Defiant Daggers

My travels have bought me far and wide, up through the North of the Lone Lands I went and then East, to pass over the Trollshaws and into the Ettenmoors.

((Follow On of Events from "Finally: the woman, parchment and a messenger come together" > http://laurelinarchives.org/node/13281 <))

Seraile whipped round when he heard steps behind him, only to find a very weather beaten man, walking up to him, warily.

Seraile himself was ragged, worn, his clothes partly tattered; he had been away again, in search for what always evaded him, death, the release from the pain of the world; the slaughter of the North Downs had driven him to madness.

Dark clouds hung in the air like a vast cape over the world, “A storm is coming…” mumbled a man with dark leather armour at the front of a company of men, he drew his hood up and bowed his head down as a gust of cold wind hit them. A Wall of pouring water was visible rushing towards them. It his them like a thousand icy daggers hit them, nature had no mercy.

Seraile was sat in his comfortable cushioned leather armchair, in front of the roaring fire in the fireplace so big it could hold ten men. His estate, the location of which he gave no one but his closest friends and most trusted men was warm the cold night, he was the only one in, till the captain in charge of the current watch on duty around the fence warned him of an arrival.

The anger in his heart whoever they were was an inferno in his heart, he drew Gurth Sigil and rammed it into the map table... the blade piercing the town marked as "Bree" by spidery hand writing, the blade burrying itself half way into the wood.

The silver moon was shining down upon the red roofs of Bree, the silver light casting a long shadow behind a man, hooded, masked and clad in black, standing on the roof of the town's jail house, looking over the town and the silence below...

A loud noise came from the archway over the road below, a dog running through it chasing a cat up the street, and then, golden light burst from the door of the jail, illuminationg a narrow strip of the street and the shadow of a man standingi n the doorway.

Seraile sat on the roof, looking down, looking rahter relaxed, with his eyes closed his hood covering them the mask pulled down just below his chin, then he suddeny opened his eyes, he had heard what he wanted to hear....

He stared up at the pale silver moon, counting in his head, he had planned this... it would not fail...