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His head ached, though his eyes were shut, and his mind half at rest. Opening his eyes, he could see above him, a man, but the morning light was harassing his vision, and his face was unclear - After a brief moment of awkwardness, he made out the man's face. A grim face, with gaunt features, and a single, wide, scar running from the man's right eye, all the way to the center of his chin. Whatever caused that must've hit him hard, he thought, but didn’t say; For some reason this face seemed familiar to him.

Chapter Three: On laughing

And so, Harkmorn's bodyguard unit, as one, were mentioned. Their size, larger than Harkmorn's, their weaponry, far superior when noted that Harkmorn was prohibited from carrying any form of harmful object - be it a pen, or an axe, and their mentality, greater... For Harkmorn's past "wisdom" had been lost to his insanity, as noted in previous writings.

With a loud ''thunk!'' the sword at Rick's side would fall into the ground, embedding its' self about halfway down it's length into the ground. He  leans down next to it, and would begin the tedios task of making a fire. After many failed tries, and cursing at his missing arm, he'd finally get the fire going, and would seat himself down next to it with a loud huff and sigh. Glad to finally be by the fire.