The Heart of a Guardian (Elsword)

Chapter 3: Stolen

Disclaimer: I do not own Elsword or the characters in the game.

A/N: Special thanks to Tiffany, my girlfriend, for taking the time and proofreading this story for me. Hi everyone! YES, he really did just do that. Yes its for real. Will it be the last we see of the el search party? I dunno. Maybe. Maybe not. This will be the part where I introduce a handful of OCs. Yes, all of them are relevant to the story. I know, not many people like OCs in a predetermined universe, but they're all important to the overall story. I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me.

"Thieves! Cut throats! I'll have you jailed for this!" the merchant cried as his entire month's earnings was ripped from his hands. Three of them stood over him as he lay there on the dirt: A short man, a tall man, and a young girl. His donkey was missing. He assumed old Hilda was dead; pushed to the bottom of Bethma Valley at some point while the two men were beating him.

The thief that took his money tossed it to the other male and pushed the merchant with the heel of his heavy boot, forcing him to roll on his back. Fearing that they would strike him again, the man raised his arms over his head. Instead of another painful blow, he was met with a weight on his chest as the thief leaned forward with enough pressure to almost break his ribs. The heavy metal boot bore Velder's emblem on the plated shin guard. "I'll have you jailed for this! You'll see!" he said in between gasps of air.

The two men standing over him laughed and he could feel a cold blade press against his ear. "That's exactly what the last poor fellow said to us back in Elder. He ain't talking no more," the tall one said as he put more of his weight on the man's chest. He was thin, lanky, actually, with a scruffy pointed chin and a tanned body that had seen too much sun. His grey eyes were sunken and tired and his breath reeked of neglect easily seen by a rotted front tooth. The arm that held the blade was hairy and boney at the same time. One could easily picture how underfed this man was.

"Please," the merchant said through haggard breath, "Please, let me go."

"You want us to let you go AND you want to report us to the town guard?" the cold blade was pressed more prominently against the side of the merchant's skull. "Now tell me why that would be a good idea?"

The pressure of the knife made the cold blade grow warm. Was he bleeding? Any wrong move and the blade would easily be buried in his skull. "I won't! I won't tell."

"Well what is it then? Are you going to tell or not?" The man asked.

"I won't!"

"Damn right you won't."

Still shielding his face with his arms the man felt the weight lift from his chest. He heard the crunch of dirt under heavy boots while the thief readjusted himself. Hot breath tickled his ear as the thief spoke.

"And I'll make damned sure of it," he whispered.

"Please... don't hurt me."

The thief stood. "Oh it ain't me that'll be hurtin' you. It ain't my style to kill an unarmed man," he turned to one of his accomplices, "Mud, if you would be so kind..."

"Roger, Roger," the one named Mud said as he began binding the merchant's legs together. He was a short stout man, square in every possible way. Even his crooked nose was at a near right angle as it jutted from his face. He, too, wore a red tunic though it hugged his angled body tightly as the top proved to be one size too small. Like the other thief, he wore plated legs with the Velder emblem printed on the right shin.

"Say that again and I'll be tying you down with him," Roger said as he took a sitting position next to the merchant.

"Sorry, boss. The Elder folk told me it."