Sarkon was enjoying the evening with the caravaners. The young elves hanging around the caravan, none more than a century old, swapping stories with Sarkon. They were amazed he had decided to stay behind after most of the other older elves left. Sarkon told them it wasn’t his style to leave a place that been good to him.
“I would never just hop in the boats and head back. Never been there and I’ve had plenty of adventure to have a satisfying long life. Why would living in relative comfort indefinitely with nothing to do be appealing? Hundreds of years of living a hard scrap life has given comfort and leisure as something to be earned.” Sarkon ended his short diatribe to look over to where Grüshnag was at. Grüshnag sat a fair distance off from the rest of the revelry. A bit disappointed by the cold reception, Sarkon nevertheless took the time to get to know the caravaners.
"So," Sarkon began to a small group gathered around one of the fires, "What brings you to this area? It's not a huge trade hub, although I could be wrong. Nardth didn't seem too hustle and bustle to me."
"Ahh, so you don't know?" One of the merchants of the group strode over from just outside the circle of men. "You must be new to the region to ask such a question. The mountain!" He exclaimed. The rest of the group nodded their approval.
"What mountain? What are you even talking about" Sarkon asked, now very intrigued.
"The mountain! Or more accurately, mountains. They lay about 10 days ride from Nardth. A large settlement of men and dwarves are gathering along a stretch of this small range, mining and sending out riches previously untapped. The small dwarf enclave does most of the mining, of course, but to help propel this operation forward, they partnered with some wealthy merchantmen and tradesmen. Finely crafted jewels and ornamentation fit for kings. The finest raw ores for smiths to apply their craft..." He trailed off, a bit of avarice visible in his eyes.
"Seems like a real gem for you traders. Indeed, I now understand why the bandits are thick as old lantern oil around here. This settlement you proclaim exists sounds rather fascinating to have popped up so quickly..." Sarkon trails off in thought, not wishing to betray his intentions. "Enough business for now though. Cheers to you lot!" Sarkon stood tall with his drink, lifted it high then slammed it back. After late into the evening, Sarkon wished the men a pleasant remainder of the evening. He strode off into a thicket of brush and took watch. He stayed his watch faithfully. Or at least as much as possible after the long trudge through the forest and night of drinking. The strong drink made it difficult. Long stretches of quiet and darkness were only broken after Sarkon caught himself falling off his backrest, dozing off on his watch. Approaching first light of the day, the sun barely throwing its first rays over the horizon and obscured to nothing more than the faintest of glow by the forest canopy, Sarkon heard a rustle. Now on its own, that is nothing. Sarkon reasoned it could be the nightbirds or other creatures turning in from a long night out... Then, he heard another bit of rustling. Then another a short distance away from that. The hell? Sarkon thought. His mind foggy from the half-drunk half-sleep he got.
"Hey Marty, go check that out, would ya?" one caravan guard whispered to another.
A couple of the caravans guards hear the rustling and one of the men went over to investigate. Carefully, painfully slow, he approached the area the sounds came from. He walked within range of his sword and swung it wildly into the brush. A few swings in, he stops and examines the brush. He sees nothing. He turns around and gives an all clear gesture. Sarkon relaxes. Probably a coincidence, the wind and some creatures together. He slips back to a comfy spot. Just as he looks up to see Marty pass by back to his bed, Marty takes a crossbow bolt to the left shoulder. The impact knocked him clean off his feet, instantly dead. All the guards and Sarkon paused for 2 moments. The shock from watching Marty get so expertly killed and the implication they were under attack flashed in front of all the witnesses simultaneously.
All at once the guards begin to shout, gathering their gear and rousing their comrades and the caravaners they were charged with protecting all around. Men and beasts alike were shouting, grunting, and in pure chaos. Within moments, new shouts and the clanging of weapons were quick to fill the camp.
Sarkon surveyed the carnage for one brief moment more before grabbing his bow and checking for his elven dagger. Quicker than most men can perceive, he notched an arrow and let it loose. Hundreds of years of practice ensured it found its mark deep in the side of an attacking bandit. The struck bandit was quickly dispatched by his opponent and crumpled to the ground. Repeating this process of striking bandits down from cover, it became obvious 2 things. Sarkon would quickly run out of arrows before targets and they were starting to take note of his position. A few crossbow bolts were hurled in his direction after the fourth arrow went out but they weren’t close to finding him yet.
Sarkon paused again. He looked to the tree line where crossbow bolts whizzed out of in sporadic bursts. Realizing they were most likely surrounded, he moved quick. He slipped from his cover to new spot behind a couple tents and a tree. Taking advantage of the main fighting being closer to the center of the camp, he dashed into the tree-line further up from the crossbowmen. He now slipped into being the stealthy hunter he’d always been. He approached one of the men from the side and caught him near totally unawares. A swift plunge of his blade into the man’s throat and Sarkon moved on. The next few men were bunched up. Sarkon drew his bow and hit one clean in the chest. His two buddies were none too happy. They both drew on Sarkon and fired off bolts. They both aimed wide and missed. Sarkon slipped back into some low growing bushes. The men were furious. They both drew their axes and approached Sarkon’s postion from either side.
“C’mon on out you filthy elf. Give me your coin now and I promise to make your death a quick one!” They both laughed at the taunt, both eager to loot the soon-to-be dead elf. Sarkon was none too impressed. He rolled out near one of the bandits and loosed an arrow deep into his gut. Sarkon then swept his feet and finished him with a thrust to the chest. He turned to the other attacker, golden hilt and blade coated in blood.
The bandit was now enraged. This was supposed to be an easy mark and now all his mates are dead! He lunged at Sarkon with primal ferocity. His ax swing was sloppy but brutally powerful. Sarkon dodged his first swing and struck him with a few slashes along the side. Bloodied but not done, he renewed his attack on Sarkon. He swung his ax again, this time stepping in on his swing, catching Sarkon along the edge of his left arm. Now truly wishing the fight over, Sarkon went on the offensive. He feigned a slash on one side then quickly pivoted to a thrust of his dagger. It found its mark and the fight was over. However, this was an unfortunate situation. Sarkon was now injured and had at least 2 more bandits to kill off to allow an escape. He revised his strategy.
The last two were closer to the edge of the encampment. Sarkon decided to ambush them with from the middle. He slinked in between them. Jumped up and went to slash one across the back. A swift mark and the one fell over. The shock allowed Sarkon to quickly jam his blade in the side of the other. He put his whole weight into it and they both fell over. The fall freed the blade. Sarkon grabbed an arrow and jabbed it into the bandits gut. Remembering he had one more, he ran over to find the last injured bandit. He put an end to man’s misery.
The last bandit that could stop them gone, Sarkon was ready. He leapt out of the trees and began shouting to the caravaners and guards. Seeing their chance, the besieged group began to push the bandits to one side. The civilians began to run to Sarkon. A few unlucky few fell to the bandits but most made it out. The guards, finally having a chance to retreat, broke off from the fighting in small groups. A few brave souls stayed behind and sold their lives dearly to let the others fight another day.
“What bravery, the poor fools.” Sarkon mused to himself. Seeing no need to stick around he left with a few stragglers bring up the rear.
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Sarkon was now feeling his injury, worse than expected. No broken bones but a large open cut was something not to take lightly.
After a couple of hours of travel, the head of the group called to rest. The group collapsed in a small band, the guards that made it out with more minor injuries taking spots off to edges of the group.
Sarkon took a spot near one edge, closest to where they came from, watching and listening.
After some moments of quiet, he finally had a chance to think of his good friend, Grüshnag. Where was Grüshnag? Did he make it out?
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