Habb felt something warm, something soft under his palms. He smiled and let out couple of incomprehensible words, adjusting his head as if it were on a pillow. Half an hour more of basking in that strange but pleasant warmth and he would get up, steal the money he gave to the girl next to him last night, use the coins to pay the innkeeper for the bed, buy some ale for the road and be gone forever.
He turned on his back and rubbed his face and eyes.
"What?" he mumbled to himself, peaking at his hands. His blood-red hands.
He sobered up in a second, seating himself up and looking at his bloody self.
Those bastards from the army! They've caught me and now they've thrown me into... into some pit, to die like a dog! he thought, grinding his teeth, looking around at the carnage that surrounded him. I'm gonna kill the snitch with my--
There was a group of people in the room with him, gathered around a young lady -- a noblewoman, she seemed.
He ignored the unfortunate souls, who seemed to him a separate group consisting of comrades. As they chatted and attempted to come up with a plan to escape without panicking, Habb kept checking corpse after corpse, digging through blood and bone -- something he found as natural as breathing after years spent fighting in the army -- trying to find a weapon that wasn't broken, or at least a shield that wasn't splintered.
"Wait... These are... This is not our armour," Habb said silently after he had flipped over an eviscerated body. "These are not our sigils, nor our men... Who are you dead lads?"
He got up, staggered, holding a chipped sword taken from the dead man in his hand, and pointing the bloodied steel towards the others who were still alive, inquired: "Where are we, and what is going on?!"
He turned on his back and rubbed his face and eyes.
"What?" he mumbled to himself, peaking at his hands. His blood-red hands.
He sobered up in a second, seating himself up and looking at his bloody self.
Those bastards from the army! They've caught me and now they've thrown me into... into some pit, to die like a dog! he thought, grinding his teeth, looking around at the carnage that surrounded him. I'm gonna kill the snitch with my--
There was a group of people in the room with him, gathered around a young lady -- a noblewoman, she seemed.
He ignored the unfortunate souls, who seemed to him a separate group consisting of comrades. As they chatted and attempted to come up with a plan to escape without panicking, Habb kept checking corpse after corpse, digging through blood and bone -- something he found as natural as breathing after years spent fighting in the army -- trying to find a weapon that wasn't broken, or at least a shield that wasn't splintered.
"Wait... These are... This is not our armour," Habb said silently after he had flipped over an eviscerated body. "These are not our sigils, nor our men... Who are you dead lads?"
He got up, staggered, holding a chipped sword taken from the dead man in his hand, and pointing the bloodied steel towards the others who were still alive, inquired: "Where are we, and what is going on?!"
