Scavengers feasted upon scavengers.
A dozen vultures lazily spiraled above the road, eleven men spread out across it's surface, dead. Cold crimson blood seeped into the dirt road, freezing. One of the vultures descended to join it's comrades, who pecked away at the men. Severed limbs and shattered bones were strewn across the road. A vulture landed and tore into a large severed arm. Several large rings adorned the hand's fingers, though the vulture took little interest in such things.
The vulture continued to pick at the hand. With had been a difficult time, and the bird hadn't gotten much to eat in the past few days. Just as the vulture took another morsel, a boot collided with the creature's skull. The impact snapped the bird's neck, killing it instantly.
The bird's death hadn't gone unnoticed. They all turned their beady eyes towards their comrade's killer. A wiry man stood over the crow, blood staining the tip of his boot. He remained still, leading the birds to cock their heads in confusion. Slowly, with a steady hand, the man reached into a strap on his leg, and withdrew a cylindrical object with a long barrel. He raised it to the sky, and a crack like thunder assaulted the birds, who squawked in panic and took to the sky, leaving their meal to the man.
He holstered his weapon, and knelt down before the arm. He picked it up, and slowly began to take the rings off it's fingers. The man pocketed the rings, and took a second to scan the area, searching for the arm's owner.
"Oh, Malcone. Looks like you finally ran out of luck." The man shook his head, an edge of both sadness and anger in his voice. He strode over to Malcone's body, and crouched down next to it. Malcone has been a well built man, muscular and chiseled. What was once a magnificent beard was now matted and frozen.
As if a trap had been sprung, Malcone's hand shot out and took hold of the thin man's arm! He pulled him close, his breathing heavy, eyes flashing with recognition, and then rage.
"Gil! Help me you bastard!" Malcone growled, spitting flecks of blood onto the thin man's face. Gil tore his arm from Malcone's grasp, and stood up, delivering a swift kick to Malcone's side. The dying man grunted as his side began to ooze blood, steam rising as it made contact with the frozen earth.
"No, I'm afraid I can't. That wound in your side is beyond my care. I always knew you were a tough guy, but surviving something like this? You weren't our leader for nothing. That said, I promised to be here when your luck ran out." Gil said, reaching down to his hip as he spoke, pulling his firearm free.
"Gods this hurts... I swear I'll kill you if you don't help me!" For a dying man, Malcone could manage to inject lethal amounts of venom into his words. Malcone's eyes widened as Gil raised his gun.
"I will help you the only way I can now. I'll be seeing you in hell, Malcone, so please save a seat for me." Gil leveled his gun, aiming for his old acquaintances' head.
"Screw you, Gil. Guess you still won't call me that... See you in Hell." Malcone closed his eyes, and another gunshot rang out.
"Of course you'd think that was help. You should have got out when you could. See ya... Dad." Gil said, holstering his gun once more.
Gil slid Malcone's rings into his pocket and pulled his hood over his head. He walked through the scene of carnage, wondering what had taken place here. Other bandits? No, they would have buried them. Anything else was against the Thieves' code. Adventurers would have taken their heads as proof of killing them, and everyone still had their heads. Forest Beasts would have eaten the corpses. Perhaps Malcone's men had revolted against him? Malcone was a harsh man, and there always had been a high turn over rate when he'd been with Malcone.
As he considered the possible culprits, Gil began to search the men's corpses. Surely they had to have something of worth on their person. After leaving Malcone's crew, Gil had learned that looting a corpse was considered to be a taboo in the wider world. He simply couldn't understand why. The deceased no longer had any use for their possessions, so why not let someone else who could use them take them?
Very few people were interested in his argument, no matter how he articulated it. Supposedly, it was some kind of insult to the deceased. Something about violating their honor or integrity. One of those useless concepts. Gil shook his head as he took a few worn copper coins from one man's coat pocket. He picked up a sword from the ground, and inspected it. The blade was chipped and a single crack ran down the center of the blade. They'd really been in poor shape, hadn't they?
After he finished looting the corpses, Gil laid his findings out on the ground. A dagger and miscellaneous worn coins of all kinds, copper to gold. Ultimately, he'd wasted his time, at least as far as money was concerned. At least he'd managed to keep his promise.
Gil turned his thoughts back to Malcone's death. While a revolt had been possible, Malcone could have killed all of his men single handedly if they were to revolt against him, especially if they were armed with such shameful equipment. Furthermore, several men had fatal wounds as a result of blunt attacks. One thing he would always remember about Malcone was his belief that a single good cut out weighed a heavy blow in efficiency. So Malcone hadn't killed his men.
Which left only two culprits. Paladins and the Royal Guard. Gil looked over his shoulder, eyeing his deceased comrade. Malcone would attack a royal carriage, if he thought he could win. Judging by the state of their weapons, Malcone's men had certainly needed new equipment. Paladins typically had the best gear money could buy, and they patrolled this area quite often. But to attack them with such equipment would have been suicide.
Unless of course, Malcone was feeling cocky. He'd killed them before, but that had been when he was a lot younger. Perhaps he'd gotten desperate. Gil sighed. No matter how he'd died, Malcone had gotten cocky. But if he'd been killed by paladins, they would still be in the area.
Gil's blood ran cold.
The gunshots would have drawn their attention.