Jonn wiped the blood off his blade using the vest worn by one of the handful of slain half-orcs lying around him. He curled his lips at the sight of the liquid; an unsightly sort of blackish-red, like a man's blood after it had dried, but this was still wet. After sheathing the sword, he stood back up from his crouch, grunting at the sudden pain. During the preceding battle, one of the louts managed to get behind him and strike him in the back. The armor didn't appear to be pierced, but he probably had a bruised rib.
None of the bodies appeared to be moving, but he kicked them over to be sure, keeping his shield in hand just in case. Satisfied, Jonn made his way out of the small camp, marching the short distance to where he left his new horse. She was a cream-colored steed—rather pretty, Jonn thought, as far as horses go—with a temperament about as wild as this land's inhabitants. He had yet to give her a name.
“Wild men.” Jonn had heard these people—these “Dunlendings”—described as such. Chiefly by natives of Rohan, but the term seemed to catch on with others he'd met as well. Were they really so “wild”? Frankly, they appeared to be, at least at first. Their skin tone was an angry red, like sun-baked clay. Well, what could be seen of their skin, that is. Much of it was painted over with various markings denoting whatever clan each person professed to be. Their scalps were often partly shaved or styled in almost freakish ways. When speaking, their outlandish accent made them barely intelligible.
Slow to trust, these people were naturally suspicious of outsiders and travelers. But, really, with such animosity between the clans, and now with these revolting half-orcs invading their land, who could blame them? “Wild men”? Perhaps. However in the month since he'd entered this land so far south of his own, Jonn had discovered things about these people he didn't expect. Once you get past their garish exterior and gruff personalities, they were really a hospitable folk. Should you prove that your intentions are honorable and earn their trust, they become loyal to a fault, fiercely protective of those they call their own.
“Wild men”? No. Their culture and ways may be different, but in the end, these people were much the same as the men and women back home. Many just wanted to live in peace, to work hard and take care of their family. Just like back home. Then there are those who care naught for anyone but themselves. Who for the sake of simple greed, for the promises of power or coin, would betray their family and people, leaving destruction and death in their path. Just like back home.
Jonn approached his horse, swallowing hard as his thoughts reminded him again of the betrayal, destruction, and death that he left behind back home. The events that forever changed him, turning his life of “service with a smile” to “service with a sword.” The horse stood there tugging at the reins he had tied to a tree. No, she wasn't standing; she was dancing around, unable to keep still. Jonn frowned. If she was this skittish just being in earshot of a small amount of combat, perhaps she wouldn't be the best mount for him as he headed into even more dangerous lands to come.
He approached her, putting up his hands to calm the beast. “Woah, girl. Come on Horse. We're safe now. I took care of those guys.” Amazingly she settled down a bit as he untied the reins. He put a foot in the stirrup and hardly got his other leg swung over when she took off, darting quickly back towards the village they'd come from that morning. Jonn barely remained seated, pulling back sharply on the reins as his rib ached intensely with each thudding jolt. “Ahh! Easy now, Horse! Easy! Why are you in such a...”
Then he saw it. A thick cloud of black smoke, billowing up from behind the rocky hills ahead. Coming from about where the village should be. Ignoring the pain, Jonn steadied himself as best he could onto the bouncing saddle. He let the mount speed him towards her home, towards the place that he himself had called home for the past week.
Jonn stared at the columns of smoke getting ever closer. “No,” he muttered to himself through clenched teeth. “Not again. Not. Again!”
