As the sun nestled gently below the western horizon, splaying an obtuse array of luminous orange and purple across the sky, a dark figure slipped out from behind the stables of the Prancing Pony. Adjusting his ragged mustard hood with calloused hands, the man stayed a steady path to the south. There was nothing too inconspicuous about the cloaked figure, in fact, he was quite ordinary, aside from an incessant need to keep the identifiably rugged outlines of his features smothered in darkness. The man stopped for nothing, and no one, casually avoiding the ever-observant eyes of the few Watchmen that he passed on his journey to the center of town. While his appearance may not have warranted much suspicion in his plain labourer’s attire, the ornate satchel that was strapped tightly onto his brown belt seemed to suggest otherwise. Though the man’s movements were purposeful, avoiding the town hall - and the number of eyes that watched its perimeter - and instead swiftly adjusting his feet and walking eastwards, following the elevating road that inevitably led to Combe.
He had barely reached the summit of the small hill before his ears started to prickle beneath the cloth of his hood. At this time of night, one would normally have expected to hear the grumbling of tradesman as they returned home. The playful patter of children as they ran up and down the road, followed by the eventual scowl of their mothers to return home before darkness beset the sky. It indeed wasn’t this hustle and bustle that ran a shiver up the length of his spinal cord, more so the lack thereof. The street he was walking down was positively deserted. His eyes scanned the dimly lit windows of each house he passed, searching every nook and cranny that may have housed something, anything, that was out there. He could’ve sworn that down each alleyway, a certain danger loomed. Glinting knives hidden only by the safety of their sheathes. Jagged teeth masked by chapped lips and bad intentions. Thought after thought crept into the base of his mind, instilling a certain sense of dread throughout his body.
His pace quickened.
‘Tis was the season, after all, where stories spread around common men of certain…things. Monsters that lurked in the night, devoted only to feasting on the flesh and blood of the average man. After all, who very well knew what went on in the darkness of an alleyway; the corner of one’s eye was certainly the most observant come nightfall. Yet, despite all this anxiety and madness, children’s tales did not seem to worry him enough to put him off his journey. A sense of purpose instilled in the man’s mind, he pressed onwards, setting silly stories to the side. In fact, all this commotion hidden in his head had flown him forwards. The outer gate was in sight, and his destination had never been closer. One of his hands dragged across his body, patting over his form until the satchel found his grasp. A sigh escaped from his mouth. It was almost over. A reality that allowed him some measure of peace that his job was almost complete.
That was, of course, until he heard the unmistakable ‘thud’ of feet onto the cobbles of the road behind him. A noise so faint that many would have dismissed it entirely, if they had even registered its existence. But this man knew differently. Stopping dead in his tracks, the man shivered ever so slightly, before, slowly, he turned his frame around. Sure enough, there he was.
“Don’t do tha’ to me, ya creep...”, mused the local, taking in the familiar black attire before him with a rather acute nervousness that he could not put out of his mind. The coin he was due to receive for this menial task was more than worth the risk, but he had heard tales of the being who stood before him. Whispers spread by fawning housewives, and surely exaggerated encounters from drunkards in the Pony. If there was one thing he didn’t want to do, it was piss this particular individual off.
“Creep?” breathed a low voice from behind the cover of boiled leather, “Perhaps. Though I’m sure, as we both know, my cautiousness is with good reason.” Strangely familiar eyes pierced their way out of the confines of a peculiar leather mask, scanning each and every detail he could scrounge from the man that stood before him. It was his general…awareness that put the man at a rather obvious unease. He felt as if this masked figure was staring into his soul at times, prickling his darkest secrets from the very frame of his psyche. His mouth lay agape for a few moments, searching for a response, though he could not give one. The stranger’s dry tone picked up once more: “I can only assume…that’s my satchel you’re carrying there, boy.”
He scoffed at the callousness of his tone. How dare he? Under normal circumstances, the directness and insulting nature of his words would’ve earned him a fist delivered straight for his nose, but… If even half the tales he had heard about this snake were true, he wouldn’t dare step out of line here. Another time, with the sun blaring down upon them and people nearby, maybe, but men had been gutted and skinned for less...so he had been told.
“Th’coin first. Tha’s what was agreed. ‘N it’s Ben. M’name's Ben.”
An eerie giggle erupted from beneath the cowl of the other. He didn’t like this. Not one bit. Ma had always told him never to get involved with these types of people. The types of people that would sooner see you with a dagger in your back than ever call you anything more than a tool for their using. But he needed the coin. As wise as his Ma was, even she could not escape the fever that had trenched into her system, and he needed the coin to pay for her treatment. Healing did not come for free these days, and he knew it. More disturbingly, the man across from him knew that too. Just five minutes more and this would all be over. Though that didn’t serve any use at cooling his nerves.
“You’re learning,” the other mused, “a deal is a deal after all, and I am nothing if not a man of my word…” An uneasy pause served to chill the crisp air between them, before the black leathered fingers of the other moved, carefully and controlled, slipping across to his own belt. With a deft movement, he ripped a purse from his person, and ran his thumb between the coins that apparently lay within. With what Ben could only assume was a smile, he sound found himself on the receiving end of the purse tossed towards him. Catching it quickly out of the air, he immediately fumbled with it, pulling at the rope tie to peer inside. Almost unbelievably, there it was. The silver he had been after all this time. “You’ll find a few extra in there for your trouble…and your discretion.” Blinking silently, he heaved another sigh. A mutter of ‘thanks’ followed, before he stowed the coin carefully away. Almost afraid it could be snatched away from his fingers if he kept it in the open, stuffing it into his tunic beneath his cloak. The other man was right, a deal was a deal, and so he unbuckled the satchel and offered it out towards him.
“I’s all there. All of i’... Wha’ are you wantin’ wi’ those records anyway? I’ wasn’t easy for me t’ get them, Walt wasn’t ‘appy about goin’ behind the Watch’s back none either.”
“Discretion, Ben.” He wasn’t sure, but he could’ve sworn he saw the shine of one of those damned eyes twitch ever so slightly faster than the other. Though he had no intention of probing it any further. The satchel soon slipped out of his grasp, and into the possession of the dark-clad other. He watched the man carefully slip one end of its belt over his shoulder, before clipping it diagonally across his chest. Whatever he wanted those papers for... It was clearly important. “You can tell Mr Hollytree that our business is concluded…for now. If he values his job, and the extra coin he’s been receiving, then he’ll try to grumble a bit quieter in future. It only takes one letter to his wife to bring his…extra-curricular affairs into the limelight.”
Ben’s shoulders shuddered. “A’right, a’right… I get it.” Another silence befell the pair, a quiet conclusion to their transaction had been agreed upon. Without another word, the black figure would have turned his head purposefully away from him, before stepping past, out towards the darkness of the Bree-lands beyond the gate. Though Ben’s curiosity peaked him, he couldn’t go any longer without finding out at least something from this encounter. He couldn’t let it go.
“Why?” the young local called out after the figure, “Why ‘ave ye decided t’come back now, Viper?” A shuffle of footsteps indicated that darkly-armoured man had come to a stop in front of him, though he made no effort to turn. With a wince, Ben listened intently to his response.
“Why? Oh, my dear boy… I never left.” The Black Viper smiled beneath his cowl, before bobbing his head. “I hope your mother recovers from her ailment… You know how to reach me if you need more coin. Goodnight, Mr Miller.” With that, the figure slumped off towards the encroaching blackness of the wild, morphing with the gloaming light until there was no more ‘Viper’, naught but a sea of darkness. Ben could only be thankful that this whole ordeal was now finally over.
Dagramir had waited, dutifully, until he was safely out of sight of the dimly-lit town behind him before he even thought about reaching for the satchel on his chest. Arriving among the warm confines of trees that was Southern Chetwood, he stalked patiently through the brush until he found a suitable oak to his liking. Perching down at the base of it, out of sight of the road, his slim fingers lifted up towards the latches of his mask, ripping it away from his face. He winced, the leather had taken an unpleasantly moist texture, the beads of sweat trickling from his forehead onto his brow evidence enough that he was still adjusting to life back behind the mask. He’d forgotten how painfully hot and unbearable it could get beneath the confines of leather and steel. Though, no matter, as despite the incessant need to wipe at his brows with a single pale finger, it had been a rather successful day indeed. Placing the mask to his side, he lifted a hand to ruffle free any tangles from his long black locks, before retuning himself to the item that sat flush to his chest.
Unbuckling the strap, Dagramir drifted open the flap of the satchel, before he began to sift through the items inside. Even he was impressed that the list he had provided had been adhered to. This was a pleasantly simple task that he could have performed himself had he found the right window he could wedge open during the day. However, he felt it necessary to use this opportunity to build up the array of pawns he once had previously. The affair-having town clerk Walt Hollytree and the young, impressionable joiner Ben Miller were exactly what he had in mind. It took very little effort indeed to use the pressure of his thumb, and tongue, to influence the men to do his bidding for him. A task he had performed numerous times over the last few months, gaining the trust and power over whomever he might find useful in the future for whatever endeavours he had yet to complete.
He had almost anticipated some measure of incompetence when it came to the gathering of the information he had requested. So much so that there actually was a certain window, downstairs, by the storeroom, that lay ever so slightly ajar. Just enough of a gap to wedge a knife between, and pry the wood open enough so that a certain snake could slip through. Though that gap would go unnoticed until it was closed by a worker the following morn, as everything he had wanted was right here in his hands. Settling the few stained pages onto his lap, his pale fingertips traced across the ink words, hovering over a few notable phrases. Old case files of the 'Bree-town Ripper'; one or two pages of incident reports related to recent crimes that had been committed in the area; paper copies of investigations into local businesses suspected of committing nefarious deeds.
Piece by piece, the Viper was becoming reacquainted with the goings-on of those who wished to call the alleyways and abandoned houses of Bree their home. Not quite enough to warrant too much suspicion from any prying eyes, or hinder the Bree-town Watch in their endeavours, but with the information he held in his hands he could certainly assert himself back into the fold. The Black Viper had become an old tale, the name held no more relevance than that of the Nazgûl for the folks of these lands. It was time to change that.
If Dagramir was going to acquire the coin and power that he had always lusted for, it was time to start getting his hands dirty, through whatever means he could. This sudden re-appearance by an age-old mask was enough to get the whispers spreading. Giving old men enough reason to take extra measures in making sure their investments were being protected to the highest calibre. Scaring young would-be criminals into packs, increasing their veracity, and insuring that both the good folk of Bree, and their Watchers, required that usual shred of reassurance that things could be kept under control. He had spent what felt like a century musing the sigil in his pocket. Wondering where his future lay. If that company of mercenaries were not to be his family, then he would see them serve another purpose.
Through the mask, he could enact upon these fears, these desires, controlling men and beasts alike into providing him with exactly what he wanted. Though the legend didn't hold as much power as it once did, it still served its purpose. The hardened Gondorian was about to spread his web farther than it ever had stretched, and things were most certainly looking up. No doubt the Raven, and the others he knew still held a stake in the business of these lands, would catch wind of this pretty quickly. He was prepared for whatever retaliation, or doubts, he may yet face in rival to his ambitions. He had to prove to himself, and the world, that his adventures did not end drunk in a tavern, pining after women he assumed had betrayed his naive trust to return to his side.
It was time to get to work.
