horse

Act III, Part XIV: The Horse and the Whistle

-Clang- -Clang- -Clang- The hammer fell down rhythmically, at regular intervals. -Clang- Jonn stood before an anvil, with multiple forges glowing in the background. -Clang- In his right hand he held the hammer, while his left held a pair of long-handled tongs gripping a piece of red-hot metal. -Clang- With every strike of the hammer, the metal slowly took shape. -Clang- He rotated the tongs, and the glowing metal became rounded. -Clang- The crude form of a helmet became apparent. -Clang- Out of the crest, the head and front legs of a horse rose, giving evidence of Rohirric design.

Time seemed to slow down and speed up at the same time. The urgency of the moment had now increased ten-fold as the half-naked man's most fearsome foe was no longer the fire passively devouring everything it happened to touch, but rather an armed brute intent on one thing, killing the man in front of him. Yet, as the heartbeat in his ears overpowered the roar of the flames, Jonn became aware of every muscle in his body, everything he could and could not do at this moment.

The eve of winter is starting and with it coming the dry, empty air with the smell of spice and smoke. Fortunately, I find this time of year rather pleasant, as it provides an excuse for more partying and drinking, and reason for getting a new hat.

The pillars of black smoke funneled together into the sky like a cluster of spears jutting into the earth. As Jonn reached the top of the last rocky hill, he saw where those “spears” converged: the small village where he had stayed peacefully for the past week. At the point where the spears of smoke ended, the fires began, flowing out like blood from a deep wound. Grass, straw, wood, and clay were the primary materials used to build the small group of crude huts making up the village. Everything burned or crumbled under the blazing heat.

Jonn wiped the blood off his blade using the vest worn by one of the handful of slain half-orcs lying around him. He curled his lips at the sight of the liquid; an unsightly sort of blackish-red, like a man's blood after it had dried, but this was still wet. After sheathing the sword, he stood back up from his crouch, grunting at the sudden pain. During the preceding battle, one of the louts managed to get behind him and strike him in the back. The armor didn't appear to be pierced, but he probably had a bruised rib.