Fan Fiction – Page 4 – LOTRO Players

Uncovering the Annals of the Dwarves

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Shield Of Honor: Part Four

Rufius watched as the last of the towns garrison rode out the east gate. When they had gone, the aging veteran looked to the task of taking care of the Lord Protector’s body. The crowd stood around Merigal in silent vigil, the shock of the great hero’s death almost too much to bear. Silent tears spilled down unbelieving faces, each hoping beyond hope that Merigal would rise miraculously, defeating with his formidable skill the spectre of death. But it was not to be.

Finally, after allowing the mob their time to grieve, Rufius ordered them to disperse. The death of Merigal Quickblade would be known to the whole of Riverwatch soon enough and the town would be given it’s chance to remember their former Lord Protector properly. Former, Rufius supposed, because with Merigal’s death the title of Lord Protector passed to him by all rights. It was not the way that he had envisioned gaining the post, but now that he had it, he would perform it as best he could. Soon the crowd dispersed quietly and numbly back to their homes until only the girl Aniwen was left besides Merigal’s form.

With the help of two stout men, Rufius carried the body of Riverwatch’s greatest champion back to the fort to be cleaned and prepared for a proper burial. Aniwen walked quietly behind, her head down, thoughts to herself. Every once in a while she would look back in the direction of the east gate and Rufius knew that her thoughts were on Mericc. He had tried to convince her to go back home to her father’s house but she had stubbornly refused, preferring to act as a make-shift honor guard on Mericc’s behalf. Later on, with Merigal’s body safely inside the fort’s medical ward, the young girl fell asleep in a chair close by.

Hours passed.

The dark of the night deepened.

A lone rider rushed through the east gate and towards the fortress atop the rocky hill at the city’s center. With weary arms he lifted a horn to his lips and blew a note of dire warning. His armor was dented in many places and blood seeped slowly but consistently from a wound in his side. By the time Rufius and Aniwen had run out to meet him, he was slumped over his horse’s head, fading ever closer to death. His eyes half opened he spotted Rufius and beckoned, his words barely above a whisper.

“Disaster…garrison surprised…routed,” the rider finally managed, holding his side painfully. He slumped down further in his saddle and Rufius was forced to shake him roughly to rouse him.

“What happened? Speak!” Rufius commanded sternly. “Who did this?” With an effort the soldier continued, each breath a struggle.

“Jaxton One-Eye…Brigands…Heading this way,” the soldier said before slumping over. Suddenly Aniwen rushed forward, her eyes filled with worry.

“What of Mericc? Have you seen him? Is he safe?” she asked frantically but it was too late. The soldier had breathed his last. Aniwen broke into fresh tears, fearing for the young man who had captured her heart and whose fate now hung in deadly uncertainty.

From the dark several men appeared, drawn by the call of the warning horn. Rufius gave orders for them to pass from house to house, warning the people to stay safely inside and out of sight of the streets. With the garrison now gone, the town was practially defenseless against the danger that now approached. Jaxton One-Eye was as ruthless as he was crafty and anyone unfortunate enough to fall across the gaze of that one remaining malevolent orb would bitterly regret it.

“That means you as well Miss Aniwen,” Rufius said softly, breaking her from her daze. “Head back to the High Quarter and warn the families there to stay inside at all costs.”

“What will you do?” Aniwen asked, her eyes wide with fear.

“What I have to,” Rufius responded, his eyes focused on the east gate. His senses were sharp and he could just make out the dust rising beyond and the sound of hooves approaching fast in the distance. “Now go Aniwen, and do not look back,” The veteran commanded as he unclasped his sword from it’s sheath. Aniwen turned and ran, her heart beating hard in her chest.

Soon the group of riders came into view, their black cloaks and head wraps masking them from head to waist, covering their features. Unlike the orcs that morning, the men before him did not shout, threaten or snarl words of derision as they came. These were professional men. As they approached the new Lord Protector, the riders slowed and fanned out in a semi-circle around him, but made no other move. Rufius unsheathed his sword, eyes darting from one side to the next but the riders just sat on their mounts silently and waited.

After a minute Rufius heard the sounds of two more riders approaching. The semi-circle split in the middle and Rufius watched as the leader of the brigands made his triumphant entrance into Riverwatch.

Jaxton One-Eye was a man of mean reputation. The days of his youth had been spent long ago but were replaced with the craftiness of old age and the slyness of a rattlesnake in the high grass. The wrinkles of his face ran deep over cracked skin, his crooked nose casting a small uneven shadow on a small precise mustache. A black patch over one of his eyes masked a jagged scar, a gift from Merigal Quickblade during one of their early encounters. But Merigal was dead and the aging outlaw remained and that was just as Jaxton would have it. Fearlessly, for he was surrounded by his men with only the aging Rufius before him, Jaxton dismounted off his horse and approached the veteran warrior. Quietly by his side, another dismounted and followed but Rufius knew without thinking who the other was.

The differences between Jaxton One-Eye and his companion were striking and one might wonder how these two bandits of such disparate looks had ever gotten involved with one another. But the partnership had proven lucrative and for the last years the name of Thurin Quiet-knife had garnered as bad a reputation as the older Jaxton’s. But while Jaxton was old and wrinkled, Thurin was in the prime of his youth, his dashing handsome features a stark contrast to his cold remorseless interior. He was called the Quiet-Knife, both for his skills as a spy and assassin and for the fact that he rarely ever spoke, allowing his blades and the wilier Jaxton do the talking for him.

The two men walked unconcernedly towards Lord Protector Rufius, who brandished his sword threateningly before them. Their men sat in their horses like ominous sentinels, surrounding the proceeding. Rufius stepped back a pace without thinking, he knew there was no place to go. The line had already been crossed

***

The campfire burned low, it’s dying embers releasing their last vestiges of light and warmth. The man poked at them with a blackened branch, hoping to coax what remaining heat lay trapped inside. His eyes darted nervously from side to side as the shadows closed in around him, stretching out their accusing fingers at him in the gloom. He hated the cold and dreary outdoors with it’s night time predators, exposure to the elements and worst of all, the gods-cursed marsh flies. A friend of his once heard that in the lands out west, the marsh flies grew to the size of small dogs and could suck a man dry in under a minute. But his friend’s imagination was as big as his mouth as the man told him often while they drank at the local tavern.

What the assassin wouldn’t give for a drink right now at the nearest tavern, out of the cold, with a town-girl wrapped around his arm. But the nearest town was the last place he wanted to be. Not after what he had done.

Swatting absently in front of his face at a marsh-fly, the man smiled at the rich reward he had coming to him. ‘Oh yes’, his benefactor had promised. ‘There would be plenty of money for the job’, more than he had ever seen in fact. The embers of the fire pulsed fainter and fainter but the man was too lost in his thoughts to notice anymore. Images of endlessly flowing wine and women danced before his eyes, enticing and tantalizing him as red hot particles of burning wood floated along the breeze.

The assassin marveled at the simple cleverness of the plot. The orc attack drew the attention of the Riverwatch garrison, allowing him to easily slip in unnoticed and wait for the coming dark. His benefactor had even shown him on a rough map, the perfect spot to sit and wait for his quarry while still remaining undetected by even the sharpest eyes. The man at the campfire remembered with glee the thrill of the kill and the manic race through the side streets and alleys until he came upon a horse that he promptly ‘acquired’ to aid in his escape.

The faint cracking of a branch went unnoticed by the assassin, still lost in his thoughts.

An angry cry broke Merigal’s killer out of his revelry and he looked up just in time to see a shadowy form charging towards him. Before he could react his nose exploded in pain as the form cracked him with the hilt of a sword, sending him sprawling. The assassin looked around frantically for his assailant but stars danced in front of his eyes and the waning light of his fire turned everything a murky shifting grey. With an effort he went for his crossbow however before his fingers could wrap around the stock, a boot kicked at his hand, sending his weapon into the night.

“WHO SENT YOU?” his attacker screamed. The assassin looked up and found a sword pressed to his neck. At the other end of the blade was a red-faced young man and Merigal’s killer saw that though the boys hands shook, he meant business.

“Mercy,” The assassin pleaded, sweat pouring down his brow.

Mericc bent down, the tip of his sword causing a small rivulet of blood to appear on the assassin’s neck. With his other hand he grabbed at the man’s collar and drew him close and the assassin could see the fire in the young man’s eyes.

“The same mercy that you showed to my FATHER!” Mericc bellowed. “Now I am going to ask this one time or else what comes after will be slow and painful. WHO sent you?”

The assassin gulped carefully, mindful of the blade at his neck. All thoughts of wine and women were dashed from his mind as Mericc looked down on him expectantly. The fire offered neither warmth or light, its embers completely burned out.

Shield Of Honor: Part Three

“It isn’t fair,” Mericc proclaimed sulkily as Rufius’s sword passed over his head. He parried the next blow then tried to thrust inside, a move that the more experienced warrior easily countered. The training barracks echoed with the sound of their blunted weapons clanking off of each other in rhythmic repetition, sweat pouring down their brows. “I should have been out there fighting with you and everyone else,” Mericc complained.

“I’m sure Merigal had his reasons Mericc,” Rufius responded rather crossly. With a quick movement he forced Mericc back with his sword and his smaller opponent barely managed to stop himself falling to the ground. Rufius was strangely out of sorts for the evenings training, a fact that was not lost on Mericc as he sported a few more bruises than he normally would after sparring with the large warrior.

Normally after a battle or adventure, the red-haired Deputy Protector would be in high spirits, drunk with the exhilaration of victory and more than a few pints of ale. But tonight, especially after meeting with Merigal before his father’s nightly patrol, he was in a particularly sour mood. Mericc was undaunted though, and as they fought back and forth, he resumed his entreaties.

“But how am I ever suppose to become a great adventurer like my father if I never see any action?” Mericc said between labored breaths. “What adventures can one have stuck behind doors protecting the women and children?”

Not that he had minded having Aniwen pressed up against him, his face pressed into her hair as he held her tight as the battle raged on below. When the fighting was over he stayed for a while at her house and comforted her, speaking soft words as the dead and dying were attended to and carted out of the streets. And when the day began to wane, they said their good-byes and Mericc promised to come see her again the next chance he could. Outside he looked up just in time to see her blow him a kiss from her window and he walked to the garrison fortress, his heart a little lighter.

A hard elbow to the chest woke Mericc suddenly from his daydream and he went sprawling back, barely parrying a vicious blow from Rufius. The large warrior really was in a bad mood this evening and Mericc once again wondered why. Another flurry was intercepted more confidently by Merigal’s son and he even managed to force Rufius back a ways with a counter attack. The two went at it fiercely, Rufius countering Mericc’s greater youth and speed with a lifetime’s worth of experience and guile.

“I want to have adventures of my own Rufius,” Mericc continued as they sparred back and forth. “Travel the Dale-lands or maybe even Rohan. Fight ruthless bandits like Jaxton One-Eye, The Dragon’s Maw or Endhorg the Fierce.” Jaxton One-Eye in particular was a bandit that had captured Mericc’s imagination. He had been a constant thorn in the side of the Dale-lands for years now and was one of Merigal’s more persistent adversaries in his younger days. He was as crafty as he was ruthless and was one of the few people who had ever crossed paths with Mericc’s father and lived to tell about it.

Rufius laughed loudly for the first time that evening, his face regaining the jolly grin that Mericc was so used to. With a subtle feint and a less than subtle trip, he brought Mericc down to the ground, kicking the youth’s sword away before he could recover. Mericc sucked in his breath as he felt the blunted tip against his chest, forgetting for a moment that it was just a training sword.

“Getting ahead of yourself aren’t you boy?” Rufius laughed. “Especially from one who can’t beat an aging fat man yet.” Sheathing his sword Rufius helped Mericc up and patted him on the back. “Best take it one challenge at a time lad. Getting ahead of yourself is a good way to lose one’s head.” They both had a laugh at that and Mericc was glad once again that his fathers long-time companion seemed back to his old self.

They put away the training equipment and Rufius spent the next twenty minutes going over the spar with Mericc, telling him what he had done wrong and what to work on. While he was less skilled than Merigal, Mericc enjoyed his training sessions with Rufius a little more because the big man would show him all the dirty tricks and underhanded fighting tactics he had built up over the years. Merigal looked down on such shortcuts as beneath a true fighter and would berate Mericc harshly whenever he would try them out in their sparring sessions.

‘A man who uses short cuts like that, falls into the habit of using them in lieu of proper training and discipline’ Merigal would say. ‘And when the day comes that he’s faced with a situation where none of his shortcuts work, he finds he’s forgotten the long way and that usually means his end.’

Rufius finished his lecture with a good humored pat on the back, telling Mericc that he was becoming quite the swordsman despite the Deputies’ teasing. Mericc was just about to broach the subject of what had been bothering the big soldier when they heard a woman’s scream pierce the night. Both men, young and old, equipped themselves quickly and raced for the door. Mericc especially for the voice he had heard sounded very much like Aniwen’s.

****

A crisp night time breeze was blowing outside that went unheeded by Mericc as he looked for the cause of the scream. Down the road he could see a ring of people surrounding what looked like two bodies on the road, one covering the other. He started moving as fast as he could towards the ring, the older Deputy Protector lagging behind though his presence barely registered in Mericc’s mind. His only thought, repeating over and over ‘Please let Aniwen be ok, please let Aniwen be ok…’ His hand gripped the hilt of his sword, more to mask his hand’s shaking than as a precaution against any danger.

“Please let Aniwen be ok,” Mericc whispered to himself again as the night’s shadows pulled back and showed the crowd in greater clarity. The panic and hushed talk of the mob charged the air and Mericc felt the approach of some impending doom with each quickened step. He saw that the figure on top was holding the second in their arms, head hanging low as if in mourning. A sigh of relief escaped Mericc’s lips as he caught a glimmer of yellow and gold from the figure holding the collapsed form on the ground. Aniwen was ok. He raced to her side, wishing to take her away from this ghastly scene. Let Rufius take care of the body on the ground.

It was then, as the victim came into focus that Mericc’s world came crashing down.

There, laying in the road of the town he had protected for twenty years, was Merigal Quickblade. A crossbow bolt stuck out of his back, his life essence dripping down, staining the pavement. Aniwen lay crouched at his side, holding his head in her hands, tears flowing down her face in torrents. She noticed Mericc and he saw a look of profound and terrible sadness that was as much for him as it was for the man at her feet. The young boy felt his legs lose all strength and he would have collapsed if Rufius had not steadied him at his side. Mericc’s legs drove him on towards the scene, though he felt them not and the world lost it’s sense of reality. He dimly heard through muted senses Rufius roaring for a healer and the shuffling of many uncertain iron boots.

Finally he pushed his way through the shocked crowd and fell down at his father’s side. The color had drained from Mericc’s face though it was nothing to how the man before him looked now. In his youth and in his folly Mericc had thought his father invincible, a giant colossus walking in a land of lesser men and morals. Merigal had won a hundred battles and bested countless foes and nothing seemed to counter the idea in his son’s mind that he would live forever. Now he lay in a heap, his face as white as his flowing mustache, feeble coughs signaling that his time was coming to an end. He took his father’s head from Aniwen’s hands and that beautiful young lady wrapped them around him, sharing his pain.

It was then that Merigal’s eyes opened weakly and he stared up at his son. Beckoning weakly and unsurely the dying warrior pulled his son’s head down so that he could hear his final words. Mericc nearly broke as his fathers authoritarian deep voice descended into a wheezing cough riddled shell of it’s self.

“I’m sorry…Mericc,” he managed. “That I kept you…from what you wanted.” A further series of coughs cut off the rest and it took a minute for the once proud man to continue. “I only wished…for you to…” But Mericc never heard the rest for there on the High Street of Riverwatch, Merigal Quickblade, famed adventurer and swordsman, died. Darkness descended, deeper than the night for Mericc and this time he could not stop the tears from falling. The rest of the crowd, even Rufius just stood there dumbfounded, not knowing what to do or say.

From the distance of his despair Mericc heard someone shout as if through a pane of glass, “The assassin was spotted, the assassin was spotted riding with great speed out the east gate.” Something welled up in his heart replacing the hurt, driving it aside. Outrage and anger at such a grievous injustice crashed over him like a tidal wave and before anyone could react Mericc rushed at the nearest horse and leaped into the saddle.

“NO Mericc!” Rufius shouted. “Don’t,” But Mericc heard little else, his whole being focused on only one thing and that was to bring his father’s killer to justice. He rode hard for the gate, his heart pounding in his chest as chaos erupted behind him.

Rufius wheeled quickly on one of Riverwatch’s captains, “Gather all the men and go after him NOW!” The experienced Rufius had recovered from his shock quicker than the others and was determined to keep control. The captain looked at him uncertainly and Rufius felt his temperature rise.

“Do you think that is wise Sir? Emptying the garrison at a time like this.” The captain said unsurely. Rufius grabbed the man violently by the collar.

“Would you have the slayer of our Lord Protector go unanswered or his only son slain mercilessly in his reckless haste?” Rufius growled. “Gather ALL the men I said and get after that cowardly assassin and for the God’s sake, protect that boy or it will be your head.” With that the captain rushed to gather Riverwatch’s forces for pursuit as Rufius struggled to maintain order as the town’s new Protector.

And somewhere in the dark, Mericc the boy pursued his father’s killer as the pleasant night’s air turned a deadly chill.

Shield of Honor: Part Two

Mericc watched in dismay as his father left the room. “I’m coming as well,” He said, grabbing his dagger and running to catch up. But his father whirled on his heels fiercely and stopped him short with a glance.

“NO! Mericc. You stay here,” Merigal exclaimed. Mericc felt a rising tide of panic and frustration well up. To not take part in his home’s defense reeked to him of something cowardly and dishonorable.

“But I can fight. I want to fight!” He protested, but Merigal cut him off and seemed to fill the room with his presence as he looked down at his son.

“Stay here Mericc, that is an order,” The Lord Protector proclaimed sternly, glancing over at the Lady Aniwen standing pale and frightened at the window. “I need to you to protect the Lady Aniwen and the rest of this household. Can you do that for me?”

Mericc started to protest, a part of him relishing the idea of testing his skills in an actual battle. However the mention of Aniwen’s name pulled him in another direction entirely and he was torn between two points. Before he could resolve this internal conflict his father made it for him by disappearing down the hall. Mericc rushed to the window, a column of smoke rapidly approached the city gates from the distance. Aniwen buried her head in Mericc’s chest and he did his best to comfort her, wrapping her up in his arms and stroking her hair gently. He did not look her in the face though, worried that she would see the fear on her face reflected in his own. He must be strong.

***

The column of smoke soon resolved itself into the dark forms of the Goblin Outriders and their Warg mounts, followed quickly behind by heavy orcish infantry. The rapid clamp of many iron boots was drowned out by the guttural battle cries and fierce howling challenges of the red eyed fiends as they approached the city gate. The spearmen of the Riverwatch garrison braced themselves behind the wooden gate while archers manned the towers and walls on either side, waiting for the order to unleash their first volleys.

Rufius stood upon the wall, awaiting the enemy, his right arm raised as a signal to the archers to hold their fire. He was haphazardly dressed now in a suit of chain mail and cured leather, the suddenness of the attack not allowing him to outfit himself more properly. The goblin warg riders were close enough now that Rufius could see the blood lust in their eyes and the malevolence in their open mouthed toothy grins. They came looking for death and Rufius was more than glad to give it to them. Beads of sweat might be falling down the foreheads of the archers on the wall, but Rufius was ready. He had done this dance before.

“Fire!” He shouted and the archers released their arrows, downing a half score of the goblins in the front. Another volley and more goblin’s fell, some struck by arrows and others fallen beneath the paws of their warg mounts as arrows pierced their thick fur hides. The third volley struck little as the line of goblin riders split in two and wheeled to either side of the walls and turned back returning fire with their crude short bows. A couple of Riverwatch’s archers fell, clutching dirty orc arrows in their chests, the Gods only knew what cruel poisons coating their tips.

By now the main column of orcs smashed against the wooden gate and walls as the bowman exchanged volleys on both sides. The gate shivered but held and the men on the other side hoped that it would be enough to stem the tide. Many of the lighter orcs began using their claws to find what purchase they could and Rufius was dismayed to find them climbing the walls and gate. He ordered his archers to clear the walls, but only those in the two towers buttressing the gate had the angle to fire straight down. But now his archers were split in purpose, having to both shoot at the orcs climbing the walls and deal with the goblins who were picking them off one by one. Rufius lopped off the head of an orc that managed the top of the wall and prepared himself for more to arrive soon. He shouted for the archers to prepare to defend the top of the wall and those that were left dropped their bows and unsheathed their swords.

Suddenly Rufius heard a loud crack and the ground shook beneath him. He managed a quick look over the walls before a volley of arrows forced him back, but not before he saw what he had feared. While he and his men had been occupied with the goblin archers and climbing orcs, the orc horde had brought up a half dozen massive looking orcs wielding a wicked looking battering ram which they were using with frightening effect on the wooden gate. A swarm of light skirmishers came over the wall and Rufius and his archers were far too involved with the fight up top to deal with the Rammers at the gate. And where was Merigal in all this?

The fight waxed furious on the battlements, man contending with orc in deadly confrontation. The men of Riverwatch were valiant and many orcs fell beneath their blades, but unfortunately there are always more orcs and more orcs came. All of this was lost on Rufius though, who felt the thrill of battle rise in his heart and the joy of the fight wash over him. With long practiced skill the aging warrior slew orc after orc, bellowing in joyous triumph with each victory.

“Fight on men of Riverwatch!” the large red-head shouted, almost laughing out loud even as the gate fell with a crash and the heavy orc infantry swarmed in. The line of Riverwatch spearmen and orcs clashed in a cacophony of wood, steel, and blood, each vying for the mastery. At first the brave men of the town held the tide back, but soon the weight of the massive rammers pushed them apart, creating a breach into the open town.

And then he was there.

Merigal arrived, fully armed as the biggest and vilest of the orc’s pushed through the gap. The large orc was the heaviest armored of the enemy force, towering even over the biggest and strongest of his troops. In his hand he carried a sinister looking 2-handed sword that he wielded easily with only one, it’s blade breaking at the top into a vicious looking spike. The orc drew himself up to his full height as he looked across to the Lord Protector of Riverwatch, black tongue hanging down, saliva dripping from his fangs.

“If it isn’t the famous Merigal Quickblade,” The orc snarled confidently with a deep guttural accent. “Let us see if the man equals the legend. For I am Azgash, mightiest among orcs and I will see you dead before this day is out.” With that he raised a battle shout as the conflict raged behind him.

The famed adventurer looked unconcerned as he walked towards his foe purposefully, his hawk-eyes glinting hard in the sun. In his one hand he held his trusty blade and in the other his curious shield of star-shaped design. Ten yards from the giant orc he stopped and stood defiantly as if setting a line in the sand that said this was as far as the fight was going to go. He answered the orc leader’s threat casually as if he had told him the weather or the latest news from Dale.

“It may be that one day someone will come along who’s good enough to best me and can say with pride that they were better than Merigal Quickblade,” the Lord Protector said as he resumed walking towards the orc leader as if he were taking a walk in the park. “But that someone isn’t you. And I’ll still be alive long after your food for the worms, just another tally in a long line of pretenders.” With that the giant orc growled angrily and charged, raising his weapon high, madness in his face.

It was over in the blink of an eye, the speed and precision of Merigal’s blade ending the orc before he could even begin to bring his weapon down. His arms dropped ineffectually as his head rolled off of his shoulders and the large body hit the ground hard as Merigal passed it by without even looking back. The men of Riverwatch cheered and the orc host gnashed their teeth in dismay and fear at the death of their greatest. But Merigal was not done. He came down on the remaining orcs like a thunderbolt, closing the gap with a furiousness of action that broke the orc line and sent them fleeing before him. It was said later that no foe that saw Merigal’s blade lived to tell about it and the soldiers of Riverwatch rallied behind their leader, turning the battle into a route.

Mericc watched the whole thing from Aniwen’s window with a mixture of pride and regret. Aniwen had turned her head away, unable to view the bloodshed below, but Mericc could not pull himself away and his heart soared when he watched the fight between his father and the leader of the orcs. He wished that he could have been down there sharing in the victory and triumph instead of being cordoned off, far away from the action. Aniwen began to cry and Mericc comforted her absently, telling her that it was all over now.
***

Night descended upon the town of Riverwatch. In the aftermath of the battle, the garrison and able members of the town did their best to affect quick repairs to the wooden gate and palisades. Merigal as Lord Protector, worked long into the evening supervising the work and it was with a weary body that he began his final evening patrol before heading home. The night was beautiful but that did little to assuage the troubled thoughts of the Lord Protector, who’s brow sat heavy with worry as he walked the cobbled streets.

The foolishness of the attack was what troubled Merigal the most. There were several gates into the city, but the one the orcs attacked tended to be the heaviest defended and fortified, being the one closest to the inner fort and garrison. Another thing that Merigal found peculiar was a report that the orcs had left the outlying farms and town lands completely untouched. Since when did orcs forgo looting and pillaging? These thoughts and more went through Merigal’s mind as he completed his circuit and headed back towards the fort where his office resided. The Lord Protector passed several people on the street exchanging polite greetings and accepting praise for the day’s victory. Perhaps his old companion would have some thoughts on the matter Merigal mused as a form in the shadows lurked unknown to even his piercing eyes.

The Shadow-form watched cautiously as the armed warrior walked towards the place he was hiding. Fingers wrapped themselves around a crossbow held confidently down at his side. It had taken much to afford the night-enshrouded figure this opportunity and he would not have that effort wasted. His employers would not like that, no, not like that at all. He watched with interest as various citizens of Riverwatch passed up and down the street, right hand slowly bringing a bolt from his quiver. The hidden figure’s movements were slow, his chosen spot well concealed, but it did not do to take unnecessary chances. As the bolt slid into the notch the silent assassin studied his potential targets.

The first to catch his eye is a pretty young lady in a green and gold dress. The shadow-form smiled as he carefully pulled back the crossbow string into it’s catch. Wouldn’t that be a nasty little surprise for the little miss? There she’d be, all dressed up for a ball and instead a bolt in her chest for her troubles. But the serious looking old warrior stops by the girl, blocking the concealed man’s view as they exchanged words that he cannot hear.

“It is late for you to be out Lady Aniwen,” Merigal said, looking down at the young woman who had so captivated his son.

“I am aware,” Aniwen replied with a forced smile. “But the day’s events have quite shaken me and I thought to take a nice walk in the cool night air to clear my thoughts.”

Merigal nodded as he looked to the stars. “Aye, I find that walks like this do much to ease a worried mind. But the night grows long and I think it’s best if you make your way home Lady.” With that Merigal gave a slight bow which Aniwen returned with a small curtsey before resuming her walk.

‘Finally’ the dark figure thought as the warrior and lady parted, giving him a clean line of sight. But the soldier was too close still and the time wasn’t right yet. The shadow form moved on to the next potential target, his gaze resting on a fat merchant turning the corner onto the street. The coin purse at the merchant’s side jangled obscenely and the assassin’s mind jangled along with it at all the things he could do with that money. He lifted his crossbow with careful deliberation and took aim, biding his time. Unfortunately the bothersome grey-haired soldier chose that moment to pass close by his hiding spot. Their positions were such that any shot would be right in sight of the warrior, revealing the crossbowman’s position.

Merigal concealed his annoyance as one of the town’s richest merchants came into view. Being confident in Riverwatch’s security was one thing, flaunting your wealth for all to see was just asking for trouble. But Merigal was in no mood for a lecture this evening and let the matter rest…for now. Besides, he wished to get to the fort as soon as possible and explain his earlier decision to Mericc. He knew very well how much his son had wanted to be a part of the battle but Merigal had had his reasons. The merchant passed with some extravagant greeting that Merigal gave little attention to, offering only a perfunctory nod in return.

The wait began to weigh heavily on the man of shadows and he twitched with impatience. But finally the warrior moved away down the street, his back turned. The assassin’s eye returned to the merchant and then the girl, or maybe that couple walking down the way, arm’s entwined would do? He laughed inside. So many choices, but he knew that in the end there was only one. His finger edged to the trigger, one delicate weight between life and death.

The long breath before the release had always been his favorite part.

The crossbow string twanged, the bolt carving it’s deadly path through the air.

A woman’s scream pierced the night.

This story and others can also be found at the Cottage of Pen and Play

The Cottage of Pen and Play: The Last Charge

In the city of Minas Tirith there is much that is ancient and long standing. And amongst the most ancient and noble of these, is found in the residence of the Oathblade family. There even the door mice could trace their lineage back many generations to the first mice that nibbled on the cities grain stores. Even the most minor piece of furniture had a long story and history and would be recounted to you in minute detail if you were to have the misfortune of asking.

Continue reading The Cottage of Pen and Play: The Last Charge