It was a sad time to train as a warrior, for there were no handy monsters to gain experience off of. Actual people had to attack other actual people in order to increase their battle knowledge. Of course, Farmer Clarence had no battle experience whatsoever. It had just so happened that he had been given a large sturdy sword by his Lord Protector, and told to protect himself. So when the faceless man on horseback rode towards him, it was only natural that Clarence began to bash the rider rather unskillfully, till he was bloody and fell from the saddle.
As a young boy, Clarence had listened to tales of brave heroes who had slain evil monsters guarding fabulous treasures. When the monsters died, they shriveled up and left behind a valuable weapon or piece of armor, which the hero then marched triumphantly back to the village that had been plagued by the monster. However, the faceless man’s body did not disintegrate. He held onto his treasures until Clarence peeled away the man’s hand from his small round shield and crude wooden spear and took them away. They bore no glittering jewels or gold, but there was blood in abundance.
Staring down at the man he had slain, Clarence fought back the nausea rising in his throat. The faceless man had eyes of granite crying blood. Had that tunic been pressed by the man’s wife that very morning? The tunic, which was a very fine white tunic, was not truly fine or white any longer. Clarence’s sword had caught the man square in the chest, and the purpling bruise on his face clashed horribly with the crimson blood dripping all over the tunic, which had once been fine and white. No amount of cold water washings could remove the stain.
A chilly breeze swept over the field where Farmer Clarence stood over the faceless man. He shivered and stepped back, contemplating the corpse. What to do now? The man was dead and he was cold. Clarence’s feet were blue in the churned snow and the faceless man had well-made boots: leather lined with soft black fur. So Clarence cut a portion of the fine white tunic to use as a shroud and laid it over the face of the faceless man before taking the boots. They fit well and seemed much the same as those not owned by dead men.
Having gotten over the shock of being a murderer, even in self-defense, Clarence strutted proudly into town wearing his new boots. The large sturdy sword was strapped rather dashingly across his back, and he held the bloody spear and shield in his hands. Being a relatively small town, it was a matter of time before everyone knew about it, and went to gawk. Of course, it wasn’t long before the Lord Protector himself heard of the farmer-turned killer, and left his comfortable manor house to see the spectacle. He was unsure what to expect, so he prepared himself for anything.
