It was chaos in the streets. People were pushing each other out of the way. Their expressions were uniform with confusion, for they followed the unheard commands of those who had long fled the scene. As his party pushed against the fleeing crowd, Appo tried listening to grumblings. He looked for words like “raider” or “invader” and found none. Instead, he kept hearing the words “attack” and “crazy.” At one point he thought he heard the word “monster.”
Jere and Duncic led the party with a few other guards, followed closely by the Trader Heads. Appo followed up in the rear behind Mendalla and six of her personal guards. He was shocked by the Heads’ brazenness; he had assumed they would send guards to take care of the situation. However, it appeared that if violence threatened to disturb the peace in Ash, the Heads dealt with it personally.
Upon reaching Main Street, the group spotted a crowd of thirty spectators that had formed a semi-circle around one of the stands. Two guards were keeping the crowd somewhat at bay. The spectators appeared apprehensive, though immensely curious. Jere and Duncic pushed their way through, paving a way for the Heads to get an unobstructed view of what the crowd was observing.
The semicircle had maintained a distance several steps from a pottery stand. At one side of the stand was a short portly man who appeared to be the owner. He was leaning against the stand and holding his right arm, which looked to be a broken and bloody mess. He was sweating intensely and looked agitated. On the other side of the stand was a woman in a beige robe, her arm caught in a rope that had dangled under the roof of the stand. The rope may have held cured meat at one point, but now it wrapped around a different sort of flesh.
The woman was violently struggling against the rope. She was screaming out in pain, alternating between reaching out at the trader and scratching at her arm. Her reach was just inches away from the trader’s face.
Duncic looked out at the scene before addressing the crowd. “There’s nothing to see here, keep your distance and move on.” His warning did little to disperse the spectators, but it gave the guards a little more room.
With the crowd somewhat eased, Appo got a better view of the scene. The woman was rabid, with her free arm waving wildly, trying to claw at anything. The corners of her mouth were bleeding, and. her eyes were bloodshot and dilated. She screamed in intervals, partially because it looked as though her arm was mangled and broken in the knotted rope. She looked like a wild animal caught in a trap, close to gnawing off its arm to escape.
Jere and Duncic flanked both ends of the stand, with Jere moving closer to the woman and Duncic making his way toward the injured trader. Both held their scimitars at the ready. As Jere approached the woman, she wildly flailed her free arm in his direction. She shrieked in gasps like she was struggling to catch her breath. She looked utterly horrified and enraged. Jere held out his scimitar with both hands just a foot away from her face, lightly dodging her wild swipes.
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As the woman focused on Jere, Duncic moved towards the injured trader. The trader’s eyes were darting and unfocused, but he recognized the help and moved to get on his feet. Duncic reached behind the trader and pushed him off the stand. Upon contact, however, the trader shrieked in pain and fell into Duncic, knocking him off balance. The woman turned her focus back to the other end of the stand. She rushed to the other side, with her momentum snapping the bones in her trapped arm. With her reach slightly longer, she swiped at Duncic, grazing his neck. Duncic let out a grunt and fell to the ground.
At this point the woman leaped into a frenzy, screeching and grasping at Duncic, who was now just out of reach. Her mangled arm pulled out of the knot of the rope, and she fell onto the guard. The crowd let out a collective gasp and backed away. Duncic put up his arms as the woman swiped at his face, scratching the gauntlets on his forearms. Duncic, having dropped his scimitar in the commotion, pulled out a knife from his hip and stabbed at the woman’s abdomen. Her belly bled, but her attacks didn't cease. It was as if she felt no pain at all.
Jere grabbed the back of the woman’s robe and tossed her a few feet to the side. Jere positioned himself between the woman and Duncic. The woman steadied herself with her good arm, careening her head back to Jere, who held out his scimitar at her. She hesitated for just a moment before she screeched and lunged at Jere. As she did so, Jere stepped to the side and brought the scimitar down on the woman’s outstretched arm, cutting it off at the elbow. The woman slammed face-first into the stand but managed to keep her balance. She turned around slowly, her facial expression not of agony, but of animalistic hatred.
The woman stood for a moment, her bloodshot eyes and bleeding mouth seething at Jere. She then lunged again, her mangled arms dangling at her sides as she opened her bloody maw. Jere stood firm and thrust his sword into her chest. The woman gasped, trying to scream but only releasing a quiet croak. She struggled briefly before falling to her side. Jere let go of his scimitar, leaving it in the woman’s chest. The woman’s jaw chattered as she lay on the ground, before becoming still.
During the commotion, Mendalla and the other Heads kept their distance and watched with intent. Throughout, Mendalla stared blankly with open eyes. Appo regained his composure and rushed to Jere’s side. Jere held his hands out as though he still held his scimitar and looked blankly past the stands. The crowd followed slowly behind, eager to view the grisly scene. Before the crowd could meet the distance, Appo held his hands out to them, shouting “Stand your ground! This woman is cursed!” It seemed to do the trick, for it kept the semicircle from encroaching any further.
As Jere’s senses came back to him, he turned back to Duncic, who had gotten to his feet. Duncic looked over his forearm; there were scratch marks covering the iron gauntlets, but none had pierced the skin underneath. He hesitated before he felt his neck and winced when he touched the two deep scratches that ran alongside it. Duncic locked eyes with Jere. In his eyes were terror and resolve.
“I’m sorry, friend,” Duncic said. “You and I know what comes of this.”
Duncic, still holding his bloody knife in his hands, aimed it upwards. Jere’s eyes widened as he realized what was happening.
“Okkan, forgive me.”
Without hesitation, Duncic drove the knife into the side of his neck. Blood surged from the wound and leaked out his mouth. He staggered briefly before falling face-first into the sand next to the body of the woman. The crowd yelped, with some covering their mouths or their eyes, and others breaking out into tears. Appo and Jere stood between the two bodies and the injured trader, still trying to comprehend what just happened.