Durgins Disappearnace Pt 1

Durgin Vorhir, soldier of WarGar, trudged along the muddy road between Shambala of the Pictish lands to Edenscott of Shirehaven with his sword brethren.  They had been ordered to support the locals of Edenscott whilest the dying kings sons fought the Pict invasion that occurred nearly daily.

Pictish warriors, savages wearing nothing but leaves and mudpaint on their bodies, fought tooth and nail against the Edenscott militia.  The pict archers are some of the best in the lands.  Their knowledge of bow-making are only surpassed by the high elves.  Their guerilla tactics make them highly effective against standard armies.  The WarGar army has the most experience against an array of fighters and fighting styles.

Far from his own homeland that was destroyed not too long ago, Durgin marched dutifully along side his friend Phelps.  Carrying the twin swords his brother gave him, Durgin glanced over his shoulder to peer into the woods, still high strung from the previous campaign.

”Don’t worry Durgin, the Picts wouldn’t venture this far from the safety of their woods.  Besides, we gave them a right good thrashing.  Ignorant savages they are,” said Phelps trying to comfort his sword brother.

“Aye Phelps that we did.  Still, a good soldier maintains vigilance no matter the situation,” replied Durgin as he adjusts the large shield strapped to his back.

The army marched forward at a good pace for several days, hoping to cover enough ground to get within familiar lands.  Upon reaching the fertile lands of Rivendell, an air of relief seemed to wash over the troops as they set up a rough camp.  General Dayun addressed his fighters.

”Men, you performed well.  No less than to be expected by WarGar standards,” he said loudly.

”WARGAR HOOOAHHH!” the men shouted back in unison.

Grinning, “Therefore I am ordering an extra lot of furlows to be added to the draw.  Those who do not get furlow will receive double the normal duty pay and receive an extra day of furlow the next fortnight upon the main body’s return.”

”HOOAHH WARGAR!! HOOAHH DAYUN!!” the men chanted happily.

“That is all!” said Dayun before two men came round from behind carrying two small sacks with wooden tiles in them.

Blank tiles meant a weeks pass.  Tiles with a red X meant duty to watch over and maintain the camp.  Durgin was somewhat hoping for an X, knowing he could use the extra pay.  As the bags came round, men cheered as they drew blank tiles and bolted for their gear and horses.  Durgin shoved his hand deep into the bag, stirring the tiles around.  Pulling one out finally, he looked at it and realized it was blank.

”Congrats you get a weeks time off soldier,” said Zelia as she held the bag out for Phelps.

Phelps came out with a red X tile and he frowned immediately.

”Curses!  I was hoping for a week of wine, women and song.  Now all I have to look forward to is horse brushing, weapon sharpening and bad mead.  Ugg,” he fumed darkly as he stormed off for his tent.

Zelia shrugged and continued her rounds with the tile bag.  Durgin considered at great length with swapping his tile with Phelps, however that was highly frowned upon and against the army’s rules.  At last he decided to stick to the tile the fates gave him and make the most of it.  Back at his gear, Durgin packed a couple days worth of rationing and headed out for the nearest port town.  Port towns usually had the widest supply and variety of drinks and food.  Durgins taste for the drink was nearly legendary.  Never backing down from a drinking challenge or turning down a new and exotic brew, he would oft times find himself the next morning lying somewhere with no memory of the night before.  Arriving a day later, the soldier stood inside a large mead hall.  Surveying the occupants first and foremost, Durgins training was ingrained in his every move and thought.

Assess the situation before going into anything.

Durgin made mental notes about everything and everyone.  Strolling across the noisy room, he stopped at the bar and got the attention of a rather average looking serving maid.

”Yes soldier, what’ll it be?” she asked half-cheerfully.

“Tankard of your finest drink.  Not that swill beneath the bar either, something from the middle shelf there will do just fine,” he replied pointing towards three interesting shaped bottles.

”Now my boy, you’d best be leaving that powerful and expensive stuff there on the shelves and settling on a warriors drink such as Ogre-ale or perhaps Dwarvin mead perhaps?” said a large man from behind the smaller gal, presumably the owner or bartender.

Durgin felt his ire prickle at being talked down to like a common grunt.

”No I’ll have what I originally ordered, sir.  WarGar’s finest here will be having nothing less than the best!” he said proudly, slapping down several silver coins.

The owner glanced at the money and shrugged, “Your choice lad.  I was merely sparing you a flop-over later in the morn.  Serve him Natalie as he wishes,” before strolling off to attend to another customer.

Natalie the server stood on tiptoes and pulled down carefully a crystal decanter half full of a blue-green liquid.  She carefully poured a small glass nearly full.  Putting the bottle back she then took down the jar like bottle next to it and filled another yet smaller glass beside the first one with a clear liquid.  Durgin watched with curiosity as she went about her business.

”Uhh what in blazes are you doing girl?  I asked for a tankard, not a couple of sips?” he asked.

She turned to him and pointed to the glasses and explained.

”This one here is for your name.  This one here is for the last words you’ll speak until the next sunrise.  And the one I’m about to pour is to keep you with the living,” she explained as she reached inside her apron and pulled out a small silver key and unlocked a small box hidden along the back bar.  Durgin couldn’t see what she poured but knew it wasn’t much.  All he could see in her hand was a wooden cup with what appeared to be regular looking beer, foam mostly at that.

”Now, drink the first and tell us your name, you have to say it out loud.  Then drink the next and give us your last words.  Finally, down the wooden cup and say nothing,” she instructed carefully.

Durgin stared at the three containers then back at the girl.

”What sort of trickery is this?  Surely you must be mad?  Why all this fancy?” he asked getting somewhat irritated but strangely intrigued.

”I’ll guarantee if you don’t enjoy this special treat, I’ll spend the night with you,” she promoted bravely.

Durgin eyed the drinks again then took a long look at the girl, not thinking she was the best nor the worst he could come up with, especially with a purse full of silver.

Shrugging as he took the first cup up, “What the hell,” he said as he down the drink.

”Durgin is my name,” he said as he picked up the second glass, noting the minty taste from the first.

Swallowing down the second in one gulp, Durgins breathed out and hesitated a minute.  He noticed the girl had one eyebrow cocked and a small grin on her lips.  It took a moment before Durgin realized the fire that ignited in his belly.  Breathing out not of his own will, he said, “Laaaast Woords” before reaching quickly for the foamy wooden cup.

His stomach, throat and mouth erupted in a fiery holocaust as he slammed the foam drink into his mouth, banging the cup on his lips.  He tried desperately to swallow, but foam and three drops of actual liquid are hard to do when your mind is being swallowed.
Grasping onto the bar for support, Durgin felt the fire in him slowly recede.  His head began to swim with drunkenness, however it was not like the normal fog he was used to from conventional imbibement.  This was unlike anything before.  He tried to lock his eyes on the waitress who spoke slowly.

”So? How was Durgins Last Words?” she asked with a slight chuckle.

Durgin opened his mouth but no words would form.  Only a happiness filled him and left him carefree like never before in his entire life.  The warrior simply nodded.  The maid came from around the bar and took him by the hand and lead him thru a door in the back.  She helped steady him as his coordination was all but gone.  Durgin could only look down at her smiling face as she led him to wherever.  Coming to a large barn, she opened the small door and took him inside.  There was several stalls where fresh hay was laid down.  Durgin could barely make out several other men lying in the stalls, staring up at the roof, foolish smiles and grins on their faces.  Oddly enough, he felt happy to be among friends.  Arriving at an empty stall, Natalie opened the small gate and gently shoved Durgin inside.  He immediately fell to the ground and laid back, as if his body had turned to mush.  He chuckled and giggled like a lil boy.  He never noticed that Natalie had put one of his ankles in a leg iron.

”For your safety,” she cooed before walking away.

Durgin stared up at the wooden slats above him and marveled at the swirls of color and light that played along them.  His mind drifted far away as the warm comforting grip of unconscienceness began to take over him.

“Wake up you filthy vermin!” came a voice from the darkness, startling Durgin from his stupor.

Opening his eyes quickly, the blinding pain from the light caused him to close them just as quick.  Holding his hand up to block the light, Durgin immediately realized two things.
First, his head hurt like an oliphant had stamped on it, and two, his wrists were shackled.
Sitting up quickly, he looked around to find himself not in a cozy stall in some barn, but in a wooden cell being pulled by a team of oxen.  Durgin was not alone.  Accompanying him was about 5 other young men, shackled at the wrist and ankle to one another.

”What’s the meaning of this?!” he demanded.

”Looks like we got ourselves a lively one here men,” grunted a rather large unwashed brigand atop a steed.

“I’m Durgin Vorhir of the WarGar army!  I demand you release me!” he said loudly.

Raucous laughter burst from all the men holding them hostage.

”Boy I wouldn’t care if you were the King of the Dragons. You belong to us and that’s that!” fired back the man.

Durgin pulled at his chains only to be met with a sharp blow to the back of his skull, sending him once again into oblivion.

Some unknown time later, Durgin opened his eyes slowly.  The sun had set and the sky was quickly darkening with nightfall.  He slid up to a sitting position, rubbing the back of his busted noggin tenderly.

”You’d best keep your tongue.  Lest they remove you of it.  Slavers pay for silence better than a mouthy chatterer,” said a fellow prisoner beside Durgin, munching on a piece of moldy bread.

”How long?” asked Durgin groggily, realizing his mouth was parched dryer than the desert lands of Khatai.

”Couple days from the start.  That drink they served you was imbibed with magic.  The smart knot there your sporting only cost you a half day basically.  Lucky they didn’t bust you open like poor Needles there,” pointed the man with a hand that looked wracked with broken bones set poorly.

Durgin cast a glance in direction of Needles.  The poor bugger was lying face down in a small pool of mud and blood mixed.  His eye and nose was swollen and broken, but he lived.

”Slavers it is then?  Hmph.  We’ll see bout that.  What’ll they call you?” asked Durgin as he surveyed his surroundings.

”They’s call me Doleburt,” he said as he bit into the green, fuzzy bread.

Durgin nodded and looked around closer.  Chained together, he, Needles, and Doleburt were attached by the wrists and then finally to a rather large gnarled tree root that had been dug up a bit.  No bars or other means of confinement held them, just the length of iron chain.  He tugged at it to test its strength.

”Good luck breaking them friend.  They don’t use locks either you’ll find.  They just clamp them on with a special tool.  Thick steel too.  They don’t wanna lose any of us, cost them too many silvers,” said Doleburt as he watched Durgin follow the chain around.

“One thing being in the military has taught me, there’s a chink in every armor,” he replied quietly as a guard approached.

“Ah I see you’re awake after the love tap Cronk gave you.  That’s good, I was afraid he might have broken your puny skull and cost me 50 silvers, heh heh heh,” chuckled the large man.

Durgin began to rise to his feet, but was hampered by the shorter length of chain.

The man laughed harder at seeing Durgins halted rise.

”Ah I see you realize now we keep you dogs on a short leash.  Here have something to eat and drink before bed time,” said the man as he tossed a lump of green crusted bread and set down a small cup of filthy river water.

”Sweet dreams pups,” the brigand joked as he turned and returned to the campfires several meters away.

“If only I could get up to my feet.  I’d bust that braggart in the chops,” fumed Durgin quietly as he sat back down and kicked the bread away.

Doleburt scrambled to catch the morsel before it was out of reach of the chains.

”Don’t waste food fool!  S’all we’ll see until we’re bought at the market next month,” he cried clutching at the grotesquely spoiled food.

The WarGar soldier snarled his nose up and sat back down, testing the chains that bound him.  After a few attempts, Durgin realized that if he could work up enough spit, he could slip his hand free from the shackle, if he dislocated his thumb.  Knowing the pain he’d feel and face for a good day or so, he decided it was well worth the cost to free himself from his captors.  Not wanting to risk the others raising an alarm, the soldier waited until the other prisoners were asleep before making his escape.  Grasping his thumb in his free hand, Durgin held his breath while he yanked sharply.  The searing pain of his thumb coming out of its socket nearly made him gag.  Pushing opposable digit aside, he quickly spit on his wrist and worked the shackle down and over his hand.  After freeing his bonds, Durgin quickly snapped the thumb back into place, causing another wave of pain to shoot thru him.  Gritting his teeth, he slowly and quietly got to his feet and looked around for any guards nearby.  Seeing that the camp was rather lean on slave traders, he slowly snuck towards the campfires, hoping to find some if any of his belongings.  Creeping silently thru the blackness, Durgin approached a covered wagon after making sure no guards were on duty.  They all seemed to be snoring rather soundfully.  Rummaging as quietly, Durgin managed to find his boots and his clothing, but no weapons or his purse.  Chalking the purse to being lost forever, he concentrated on his weapons.  Surely fine craftsmanship in steel could have been sold already, but Durgin hoped against those odds.  Stealing his way among the sleeping bodies of the slave traders, he discovered a chest with a crude lock on it.  Cursing to himself about his dreadful luck, he searched around for a key or instrument with which to pick the lock.
Finding nothing suitable, Durgin began to look amongst the slavers.  The soldier finally after searching, found one with a large key on a string tied to his belt.  Slipping the man’s knife from its sheath, Durgin cut the key string and went back to the chest to try it.  Finding his luck on the upswing, he found his weapons amongst a pile of others in the large chest.  After closing the lid gently, Durgin slipped out of the camp and stared up at the stars to try and get a bearing on his location.  The clouds were sparse, thankfully, however the constellations were hard for him to locate.  Finally, after what seemed an eternity, Durgin managed to get his bearings.  Just as he was about to set off in the direction he’d hopefully take him back towards the town he was shanghai’d from, a voice stopped him in his tracks.

”Going somewhere dog? Guess you know a few tricks afterall,” came the familiar voice of the slaver.

Durgin turned slightly to see the man standing there with another large trader wielding a large cudgel.  The slaver addressing him held a warhammer with the head wrapped in leather.

”Seeings how the dog’s owners are nothing more than ignorant, lazy ruffians, I don’t see how that reflects upon my status as being a canine.  Especially when I seemed to be equally armed,” replied Durgin confidently as he squared himself before the men.

The hammer man grinned and nodded to the cudgeler.  The club wielding man advanced slowly as Durgin drew his blades.  The man began to circle towards Durgins left slowly, hunkering himself down as if to charge forward.  The trained soldier figured they would try to get him directly in between them before trying to attack and take him down.  Countering this, Durgin moved to put the advancing man between him and his partner.  Durgin kept his focus on the club man but let his vision take in the hammer guy as well.  Preparing for an attack, Durgin noticed the unmoving man glancing up and down.  Suddenly Durgin realized a trap was about to be sprung and dove quickly off to his right, just as a large rope net was dropped from the trees above him.

”Nice try fools.  You’re not dealing with a common peasant!” he laughed.

No response from either man.  From the woods behind Durgin came two men carrying another large net between them and raced around him hoping to tangle him in the net.
Slicing downward with his swords, Durgin cut thru most of the upper ropes, but had to leapfrog the bottom ones to avoid being tripped.  That is when the cudgel slammed into him from the side, sending him flying 15 feet into the air, landing hard enough to knock the wind from him.  Gasping for breath, Durgin tried to get to his feet before the men descended upon him.  Lady luck had left the field.  The hammer man sent a vicious kick to his ribcage, further hampering his ability to draw breath.  The black void beckoned to Durgin the warrior again.  Oxygen deprived, his brain began to cloud up as his muscles went limp.  Somewhere in the distance, he could hear a voice.

”Yeah every dog lies down when ya kick it hard enough.”

The black voids advance halted.  A red hot searing venom boiled up within Durgin, coming from deep within his mind and body.  Inhaling sharply, his mind focused and his muscles were under his control fully again.

”My name’s Durgin,” he said under his breath.

”What’s that pup? Did you bark at me again?” the hammer man asked sarcastically and launched another kick.

Durgin blocked the mans foot with his and swung up hard with his closed fist.  He felt the mans testicles retreat into his body cavity.  As the man’s eyes bugged open wider than an orc shield, he fell to his knees and clutched at his groin.  Durgin wasted no time and snatched up his blade and drove it into the cudgel wielder’s chest.  Drawing the blade back out quickly he advanced on the net men with a vengeance.  The one drew a small short sword and defended himself whilest the other one ran for the camp. 

”Not laughing now are we trader?  What’s the matter?  Afraid of the dog with teeth?” Durgin said sadistically as he launched a mighty set of sword strokes at the man.

The poor slaver tried to defend but was sadly outmatched and went down in a spray of blood from two swift cuts from Durgins swords.  Turning quickly, Durgin chased after the man running for the camp, stopping on momentarily to hit the groined man in the back of the head to render him unconscience.  Fleet of foot he raced after the man who was yelling at the top of his lungs for everyone, anyone to help him.  Too bad half the camp was passed out drunk.  Only the current guard party was on duty, of which Durgin had rendered them dead or incapacitated.  The hapless man was kicking some drunk fool, trying to rouse them.  Finally realizing that Durgin was about to overtake him, he untied a nearby saddle horse and shot off into the night.  The WarGar soldier stopped and caught his breath, not wanting to chase the man down in the dark.  Instead he decided to clean up some things.  Turning around a white hot blinding shot of pain struck him in the face.

Waking up with a groan, Durgin could feel his face, particularly his broken nose and swolled up left eye.  Problem was he was hogtied by the wrists and ankles now. 

”All trussed up and now where to go, hmph,” said a voice. 

Durgin craned his head to see who spoke.  Looking thru his good eye, he could make out a half blurry man.  It was Needles.  He was sitting up in the prisoner wagon with Durgin, back against the bars, picking at a large set of scabs on his face.

”What? Who?  How?” asked Durgin thru a fat lip.

”Hmm.  Let me see. Club to the face. Doleburt, and he’s not a slave but a guard.  I could’ve warned you about him, however I wasn’t quite in the position to give out that vital information.  I say, would you happen to be a soldier or warrior of some sort?  I’d venture to say so based upon your current status of confinement,” said Needles rather eloquently as tho his raggedy clothing covered up his intelligence.

”Uh what?” asked Durgin again, trying to process the information given to him.

”Oh dear.  I’d say that Doleburt cracked you a good one didn’t he?  Got your eye, nose and lips all in one shot,” winced Needles as he scooted over towards Durgin and examined his busted face closer.

”Ah I see our lil beast is awake finally.  I was sure Doleburt had killed you,” said the hammerman thru the wooden bars.

”I see your voice has changed up a bit higher.  How’s the berries hangin?” asked Durgin back rather sarcastically.

The man’s face instantly went red as he curled his lip up and shoved a large pole thru the bars to strike Durgin in the ribs.  Groaning with pain from the blow, he sucked in a breath and held it.

”Do try not to anger Boyd.  He’s not the jovial type.  Besides you killed his good friend last night.  He’s not inclined to letting you live.  But seeings how you’ve got skills, you’ll fetch a rather high price at the market.  Probably the pits for you friend,” said Needles quietly.

”Pits?” asked Durgin as he tried the bonds that held him.

”Pits are where slave traders sell their dogs to the game masters.  For fighting one another,” he explained as he worked on freeing Durgins hands and ankles.

”Oh,” said Durgin as he realized the predicament he’d gotten into this time.

”Yes.  You’ll be sold as a war dog.  War dogs, as they’re referred to are given a new name, handed a crude weapon and dropped into a pit with another slave fighter.  You will then fight to the death until one of you wins.  The winner lives to fight another day.”

“What if neither fight?” asked Durgin as Needles finished freeing him.

”Then they both die.  Quite horribly I might add.  It only happens on rare occasions.  Then they get fed to wild animals.  Nasty business really,” explained the slave as Durgin sat up and stretched his tired and beaten muscles.

Nodding his head Durgin came to the realization that he was in a situation he had little to no control over.  This made him very uneasy.

“Well, as long as there’s breath in me, I’ll find a way to get free.  Then vengeance will come on swift wings,” he replied with a wince of pain from the cut on the back of his head, trying to reassure himself.

Days of travel went by slowly.  It seemed like an eternity to Durgin as the wagon jostled on thru the mountains.  The hills and steep ravines finally gave way to lush and fertile fields full of a strange wide leafed plant.  Finally, on the 10th day of being a captive, they arrived at the coast.  Large ships dotted the dock as far as the eye could see.  The cage that Durgin and his fellow captives were in got carried aboard after a large canvas cloth was thrown over it.

”Slavers aren’t too keen on showing their cargo to everyone.  Other slavers tend to pirate other slavers out at sea.  Best if we keep quiet,” said one of the inmates as they were hauled roughly aboard a vessel.

After a several hours, the tarp was thrown back at feeding time.  Several bowls of something resembling stew was handed to the men.

”Best eat this now, gonna be a long journey to the eastern lands,” said a sailor as he walked away to another cage of slaves.

Durgin’s stomach rumbled and growled at the sight of food, but the smell hindered him otherwise.  Wrinkling his nose, he sniffed at the rough hewn wooden bowl half full of slop.  Sticking his finger in the mess and tasting it, he turned his head making an awful face.  Other inmates were slurping down the stuff greedily.  They looked like underfed children with worms than men.  Durgin still remained strong and fit, save for the beatings he’s taken over the last few weeks.  Holding his breath he took a mouthful of stew and swallowed it whole, hoping to the gods he wouldn’t wretch it back up.  The food hit bottom, and nearly came back up if not for his resolve and iron will.  Gagging he set the bowl in front of him and spit whatever remained of the stuff in his mouth out.

Weeks passed and the captives were put to work on the ship once they were far enough away from land.  The slave traders had been doing this a long time.  They knew any fool trying to swim back to land would be shark food in a matter of minutes.  Most were too weak for such a feat anyway.  Durgin decided to bide his time before trying another escape attempt.  He decided to busy himself by working his body hard to keep fit.  Food was his biggest concern.  The rations they were supplied were enough to keep you alive, but not fit.  When he could, the WarGar soldier would swipe fresh fruit and smoked meat from the barrels and crates in the cargo hold.  Careful to do it when no one was watching was the key.  Durgin still lost several pounds over the long arduous voyage towards the eastern lands of the rising sun.  He’d never been this far away from his homelands before, not even with the army.  A strange sense of adventure motivated him from deep inside.

“Land ho!!” came a call from the crows nest above. 

Durgin and the other slaves were ushered back into their wooden cages.  Several of the men were on deaths doorstep, mainly from poor nutrition.  A few had even died on the way over, only to be tossed overboard unceremoniously to feed the sharks and other predators of the deep.

Hours later, their cages were unloaded amidst a huge crowd of foreign people.  Many were dock workers, while others were obviously buyers for various goods coming off the ships.  The slave traders set their cargo down roughly on the far end of the dock, near a large covered warehouse.  From inside the warehouse exited several armed men along with some finely dressed buyers.

”There, on the right, the man in the velour clothing.  He’s a pit dealer, I’ll wager he ends up buying you soldier,” said the slave next to Durgin.

”You’d best keep your mouth shut friend about my profession,” replied Durgin menacingly.

After a few minutes their cages were opened and they were all shackled together by the wrists for the buyers inspection.  Durgin and several other large men were separated out from the rest of the slaves.  The buyers walked down the line of bound slaves.  The slave traders walked beside them to facilitate negotiations.  Prices were haggled heavily for the better condition of the slaves.  Finally after several minutes, the party arrived at Durgin’s string. 

”And here your lordship, is a good breed of pit dogs for your inspection.  I believe you’ll find several good buys in the lot,” the slaver promoted with a wide grin as he stared at Durgin directly.

”Hmph.  They’d better not be the worm riddled type like you hocked on me last time slaver, or else I’ll buy YOU for my amusements,” snorted the foreign regal as he glanced up and down each slave.

”In light of that your grace, I’ll be sure to cut you a better deal on these then.  We fed them better on the way over, to avoid such problems,” the trader said nervously.

Durgin thought to himself, “better?”

”I’ll give you two hundred for the lot trader.  Seeing’s how I’m feeling overly generous these days,” said the regent as he turned to face the slave trader.

”Your lordship, these men are worth far more than two hundred.  This one here alone is worth that.  He has fighting skills, military trained I’ll wager.  He alone killed several of my men before we captured him,” exclaimed the flesh peddler as he gesture toward Durgin.

”Skills you claim?  Killed several of your men?  That tells me you need better help flesher.  But, I’m always one for a bargain, but I want proof this slave has the skills you claim.  Rolfgar!” yelled the lord as a well muscled man trotted up.

”Give your man a blade slaver, we’ll see what he’s made of before I buy a single slave from you.  If your man bests Rolfgar, I’ll buy him at double plus two hundred for the lot,” offered the man as several traders undid Durgins restraints.

As the slave trader grinned, the lord smiled and said, “But if he loses, you give the lot to me free…for the hassle of it all and for my time wasted.”

The traders grin instantly disappeared and turned into one of white faced fear.  He nodded with a hard swallow and stepped toward Durgin to hand him a blade.

”Listen dog, this isn’t a game.  That monster over there is Lord Istar’s prized fighter.  He’s never lost in the 5 years of pit fighting. He’s dirty, strong and fast for a big’un.  Take my blade and don’t embarrass me,” said the trader as he thrust a well balance scimitar into Durgin’s fist.

Durgin tested the weight and feel of the blade in his hand as he assessed the situation.

”Well this is more like it.  Another chance to meet death face to face.  Remember the training,” Durgin thought to himself as he eyeballed his opponent standing across the dock.

The dock was wet and slick from the previous tide.  The air was cool and salty as it blowed at Durgins back.  The opponent was big, strong and fast.  His skills were unknown.  The weapon in the WarGar soldiers hand was sharp and honed.  The sun was directly overhead.  Durgin took in a deep breath as events began to unfold.  A circle of men ringed around the soldier and Rolfgar to prevent any escape attempt.  Some betting amongst people standing nearby started to take place.

”FIGHT!” yelled Lord Istar suddenly.

Rolfgar grinned maniacally as Durgin stood facing him with the sword resting on his shoulder carelessly.

”Prepare to meet your gods dog!” yelled Rolfgar as he began to charge toward Durgin.

Durgin held his ground calmly without moving.  As Rolfgar approached closer and raised his weapon for an overhead cleave, Durgin threw his sword at him.  The sword embedded itself up to the hilt in Rolfgars chest.  The man’s eyes widened just before his legs quit working and collapsed to the ground a few steps from Durgin.  The WarGar soldier stood still and looked down at the dead man.  Silence filled the air in and around the circle of onlookers.  Lord Istar stood, mouth agape, from seeing his highly prized fighter dropped  in his tracks by this smaller man.  The slave trader likewise, stood dumbfounded at the scene.  Suddenly cheers erupted from everyone around.  The Lord’s face turned somewhat red at having lost his wager.  However, the Lord was a shrewd buyer and realized he may have purchased himself a new champion.  The slaver was paid in full at the agreed upon price.  Durgin was returned to his shackles and handed over to one of the Lords servants along with the other slaves he’d purchased.  Rolfgars body was disposed of in the bay, crab food most likely.

”What’s your name dog?” asked Lord Istar as they were led to a large caravan just past the warehouses.

”Durgin.”

”Hmmm.  Well Durgin, you either are very skilled, or very lucky.  To have bested my Rolfgar like that.  I guess we’ll find out soon enough.  You cost me 200 coins alone dog.  I intend to get that three fold back from owning you, or carve it from your hide.  Your choice,” said the regal as he quickened his pace and mounted a horse at the head of his entourage.