Location: Secret tunnel, abandoned barracks a short way through.
Health: Weak, but able.
Inventory:
- Sabre
- Studded Leather Chest Armour
Action Summary:
- Waiting impatiently for those who would join him.
"I suppose you will not stand down, will you?" Mundhir asked with a sarcastic smirk.
The two guardsmen growled their response, and surged forwards. They were good, strong warriors, the Prince could sense as much, but they were fatally slow. Even with his joints, as stiff as they were, and his venom-impregnated muscles, Mundhir was ready to receive them. As their sabres came on him from above, he stepped backwards and shoved his into the foremost of the guards. With a gurgle, the Prince's victim fell to the ground. The other guard, realizing Mundhir was beyond his skill, attempted to flee but there was too little chivalry left to allow such a mercy, and he fell forwards under the force of a sabre stroke.
"Who is your master?" Mundhir asked, pressing his foot into the man's gaping wound.
Despite the minute or two of intense screaming, the Prince received no answers. The man died either from shock or from blood loss, not that it mattered.
The prisoners had yet to follow him down the passage way. He feared they had their own plans, though he doubted even
they could overcome the Citadel's garrison. Still, he needed their help; if his father or brothers had managed to turn even the World Breakers against him, it was more than likely they had several servants out in the wilds. Bandits were cheap labour, and the countryside was thick with them. Mundhir did not fancy his chances sneaking across open country without bodyguards.
Pulling out a chair that was hidden deftly in the corner of the long-since abandoned guard barracks he had walked into from the passageway, he sat and pondered his next moves. He would wait for any stragglers to follow him, but if after a short while, there was no one then he'd have to go it alone. If he could get to Baalor, he was confident he would be able to track down his hidden enemies and slay them. He just hoped that his men hadn't been bought out, but he found this proposition beyond comprehension. They were his sword-brothers, and together they had achieved much greatness against odds few warriors would dare to face with hopes of victory. If they still held the ruins, they would welcome him, he was certain.
"Times running out," he shouted down the passageway, doubtful anyone would hear him.
