Farin Deep
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Player Login: NAUMatt
PC Name: Farin Deep–------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"Hey!" Farin darted a hand out, snatching the necklace from the young urchin before he could slip it into his pocket. "Off with you, mutt!" he said, slapping the young boy in the back of the head. Holding his head, the urchin flashed one dark look at the baby-faced Farin, standing not much taller than him, before darting back into the milling mass of bodies in the market.
Proudly, Farin walked around the stall, waiting patiently for his father to finish bartering with a man draped in silk over the cost of a ruby-studded collar. Anise, tall and proud, pocketed the man's money with a nod and turned to his son. Farin held up the necklace.
"Another thwarted robbery?" Anise asked with a deep chuckle. "Well, done son. I don't know how much of my gold these thieves would take if not for you." Ruffling his son's hair, he turned to a vieled woman as she approached the bench. Farin watched intently as his father exclaimed he had just the piece to go with her eyes.
...
Farin stood to one side of the stall, a thick gold necklace at his neck, and a thick studded cudgel at his hip. Six years of looking after his father's stall, hauling shipments, and guarding them across the vast expanse of Calimport had built him into a strong, quick young man. The summer heat beaded sweat on his dark skin, only serving to make him look more menacing.
Arms folded, he looked out over the crowd. A dingy looking man approached, but catching the dark look in Farin's eyes, he scurried off quickly in the other direction.
Slowly nodding to himself, he looked over and saw his father beaming at him. A small smile spread over his lips. Just as he opened his mouth, a man approached from the throng of people in the square. The glint of rubies danced around his neck.
"Good Anise, you remember me, yes?" the man asked, bobbing a bow to him with a greasy smile. Anise looked over the man with a studying gaze and smiled.
"I never forget a customer, or what he has done for me, Master Oran. It is good to see you again." Anise clasped the man's shoulder welcomingly.
"Good, good." Oran said, bowing again to him with his smile. "Many people have inquired over the products you have sold me, from all over the many places I have travelled. Many wealthy places, as you may well know." The man's eyes studied Anise. "I think I may have a very nice business proposition for you."
As Oran explained the details of his proposition, Farin looked to his father. And with each glance Anise cast to him, Farin became more and more convinced he would not see his father for a long, long time.
...
Standing on a hilltop, Farin looked down on the city of Elturel, the spring wind blowing his twisted locks of hair across his face with the far reaching ocean breeze. A glance south showed him the Wood of Sharp Teeth, a glance north showed him the Fields of the Dead. Looking down, he could see Oran at the head of the long wagon train, talking with one of the drivers as the procession wound it's way east along the road.
The fool man will get us all killed sooner or later, Farin thought. He tried not to look at the markers of two graves not yet a mile distant. Oran had a great mind for bartering, that could not be doubted. But that was all the man had a mind for. Sometimes he wondered if Oran even heard the warnings of hobgoblins raiding for gold and loot at the road to the next city, or if he really only heard gold and loot at the next city.
Whatever the case, Anise had a good portion of his fortune in those wagons, and it was Farin's job to see that his fortune was returned to him, with a profit worthy of this venture. If Oran didn't get them all killed, they could retire more wealthy than they could have ever dreamed within a year. Two at best.
Sighing, Farin touched the old blade at his hip. It wasn't the best - he had spent every night trying to polish all the rust off - but it was of more use than his old cudgel, and it was all the small farming village had to offer, especially for what he could pay. An old blade pulled out of an aging attic was still a blade.
Taking one last look to the south, toward home, he turned his horse and road to meet the wagons again.
...
Rain poured down into Farin's face. He couldn't see far in the murky dark, but at least it was washing the blood away from his eyes quicker than it could spill out of the deep gash in his forhead.
Where!? Looking up the train, then down it, all was still. He held his sword in both hands tightly, trying to listen over the hard pounding in his chest. His thoughts danced through his mind as he looked for anything moving.
There was no warning before it happened. One minute men were filling water bottles in the rain. Suddenly, Farin found himself staring at a crossbow bolt deeply imbeded in Garin's chest. Funny, he remembered thinking later, Garin would be dead if he was shot with a crossbow_. The second bolt tore deep across Farin's scalp before he realized that Garin already was._
Thoughts snapping back, Farin began walking south in a crouch, trying not to look down at Garin's lifeless body. Wiping his forhead, he tried to think. How long have I been out? How far to the next town? Nothing would fall into place correctly.
Coming to the edge of a wagon, Farin froze. A deep snort again, and a gutteral growl. Hobgoblins. Carefully, quietly, Farin peered around the wagon. The hobgoblin was hunched, back turned, digging through something. Another quick glance around. No sign of any others.
Stepping around the wagon, Farin raised his sword. Quicker than thought, the hobgoblin spun on his toes, thrusting himself up with a snarl into Farin's middle. Grunting, Farin felt himself being picked up by the weight of the hobgoblin, his sword flying from his hands. He landed with a crash, all the air knocked out of him. Instantly he was fighting off thick hands trying to lock around his throat. Not like this! He thought frantically, trying to pull his legs out from under the hobgoblin in an effort to push him off. Not alone!
Suddenly his leg was free, and he shoved it into the hobgoblins hip as hard as he could, throwing the beast backwards, off of him. turning to the side, he saw his sword. Grabbing it in his right hand he spun back in the mud, swinging the sword hard. The hobgoblin had wasted no time recovering, and was throwing himself back towards Farin. Farin watched with fascinated detachment as the sword dug across the hobgoblin's neck, cutting deep and tossing the head sickly to one side as it tumbled to the ground neck to him.
Scrambling to his feet, Farin looked sickly at the body. Slowly he wretched his gaze away toward what the hobgoblin was hunched over. He could recognize Oran, for the most part, though he was sickly torn in two and the side of his head was crushed horribly, leaving only half to be recognized.
Grimacing, Farin looked to the wagons. Most were in flames, and all had been torn apart and looted. He could tell at a glance nothing of any value, none of his father's goods, were left behind.
Wiping and sheathing his sword, he looked down the road, toward the north and east.
Toward Narfell.
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Reviewed, XP pending
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Updated with Player and PC Name.
It was only a few hours old, but I wanted to make sure. Thanks!
