Want.
In a location barely ten miles from the Capital, Elthor sat on the ground, his face swollen with bruises and his lip dripping with a small bit of blood.
It was clear that someone had roughed him up, but not to the point of leaving any lasting injuries. In fact, even though he had a cold look in his eyes at that moment, it didn't seem to be a real rage. Rather, it was more of a dissatisfaction.
Other than his partially swollen face, his clothing was in rags and his arms were chained behind his back. He sat in the dirt, not looking toward any specific direction despite the fact that several individuals were standing above him. It was as though he couldn't hear their rage at all.
Of these people, two were particularly pissed off. Just with a simple look, one could see that they bore some resemblance to Elthor, although they weren't quite as handsome.