written and illustrated by Iron Eater
Riaag wasn’t certain what sort of person you’d have to be to try and restrain a potentially dangerous stranger with shitty, half-rotten rope, but that was certainly the sort of person who was overseeing his escort. Having ripped a great many things apart in his time—his deed name of Bough-Breaker had become increasingly apt over the years—he had little doubt he could have shredded his bonds with barely any effort; as the current step of his grand plan required him to get inside unfamiliar territory without raising the hue and cry of every single warrior encamped there, he instead opted to keep his mouth shut and his head down. For as big a man as he was, Riaag had a lot of experience with being inconspicuous. It gave him plenty of time to think.