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Old 11-10-2006, 07:31 PM   #7
Desultory Dwimmerlaik
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Thinlómien’s post

When Thin-Gloomy had won the race for the hoard, all the things he had could thought of had been the victory and what to do with the prize. The reality had hit him the next day. How was he to carry the enormous treasure home? And what was 'home' for him? Did he really wish to return to the Iron Hills? Where else could he go?

He had had no idea what to do, so he had started from the smallest of matters. He had begged an audience from King Malvegil of Arthedain. He had told the King he was about to establish a trade caravan carrying coal, and needed a few wagons and able drivers. King Malvegil had agreed after a little while. He had probably wanted to seem generous and, after all, he had owed Thin-Gloomy quite a lot of his knowledge of the Angmarian army.

Thin-Gloomy had made a fatal mistake. Instead of asking the king for guards to protect him he had decided to hire some sellswords from Annúminas after he had got the treasure. He had not expected that the knowledge of the prize and his victory had already been heard by ears whose owners bore little good intention.

The day had been a beautiful one, more beautiful that it had been for weeks. The sun had shone and there had been no clouds. Even Thin-Gloomy couldn't have expected an attack on such a lovely day. I have doubtlessly become softer and lost all my wits, if I ever had any, Thin-Gloomy thought later. He was angry with himself and well, gloomy.

The attackers had hidden in the trees and shot the wagon drivers before their attack was even noticed. Thin-Gloomy had managed to hit one with a bolt from his crossbow, when a shrill female voice had called: "Drop your crossbow right now, or there'll be five arrows through your heart." Thin-Gloomy dropped the bow. It was from old memory. When the bulliers had attacked him, he had always given up to shorten his torment.

"Thomas and Jack, tie the dwarf and see that he's not harmed... yet. Cover his eyes and his mouth too so that he can't scream for help", the same shrill voice had ordered. "Mica, help Samson down and to one of the wagons. We'll take just one wagon. When you've done that, stay here and look after the remaining beasts and wagons. Thomas and Jack will come back to help you to fetch them."

All had been done as the shrill-voiced woman had bidden. She obviously had a firm grip over the four men. A nice little harem she has, Thin-Gloomy thought dryly.

The journey to their destination hadn't been long, but it had been uncomfortable. The only pleasure for Thin-Gloomy had been hearing the wounded man, Samson, wailing with every bump the wagon took before the woman ruined it and told the man to shut up.

In their destination, Thin-Gloomy had been carried at least a few stairs down and locked in a cell.

Last edited by piosenniel; 11-11-2006 at 01:35 PM.
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