The Fellowship of the Fourth Age (Part 1): A New Beginning RPG

[Folwren]

Kwell stumbled away from Hamin as the man let go of him. Kwell turned, though, as he heard Carl’s voice call after him. “Quick, Kwell, run!” Run? He would have by all means had he not been reminded that the hobbit was still in danger. But the little man’s voice brought him up sharp and he turned in a flash just to see Carl flung off of Hamin’s back onto the dirt and Hamin approach him again with cruel intent written all over his face.

Kwell’s heart leaped to his throat. The little hobbit was going to be killed! He looked frantically about him. Someone had to help! Someone! But who could? Behind Hamin, the other people who had been with Carl were in a hard struggle with the other horsemen. No one had a spare moment to help Carl. No one except Kwell.

The boy realized it in a flash. Thank the gods that the brute was taking his time about slicing Carl’s head off his shoulders. Kwell had his knife in his hand again in an instant. With it drawn, he ran forward. He didn’t consider that Hamin might see him before he struck, or that he might move and catch him and hinder him from taking his purpose to the end. No thought went through his mind except that he had to accomplish what needed to be done. There was no question, no option. He ran mutely forward. Equally silently he leaped up. Hamin looked up, but only too late. He moved his foot from his victim’s stomach, lifted his hand to block his face, but too late.

The knife plunged into his throat and sank to the hilt. Hamin twisted about without a sound, though his mouth opened and blood gushed out of the wound as a mute cry tried to escape. Kwell fell back as Hamin struck out at him with his hands. He stumbled over Carl’s prostrated figure and fell onto his back. In a moment, Hamin fell, too.

Kwell slowly pushed himself up on his elbow and then he sat up. He reached over and tugged on Carl's shirt. "You alright?" he panted. "You're not dead, are you?"