Mandic Carrver. A name both feared, and respected, in Bree-Town. He is known by many titles, both kind, and, well, not so nice. One of the more prominent ones, is Watcher. He works for the Town, guarding it against the Southrons that came up from dark places. He is known for being a simple man, liking the simple, and good things. These are a few of his adventures.
In the Pony.
Mandic shifted around in his seat angrily, glaring at the man sitting at the other side of the Prancing Pony. He was getting a few odd glances, being only seventeen, but had ignored them, waiting on. He had been waiting in the inn for close to four hours, waiting for this man to enter. The man wasn't popular, evidently. He had sat at the end of a fairly full table, and within minutes, the table had been vacated by everyone except him. Now he was sitting there, brooding over a tankard of ale. He wasn't tall, not even for Bree standards, being around five-six. The smell of alcohol and pipeweed hung around this man, hovering around like an invisible cloud. His clothes were tattered, and filthy, covered in stains. He slammed his tankard back in one go, and gestured to a serving girl angrily, as if he should be her one and only concern. Mandic watched as the serving girl came over, to take his tankard away, and bring him a new one. As she turned to go, he gave her rump a rather hard smack, laughing crudely to himself. Mandic twitched in anger, wishing that he could do something. But he couldn't, not here. You see, Mandic knew this man. His name, or at least what he went by, was Roger Deadweed, a Bree-Town Watcher. And a corrupt one at that. Mandic hated him, always had. No-one in the Watch really knew why, he just did. So Mandic waited, watching this crude, nasty man drinking himself into a stupor.
After a time, and sixteen tankards of dark ale, Deadweed stood up, as well as he could. He staggered out of the main room, heading for the back door. Mandic waited until the man was almost out of his vision, and quickly stood up, following him. As Mandic passed the bar, the smell of alcohol grew stronger, stinging his nose, and slightly watering his eyes. He grunted angrily, and wiped them, glancing up just in time to see Deadweed step, or rather trip and fall, out of the Pony. Once the door swung shut behind the man, he sped up, covering the twenty meters in between him and the door in a matter of seconds.
He paused at the door, hand on the handle to push it open, and took a breath, holding it in. His other hand drifted to the shining sword, sheathed on his back, closing around its sweat-stained leather hilt. He exhaled, his eyes narrowing, and silently pushed the door open. Deadweed was about ten meters from the door, and, as he might say, taking a piss. Mandic silently moved over to him, glaring at his back. Mandic tensed, and spoke, with hatred dripping in his voice "Deadweed.". Deadweed's head jerked up, swaying drunkenly in the cold, night air. Mandic heaved the sword from his back, a light 'shing!' as it slides easily from the well-oiled sheath, the blade glowing silver in the dim light from a nearby lamp. He scowls fiercely, taking it in a two-handed grip. Deadweed had swung around, in the meantime, and was staring at him drunkenly, his own hand scrabbling at a rusted dagger jammed in his belt. He grinned crookedly, as the dagger finally jerked free. Mandic by now was shaking with anger, his glare intensifying.
Deadweed lunged clumsily, the dagger flying through the air towards Mandic's face. Mandic quickly sidestepped, bringing his sword around to end the fight with a huge slash to his back. In a twist of fate, however, Deadweed had tripped on something, and had fallen to the ground, his dagger skittering off into the night. He rolled over onto his back, holding his hands up in a desperate plea, to fend off the massive sword. Mandic's face twists into a grimace at the once-arrogant man, now lying on his back, at the mercy of this boy. Mandic quickly changed his grip on the sword, holding it by its cross-guard, aiming the point at the man's chest. Deadweed cried out, just a cry of fear, no words. As Mandic thrust downwards, the cry cut off suddenly. He bent down, wiping the blade on the other man's tunic, before straightening. He glares down, speaking quietly, with hatred running running through each word "That was for my father."
