Will

Jon stumbled on a molehill hump, landing hard on the stretch of trampled grass and dirt. He seemed generally unhurt; Will estimated two small bruises on his hip and face, but he stopped to help anyway. He bent down next to the young man, clasping Jon's forearm with his blood caked one. The blond grumbled a word of thanks, heaving himself to his feet. Behind them, the group of angry villagers were catching up. Pitchforks and torches were waved in the inky darkness abandoned by the setting sun.

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Two hours ago

"Mister Paragon. There's been a change of plan. We have to go, now."

Will's eyes widened, then narrowed. He motioned for Jon to go on, a little impatient, but allowed the kid to catch his breath.

"Elder Tenen heard of your, uh, interference, with the Wizard's men. He believes that you should be sent to Mount Tribute to regain the Wizard's grace."

"Whoa there, not that fast. Who's Tenen? And what's this tribute thing?"

"He's the village elder, but he's not as old as that sounds. And Mount Tribute is, well, a mountain where they used to send sacrifices for the Wizard. Although we stopped that practice many years ago, Elder Tenen believes it's the best way to ask forgiveness from the Wizard for your, uhm - "

"Just say it, I killed his fucking men. What is Tenen going to do about it?"

"He's sending armed guards to arrest you and bring you back. They set out before I rushed back and should be here any moment."

"How did he know where we are?"

"Spies," Jon replied, his breathing returning to normal. "They watch any people of interest."

"I'm flattered. Let's get out of here before these guards get here."

He was barely done with his sentence when an arrow thudded into the floor near his feet. It missed by quite a bit, obviously, but whoever was shooting would undoubtedly draw another arrow soon.

"Down!" Will hissed, shoving the blond to the floor. They lay prone on the floor, Jon simply laying there awkwardly with no sword in his belt, Will wiggling as he drew Moonsaw. The arrow near their feet stopped its quivering.

"Will Paragon!" a voice called out from behind the cover of a small hill. "Under the command of Elder Tenen, we place you and your companion Jonathan Solaris under arrest."

Beside him, Jon muttered a stream of curses. Will closed his eyes instead, lending the extra attention to his ears.

"Flamefist!" the voice called out again when there was no reply. "We know you're there. No use fighting back."

"You can shove it," Will replied, and someone near the source of the voice snickered. There was a short scuffle, then the laughter stopped. That was all Will needed to know.

"Childish, Will. If you won't come out, we'll come and get you," the voice continued, obviously the leader of the party.

Will paused for a few moments, as if contemplating the offer.

"Fine," the grizzled man grumbled, loud enough to be heard. "Don't shoot, we're coming out."

"We-we are?" Jon stuttered.

"Yes. Stay close."

Will sheathed his scimitar and slowly got to his feet, raising his hands in the universal symbol of submission. Behind him, he heard rustling as Jon did the same. Good. The kid wasn't getting any crazy ideas. At least if he was, he wasn't giving in. Will knew too well the nagging feeling to just turn around and run. Sometimes, it meant death.

Over the hill, he spotted a capped head studying them with wide eyes. It dipped behind the tip for a few moments then resurfaced, accompanied by another head, this one with no armor.

"I'm glad you decided to take the reasonable decision, Mister Paragon," the second head said. It was the leader, the one with the obnoxious voice. And he did sound relieved. "We have you surrounded with archers who would've gutted you with dozens of arrows until you looked like a pin cushion."

"I have experience," Will replied smoothly. "I know when to retreat, when I can't win."

"Wise man," the leader continued, beginning to rise from behind the hill. "It's probably why you've sur-"

The next things that came out of his mouth were gargling noises (which will not be written down), then a gush of blood. A knife stuck out of his throat, deeply buried. A guard that was standing behind him saw the tip of the knife, just a small sharp point, sticking out from the back of his superior's neck. He barely managed to turn around before he retched and threw up, falling to his hands and knees.

Will's hand was a blur, rapidly moving from his pouch, where the throwing knife had come from, to his sheathed blade, drawing it with a satisfying tsshhhk sound. He kept the scimitar in front of his face, his body small, and quickly moved towards the unorganized party. He sliced off the first head that had peeked out of the hilltop, then descended down the other side. To be fair, there were more than he had expected (he had expected three or four), and the party consisted of seven poorly outfitted guards. Still, they gave him no trouble. He slammed the hilt of Moonsaw into another one's helmet, and vomit man crumpled to the floor. A solid kick to the balls rendered another guard useless, writhing and shuddering violently on the floor.

Suddenly, he felt something warm trickle down his left arm. He looked down, not knowing what to expect, and was a little surprised when he saw an arrow sprouting from his triceps, near his elbow. Will looked up again, and the guard with the bow froze in place.

"You filthy bastard," Will whispered in disbelief. "Do you know what you just did?"

A second later, weapons fell to the ground, and the three remaining guards were sprinting back to the nameless village as fast as their legs allowed. Four lay on the floor, two dead and two unconscious.

The grizzled man turned his attention back to the wooden shaft sticking out of his arm. He yanked it out in a single powerful tug, gritting his teeth as he felt warm blood trickle down his arm.

"Oh," said someone behind him, and he whirled around, almost slashing with his sword. Jon stood there with a dumb look on his face. He didn't seem to notice that he could've gotten killed by accident. "That was a bad idea. The village won't rest until they spill your blood now. It's personal."

"Yeah, I acted on instinct. They were going to disarm us and probably toss us into jail."

"Probably," Jon said dreamily, still staring at the bodies on the floor. "Are you okay?"

"I took an arrow to the arm, but otherwise I'm fine. I should wrap it up before I lose too much blood."

Will pulled out a small cloth from his trusty pouch, and was about to start wrapping his arm when Jon took the cloth from his hands.

"I'll do it," the blond said. "I've taken care of wounds before."

The blood covered man accepted help with a nod of thanks, allowing the kid to wrap his arm. And he did do a pretty good job, better than Will could have using only his burn scarred right arm.

"You don't have to kill everyone who stands in your way," Jon blurted suddenly. "You can, like, incapacitate them. Like you did to those other two guards."

"You do what you have to do to survive," came the gruff response. They didn't talk for a while after that, instead looting the unconscious guards for food and basic supplies. Will packed some dried meat jerky. Jon grabbed a sword that looked sharper than the others, sheath and all, attaching it to his belt.

"We should get going," Will finally said. Shouts were already beginning to echo from the village, and, over on the west, the sun was sinking into the earth. Darkness was falling.

He felt his head spin all of a sudden and almost lost his footing. Jon threw a worried look in his direction, eyebrows raised in concern.

"You've lost a lot of blood."

"It's just an arrow wound, kid. I've had worse."

"Well, you probably weren't in your current pity inducing state! Maybe if you took better care of your health, an arrow wouldn't make you dizzy and pale? Doesn't it hurt, anyway?"

Will's eyes bore into Jon, and the younger man raised his hand in realization.

"Okay, don't answer that last one. But you're not healthy enough to properly fight back a possible infection. We need to get somewhere safe so I can clean that wound for you. Are you even listening to me?"

Will had pulled out a small wine flask from a hidden pocket in his shirt, and was beginning to start drinking from it. On impulse, Jon snatched it from his hands, keeping it out of reach.

"Bad idea, kid. Give it back."

"No."

"Pardon?"

"No. Your life is more important than your dumbass alcoholic tendencies. And if your life doesn't matter to you, my life matters to me. I can't survive by myself in the wilderness, and I sure as hell can't return to my village. You made sure of that. The least you can do is act like a responsible grown man."

The bounty-hunter actually had the nerve to smile. The two men studied each other for a little. In the distance, the shouts grew louder, and the outline of many torches became visible in the growing darkness.

"Very well, ferrej. Lead the way."

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The pair of men made their way away from the nameless village that was led by a not very old elder Tenen. It was a panicked scramble, as they had no light but the bright white disc in the night sky and a miniature copy of a crescent moon in Will's hands, Moonsaw reflecting enough moonlight to outline the humps on the ground and the beads of sweat on their faces.

Eventually, the shouts began to fade behind them. There was nothing to track the pair by. If it were daytime, they would've been more likely caught than not, but to their good fortune, the sun had already started setting at the time they started their journey across the hills.

At one point, the two men bent over, panting heavily. Jon slunk to the floor, and for a few minutes all they did was breathe. The bounty-hunter realized maybe the young straw haired young man was right; he really WAS out of shape. Years of neglect had really rotted the endurance out of his body. And... Did he really care?

"Hey, Jonathan," he breathed. "Mind giving me my flask now?"

"It's Jon," his companion replied coldly and through heavy panting. "And about that flask... Unwrap that cloth. We'll have to do with this alcohol."

Will slowly unwrapped the covering on his wound. It looked, well, a normal enough wound, no sign of infection yet. Jon stepped closer, then paused as Will rolled up his sleeve. He was sure that the kid was trying hard not to stare at the scars that criss-crossed over his left arm, and a grin creeped onto his face.

"Come on. Get it over with, ferrej. No need to be shy. Plus, you're kind of exposing my wound to the air. I'm no professional doctor, but I'm pretty sure that's not good for the wound."

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Hello hello! I guess I actually went on with this, huh. Welcome back to another chapter of Bounty Hard, the title inspired by the common catch-phrase Party Hard! If I had a Lebanese Lira for every time someone made a 'dick hard' joke - well, I wouldn't have a lot of money, but... Ugh, who cares.

I hope you enjoyed this week's installment. It was fun to write. I'm sorry for having you read through that wall of character development and world building. Just making sure my characters have multiple levels of depth. Still working on, uh, other things. I'll get there.

Thanks for reading! I really appreciate your time, and I'm glad you decided to stick around. Much love.

Have a great day/evening! And I'll see you soon.