A page from the journal of a travelling merchant:
To travel the roads alone these days is to put one's own life in jeopardy. I'm no warrior, just a simple merchant. Luckily for me, sell-swords willing to protect my goods for a bit of coin are in fair supply at most inns and taverns. I met one such man not long ago, and I shall not forget this man as long as I live.
I simply needed to make a run of goods from Bree to the surrounding towns. A simple task, usually, but the roads have become infested with highwaymen and brigands of the lowest sort. Not wanting to endanger my life, and at the very least wanting my livelihood protected, I chose to stop by the Prancing Pony before leaving town.
I spotted him soon as I entered the place, standing out like a sore thumb. Sitting at a table by himself, ale in hand, watching. Upon making eye contact, his eyes seemed to bore a hole into my very soul, as if he could see things no man should see. It was eerie at the very least.
Though nervous to approach such a man, I slowly walked over to his table. He said nothing, just stared into his cup for what seemed like an eternity, but must've been no longer than a minute before he spoke. "If you want something, buy me a drink, then we'll talk." Having a fresh ale in front of him seemed to lift his mood. He seemed to already know I was a merchant, and asked where I needed to go. Upon telling him that I would only need an escort to Combe, Archet, and back, he told me his price. Twenty silver coins, half up front! I was shocked and appalled that he would demand such! However, I needed the protection, and there seemed to be a lack of willing souls around that day, so I agreed.
The short trip out of town and the road to Combe were calm and slow, yet entertaining, as this sell-sword by the name of Vintyr kept me entertained with song and conversation. It didn't take me long to offload goods in Combe, and we were off again towards Archet.
It seems the twenty silver coins were to be well earned that day. Not five minutes outside of Combe, we were set upon by a group of brigands. Five of them set upon us from the woods, armed with hatchets and clubs. Fear took over and I simply stood there, frozen in the middle of the road. I could only watch as my hired guard did his work.
I have never seen, nor do I think I will again, see a man move like that. He dispatched the first man with a swift strike from the pommel of his sword to the chin, immediately then using the haft of the axe in his off hand to strike the gut of the second, stopping him just long enough to knock him unconscious with a swift strike. The third bandit came at him, club in hand, but didn't have time to react as Vintyr swept his feet from under him, then planting his boot unto the brigands neck, pinning him. The fourth, the unluckiest, came at him with a hatchet. Vintyr disarmed him by taking his hand completely off with a sword stroke that looked effortless. The last brigand, the smartest of them all, turned tail and made off for the woods. Vintyr quickly planted his sword into the ground, drew his bow from his back, and shot an arrow into the man's leg. This all must've taken place in about thirty seconds of time.
As we set back upon the road, I decided to ask Vintyr why he didn't just kill the bandits. His reply was, "Those men didn't deserve death. They were desperate, you could smell it on them, see it by their clothes and weapons. These men were farmers, tradesmen, laborers, and they lost everything. They only had the rags on their backs and the crudest of tools for weapons. You'd be surprised the lengths a man will go to when he's destitute and starving. I don't kill those kinds of men. I would bet you everything I have that after that beating, and the one poor sod losing a hand, that those men will take a hard look at themselves tonight. And it'll change them."
The rest of the trip was uneventful, thankfully. I don't think I'll ever meet another man just like this Vintyr. At least for my wallet's sake, I hope I never do!
