SIGVID
November 16th, Year 100, 9th Era
Scarwood City, Timber Province
“We are here.” Sigvid taps out his pipe as the horses stop in the shadow of the massive redwood forest with the towers of Scarwood Citadel towering over the treetops.
Dawn basks the cream-colored stone in an orange glow, causing the three warriors to pause and awe at the imposing architecture.
A high wall crafted of thick wood surrounds the city and the castle. Five gates are positioned along the wall and guarded by several Timber guards at each entry point.
Luckily for them, their first destination lies on the city's outskirts.
“Never thought I’d see this city again.” Grim pats his horse aimlessly while taking in the scene. “Gods, I’ve missed Timber.”
“Rouse me when they lug out those sweet wine casks.” Slode quips.
“The Timber Que-” Sigvid clears his throat, “Avina said we would arrive at the Hound Master’s house along the northern boundary of the city walls. Let us make quick work of him.”
The trio are hooded to conceal their obvious Salt attire of leather armor. Eventually, they stumble upon a hut with an iron fence surrounding the rear. Packed in the space behind the ramshackle home is a dirt enclosure filled with bones and no less than thirty malnourished hounds.
“Fucking asshole.” Sigvid growls.
Filth coats the poor dogs, who swat uncomfortably at the haze of gnats circling their heads. Some limp, others chew on the iron pen from apparent boredom, and a couple lay motionless.
The warriors dismount, tying the reins for the horses behind the stretch of one ample tree trunk. As they sneak nearer, the back of a squat bald man digging in a crate greets them.
Sigvid can hear a faint meowing from the box and then fully notices the other nine crates—all with multiple sets of eyes peering out of the makeshift holes.
“Come here, you shit. I have to feed a few hounds today.” The Hound Master hauls a ginger cat out of the crate by the scruff. He vigorously shakes the creature composed of skin and bones. “There,” he huffs once the cat stops struggling, “I can’t have you hurtin’ my hounds.” His laugh is scratchy and inhuman.
Sigvid withdraws his axe and throws it, amputating the Hound Master’s right hand. The blade embeds in the grains along the outside wall of the hut.
The ginger cat scurries into the woods, the discarded hand clutched in its mouth.
“Quickly!” Sigvid orders in a hushed tone.
They jump the Hound Master, shoving a dirty rag in his mouth to stifle his cries—no need to bring Timber guards upon them.
“Good morning, Hound Master.” Sigvid smiles, “Queen Avina sends her regards.”
The grubby man’s eyes widen as he thrashes in Grim and Slode’s grip.
Sigvid slams the blade of his other axe through the Hound Master’s remaining wrist, spurting blood all over their pants when the left hand flops to the ground. Despite the cloth, his howls still carry.
“The hounds will take their revenge on you. Let’s see if they like your taste first.”
He slices a chuck of his unwashed skin along his forearm and tosses the bloody clump to the starving dogs, who fight over the meager scrap.
“Ravenous! I bet you wish you had fed them more.”
Sigvid flips his steel dagger and slices the Hound Master’s right ear clean off before anyone can react. He tosses the hunk of flesh into the fenced area, allowing the smell of blood to entice the hounds.
Sheathing their axes, Sigvid and Grim drag his body further into the grass, leaving a streak of blood in their wake.
“Now!” Sigvid commands Slode, who unlatches the gate.
The dogs take little time to find their master bleeding out in the grass. He begs as the hounds converge, ripping his flesh apart piece by piece. His hideous screams hardly phase the men who stand around the carnage with unmoved expressions.
