PM to join Don't Petch with a Mercenary (Carin)

[Harkon]

Timestamp: Fall 43rd, 514 AV Location: Kabrin Road, East of Plantations Time of Day: Sunrise Harkon was on night shift duty, for fears of Zith activity was high. He was in charge of providing additional protection to the slaves' housing, which consisted of him guarding the door of one of the long bunk houses. It was boring work, nothing had happened, he hadn't even heard the distant cries of Zith. Syna was beginning to rise as Harkon was doing the head count of his bunk house. The numbers matched what he had started with, meaning no one had escaped in the night. He was about to escort them to their places in the fields, when he noticed several slaves at a distant house mulling around aimlessly. He barked orders at another mercenary, telling him to escort the slaves from his longhouse. Harkon, a bit more grumpy now, stomped over to the slaves, "Why the petch are you just standing around?!" The slaves all kept their heads down, none responding, nor moving. What the hell was going on? He stepped up to one of the larger slaves, a big bull of a man. Harkon slipped his axe from his belt, gripped it tight, and brought it up beneath the man's chin, forcing his eyes to meet his. "Why are you all just standing around?" Harkon could tell by the way the man's eyes adjusted that he was a bit of a simpleton, not uncommon among the field slaves, probably unable to answer him even if he wanted. He looked around, seeing how the rest of the slaves looked the large man. They all adored him, probably viewing him as a little brother. "Have it your way." Harkon flipped the axe halfway around, and swung his arm back behind him, keeping it low. He then swung it hard upward, smashing the flat of the blade into the side of the large simpleton's face, remembering to follow through with the blow, bringing it down, completing a wide ovular swing. The slave cried out as he was thrown to the ground. He clutched at the side of his face, screaming in pain. He began to sob, spitting up blood and teeth into the spongy dirt, rocking back and forth in pain. "Do not make me ask again." Harkon's eyes moved from slave to slave, all with utter contempt in their eyes. "He said he kill us if we tell, sir." This came from an older female slave. "Who said that?" "The guard last night." Harkon now realized why they were milling about. The guard assigned to their longhouse was gone, so they had no one to take orders from. "Are any of you slaves missing?" The older woman nodded, "Shyla left with the guard. Just before sunrise." Harkon realized that the guard probably waited until the last rotation of patrolling guards passed his house. That put him about a full bell ahead of them. "Did they say where they were going?" The woman nodded once more, "We not supposed to hear it, but they were to follow the road toward sunrise." That was all Harkon needed. He kicked the simpleton hard in the ribs again, "If anything like this happens again, you best report it the moment you can. Now all of you get back to work." He spit on the sobbing slave, and turned, several mercenaries now watching him. They had deduced enough from his interrogation to know they'd be needed. "Those of you not needed guarding the fields, fan out along the eastern part of the Kabrin Road. They are at most a bell ahead of us. If you find them, try to bring them back alive, if possible. Now go!" Harkon gathered his pack, full of his standard supplies as well as his rope, leash, and collar. He had no intention of capturing the mercenary, just the slave. The mercenary was as good as dead in his mind. He hustled to the Kabrin Road, making his way eastward until he was past the Radacke border. He then cut due south, entering the swamp proper. He always kept his axe drawn, watching each step carefully, so as to not end up in quicksand or as granidile food. There were escapees on his watch, and he would right this wrong, through blood preferably.