The river trickled off to his left, flowing its way onward as it always had and always would until an outside force acted upon it. He had to be like the river and continue moving forward despite what he had done. Why had he done it though? Why had he killed the other Hands? How did that old man break through the careful yet sturdy walls the Leader had erected in his mind? It was though he had hypnotized and entranced Hakim during that fateful meeting. The chain dangled from his fingers, decorated with a symbol of each god worshipped across the Cradle. With a growl, he threw the chain from him suddenly. It arced into the air and caught a ray of sunlight before tumbling into the dirt on the embankment. The soft earth beneath slid away, and it tumbled down the bank toward the flowing river. Hakim shot his bandage-wrapped hand out and caught the chain before it touched the water, and with a sigh placed it back around his neck. How ridiculous, snatching the necklace back after tossing it away. How did such a silly trinket have such a sway on him? Shaking his head, Hakim moved onward. He was still in the heart of Silesia but had managed to cover a fair amount of ground away from his tribe. In that time, his crimes may still not have been discovered. It may be some time yet before the Leader knew he had lost five Hands from his service. For the time being, he followed the rivers away from his home. No, not from his home. He had no home. The place he fled was a prison; a prison he never really knew he was in. These strange thoughts persisted through his journey, but the swords at his waist were a comforting weight. As he traveled, he saw the beauty his country had to offer. Great vegetation growing along the plentiful rivers and the people cultivating such greatness. At times, he would have to either cross the river or divert his path to wrap around it. These obstacles slowed his speed but didn’t impede him too much. Days laters, Hakim found himself snaking along a winding river on the edge of Silesia and branching off from it to make his way around another that ran a ways to the east. He followed toward the east for days. It was during this leg of his travel that he ran into another obstacle. Along a lonely road, he glanced a figure in the distance. As he neared, he noticed other figures flanking it. They shuffled and moved to meet him in the road, spanning across the dirt path so as to block his way. They carried curved swords and kept their faces obscured behind head wraps much like Hakim. From behind the three blocking the way, he heard brush rustling and turned to see another holding a shortbow with an arrow nocked and aimed toward him. He stopped in his tracks a few feet from them and could now see the two women. One looked to be in her middle years, and the other looked as though she were barely old enough to birth children. Near them, on the side of the path, lay the body of a man with his throat cut open and spilling red all across the dirt. His face still showed his last moments of horror. Without a word, the three surged forward, no doubt eager for another kill and to eliminate any witness to their crime. As they moved, their archer let loose, and an arrow flew over their heads straight at Hakim. He dropped his satchel and bedroll to the ground as he moved to the side and out of the way of the arrow. In the same movement, his swords were free, and he was rushing forward. One sword was shorter than the other, but both blades were curved and thin. The thinner was held in his offhand in a reverse grip. This was used to block the first blow from the highwaymen and push it from him and he spun around the blow of another. They continued to swing their blades, but their attacks only struck open air as Hakim spun amongst them and eventually positioned himself between them and the women. The wraps up his right arm fell away as he came to a stop; apparently one of the blades had just barely caught the wraps. As it fell away, his attackers saw the intricate tattoos covering his right hand, and their eyes grew wide with shock. They knew what the markings meant and just who, or rather what, they were dealing with. The bandits looked hesitant now, on the verge of dropping their blades, but it was too late now. The archer had waited for a clear shot and let loose with another arrow, having not seen the tattoo. In a surge, Hakim launched himself at the bandits, out stripping the arrow with his speed. The arrow struck the dirt behind his foot as he moved. In a flurry, he spun amongst the bandits again, but this time he was on the attack. His blades bit into flesh and cut deep, staining the dirt beneath the bandits as well as their clothing red. Each of the three fell with multiple slash across their chest and neck, leaving only the archer. Blood pooled at his feet and dripped from the tips of both his blades as he turned to face the remaining bandit. His hands shook as he pulled the bow up again and nocked an arrow with difficulty before letting it fly. Hakim knocked it from the air with his shorter sword easily before moving into the brush in a burst of speed. Another arrow flew at him, but he avoided it and closed the gap before another could be fired. In a flash, Hakim brought the longer sword down across the archer’s chest and left a deep gash in its wake. The women watched as one by one the bandits all fell to this stranger’s blade and as he bent over the archer’s body for a moment before turning and walking toward them. [color=#314C5D]”Take what you can and move on from this place.”[/color] That was all he said before moving onward down the path and away from them. ___________ He had lost track of time along the way, but he had finally rounded the river some days ago. Until now, he had done what he could to avoid major settlements, but he was outside of Silesia. Between that and his noticeably dwindling supplies, Hakim decided to make his way into a settlement. This town, however, was an unfortunate choice, as it was only a short distance from a mounting skirmish between Mennon and Kothar soldiers. Men fought and died, each one fighting for their homeland and each believing they fought for what was right and were killing enemies of that right. The town itself was mostly deserted. Each building he passed appeared empty, but as he ventured deeper he came across a small gathering of people. An elderly man sat before them with his remaining arm. He spoke of a sorcerer seeking out keys to unlock the power of the ancients. Hakim stopped and listened, leaning into a nearby wall and found himself agreeing the Baccumese man’s idea. If this sorcerer needed all of the keys, why could they not simply destroy one of them? Though, when the old man handed the gem over and challenged the man to destroy it, he could see it would not be so simple. If it couldn’t be destroyed then couldn’t they at least hide one of these gems away and protect it from the sorcerer? How quickly Hakim had found himself wrapped up in this plot after having just wandered into their midst. He caught himself toying with the chain around his neck. What strange circumstances and strange company he had already found himself in after leaving Silesia behind. He glanced around the gathering, taking in the three barely clad Baccumese, the Roshad female toting her own weapon, the scarred Kothar man, and the older Mennon sitting at the back of the group. He drew Hakim’s attention currently as he watched his hand disappear up his sleeve. His own hand found the hilt of his longer sword out of instinct.