I... I remember is Tyr's Hand. Hot and humid air even within the cleansed interior of the city. I remember the revelry and little festival that commenced shortly before the Scourge took siege, the sally out, the pursuit. We retreated back toward Tyr's Hand but somehow got lost in the wood. The hilt of my sword broke as the blade went into a bloated undead, and my dagger dulled out halfway into a couple of skirmishes, shield was taken away by a zombie in the hordes that tracked us. Gauntlets bent and knuckles bruised, broken, bloodied in a last stand. The Argent Dawn creeped at our position in the corner of my eye at the battlefield, watching the bloodshed and in wait for our numbers to draw thin so they may clear the remnants. They always do, the bastards, claiming there was nothing they can do for us as a regret. I remember looking at them, screaming for some form of salvation. A mob of dead stood in my way. I was surrounded. Lunging back to strike one across the skull, another on my left struck me across the head, leaving my vision dim and reddened as I recoiled back to survive the blow. With a blood-curdled scream, I charged at them with both fists drawn back ready to clobber the dead bastards... only for one to drive a blade into my chain. I pulled back the best I could away from the blade in me. I fell down. I could still hear my comrades and their pleas... and their screams.
I could see and feel them trample over me, stepping on my wound and my head. But I couldn't move.
"I can't see."
...
"Where am I?"
...
I'm alive. Awake. But there's a cloth across my eyes or over my head. I may be blindfolded and I can't move. I'm in motion and beneath me feels like wood. No light leaks through my cloth fold for me to know if this is some sort of cart or caravan. Some men are shouting at one another. I feel light. It seems that someone has removed my armour. There's no sound of the faint, audible moans of the dead which act like white noise in the atmosphere.
The caravan has stopped and there's some chatter outside. Seems like some guards, from the sound of their platemail, and the men that drove the cart I seem to be within.
"Good! Pull him off the cart and bring him down."
Seems as though my wrists and ankles were bound together. I couldn't even feel them. But the duo of the caravan held me by the back and legs and threw me off their transport. I breathed out a grunt through my nostrils, which alerted them to my state.
"Not like that! Please, be careful. He's alive! Oh thank the Light. Quickly! Take off the hood and the fold... and gag... euch."
Lucky guess. They spared no expense in my capture. Whoever was there moved me around to my knees, which I tried my hardest to resist. But I feel so weak. Hungry. Thirsty.
I was greeted to a bright flash of light with my eyes not adjusting to the outside. A man in white robes was kneeled in front of me. Two men clad in plate with Argent Dawn tabards stood behind him, silent.
I could see and feel them trample over me, stepping on my wound and my head. But I couldn't move.
"I can't see."
...
"Where am I?"
...
I'm alive. Awake. But there's a cloth across my eyes or over my head. I may be blindfolded and I can't move. I'm in motion and beneath me feels like wood. No light leaks through my cloth fold for me to know if this is some sort of cart or caravan. Some men are shouting at one another. I feel light. It seems that someone has removed my armour. There's no sound of the faint, audible moans of the dead which act like white noise in the atmosphere.
The caravan has stopped and there's some chatter outside. Seems like some guards, from the sound of their platemail, and the men that drove the cart I seem to be within.
"Good! Pull him off the cart and bring him down."
Seems as though my wrists and ankles were bound together. I couldn't even feel them. But the duo of the caravan held me by the back and legs and threw me off their transport. I breathed out a grunt through my nostrils, which alerted them to my state.
"Not like that! Please, be careful. He's alive! Oh thank the Light. Quickly! Take off the hood and the fold... and gag... euch."
Lucky guess. They spared no expense in my capture. Whoever was there moved me around to my knees, which I tried my hardest to resist. But I feel so weak. Hungry. Thirsty.
I was greeted to a bright flash of light with my eyes not adjusting to the outside. A man in white robes was kneeled in front of me. Two men clad in plate with Argent Dawn tabards stood behind him, silent.
"I apologise for their treatment of you. No doubt you've met with terrible circumstances.. I hope that your journey here was favourable with the elements. Before you move though, please, look at yourself so you have an idea of your condition."
I went at his suggestion. My eyes wide at what beheld in front of me. A long stitch went across the length of my sternum. Bruised and caked in dried blood. It seems as though there was no caretaker for the trip. It appears they were expecting me dead.
"I must be honest with you, friend. We were expecting you to be dead." ...Lucky guess yet again. "But seeing as how you're alive. We'd may as well get acquainted. I'm Brother Paxton. The caravans that come through are diverse. Sometimes odd trade goods we sell in the city arrive. Sometimes they bring bodies for a proper burial. You were... the latter. Which explains the poor condition you are in."
A brief pause went by. Paxton looked back to the guard on his right. "Please. Take off his binds."
The guard started with my wrists. My arms dropped to my waist and my head sagged down. The moment the guard cut my ankle ropes was the moment I dropped to the ground, face first. In spite of the immense pain I felt, the pins and needles my feet and hands felt were the nail in the coffin. No pun intended. I went out cold moments after, but could still hear my surroundings.
"Damn. Quickly! Bring him into the Abbey and get Brother Sammuel. Before the Marshal checks in."