Lashing the rope around the prone man’s feet, several knots were produce, before Rowe drew the line up and began securing Darius' wrists. Oddly, Darius remained still, a slight whimpering brought by the pain of his foot. The thought of being hauled off to Wynfel was also another factor that stilled Darius, a thought that seemed too overwhelming in the moments to even think of fighting back.
Working the knots around his captives’ wrists, Rowe was suddenly jolted, pulled back from his work. A thick arm had managed to close around his throat, making it rather hard to breath. Dragged to his feet, Rowe grasped at that arm, sputtering and shuffling backwards. The other hired guard grunting harshly into his ear, had snuck around during the scuffle and had managed to strike when Rowe was preoccupied. Stupid Rowe mentally chastised himself, between struggled breaths.
"Gurk!" the half choked sound blurted out, as Rowe attempted to pry off the arm while trying to remain on his feet. Horian and Gegash still in a cloud of alcohol simply watched, hardly any help even if they had had the wits to do anything. Wrestling against the guard’s better position, Rowe threw an elbow back hoping to knock the wind out of his aggressor. The blow was far from gracefully, and had not done much against the leather covering the guard was wearing. Rowes' eyes went slightly blurry, muddled in the constriction, which tightened more at his failed attempt giving him a deepening shade of red. Boots skittered along the ground trying to get a grip against the scattered glass and porcelain on the tavern floor, when he felt the arm slacken. Prying the arm off, Rowe gasped regaining his senses in a second, hobbling forward on his feet again.
Figuring he only had a moment to react, his fingers balled up spinning about to face the one behind him, landing his fist squarely into the jaw of the guard, sending him backwards. It was a strong enough hit that it would have toppled the guard, based on the overwhelming pain surging through his hand and wrist from the connection. That is, were not for the appearance of a familiar face standing behind the dazed bastard.
"Markas, always making a show and game of it, eh?" the newcomer blurted with a grin, catching the limp guard beneath his armpits, before unceremoniously dropping him to the floorboards, "Can't seem to remember a time when you hadn't just simply taken one with no fuss. Rowe, huh? Interesting choice of names" The man didn’t seem much to care about the dropped guard, nor the one writhing in pain beside him. More interested in tidying himself up, he rearranged his cloak about himself.