Xanderian sat in the warm, pleasant glow of the campfire, the sky clear and peaceful above her and her companion as they shared the warmth of the blaze near the Last Bridge. A day had passed since she had fallen asleep in solitude within the wilds of Bree and she had awoken filled with a need to get back to work...though she still could not bring herself to face her sisters as of yet. Work had been helping, however.
She rested one hand on the sleek hilt of Lovelorn, stuck casually, point first into the soft soil of the campsite. Her manner was genial and at ease as she looked curiously at her pale companion through the sparks of the cheery fire.
The Monk cleared her throat and took another sip from her water skin, then set it down to pick up a shard of what seemed to be a broken sword in her gloved hand, flipping it in the air while regarding it with interested eyes. "So you found this near here you say, in the open country?"
Her pale companion nodded once, his red hood having been pushed back to reveal a sweaty brow as he stared into the flames with a fixed, concentrated expression.
The huntress continued..."Excellent...I understand. So you are in the business of picking up this bric-a-brac for resale? Fascinating. This one feels old but not epically so...perhaps a bit of the second age, shattered and left here by any one of the armies which scoured this land in the past. Still, it would look charming on a rich man's mantelpiece, I would imagine." She slipped the shard safely away into her beltpouch.
The pale man nodded again, the tattoos of power fashionable in Angmar traced across his throat and one cheek glowed ruddily in the warm light, made all the more apparent as the man was sweating more profusely now.
Xanderian laughed, the sound like the ringing of crystal bells. "Exactly, my dear one...it must be a most rewarding trade...and so full of the joy of discovery. You must have a great number of comrades aiding you in such a broad endeavor...where did you say they were mainly based again?
Her companion licked his dry lips and stared harder into the fire in silence. The huntress leaned a bit closer to the flames, hand still resting on the hilt of Lovelorn. "I'm sorry, I did not hear you...WHERE exactly?"
The man sighed...head slumping forward slightly,. When he found his voice it was rough and weak..."Naerost...the band is camped...at Naerost."
Xanderian nodded, speaking mostly to herself now. "Naerost...the Fortress of Sadness...how poetic." Her gaze flicked up at her companion, eyes bright and cold as the last frost before spring. "And if I were interested in...shall we say...learning more about your little venture and who you may be selling these trinkets to....who should I seek out at Naerost?"
The relic-hunter shook his head slowly...biting his lip. "No...I....I can't. He'll kill me."
Xan laughed again brightly, the sound beautiful and cheerful and utterly blood-curdling. "My dear one...I think the possibility of this leader of yours killing you is the least of your problems right now. I am sure if you think about it, REALLY think about it, you will see that I am right. I simply require...a...name. NOW, if you would be so kind."
The man of Angmar closed his eyes tightly...shaking his head once or twice but finally slumped forward slightly, gasping. "Hontimurz...a beast of a half orc mongrel named Hontimurz. He is always there...in the tower with his bullies. A nasty piece of work. He'll know more than me about this wretched business. Wish I had never come to this horrid land." The longer he spoke, the weaker his voice became as if just talking that much had used up the last of his strength.
Xanderian clapped happily and rose from the fire, pulling Lovelorn loose from the sand before wiping it clean on the cloak of the headless Angmarim corpse she had been sitting on. With a sharp, snapping motion she sheathed the ancient blade. "Excellent. You see, that wasn't so bad was it? Now I fear, lovely as our time together has been, I really must depart...people to speak to before seeking out this...Hontimurz, you said? Yes, yes that was it. Hontimurz. I think he and I will get on famously."
The huntress stepped around the fire towards the man she had been speaking with, glancing down at the neatly shorn stump where his left had once been and making a soft "tsk" sound. Picking up the maimed leg itself from the sand she carefully undid the boot lace, closing it in her small fist before considering the meat thoughtfully and then tossing it to the pack of snarling wargs that had been slowly circling their campfire.
She patted the Angmarim's shoulder and reaching out her delicate hand, she dropped the bootlace in the relic thief's bloody lap. "Here friend...if you tie your thigh off soon you may live...mostly. Mind the wargs, though. They can be so persistant."
She swung up in the saddle as the man remained by the fire, breathing heavily as he began to lose consciousness. "And if you do happen to survive by some strange bit of luck, I will be sure to give Hontimurz your regards, Garik. I am sure he will just LOVE hearing from you."
And with that the elf woman galloped away, riding with renewed determination in the direction of Bree, with news for her sisterhood.
She did not look back, but rather upward into the vaults of the night sky. She smiled to herself, finally able to see the stars again.
