A scroll written in blood

[Martok]

The door to the tavern swung open, to allow a rotund dwarf to enter the establishment.  He looked around at the patrons of the tavern, and wrinkled his nose.  The tavern was well known for its shady inhabitants.  Those in need of a mercenary could surely find one within these walls.

The dwarf walked over to the bar, shoving several drunk warriors out of his way.  They were about to protest, but saw the large battle axe upon the dwarfs back, and decided against it.  

The dwarf yelled at the barkeep for an ale, and quickly guzzled down the liquid.  He winced at the taste, for it was of poor quality.  “Nothing like the ale of the mountain dwarf taverns.” he thought to himself silently as he looked through the bottom of the mug.

A log in the fireplace crackled, shooting sparks through the air behind the dwarf.  The dwarf turned his head to glance upon the warm and inviting fire, and saw what he thought was a set of red eyes perched in the shadows beside the fireplace.  The dwarf looked to the set of eyes, and nodded his head in silent communication.

Casually, the dwarf ordered another ale, and proceeded to the table set back beside the fireplace, hidden in a shroud of darkness.  As the dwarf approached the table, he could see the man sitting against the wall.  His figure blended in with the shadows, only the fiery gaze from his eyes gave away his presence.  

The dwarf sat down, and began to speak.  “The price of eggs is rather high in Sullust,” remarked the dwarf.  His eyes did not look up, but concentrated on the mug of ale in his hand.

“Yet the price of chickens remains low,” remarked the shadowy figure.  His deep voice startled the dwarf.  Yet, the correct words were spoken, there was the man he was to meet.  Their previous communications were made through a third party, a mercenary of rather low esteem.  This was their first face to face encounter.

The large woman on the makeshift stage began to sing, unfortunately, she was the only entertainment for the evening.  Her shrill voice mangled the words of her song.  Several of the patrons threw bits of their meal towards her, showing their obvious displeasure at hearing her voice.

“Have you completed your task?” asked the dark man.  The darkness clung to him as a cloak, concealing his appearance from everyone in the tavern but the dwarf.  The dwarf’s face grew red with rage upon the question.  

“If I hadn’t completed the task,” thought the dwarf, “would I have come?”  he thought silently to himself.  He was about to speak his thoughts out loud, but thought better of it.  The shadowy man frightened  him greatly.

“I have.  Just as you had requested,” replied the dwarf with extreme calmness and caution.  His eyes lifted from his mug to meet the gaze of the dark man’s.  His hand patted the scroll case at his belt.  It had taken him months to compile all the information written on the parchment:  the names of all the tribal leaders of the orcs, their locations, their titles, their responsibilities.  The dwarf had started out with six members of his mercenary team.  Only he had survived.  The orcs brutally murdered his associates that were caught.  The price for the information was heavy.  The reward he was to gain in return seemed hardly worth his efforts.  

The man in the darkness held out his hand, without speaking, the dwarf removed the scroll from the case upon his belt, and handed it over to the dark man.  He unrolled the scroll, and gazed over its contents.   A faint smile appeared on his lips.  This was the final bit of information he needed.  This scroll, combined with the maps he had acquired from the late warriors outside the orc camp was to be used for intricate planning; the planning of an all out assault on the orcs.

The dark man removed a small leather pouch from his belt, and handed it to the dwarf.  “I have heard of your comrades early departure to the abyss,” stated he stated.  “I grieve for your loss.  I have added a bit extra for your troubles,” continued the man.

The dwarf looked inside the pouch, and found triple the amount of gold that had been agreed upon.  His stomach began to knot.  His friends were dead, and it seemed as if he was being paid for their untimely demise.  He closed the pouch, and fastened it to his belt.

Without any further conversation, the dwarf rose from the table, finished off the remainder of ale in his mug, and began to walk towards the door.  He was finished as a mercenary.  He had experienced more death in his lifetime, then a dozen men should have.  He had made up his mind; he would go back to being a blacksmith, a more respectable trade for one of his heritage.  

As the dwarf exited the tavern, three warriors emerged from the shadows to stand directly in the dwarf’s path.  “You have something that needs to be returned,” stated one of the warriors.  Their curved swords gleamed in the moonlight

“What might that be?” questioned the dwarf as he drew his battle-axe from his back.  He knew what they were looking for:  the scroll he had given to the man in black.  “The orcs must have sent them,” thought the dwarf.  Off in the distance, as if to confirm his thoughts, stood two orc shaman.  

The dwarf took a wide swing with his battle-axe towards the mercenaries.  The three warriors jumped clear of its path, save for one of them who left his foot within the axe’s reach.  His foot separated from his leg, and the warrior fell to the ground with a shriek.  The dwarf spun around, and gave his axe another swing towards the other two warriors.  His axe managed to find a target once again, this time, directly in the midsection of one of his would-be attackers.  The warrior managed to slash at the dwarf with his sword as he fell to the ground.  

The dwarf groaned in pain.  The wound was not serious, but gave him extreme pain.  The remaining warrior ran off, leaving his two comrades behind.  He did not want to suffer their fate.  The dwarf thought of chasing down the remaining attacker, but clutched his bleeding shoulder instead.  The dwarf disappeared down the dark dirt road.

The dark man exited the tavern, and looked down at the two maimed warriors just outside the tavern steps.  He looked around for the dwarf, but failed to find him.  The man turned the corner of the tavern, and found the dwarf on the ground, frothing at the mouth.  The dark man bent down, and gazed upon the dwarf.  

The dwarf attempted to talk, but only a few unrecognizable gurgles came from his mouth.  The man in black knelt down, and moved his ear close to the dwarf’s mouth, in an attempt to hear him better.  

“Poison,” the dwarf gurgled.  “Sent by the orcs,” he struggled to whisper.  “Two Shaman, in the distance......too late.....,” he managed to say.   The foam continued to flow from his mouth.  The man opened a pouch at his belt, and withdrew a small vial.  Before he could lift the vial to the dwarf’s lips, he was dead.

The dark figure sighed.  The orcs must know his plans.  There was no longer any time for reconnaissance.  He had to return and tell his comrades, they had to prepare for the atttack.  As he finished his thought, the dark man made runic symbols in the air above the dwarf’s corpse.  The corpse began to glow with a white light, then disappeared.  

Many men died to bring the information the dark man now held, but many more would die when the war started.  With another wave of the man’s hand, his figure began to shift and contort.  Within seconds, the dark man was no more, replaced by what appeared to be a raven.

 Several town guards ran down the road in front of the tavern, searching for the cause of the commotion.  When they arrived, only two corpses of the mercenaries remained; and a raven perched upon the sign of the tavern.