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FFXIV Write 2020 | Warning: Torture • Hanging • Mutilation Tooth and Nail • expression

Engage in vigorous combat or make a strenuous effort, using all one's resources. For example, I'm going to fight.

Getting him to the tree had been no easy task. He’d made certain of it. Gallard had been a fighter once, he could be one again. Even with the prosthetic leg, the two men had struggled as he clawed and bit and punched and flailed between them. Like a wild animal, corralled and cornered, he’d fought tooth and nail. Up until they’d cracked his skull against the firm wood of his carriage and got the noose around his neck.

“Lookit ‘im dance, Kenny! Lookit them legs go! WOOO!” It was the lean one that shouted, cackling while his larger brother pulled the rope taught. He stood on one end of the bough and hoisted Gallard up from the ground until he was hanging on the opposite end. His face had quickly turned a reddish-purple while he spasmed, swayed, and choked out guttural sounds into the night.

“I like ‘ow ‘ee sings, Len. Watch --” Gallard could feel all the blood trapped beneath the swelling epidermis of his visage. He’d turned his nails to the coils about his neck then, desperately scraping and pulling at the taught length, but they’d wet the rope to strengthen its bond before noosing him up. His vision doubled until there were multiple, skinny Len’s in front of him, and then it went black. The smuggler wasn’t given the sweet reprieve of death though.

He felt himself falling and then he crumpled in a gasping, coughing heap of dust. He didn’t care that when he breathed, he inhaled dirt. It was sweet, and beautiful and he inhaled deeply to let out a cry that never made it into fruition. “HEEE-yrk!” Gallard was lifted once more to the cheers and jeers of the twins.

•••

The spying fugitive was familiar with the damned jig of kicking, trembling, spasming feet in search of purchase against the empty air. He felt his own throat grow tight and constrict as if the rope were around his own throat. The fate of any criminal who fell on the wrong side of justice. He didn’t recognize the two men, but could recognize their rabid nature and as they let the crippled smuggler drop into the ground, he felt his blood grow hot with fire. Criminal or not, smuggling to him wasn’t worth the cost of a life and these men had no business taking it. Definitely had no business torturing him.

They were savages in people’s skin, too busy with their prey to notice as the Outlaw made his way down carefully from his perch. He kept to shadows, but didn’t rush and was mindful of what was underfoot in his descent. Taking too long might cost the man his life, but rushing was a guaranteed fuck up. He had a saying he kept to. Slow was smooth. Smooth was fast. It didn’t do to rush anything.

•••

“Tie ‘im up to th’trunk, aye? I feel like practicin’ me knives.”

The one called ‘Len’ had spoken and seemed more or less in charge of the two. Gallard was still seeing spots of black as he was dragged bodily towards the tree and this time, he hardly fought as he was tied to it. By the time they’d started strapping him by the arms, he’d regained some consciousness to try and fight, only to earn a concussive backhand across the jaw from the brutish Kenny. Gallard slumped forward in a daze, and Ken pushed his head back so they could fasten a bind around his throat. It kept his head up, and he saw the pair of brothers multiplied by his kaleidoscope vision. Lenny, the lean one took a crisp bite from an apple he’d likely procured from Gallard’s own supplies and then balanced the violated fruit atop the smuggler’s head.

He brandished a throwing knife from his belt, taking several paces back and then before Gallard could blink, he saw the flash of steel as Len moved and felt the blade enter his leg.

•••

The smuggler’s screams were disconcerting enough, but the cruel laughter (“Op, I missed!”) of the pair of jackals ahead was what turned the cowboy’s stomach the most. These two had the luxury of privacy, even out in this wild open, and cared not for the sounds made in earnest by their captive. They had their backs turned to the Outlaw now, and he took his chance to move closer, even as Len slung his arm and released a second knife. This one pierced Gallard’s shoulder, and he moaned out in pain. They were going to do this slow. He reached into a pouch and curled his hands around pieces of jagged iron.

“Lemme git one, I want t’try!” the husky brother declared and for a moment, they exchanged a blade and when he threw it, the next blade took an eye. Somehow, Gallard was still alive when they ripped it out.

The cowboy was close enough to hide in their shadows now, able to catch their stench now of leather made stale by blood, sweat, and rain. The Outlaw reached out beside him, blindly groping until his palm found a rock big enough to fit within it. He spoke then, spooking the pair immediately.

“Hey~..” Len jumped, turning quickly into a face full of caltrops thrown with such force that some lodged in skin. His cry of pain was cut short by an awful crack as he felt something hard like a rock crunch against his teeth. Or had his teeth crunched against the rock? Either way, the pain bloomed across his face was immense, and he fell into a writhing heap before the Outlaw.

Ken was too slow to help, turning just in time to come face to face with the He was dumb, but not so dumb to risk catching a bullet. He froze in response, bringing his hands up. He tried hiding the knife but the cowboy was wiser than that. “Ah-ah. I seen ‘im pass it to ya.” The weapon clattered to the stone floor amidst the sounds of Gallard weeping with what was likely relief, and the sound of Len spitting up something that skittered across the rocks.

“Yar makin’ a real big mistake ‘ere, lad..” Ken had nothing but hatred in his eyes.

“Usually am.” the cowboy quipped. “Y’’should really be goin’ now.”

“Fekkin’ wot?” Ken barked a laugh of ire and took a vengeful step forward. Stopping when the hammer clicked back its threat. He pursed his lips, which were already too thin. “We’ll be fekkin’ back ye cocksucker…”

“Oh, I’m countin’ on it.” The choice wasn’t quite so easy to let them go. He knew men like these. They’d go find other people to hurt. To maim. To torture. But he didn’t have many options and the smuggler was in need of further help. Rabid dogs couldn’t be left t’roam. The voice in his head whispered like a snake, and his finger tightened briefly upon the trigger. He couldn’t make that call.

Still...

He aimed low for a joint, and fired. The bullet ripped through the hyur’s leg, sending him down and Ken wailed louder than even Gallard had. Cowards were the loudest, he’d found.

“Now git, fer you earn another.” They were rough men, used to rough treatment. Bullet holes and all. Ken rolled on the floor and clutched his thigh, but the cowboy paid him no mind, stepping over his body to make it to the unconscious smuggler. He cut the rope at his neck and checked for a pulse. Barely breathing, but he was alive. He cut the rest of him free next, dragging the merchant back to his horse and tying him upright in the saddle.

By that time, the twins had fled and the Outlaw rode hard towards the city.

To be continued...

@remedialelixir : Roman likely would have dropped this guy off.

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