For Fuck's Fucking Sake! Fuck," shouted Njal. A justified reaction to stubbing ones toe. Well, it actually didn't hurt so much. Well, yes actually it did hurt but his mind was preoccupied with something entirely different. Well, actually it wasn't entirely different but very related. Prior to losing control of his balance, Njal had been shot by an arrow. In the back. He then flinched and threw his leg forward, where a "Stupid Fucking Tree," stood. He smashed his toe into it so hard, that one could hear a crack, even through the shoe. The "Stupid Fucking Tree," which was what he called it in his mind, while it silently observed him seemingly slowly falling down onto the dirty ground and all of it's mushy leaves and branches.
'Fuck you, you stupid ground,' he thought as the impact meticulously managed to miraculously peel out every bit of air in his lungs.
Defeated and unable to scream, he laid there in the dirty dirt. He rejoiced silently in knowing that his toe must hurt, yet he could not feel it on account of the big bleeding hole in his back.
A sly smile grew on his very strained face. 'Fuck me, I'm so fucking stupid,' he thought with his face dug into the dirt.
Him and his group had just commenced a second day of journey with his brand new caravan, and in the morning sun's weak shadows wherein he laid hurting, his poor security guards began streaming out of their wagon. Not poor because they were about to die in this battle, they were almost definitely going to win. They were simply too many for their stupid assailants. No, they were poor because Njal didn't pay them much. Granted, nobody paid guards much unless they were specialised, and in accordance with his mantra, he once again just went with the flow. Who cares if they could barely feed their families, which they also very rarely saw. At this very moment, all of their wives were probably pregnant with someone else.
As the morning sun was still red, Njal wouldn't mind sleeping a bit more. Yet under these circumstances it was a bit uncomfortable. As lazy as he was, he decided to take the easy way out of the quickly approaching battle by playing dead. And stupidly enough, this stupid plan worked. The equally stupid assailants took anyone fallen for dead, and left him to lay there with his face in the mud.
The battle quickly subsided since the assailants ran out of arrows. And hands to shoot them with. The arrows ran out first, then someone thought it would be a fun idea to cut off their hands as revenge.
One guard was dead and two heavily wounded. One needed the leg amputated and another his arm. They had been placed outside of the carriages to be tended to, yet when the medic went back to retrieve her gear, Njal commanded the caravan to leave. Still screaming, the two guards barely realised the wagons had moved before it was too late to run after them. Too late to get an impromptu amputation by the other soldiers, since it was cheaper to hire new guards in the next city than to tend to their wounds. "Magic is expensive, humans are not," was something Njal had been told many times.