text: [Themes: fantasy]
  
  "No," you refuse.
  
  "What did you say?" Morgan peers down at you. "I urge you to reconsider your choice."
  
  "I'm sorry. But I have my own matters to attend to. I've spent the last few years as a slave. Now that I have my freedom, I'm not willing to trade it for a mad quest of revenge."
  
  "You're a disgrace, and you shouldn't bear that mark," Morgan answers. The heel of her boot finds your face, dazing you on the ground. Immediately, Morgan squats down forcefully grabbing your wrist, twisting your arm so the tattoo of the crow is exposed. With a flash, her knife appears in her other hand.
  
  "Wait, no--" you start. Then pain rushes through your arm.
  
  Like peeling the outer layer of a potato, Morgan's knife cuts into your skin, meaning to remove the entire image of the crow. You struggle, but she holds your arm firmly in place. As you attempt to strike at her with your free hand, she swats away the blow and sends the hilt of her dagger into your nose with a sickening crunch. On the plus side, the pain from your now-broken nose is slightly distracting from your arm.
  
  "Shh," Morgan hushes you as cries of pain escape your lips. "It'll be over soon. The more you struggle, the worse it gets."
  
  Pain. Sharp pain. Unavoidable pain fills your body. You try to focus on something else, to bring your mind to another place, but all you feel is pain. Then, it's over. Morgan releases your arm, triumphantly holding up a thin piece of skin like a trophy earned. She tosses it to the ground next to you and squats down, again, to stare into your eyes.
  
  "I'm going after that murderer. He'll receive a lot more than you did just now. Perhaps there's a small comfort in knowing it could be worse. In Killian's memory I won't end your life...but that doesn't mean I have to let you off easy."
  
  Morgan's dagger slams down into your thigh. Her face draws closer with her next statement.
  
  "You've brought destruction along with you. I can only hope slowing you down will, too, slow down that which follows you. Think what you must, but this truly is a mercy."
  
  Morgan stands, leaving her dagger in your leg. "And a generosity. Look, I'm not leaving you unarmed." A small laugh hangs in the air. Somehow, you imagine violence is the only thing to cause such an outward display of emotion from that woman.
  
  She leaves you alone, bleeding in the dirt. The only equipment provided is the dagger in your leg.
  
  > move to escape the island
  The damage is bad. Real bad. You need to address the wound, quickly. The nearby jungle offers protection and resources. Here, in the middle of the burnt remains of a camp, you're exposed and without supplies. Morgan said there were no others in the order. Still, the thought of someone else discovering the location, and your vulnerable state, isn't a place you want to find yourself. No doubt there are ships searching for the one lost at sea. Others arriving here is a very real possibility. Best to keep moving.
  
  First, address your leg wound. You rip your shirt, starting from the neckline all the way down to the bottom. Fashioning it into a tourniquet, you steady yourself for the hard part. Nearby, you see a broken tree branch, a little smaller than your wrist, and you crawl over to it. It's a little wide, but it'll serve its purpose. You bite down on the branch and pull the dagger from your leg. Blood immediately begins to flow from the wound, staining your trousers red in a burst of fluid.
  
  Screaming, you bite down harder on the branch, attempting to channel the pain through clenched jaw and screams. Before too much blood is lost, you tie your makeshift tourniquet around your leg and wait for the initial shock to pass. Minutes you sit, trying to take your mind off the pain, unsuccessfully. Eventually, you reach a point where the pain persists, but it's manageable enough to stand. You have to keep moving.
  
  You half limp, half hop to the treeline, meaning to find a safe shelter and pathway to the beach in the case a ship arrives looking for the one lost at sea. The jungle floor is hard to get through. Twisting vines and roots lie in your path, causing movement to be slowed even further. You press on, however, and--
  
  come face to face with a man. He looks as if a beggar, beard and hair both unkempt, dirt marking his face and body.
  
  "Well hi there, fellow traveler," the man says with a grin. Eyeing your leg, he continues. "That doesn't look good. No it doesn't. Oh dear you're losing too much blood."
  
  "My ship...crashed," you reply, feeling the effects of blood loss and exertion.
  
  "That it did. And I imagine Killian took you into his ranks?"
  
  The mention of the snow-haired man momentarily distracts you from the pain.
  
  "Of course he did," the beggar says, pointing to your arm and the missing skin displayed. "I have a good idea what used to be there."
  
  "Help..." you utter, the effects of your wound reappearing. "Need to stitch this up."
  
  The beggar, again, answers with a smile. "Of course I'm going to help you. Doesn't do much good to study a dead specimen. Well, not as much good."
  
  "What do you..."
  
  "Oh, hush. Killian mentioned the war, didn't he? You, my formerly tattooed friend, just found yourself on the wrong side of it. We haven't had a live one for years now. The others will be happy. I'm afraid you'll be just a nuisance, traveling with a leg like that."
  
  Whistling the man, bends down looking at the ground, moving dirt and twigs with his palms searching for something. "Ah, this will do," he speaks to himself. Standing back up, you see a small rock is resting in the palm of his hand. "This will go a lot smoother if you don't struggle. The same goes for when we're back at the facility."
  
  Not that you can offer much of a struggle in your current state, you completely ignore his words, throwing a labored punch in his direction as he approaches. The beggar easily ducks under and smashes the side of your head with the rock. It doesn't knock you out at first, but two more blows do the trick. The horrors that you will awaken to, that have become your reality, are best not thought about. The beggar is right, however, struggling doesn't do much good.