Arenon (Fantasy)

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Just something I started when I was bored and never had the inspiration to finish for your perusal.

A heavy rainsquall brought with it an early dusk over the village of Maga. People scurried about their work busily, nobody wanting to remain outside once real darkness fell, and a stranger calmly walked through the village, watching the people come and go without involving himself with them. He was taller than most, and hooded and cloaked from head to toe with a long bow thrown casually over his shoulder. The bow was exquisitely carved from white wood with the head of a falcon at each end so lifelike it looked almost like it would let loose a cry and soar into the distance.

As the sun, invisible behind the curtain of rain and cloud slowly made its bed, the streets emptied and the stranger too found respite at the local tavern. People did not point nor whisper, and he was left alone for the meantime to rest his travel weary feet and slowly sip a glass of ale, sloshed over the table by a bored-looking tavern wench. Finding a seat in a quiet shady corner as befitted his appearance, the stranger proceeded to sit in silence, surveying the room around him with scanning eyes.

People did not stay long after dusk, and the noticeable abundance of weapons at the sides of every patron carried with it a very strong message; this village was in a vice-like grip of fear after the sun went down.

Slowly draining his glass, the stranger did not once lower his hood nor betray the slightest detail of his appearance to the flickering light of oil lamps, finally raising the suspicion of several young men, all obviously deep in their cups. They stood, each carrying some kind of blade or cudgel which they made no attempt to hide and advanced on the stranger who did not move. “We don’t get strangers much here.” One of the young men said simply. “And those as we do get ain’t often got a friendly attitude, so it’d be best fer you if you’d leave now.” And as an afterthought, “Before things get a little ugly.”

The stranger did not respond to the threat at first, quite obviously getting the small gang somewhat riled, but after a few tense seconds, he drained the last from his drink and stood, making the men (who numbered four) step back defensively. With a tiny movement, the stranger allowed the crowd a tiny glimpse of steel under his cloak, the polished flash of a well maintained weapon before he turned silently and left the tavern, disappearing into the rain once more. The gang of course, believing they had intimidated the man into departure drank deeply to their own courage.

The stranger did not, however, leave the village, but waited in the shadows outside the tavern. The night drew on and finally, just as the tavern doors were locked, four very drunken men emerged from the now darkened interior, staggering towards their homes blindly supporting one another as they went. Making as little noise as possible, the stranger followed them in the shadows for a few moments, readying himself for what was to come. With a movement so swift the eye could not follow, yet still more silent than a summer’s breeze, he nocked an arrow to his bow in readiness.

When the moment finally came, there was a flurry of confusion as the four men saw several things all at once. From the shadows in front of them three furred figures emerged, unclothed and baring their long teeth and claws. In a flash, they threw themselves at the drunken men, now far too gone in drink to lift a weapon in their own defence. Before a single claw reached the young men, however, a single arrow flew a hair’s breadth past one man’s ear to take one of the rat-men through the chest, sending it staggering back into it’s fellows who now hissed menacingly at the person who had come between them and an easy meal. Before the small gang had the chance to register exactly what was happening, a black cloaked figure flew past them into the two remaining creatures, bringing up at the last second the beautiful sword which had been hidden under his cloak. Razor sharp and gleaming silver, it came up through the groin of one of the creatures cutting all the way up into it’s still beating heart so quickly that it still took several seconds for the beast to drop, nearly shorn in half. The third rat-like man hissed in fury at its assailant, bearing its saliva dripping fangs and holding its claws wide in readiness for the strike.