Mercenary

  It was a regular day at the Prancing Pony. Guri and I had just come back from a small outing, taking care of some brigands who were hiding in the Chetwood. We had the good luck of walking in during Sansa’s shift, and she was quick to seat us and take our order. While we waited, we turned around to listen to a minstrel’s playing.

Lotherwen had already finished the day, she thought. Getting comfortable in the prancing pony after another day of work with her acquaintance Ronalda and a stranger she had not met before, Gungur, a dwarf from the Lonely Mountain. It was an evening like many before it, until a fellow with plants all over his clothes appeared. Singing and humming he introduced himself and his intention: to travel to Hengstacer Farm, post-haste!

He needed an ally. Someone he could work with. Someone with a bow. His mind wandered to the wild, red headed lass he knew in Bree-land and her skill at hunting. How he missed the fiery Narys, how he wished she could be there with him for both her bow and her passionate embrace.

Staring out over the world, Taraborn admired the view. A great, solitary mountain loomed in the distance, it’s tall jagged peak piercing the sky. Beneath the mountain was the great city of Dale, and further to the south lay the Long Lake and he could just about make out Lake Town.

They were nearly there, maybe another week till Taraborn could rid himself of the tomb-robbers that had employed him.

Taraborn sat atop his horse, Thunder, looking along the East-West road, the sun rising in the distance. A gentle breeze ruffled through his thick, black hair and he sighs with content. He was heading off on a new journey, not knowing where it might end. The road was enticing, and he itched to get moving once again.

The sun was rising over the Kingsfell, the birds were singing, and the warm breeze rustled the grass and leaves in the trees bright flowers covered the hills and crops were tall in the farm fields. Outside the farmhouse of one such homestead, a man was going about his chores. He slowly turned the handle of the wheel, hauling up a bucket of water while he appears somewhat frustrated, muttering angrily the whole time. He is dressed well, at least for a farmer.

[Note: Translated from the script and speech of the Haradrim into the Common Tongue. The names "Haborthad" and "Curunil" had been crossed off in the original text, signifying completion of these portions of her contract.]

Deed of Contract of Assassination