The Slave Knight Part 1: The Dagon

Chapter Twenty-Five: The Plan to P-Town

It was a week or before Sir Jabberjaw had found the strength to fully awaken. Granted, he had awakened here and there, to eat and drink and take the god awful medicine the dark elf forced down his throat, but those moments were few and fleeting. It was far longer than that, that he would come to terms that he no longer had his right arm. It would be never that he would agree with Bogargz failing to heal his arm, or regrow it as he could have. A nice sheen of scar tissue was forming where his stump once was and he had soon turned his sadness into thankfulness as he still had his life to contend with and live for many a year to come. For many, even slave knights, a lost limb meant a lost life, and luckily Zerg had saved him, as he had the foresight to stanch his wound with burning and branding. Sir Jabberjaw had questioned Sir Winifred as to why he did not get the Sir Jessup wolf treatment, and was readily met with a slap on his non-existent arm.

"I jest not my fair lady. Why would you deny me the chance to fulfill my dream of being a furious furry, ready to fight, fuck, feast, and fill myself up with all that I need?" He gave an obnoxious howl amidst his comrades and beloved, and all in attendance laughed heartily.

"Truthfully, no one offered such a solution." She was smiling and laughing for the first time in what felt like forever. Tears crept upon the corners of her eyes, and she wiped them away absentmindedly. She was happy to not have to deal with the stresses of Sir Jabberjaw near death experience, or one of the many squabbles of the Wenches, or trying to lead a warband that was not hers. She had seen Sir Wallace come around to a better, more optimistic, way of thinking. He had been more present, more active and had begun planning. For what she could not say, but she knew it was for something to end this travesty of a journey. It was surely those talks with Duneson, she thought and chuckled some more at the ridiculous name, glad for all that had transpired in this short last week.

Sir Jabberjaw waking had clearly taken the cake as the best news, but other developments had been made, namely in the area of plans for the end of their journey. Plans toward the Dagon. Plans to be unbound. Sir Wallace hinted at this very vaguely, but kept most details within their secret meetings with Duneson, Joa and Zerg, all who seemed to have warmed up to the likes of Sir Wallace. It created a lighter air among them. Jovial even, but the air of congeniality was mixed with a heavy presence of duty and professionalism. They worked happily, but knew that they needed to work toward a common goal for the betterment of it all. To that end, it might mean the end of some. Or all Sir Wallace thought to himself.

It was that night that they all would speak on their next steps. On how to get out of the Bost and toward the Dagon, to the end of this disastrous journey, as it had been each and every slave knight's worst thus far. It was a night that would either commence their victory, or solidify their despair. It was a night of great expectation, and something all were ready to get through, as it was the beginning of the end of this terrible journey of theirs. And our slavery, so Sir Winifred hoped.

"It is sad that now we have a goal, there are those who cannot share and delight in such things." Sir Jabberjaw commented with a tinge of pain in his throat. It seemed that he was near on crying, but swallowed hard to forsake the feeling.

"You speak of Sir Jonus?"

"Aye, I do. For the shit I gave him, he was one of the better of us indeed. Sure minded, simple minded, and thick as all else, but he knew his place. He knew what he could do. He knew what he wanted. It's sad to see him..." Sir Jabberjaw choked up a little, unable to bring himself to admit that his friend was gone.

"We know not what befell Sir Jonus." Sir Winifred tried to give her beloved some solace in an inconsolable situation.

"You would have me believe he survived the shit show that was the draugr?"