worse, and his father is angered! You know his father is a lord, correct?" Quintyn looked furious, staring at the lady with dark, cold eyes. She nodded slowly, answering his question, though she was clearly confused - in a scared, helpless way.
"Not a lord here." The man on the ground hissed, his voice a curious mix of hate and worry. Quintyn replied by kicking him across the face, letting loose a small amount of blood into the air. "Seems I may have broken our agreement, friend," he told The Scarred Man, "already twice, I've let some blood. Worry not, it wont happen again."
The Scarred Man remained silent. It was clear he was uncomfortable with what was happening, but he would not dare show that so openly. Quintyn could tell, however, that he was worried; most likely about a patrol, or a group of travellers. Quintyn didn't mind, though, they were far enough from any people who would actually come to the aid of a farmer.
"Pick him up." Quintyn said, and The Scarred Man hastened to obey, sheathing his sword, to lift the farmer-man up. His nose looked broken, it was crooked. Blood leaked from his nostrils, too, from the blow he had just taken. "Tell me, farmer," Quintyn said, pushing himself so close to the farmer, that he could feel the breeze of the man's breathe, "who would you prefer to live? Your children, or your wife?"
Quintyn presumed it was the man's wife. He was right.
The farmer didn't answer, and instead began crying helplessly, looking down at the floor. "Right, it's decided! The wife!"
The farmer screeched loud, and his wife louder, as Quintyn made his way towards them. "A few men will be here soon - they're already late, as it is." He said. "Don't try and run."
They did try to run. Quintyn grabbed hold of the lady by her hair, and dragged her back.
The Scarred Man let go of the farmer, "Quintyn! Stop this!" He drew his sword, and Quintyn groaned deeply in his mind.
Quintyn smiled, though, not showing his irritation. He drew his sword. He was tall, though not as tall as The Scarred Man, and could fight - and, better yet, was not wounded. "Drop the sword..." He said, calmly, not even looking at the farmer and his family. "You don't want to do this."
The Scarred Man ran in his direction, letting out a loud cry, gripping his sword tighter than ever. Quintyn stepped out of the way with perfect timing, chuckling as he swung his own sword downward at The Scarred Man's back. He heard a satisfying 'crunch' sound, as the sword hacked into the Man that was once a Friend. He let go of his sword, and watched as the man fell to the ground, the blade still deep in his back. Such a blow would probably kill any normal man, but he, The Scarred Man, was not something to be called 'normal'. Quintyn spat at his wounded body, and was about to take a kick at it, before his eyes were immediately covered.
The lady had grabbed hold of him, and was scratching at his face from behind. He let out a 'cry' of pain, falling onto his back, his face red and stinging. He could not see much, but the blurred image of the farmer and his family escaping, dragging the body of The Scarred Man away. Today had been a failure, it would seem.
Quintyn shouted, "I'll find you, bastard!" - unable to stand just yet. The irony in his words were noticed, but ignored, and once he pushed himself up, he did not know where they had went. He realised at once, however, that the horses had been taken - they must have taken them, for who else?
Now, the sound of galloping came, as four riders approached Quintyn with haste. "Where have you been!?" Quintyn screamed with anger, "Late bastards, mercenary scum!"
The curses continued, until Quintyn took one of the riders, and flung him off his saddle. He then proceeded to ride off, before coming back to trample the man. Whether he hit him or not, was unknown - but the man was definitely put deep into the dust by one of the riders. Quintyn made straight for Bree-Town, angered.
He would find The Scarred Man, and he would tear his very insides out with his bare hands. But first, he had to see to another scarred man.
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