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Joesph swore when heard Glendale ask for the sword. He knew that the many was a thief. The way he moved and how he watched his work was something that gave him away.

Also, he saw the pouch that was filled with countless items that he stole from others, and not one being stopped.

Yet when he claims a sword for himself, he has to hand it over, and to make things hell for himself, he called Verenio over.

He wasn't really surprised that Verenio told him off. In fact, he was grinning the whole time. And after the whole speech, Joesph decides to keep an on Glendale.

When Verenio came near, he would put the sword back in the sheath and would say, "One of these days, I will din a blade through that fool."

The Hanged Man continued to stare at Pentre, meeting the knight's gaze when possible, a clear show of defiance. If Pentre had been any other commander, Hangman would have bowed his head and comported himself as a good, placid prisoner of war ... but he would not do so for Pentre. "I see Earl Vincent has given you free rein and great status, despite my advice," he said. The puncture wound near his right armpit was bleeding freshly now, reopened after being jostled around by Venerio and in the cart. Hangman struggled to remain standing and keep the weariness from his words. His fists clenched weakly down by his sides.

Pentre noticed the persistent stare from the Hangedman, one that was filled with taunting defiance, causing Pentre to smirk slightly albeit evilly

He stomped over and paused before the standing yet somewhat limp man

"Well, well, well, what do we have here? Seems the stray dog finally found its way home I see... it has been a long time since we last crossed paths... old friend" smirked Pentre

"You're trespassing in my home,” hissed Hangman. "Rin isn't within Vincent's holdings." He fell quiet, his tongue pressing against a tooth that the blow to his head had loosened. "And do not call me that, Tron. I am not your 'friend.' Not anymore."

Suddenly his knee gave out and he collapsed forward, instinctively grabbing at Pentre's arms or shoulders to keep himself on his feet.

"It used to be... in centuries past... and it definitely is now, following this morning's victory" corrected Pentre

"Bold words for someone in your predicament and precarious position... mentor... Though you should have chosen wiser ones and the winning side" noted Pentre watching the man collapse

Pentre tolerated his old tutor to lean on him for support, momentarily, looking at one of the guards to get him moving, barking orders in a tyrannical fashion

"Bring a stretcher and fetch a medic. He's worth more alive than dead! At least... for now" urged Pentre watching Prodius sprint away to get what was demanded off him

Pentre leaned close to the Hangman, his breath
brushing against the man's neck, his lips grazing his cheek and ear ever so lightly, almost teasing, as though they were lovers, speaking softly in whispers so others were none the wiser.

"Don't think it neither weakness nor kindness... Sooner than later you'll be grovelling for death and I'll still deny you the privilege as I do now" assured Pentre kicking the prisoner's ankles with his boot and pushing the Hangedman to the ground, stepping on his cheek right after to press his face further into the mud

"You should have knelt when first commanded, no-name, I do not like wasting breath and effort to repeat myself for the likes of you" assured Pentre walking away and leaving the fallen warrior in the hands of the healer, Roger

Roger hurried over to the Hangman, bringing Prodius along, the pair carrying the stretcher Pentre had demanded.

Upon reaching the row of prisoners he hurried over to the Hangman to offer him assistance if the fallen warrior accepted

The Hanged Man clutched Pentre's arms as he struggled to stand on his own. He was surprised the man didn't just drop him right away. Those feather-soft whispers spoken across the rim of his ear made him shudder and cringe, though for a moment his hands tightened, gripping Pentre closer. "You are wrong, Tron," he whispered back. "Even if you win this battle ... win the whole war ... you have still lost."

Hangman dropped like a stone as Pentre knocked his feet out from under him. He landed on his side and tried to prop himself up on his hands, though the knight soon kicked him down and crushed his cheek into the mud. The fallen warrior couldn't help but groan in pain, for his head had begun to pulse anew. "I am not yours," he growled into the dirt, possibly too quiet for the departing knight to hear.

He gratefully accepted the help that Roger and Prodius offered to get into the stretcher. He lay on his back, one arm folded over his chest but the other hanging limp. Overhead the sky was overcast and silver, enough to cast the land in a cold light but not heralding rain. It was bleak. As he was carried towards the medical tent, he caught sight of Jacob, and squinted curiously at the fellow before he was brought inside.

In the medical tent, he would need further assistance removing his battered armor. The worst of his wounds were the puncture near his armpit and the lump on the head which had certainly given him a concussion.

It was cold comfort to hear the more honorable 'Sir Venerio' tell off the apparent thief, though Enthlyi had to give it to the latter that faking documents was a nice trick. It reminded him of something his brother might have done in a similar circumstance, though the tone of the grifter gave him the impression that his brother would've been a better alternative, even as a stranger. The archer closed his eyes and tried to steady his own breathing; it had been growing more shallow by the minute, in such a way he was certain would get the very attention he'd endeavored to avoid.

The continued lecture from Glendale did little to help, but the man was not anticipating that he would step on him again. As he did, the fallen archer felt his muscles contract and the air flee his lungs; it was hard to keep it with a grown man on his back, after all. Enthlyi gasped involuntarily; certainly he would be discovered now!

Enth felt the grifter's foot leave his back as the man sought more prizes; it was ample opportunity for him to lash out before he was captured, or worse. He pushed himself to his knee, adrenaline overwhelming his better judgement as he withdrew a dagger from his belt and made to slash at the back of Glendale's leg! The movement was agonizing; he nearly stalled from the dizziness, as well as the shapes that filled his vision. He grunted through the pain, clenching his teeth and trying to focus on his target. Yet, even as he struck, the archer could feel his body start to tip...

Venerio eventually reached Joseph without losing his emotions with his dialogue with the thief Glendale. He was somewhat enraged at the audacity of him but still remained quiet. He knew his role and he damn as well plays it to the best of his abilities, he would remain loyal to Lord Pentre but that doesn't mean his peers are. So he is slowing counting down the days before the thief betrays the lord and if he does... he will make hell rain upon him. And so he grew to distrust his colleague and when he is in the field, Venerio would discreetly watch him.

Once he was stood next to Joseph he said simply, "Calm yourself Gisbourne, I understand why but there no need for bloodshed right now. I know many of men who would gladly see Glendale meet his demise. His time will be cut short soon that I know but from whom... I do not know. But enough of that Joseph, what have you found recently that may be of interest" He spoke as he looked towards to Glendale but quiet enough that he could barely here the convention.

The people of Rin knew Jacob as a bard, but he was once a smooth escapist. It had been years since he had to use those skills, but he was decent at it nonetheless. He had been running across the battlefield in search of The Hangedman, but he faltered as he saw him in Tron's custody. As he walked over, he made sure that hewas ready to at least ask what he planned on doing with the commander.

Glendale was many things, but a trusting fool he was not. The item he had seen in the deceased grip was a medallion of sorts, made of shinny gold that reflected like a polished mirror through which he could see all what was happening behind him while he raised and held up the item.

It was through the small reflection that he saw Enthlyi rise unsteadily to his feet and try to attack him at knee height, an attack Glendale was always ready for.

Not only Glendale stepped forward quickly to ensure Enthlyi slash failed to cause him serious harm, but he immediately turned and stomped on the man's wrist quickly, to hold down the wretched and prey the dagger off Enthlyi. Afterwards, he looked up furious at Venerio and Joseph, most disgusted over this attempt.

"This! This is all your fault! Had you done your job properly... I wouldn't have to deal with treacherous scumbags like this. Seize him and take him away already!" barked Glendalein a huff, tearing the sleeve off a corpse's shirt and wrapping it around his cut leg which held Enthlyi down until he was grabbed and removed

The air in the tent was heavy, and its canvas walls reflected every sound back into it. Every tiny breath, rustle, and clink seemed to whisper right in the Hanged Man's ear. The smell of blood was overwhelming, both his own and other patients'. The medics worked to remove his armor and his blood-stained gambeson and tunic, and he shivered when the air touched his sweaty skin. With a groan, he laid back on the cot as the medics cleaned and tended to his injuries. They had no reason to be gentle--he was a prisoner after all--and so he could frequently be heard gasping and growling in pain, even from outside the tent. "Rrgh, g-goddess!"

They did nothing for his concussion except to clean the spot where the lump on his noggin had split open. Once he had been tended to, his wrists were bound with rope and he was led back out into the crisp late autumn air. He shivered as the cold hit his bare skin. The carts had moved on, and the well-guarded prisoners were now dragging away the corpses of their comrades that had been finished off by Pentre.

Roger had tried to clean and treat The Hanged Man, with care and respect. However, words were whispered among the healers and his patient was taken from him and brought to a brutish medic whose speciality was amputations and rather crude and cruel treatment methods. However, this prisoner was... clearly... had made many powerful enemies just upon arrival.

He gave a sympathetic look at the captive and muttered a silent apology, cringing at the groans and moans of pain that escaped the captive's lips.
Once the butchers had finished treating the patient, if it could be called that, he looked on and saw the prisoner be brought out of tent.

Roger shook his head in disbelief, the injuries were quite serious, poorly treated and the man needed rest, above all a hearty warm broth and bed rest for a week a least. That they put him out to work so quickly was cruelty in its own right.

He sighed and focused on treating the others that had been left under his care and watch, doing for them, what he could not do for The Hanged Man

Sir Zerald, who was one of Pentre's favoured knights, smirked widely when he saw The Hanged Man being lead out of the healer's tent, as though he were another no-name captive among many they had toiling at their service and labouring at their whim.



"Well... well... well... how the mighty has fallen... long time no see... teach.
Have you forgotten me already?
I surely haven't forgotten your lessons... the humiliating part of it at least.

I assure you that my swordsmanship and technique has improved greatly these past few years.
Along with subduing, punishing and retraining prisoners, which is slowly becoming one of my specialities, under Pentre's guidance" assured Zerald with clearly a bone to pick with this man.

"The moment I heard you had defected to the lady's side, I've been counting the days till we finally crossed paths" assured Zerald acting all high and mighty, looking down with a sneer at the bound prisoner

The Hanged Man tried to keep himself from shivering in the cold. Goosebumps raced across his shoulders and arms, and a deep ache began to fill his mangled hands. Wincing, he stretched them as much as he could, tightening them into weak fists then splaying them out again. "Zare," the prisoner said softly. He kept his head down, gaze upon his hands. With Pentre he had been mouthy, but with Zerald he was just somber, like a man standing beside the grave of a loved one. "I did not defect," he explained, speaking softly as one might to a child. "I resigned. I w-wanted no part in this war, Zare, not on Lady Asgore's side nor on Vincent's." His voice was unchanged by time, much like his face: gentle, wavering, entirely unsuited for his haggard appearance. "I just w-wanted to be left alone."

Zerald frowned at The Hanged Man shaking his head digusted

"Do no try to plead innocence here... you are a prisoner of war because you took up arms and were defeated, were you not?" questioned Zerald sternly looking at his former tutor meaningfully

A muscle flexed in the Hanged Man's jaw as he clenched his teeth. He was not a proud man, but Zerald's words rubbed him the wrong way. "I was drafted. It was either fight, or ..." He trailed off, not wanting Zerald to know about the family he had worked for, if they were even still alive. Lady Asgore had demanded a soldier from every household, and Hangman had volunteered so as to keep the little family intact. "... I had no other option. I accept the responsibility, and all that comes with it. But do not assume I am here because I want to be. I had hoped I w-would never see ... him ... again." Thought of Pentre's cruel eyes, combined with the chilly air, finally made him shiver. He looked up through a curtain of shaggy blond locks. "Men like you take w-war so personally, Zare. You really must grow a thicker hide ..."

"Well... whatever your reasons, motivations and excuses... you took up arms against lord Vincent and you became a defector, a traitor to our cause and the household you swore loyalty to many decades ago and this betrayal will cost you dear... very dear.

The years you wasted training me, Prodius, Merthyr, Lancelot, Tron and all the others will count for nothing now that you are but another fallen warrior... a prisoner of war.

Welcome to the Aftermath... to the captive's living hell and it has a stern, cruel ruler alright... him... The untouchable one.
Sir Pentre now rules over Vincent's armies... second only to the lord himself around here.
You'll do well to keep your head down and kiss feet if demanded, do all what you're commanded and comply right away.
You should know that there are many civilians from your same faction captive here.

Not only Pentre went to open war against your armies but... farmers and their daughters and sons were taken too, during nightly and dawn raids that no one was prepared for." explained Zerald "Your defiances will cost dearly, not only to you, but also the wretched peasants you foolishly fought for" guaranteed Zerald

"Now come along... you'll be a water girl today... I'll go easy on you today, because of your injury" prompted Zerald leading the way

"You'll carry buckets of fresh water, for the hunting hounds and the horses, for the soldiers and for the captives too.
Horses and dogs are allowed as much water as the trough will take.
The soldiers as much water as they please, whenever they please.
Prisoners and slaves are only allowed one laddle full each hour, unless reprimanded, in which case they get none.
Anyone takes more than their allowance, they'll lose their tongue and you... your hands" narrated Zerald

"You will also be tending to our needs during table service, pouring drinks and topping up cups.
You're expected to bring water for the cauldrons and cooking pots and, of course, you must also fill and refill the bath tubs as required" mused Zerald.

"Horses and hounds go first, then the kitchens, the baths, the table service and lastly... the slaves and prisoners, healthy ones first, the sick from the infirmary last. You can provide water hourly, if you have finished the other chores else they will have to wait" shrugged Zerald

"You serpent-tongued knave," the Hanged Man growled. Though his words were sharp, his posture remained submissive. "You besmirch my honor, then in the same breath boast of w-w-war crimes." He narrowed his eyes suddenly. "... war crimes that I am sure were Tron's idea, not Vincent's." He paused. Who had Vincent become in the past ten years? He didn't know. Perhaps Vincent had become just as cruel as Pentre.

Zerald's ice-cold proclamation of his duties made him grind his teeth. He didn't complain, nor question. He merely turned away and prepared to go about the work that was asked. "You are wrong, Zare," the Hanged Man said, glancing back. "Those years were not for naught. Perhaps they were wasted on you and Tron ... but not on the others. I wonder what has become of them. Merthyr was practically a child ..."

"The others have learned to bite the tongue, to bend the knee and kiss the lord knight's ring... of course. Defiance is seen as rebellion, it leads to immediate dismissal from duty, with dishonour, which means they collect neither wages, pension nor compensation. And if the offence is grave enough, they could land with vanquishment, hard labour, a hefty fine such as their lands and property being confiscated or long term imprisonment for themselves and their families" assured Zerald

"Sir Pentre does keep a tight grip on the men beneath him... lavish rewards for those loyal to him... and a sharp edged sword against those who would otherwise dare question or oppose him" smiled Zerald watching The Hanged Man limp to his task, deciding to personally keep watch on this prized prisoner