User blog:Leea/The Tale of Voronwe, Chapter 50

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4th Era 135, 10th of Rain's Hand, Pyandonea
"Well, boys, looks like we've got a mark." one of them said, likely the leader.

The men laughed, weapons flashing in the sunlight. The laughter left his scarred face. Pelano thought it looked like his face had been knitted together, it was so scarred. Likely from all of the "marks" fighting back. The man spoke again, the threat plain. "Give us all of your coin, and we won't have to sully our weapons with your blood."

"I don't have any money," Pelano replied, keeping as straight a face as possible, despite the emotions boiling within.

"Nonsense," he growled, scowling. "You're a courier, you've got money. Now, this is the last time I'll ask you politely: give us your gold and you can walk away unharmed, or not...and my men and I will have a practice dummy. Your choice."

Before Pelano could retort that he didn't have what they wanted (at least not the amount they presumed), there was a bright flash in the air. He couldn't even react - beyond being taken aback - before one of the men literally exploded in a shower of blood and gore, the thick spray very nearly hitting him. The thieves as a whole, now missing one member, were just beginning to show a mixture of shock and fear on their faces when another of their gang died in a similarily grusome manner: he was cut to ribbons by an unseen hand, the remains falling to the ground in a sloppy, messy heap and a utterly disgusting wet "plop."

Knit-Face stared, shocked and horrified, at the sight of the (very sudden) deaths of two of his crew. He fell to his knees, hands that formerly gripped weapons up in a pleading gesture.

"Please! I'm sorry! We're sorry!" he prayed to Pelano, who still sat astride his horse. "Keep your money! Just let us go! We won't bother you ever again, we promise!"

All men - who had appeared so confident just moments before - also fell to their knees and prayed to him, as well, thinking he was the source of the killings.

Quickly wading through his own shock, he seized on this and stated flatly, "You may go...on one condition." he glared at Knit-Face.

"Yes! Anything! Just let us live!" he pleaded, his equally scarred hands clasped together in the classic prayer gesture.

"Do not bother me...or any other couriers...ever again. If you do, then..." he trailed off, letting the silence speak for itself.

"Yes!" the leader exclaimed in his rough voice, which was tuned to a very high pitch from fear. Such a voice was not meant for that tone, as it was severely cracking from the strain. "Those are very easy terms...aren't they?!" he fairly screamed to his remaining menbers. The three men all nodded fervently, chorusing, "Yes, yes!" They nodded their heads so hard, Pelano suspected they would all have a bitch of a headache later, but that was not his problem, nor did he care.

"Good," he replied, waving his hand in a dismissive fashion - noting briefly that the thieves flinched when he did so - "Now, begone."

Giving some parting feverish nods, the scared men ran - narrowly missing the pile of one of their former comrades - and crashed through the branches and off into the distance. He waited until he could no longer hear the noise of the fleeing bandits before dismounting to lead the horse through the carnage. He was quite surprised that the horse was still unspooked by the events. As he lead the horse around the bloodiest area, he said aloud, "Show yourself, Orthendar. I know you're here."

"How did you know it was me?" he asked, suddenly appearing near the pile of gore.

Pelano rolled his eyes. "Let's just say you have a trademark way of appearing...and killing style." He patted the horse's neck. "By the way, how did you know I was in trouble?"

Orthendar gave him a you've-got-to-be-kidding-me look. "I'm...shall we say...attached...to the Liberators. Your thoughts were strong and urgent enough to draw my attention."

"Are you telling me you read my mind?" he scowled.

"Nothing so precise. I can only feel your emotions...so far."

"'So far'? What's that supposed to mean?" Pelano asked, incredulous.

It was the ghost's turn to scowl. "I sure hope that I'm not the only one to notice that my...abilities continue to grow over the years."

"You're not," Pelano stated flatly. He took a deep breath and patted the neck of the bay horse again. "Anyway...forgive my rude behavior. I've had a bad day so far which was momentarily much worse."

Orthendar shrugged. "That's only to be expected from such an encounter," he smiled slightly. "Filly."

The courier's head snapped up, eyes ablaze.

"Relax, I'm joking."

He tossed his head like his namesake and fiercely lamented, "I wish I had never shared that name with everyone. Now I'll never escape it."

"You were six," Orthendar explained. "You were proud of your name. It cannot be undone. But since you feel bad about it, think of it this way: the older members calling you Filly is a sign of friendship and affection. They're not trying to spite you, even though you no longer appreciate your nickname. Also know that there are worse nicknames one can be called."

"Yeah, I know." he sighed. He jutted his chin to the thick underbrush where Knit-Face - an unflattering nickname right there, he thought - and his remaining thieves had fled through. "You think they'll remain true to their promise?"

Orthendar chuckled. "I believe so. As you say; no one kills quite like me."