The Ambush of Edward Oakley

As soon as it had left his hand, Chet's hatchet spun and embedded itself into the trunk of a thick Chetwood ash-tree with a sharp crack. The sound, coupled with the shock of the impact, was easily enough to stop the band of three men dead in their tracks. Leading the group along a heavily wooded road, Edward Oakley had left Combe a rich man, after making a few adjustments to a deal he was less than satisfied with. His two lackeys, the typical uneducated Bree-lander brutes looking to make a good coin or two, kept close on either side. They wore steely expressions, eyes nestled beneath determined brows as to intimidate any possible waylayers. Clearly though, the attempted intimidation had failed to make its mark. Oakley froze, his gaze fixed on the handle of the axe that had nearly taken his nose off. With a quick turn right, he was greeted with a face he hoped he had seen the last of. "Mister Nelhemedy!" he hurriedly spat, an incredibly uneasy smile breaking across his face. "I was just coming to see you!" From within a shadowed treeline, Chet stepped a couple paces forward, his arms crossed and a blackened shortsword in his right hand. "Firstly," the hooded bandit began, lowering his hands. "It's Nelmidhrien... and secondly..." Chet shook his head slowly, with a slight sigh, "You don't change the deal. No matter what." This struck deep into Oakley's heart, as his expression made clear. He backed off in accordance to Chet's advances, placing his hands nervously nearer to his own sheathed sword's hilt. "I... I- I didn't change it! The... well... The Blackwolds simply made a better offer." Edward managed to stand a little straighter, as if he had justified himself. With another small retreat, he found his back colliding with a tree and startled himself, drawing in a sharp breath of air. Chet adjusted his green hood slightly, tugging the lip over his face. "A better offer? My friend, you fool yourself. We agreed to let you live, and even make a little money out of it." Oakley opened his mouth to interject, but stopped short as Chet continued on. "After that terrible business over Buckland, I imagined you would have been careful." "But- but..." Oakley stammered, stepping forwards with both hands raised to his head. Chet quickly moved forwards, rotating his sword from his side upwards so that he placed the point at Edward's throat with a sort of grace. "But here you are." Chet continued, with a sharp smirk. He raised his free hand in an unknown gesture, holding it for a few moments and then resuming his previous form. The two henchmen went immediately for their weapons, after a slow and sluggish start. The first quickly drew an iron-banded club, striding forwards militantly in Chet's direction. He never made it halfway. From out of the opposing treeline another figure darted out, identical in uniform to Oakley's assailant. He ducked down low, lashing out with a pointed black dagger held backwards in his off-hand. The surprise attack caught the first off guard; he barely had time to look before the blade buried itself in the center of his chest and his legs buckled beneath him. His ragdolled body came crashing, the dagger still embedded in his leather vest, and in his heart. The second lackey cried out with what sounded like anger, longsword in hand. Pulling back his hood, the Chetwood Assembly member drew his own blackened shortsword, one identical to Chet's, and feinted forwards in a strong horizontal strike. What looked set to be a drawn out conflict ended almost as quickly as it had started. A few metallic clashes rang out as blade met blade, before the slow thug lost the upper hand and caught a shortsword to the gut. The next impact that sounded was merely that of a simple longsword falling to the earth, followed by the heavy thud of a corpse. Westheimer turned to Chet, flecks of blood across his nose, and gave a simple nod as he sheathed his shortsword. Chet returned the nod and wasted no time lowering his sword from a terrified and shocked Oakley's throat, calmly ripping a coin-laden bag from the bandit's side. "Hasn't this been a fun lesson, 'Mister Edward'" Chet mimicked the nervous tone, before briefly laughing and turning with coin purse in hand. Westheimer followed, silent save for a few murmurs in Adûnaic as the two headed back for the tree-line. Oakley could only watch briefly, before he slumped against a tree, sinking down into the damp earth and staring blankly at nowhere in particular. The smell of blood reached his nose. He had decided to find a different way of making money from that point on.