What followed was a journey almost as uncomfortable as the one he had just endured. They stuffed him in a cage not fit for a desert hound; he could barely stretch his limbs and he couldn’t stand without slouching like some grimy Neanderthal. They passed through several Raider settlements and outposts and the people poked at him and laughed, not knowing who he really was – but would it change anything if they did know?
The success of July’s campaign relied on people being afraid of him but how could they fear him after this? He was nothing more than a cripple and the Raider’s were probably going to pit him against some hardened gladiator or a starving ghoul-bear in the arena. He had to think of a way out of this, and fast.
These dreadful thoughts silently dissipated as the road meandered north and July caught a glimpse of the legendary Raider capital – Swine Town. The city was originally named after Frank Swinton, one of the first warlords to arise from the ashes of the apocalypse and, after spilling an awful amount of blood, claim the town as his own. Swinton then set his sights on the rest of the Valley and captured all of what is now known as the North-Western region as his own territory. His death was the result of an unfortunate mutiny and over the years the legendary city became even more tarnished as generations of raiders turned it into the largest shanty-town the world has ever known. To the rest of the Valley, Swinton aptly became known as Swine Town and many of the raiders who lived there simply took to calling it the Capital.
July tried to look at the bright side of things; he had wanted a way into Swine Town for months now and here he was on his way to the infamous arena. He had to assume that he’d get out of this alive. He could not let an opportunity like this go to waste. By putting him in the arena he’d have access to dozens of the Raiders’ prisoners, people who could help him in the fight to come.
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