A familiar face

The home was modest, sparsely furnished, but dry and warm. Rohlen and Yulien were placed upon the only bed, and covered with the wolf fur blanket that was already there. Fraevon was busying himself tending to the fireplace, and sorting logs into varying sizes.

“Fancy joining me whilst I search the town?” enquired Jax to Tumbor. “May take your mind from your hunger.”

“The prisoners!” exclaimed the Elf, looking up from his chores.

“We shall find them,” replied Jax, pulling his cloak around him as he prepared himself once more to venture into the rain.

“Aye! Probably dead,” added the Dwarf.

“You really are a happy soul,” said Jax leaving the house. “Come on!”

The two companions wandered the now deserted streets of Greshfell, taking time to peer into as many buildings as they could for useful objects. The goblin had done a wonderful job of desecrating and ransacking much of the place, though with their sudden departure, food and assorted weapons lay scattered almost everywhere.

The food was welcomed most heartily by Tumbor, taking every opportunity to fill both his pockets and face in equal measure, the weapons being of crude balance, size and make were left where they lay.

Approaching the bridge where Fraevon had last seen the goblin’s prisoners, a faint cry for help could be heard from the stocks on the town green on the otherside. A curious looking man had found himself securely locked by both wrists, and neck.

“Well, as I live an breath,” exclaimed Jax.

“You know him?”

The man in the stocks looked up momentarily to see exactly who had addressed him, then hung his head briefly, seemingly in shame.

“You’re looking at a rare breed Tumbor. A gentleman and theif.”

“Melvin Percival Smythe at your………service!” replied the detained man.

“I thought thieves could pick locks?” said Tumbor tucking into a drumstick.

“Funny story! Perhaps you could find it in yourselves to set me free, and I could tell you all about it.”

Jax looked at Tumbor who immediately rolled his eyes and unsheathed his huge axe from his back.

“Now let’s not be hasty!” squealed Melvin, closing his eyes fearing his head may be removed from his body.

Tumbor took another bite from his drumstick, wedging it between his teeth. He stepped forward and swung his axe in a upward arc. The stocks splintered, their captive falling to the floor at the dwarf’s feet.

Melvin looked up at the smiling face of the dwarf, bits of chicken stuck between his teeth and all over his beard.

“Thank you!” he said climbing to his feet. “Now where are you camped?”

Copyright: authorchrisbrown 


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