Mudfight

The black man clutched his right hand tightly around the grip of his homemade dagger -or more like a shiv- which was quite the irony considering his line of trade, and stepped firmly on the ground making a stance.

Nothing too complex that could indicate that he had any proficiency, still, it was enough for the soldiers nearing him to know that he had steeled his resolve.

He had decided on taking down as many of them as possible, before falling himself to their cold and dewy blades...

A cornered man with no escape... That had resigned himself to face his death...

A brave sight indeed.

His friends wouldn't stay out of the fight after being inspired by this yet unnamed character. They swiftly positioned themselves by his side.

One caucasian man stood by the black man's left with a wooden club he used to fight off vermin and small animals while camping.

The other white man was by the black man's right side. Equipped with nothing but his fists raised high and a smug expression... but to him, it should be enough to drop at least one of the bastards...

Narr stood at the back 'protecting' the man he called the Doctor. Both of them were unarmed though... Whereas the former was scared sh*tless and trembling at the realization that he had f*cked up, the latter was calm on the outside, yet contemplating the fact of this being the end on the inside...

'They must be on a mission to secure the forest... Huh, I guess it was a matter of time before the caught on...'

-Thought the old man.

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Seeing their victims were really trying to stand up to them, some of the less experienced soldiers felt a little uneasy for what they were about to do...

But that feeling disappeared just as fast as it came when the thought of what would happen to them if they disobeyed their commander ran through the back of their heads.

And thus, with swords drawn and pointing forward, they were ordered to charge before they even had a chance to change their minds...

"You heard Commander Hugo! Men, charge!" Shouted one of the soldiers.

Despite everyone's faces being mostly hidden by the darkness of the night, he stood out from the rest of the soldiers.

Judging not only by the way he stood at the front of the men but also because his suit of armor was made from several iron plates and chainmail, unlike his peer's black leather armor.

He was a second in command of sorts, and his orders were met with silence from the mounted individual that proudly remained with a hand on his sword hilt, only granting him his satisfaction with a discreet smirk.

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They were now running, mud and water splashing everywhere. But as their garments became dirtier as they advanced, their speed was also reduced and their movements became clumsier. The ground became more and more irregular and it became harder not to trip with their own feet as they got stuck for a brief moment, before taking the next step.

Running without thought and inadvisedly being overconfident by numbers, they ignored how much water and mud could cost them in terms of movement.

However, this didn't become a tangible advantage to the merchants, seeing as they were in a much worse overall physical condition...

Being out in the rain and cold of the night for hours, together with the lack of proper nourishment and the cherry on top being their damped and bulky outerwear...

The black man leading the suicidal defense against the charge had caught notice of this, even before bringing out his shiv and rallying his colleagues. He had already dropped his raincoat and was only wearing his fiber shirt and hide pants, together with his busted sandals.

His other two friends, nevertheless, couldn't react as fast, and if they tried to rid themselves of their excess clothing right now, they would be cut down by the time they were back on their stance.

It was then, that the black man concluded that taking on the 8 soldiers was obviously a dead man's wish... And that he wasn't ready to become one. Therefore, he turned to a more 'viable' plan.

Just as suicidal as his original plan of withstanding the soldier's might with only a shiv and his b*lls, he nonetheless went for a different approach...

The only thing he needed for his plan to work, was his father's help.

He then called out to the old man of the group; the one that stood behind Narr.

"Old Man! You gotta cover me, lest we all die!!"

He didn't have the time to explain the plan to him, so he had put his hopes in coming out of this alive on his father. The man that had taught him everything he knew... He -had- to be able to catch on...

Right...?

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Then, as the soldiers closed in the 6 meters that separated them from the group...

*Ggahh*

A muffled groan and the sound of a blade cutting flesh... marked the first blood of the battle that was about to rage in the middle of this mud pit of a road...

One of the merchants had tried to grab the arm holding the sword of one of the soldiers from the far right of the group. This was the unarmed man.

Unfortunately for the poor bastard, he had no experience in close combat or martial arts... Needless to say that his end was as humiliating as it was quick.

This caused the other man that stood by the black man to lose heart almost immediately. He determined it would be a good idea to run to the closest hill, and made a run or it.

Despite the hill being on the opposite side of the soldier's battle line...

Just as he had tried to run through the gaps the soldiers left as they spread out, he threw his wooden club at the closest soldier that was facing him. The soldier was hit by it but it didn't cause him to back up or stagger at all.

The strength behind the attack was the laughable attempt of a broken man to save himself. Considering that the club hit the soldier's leather cuirass right on the chest, the result didn't come as a surprise to anyone.

As the merchant thought for an instant that he had made it, the Second-in-Command grabbed him by the back of the collar of his shirt, and abruptly slit his throat right where he stood...

With the inertia that he carried from the sprint, the body of the merchant rolled a meter before becoming inert in the wet ground. The blood mixed with the cloudy water and the mud...

In such a short sequence of events, both white men lied dead...

The work of trained professionals was quite the spectacle for an inexperienced fighter, such as the black man, who stood shocked in anger...

All the while, a cruel smile appeared in the face of the Commander, that had moved his horse to the top of the hill, standing at a 'safe' distance from the battle.

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"F*CK!" -A dry cuss that carried a combination of sadness and anger was uttered by the black man.

His allies had been struck down in a moment's notice, just when he was about to attack himself...

He was alone against the entire line of soldiers now... It looked that he had no other option but to use -that-...

"OLD MAN!! I NEED EVERYTHING YOU GOT, NOW!!!"

"You better make it count...!" -Said the old man in response.

"NARR, GET A MOVE ON!! Keith needs you! I'll be fine!"

The Doctor slapped the bearded guy on the shoulder, signaling him to run. And so he did.

Whilst Narr was already running like hell, and preventing any soldier from making a move against the group, the Doctor began to do something that caught the undivided attention of everyone except for the black man...

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