Morlin and Baradil meet once more....

Nen Lalaith Ford

The Nen Lalaith flows slower here where the river widens out in it's course from the Ered Wetherin. A track leads to the riverbanks where many have made use of this ford before, a firm bedding of stones being laid beneath the waters surface. Thru the lightly wooded banks to the northwest, you can glimpse the roofs of the buildings of Hadorsford. To the southwest, the land flattens out, a few farmsteads dotting the fields. Beyond that lies more plains and forest.

A shadowy shape waits in the darkness of the young night, eyes searching, ears hearing around, waiting for. It seems the land is quiet and nobody watches over... The cloaked shape moves away from the darkness towards the main way, always carefully. The lights of Hadorsford are too far to light the same Marach's way, though, and less tonight, when another tempest of snow menaces the land.

Even the clouds darkness and hide the pale moon, too scared it looks to show up his bright face and offer a little of hope to those who spent the day searching for the missing lady. The shape halts and scans around once more. Yes, even the scouts and the guards left already, too defeated, too ashamed, their hands empty, as always. Slowly, the shadow slips towards the city.

From the town of Hadorsford a cloaked man comes, heavy laden with packs and leaning upon the shaft of a spear as a wanderer might upon a staff. His jogging gait is both swift and long as his dark form cuts through the falling snow with ease. His coat is many time spattered with the white of the flakes and the long beard of the man is clogged with snow as are the eyebrows of the man. The leatehr helm and hood that cover his head spare his pate from the driving snow, yet he seems headless.

The rushing of the river rises in the mans ears, yet his pace slackens not for it, and without breaking stride he splashes across the river, using the staff to steady himself. As he gets to the far bank the man bends double, leaning a hand upon his staff and another on his knee. His lung scream for breath in the chill air of the eve, yet in a moment he stands one more upright.

The shadow shape continues his way northwards. A blow of the wind and the hood is dropped to his back, but he looks not worried for this and strides away. An unruly and lank dark blonde hair is caressed by the cold wind, the same wind that blows through the cloak and reveals the glint of steel caught inside an old sheath. Again he halts, this time to eye the sky. The tempest is reaching the land, it would be a good thing to join the town before it beats the land. Standing there and being ready to resume his way, the man notices the unknown man and his eyes narrow. He is cloaked too. Well, it does not matter, after all he does not know too much people in Hadorsford.

The scouts ragged breath stills as he continues and his eyes fall upon another abroad this evening. He lifts his gait again and jogs towards the other. He calls out towards the other, and into the wind, yet the scouts voice is sent with great force. "Who goes thither?!" He walks towards the man now, and slows to a more gentle stride. "Come Hither man, I would speak with you!" The tall youth continues towards the other, letting the river barr the man on one side, and his own approach on the other."

The cloaked one does not look too impressed by the yell of his unexpected fellow, in fact all what he does is to halt for a brief while, just the necessary to take a breath and to manage a wry smile before to continue his way. Anyhow he seems to change his mind and so he calls out, "And who said you I want to speak with you? Continue your way, I am in hurry tonight!." And he tries to ignore the already know man and be ignored as well, if possible.

The scout can not read his fellows voice well enough, but the man seems sure enough to stride forward to other. His voice rises in angry contest with the howling wind. "You had best not be named Morlin for the sake of your hide friend." The scout walks the last few steps towards the other and calls once more. "Turn around and let me see you better man. A lady has gone missing mayhap you may help."

Under the cloak, silently and almost unnoticed, a hand swirls to grab the pommel of a sword. Meanwhile and slowly, the called man turns to face the scout. There is a glint in his very deep eyes, his lips twisting to a smirk as he replies, "And why so, Baradil, friend?" He hisses the last word. "I am Morlin, don't you remember me? We met another, even drank together.. And the lady, yes, I know of her misfortune."

The scout looks towards the other and he stands still a moment, yet he lifts the butt of his spear into his left hand. "Ahh it is good I find you. Someone told me you were the last to leave with the maid. What on earth happened?" He looks to the other and squints his eyes as the flakes drive towards him. "The people of the town are rather upset and worried, mayhap you can be the hero of the hour?" He holds and sighs softly. "I wish I had no drunk so much, I was meant to walk her home. Curse me thrice over." The scout lets his gaze wander towards the rushing ford, "what brings you out here - wool merchant."

Shaking his head and tossing his hair about his head as it flutters in the wind, Morlin looks upon the scout, but now he raises a hand is greeting, something has changed in his mind? Almost silently, words flow from his lips as a feeling of peace and calm descends upon the area, enough to calm even excited nerves. "Ah, my friend. We were attacked, you know." He looks really sorrowed and distressed. "Those cursed wild men took the lady away while I was beaten, trying to protect her. I felt unconscious and couldn't care of her. Right now I go to the city just to warn her family and the guards."

The scout looks at the man, glancing him up and down. His eyes widen as if with dismay and suprise. "You were attacked? Then the worst fear is true, the bandits have her! Can you tell me anything of the men who attacked you?" He looks to the man once more. "You don't seem to badly off for being knocked wittless friend. I wish I had walked her home...." He growls and casts his hood back from his head. "You are lucky to be alive friend, I shall catch these villains be sure, and you can take your vengance."

Morlinn's head ups and downs in a sad nod to Baradil. "Yes, my friend, I will tell the guard where we were attacked, even I have some hints about where their camp is set - all I can do is to pray the One for she being unharmed, although I saw how they mistreated her. Time to vengeance? Yes, of course, we will have. But now it is the time to organize the search for the poor lady. Do you know her family, I wonder, and where they live?"

The scout growls and spits in the others face. "You liar, a wool merchant my backside!" He raises his spear swiftly and holds the shaft flat across his body and in one swift blow he sends the middle of the staff towards the mans head, as if to strike him hard in the mouth. A booted foot sails out in the same moment to kick at the mans groin. "You will pay for your treachory the scout calls." His breath still ragged from ghis jogging and further so from his anger.

The man stumbles back while he unsheathes his blade, but not quite quickly enough. He cries in pain when the scout's spear slices his right arm and is closer to make him to drop the sword. Morlin gasps frantically to regain the breath-- and the balance. Rushing towards Baradil, he jabs his blade forwards in a stabbing motion towards the scout's gut.

The scout lurches away from the blade, for the mans hand had not gone unwatched. the tall Marachian takes a swift pace back and once more lifts his spear, sending the blunt butt of the spear arcing upward toward the mans throat. Yet even as he does so the foot of the scout find a gully already filled with snow, and he slips to one knee, sending the attack awry. A growl of anger comes as he tries to roll clear of another assault from Morlin

Morlin jumps back while his blade hits easily the spear and his eyes wide in satisfaction as he eyes Baradil's fall. A short scream of joy leaves her lips. The blade lifts in the air ready to down upon the marachian, but halts sudden. Spitting on the head of his enemy, the man hisses, "Remember this, /friend/: your life belongs to me" and after that, he just runs away far from him, splashing the water and aheading to the city.

The scout stands and growls, enraged by the man. "You rotten villain. You life is mine." He sticks his spear into the ground and tears the bow from his back, in a swift moment he pulls and arrow from the quiver at his side. He sets the arrow to the bowstring in a moment and with a ragged gulp of breath he draws the bowstring taught. He lets the arrow fly in a moment towards the sinking shape of grey that he guesses is Morlin. The dart flies true enough in spite of the wind and snow which gusts about.

And the arrow reaches its target. A loud yell can be heard in the middle of the night, among the blows of the wind, when the tip reaches Morlin's back. Stumbling forwards, the man falls on his kneels, still on the river, and soon dissapears into the cold waters... Probably dead...

Baradil stands a moment as a scream rises in the distance. He remains still for a good while, when finally he puts the bow back on his shoulder. The man runs forward, towards the river and the last place he saw the shaded form of Morlin. "Speak now! Do not Run, I shall find you." His eyes scan the waters a moment and towards Hadorsford, yet nought he can see. running down the stream he follows the current yet can see nought. Past the ragged breath of the man he curses himself and Morlin. Yet after another long moment of stillness, bent in search of breath, he turns and resumes his southward road. At still greater pace.