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UnboundHarlan Adaemus was a cautious man. More than cautious, actually; to the untrained eye, he might be considered downright paranoid. A boy of only 19, many said, hadn't lived long enough to have much to worry about. In Harlan's case, his 19 years had provided more than enough lessons in pain and destruction to warrant him a cautious and watchful personality.
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Which begged the question: how in Oblivion did he manage to find himself with his hands bound, surrounded by Imperial soldiers?
Not one to under-think, Harlan had already spent the majority of their ride silently going over his possible futures in his head. Depending on their destination, he could be moving towards the chopping block, or a iron barred cell. He frowned at the wooden floor of the carriage they had placed him in, glancing from side to side inconspicuously whenever the guards's eyes weren't on him, which was quite often since his fellow prisoners numbered about fifteen. There were at least two armored guards for every man