[The following roleplay is rated mature for reasons that may include, but are not limited to, violence, blood, coarse language, sensual situations and drug use. Reader discretion is advised.]
“Remember, my son, only use this amulet when you know you need more power. When you are worthy, you will know it.”
Well, this definitely didn’t feel worthy. Not in the slightest. “Gods, no, please, I didn-” One final whack of his holy blade and he’d felled the last of them. They’d made off with his coin purse, and now he was stuck in the middle of Elimine-knows-where, and he was on his own again. Some fifteen men by his count had fallen to Holy Joyeuse, whether by blade or the holy magic lost to this land suddenly back in... but that wasn’t going to help him now. Another reason to curst that blue-haired assassin-bastard. He’d add that to the already long list.
Mercifully, there was a river close by, he could hear the gentle babbling. The Blind Wolf had insisted on traveling close to one was often as he could. It gave him enough sound to navigate by. Unfortunately, the rest of the landscape appeared to be some sort of... plains? Grassland? He couldn’t distinguish much. If nothing else, it was soft under his feet when he pulled his boots off to get some sort of idea, and it didn’t make enough noise to be anything crunchy. The ground was soft and didn’t come up easily. Maybe it had rained not too long ago? That meant the sound would be deadened further, restricting his range of vision to a rather small little area around himself.
It was... daytime. That was true. He could feel the sun’s warmth through his navy coat. If he turned, it was on his back. Unfortunately, that didn’t tell him a damn thing. The river might’ve helped if he knew which river it was and what direction it flowed. He didn’t. He was supposed to be headed home. Trusting Plegians was a bad move, yes, but his options were either go go from Valm to Ferox, down through Ylisse, and finally back home... or trust some Plegians. He had hoped to get this over with quickly. Generally, coin spoke truer than any slimy promise they could offer, and if nothing else he’d had plenty of that. More than a few sparring matches, contracts, and nights guarding people had supplied the prince with funds for a boat and crew.
Now, however, they were all dead. Perhaps he ought have left the last one alive, honestly... Too many of them had run off, and the only ones left had succumbed to the whirlwind of flashing, holy death. His first priority was to wash the blood off himself. He wouldn’t really be able to wash his clothes, not to any meaningful degree, but at least getting it out of his hair and face would be nice. Not terribly useful, but one had to take the small joys. Cold, absolutely, but especially refreshing after bathing in lukewarm ocean water. The rushing river also did wonders for his perception. For a little while, he was able to actually get a good look at things. As far as he could tell, he was on some kind of wide open plain. A few hills here and there, one of which he decided he would station himself atop. If nothing else, a bit of elevation would help anyone potentially around see him.
After washing off in the river as best he could, the Blind prince set about making some use out of himself. The cart was still there, meaning plenty of rations, he hoped. He would be fine if he had to wander for a while, it seemed. That was a start. Being that he was now broke, he decided to start identifying the deceased men’s weapons the only way he really could. Setting them in roughly similar piles and... licking them to figure out what metals they were. Not the most dignified approach, but he was alone out here. No one around to judge him, no one around to tell him how strange it was. If he were lucky, some would be valuable enough to sell and get a start on funding his trip again.
Perhaps this was better. Lost? Absolutely. Beyond question, he was tremendously lost with no real way to discern or divine his facing. He would have to wait until either a sundown or sunup to actually get any information on that. Which was useless since he had only a vague understanding of where he was. Somewhere in Plegia was about the best he really had. If he followed a river, he’d find civilization eventually, friendly or no. On the other hand, he was alone! Plenty of time to consider things, gather his thoughts, wonder, ponder, and meditate. No annoying chatter, no concerns about keeping appearances up, no “Yes, milord” or “Sire” or “My Prince” or anything like that. Just a Blind Wolf, his hunt, and the soft sound of a babbling brook.
That, and several dozen weapons he was attempting to sort by... well, by taste, frankly. He had little other option, honestly. Swords, all the same shape basically. Axes? Throwing or hand-held, but otherwise indistinct. If he could see, it would be a joke to make out what was what. Bronze, Iron, Steel, it all looked different, he assumed. They all tasted different too, but that meant licking blade after blade, sorting them into approximate piles by value and condition. Which meant hours running his fingers over every single weapon that had been readied against him to determine the condition, quality, and material. Peaceful, certainly, but also absolutely goddamn intermable.
And thus sat a blind, strange man, licking swords and putting them in piles, occasionally putting one on a small cart to be drawn by a single person. Most of them were absolute garbage, near as he could tell. Not that he really cared too much; he only had room for a few when he took into account the cart being mostly full of rations and other ill-gotten gains the brigands had stolen while the blind prince had slept. From far off, he must've looked a truly bizarre sight. A navy coat, a thick head of auburn hair, gear a mix of patchwork and royal-quality, a shield with a wolf's head emblazoned on it, and... well, licking swords.