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A dark shadow fell over Rothgar obscuring the hot summer sun. Sitting on a tree stump by a narrow country road, the dwarf did not move to acknowledge a large man and his two companions.
“We’re the Magranze boys and this road, dwarf, is ours. Keepin’ it all repaired and smooth-like takes gold, don’t it boys”, said the man. Their outfits and armour were common to these parts, but the filth set them apart as outsiders. His companions, standing a short distance behind him nodded and chuckled. One of them had a crossbow trained on the dwarf and the other, a short sword.
“Yessir, it takes coins. You be wantin’ to go forwards, or go backwards, you’s got to pay a toll”.
Grasshoppers sung their summer song as a faint breeze caressed the tall grass around the motionless group. The lightly armoured dwarf chewed on an apple, still not acknowledging the men. A pair of large, finely crafted battleaxes crossed behind his back, their handles sticking up over his shoulders. A series of smaller throwing axes hung from his belt and bandolier. The dwarf’s loud bite of the apple carried over the wind.
“Hey, lice-beard, I’m talkn’ to ya. You better be gettin’ that stumpy gold you’ve got in yer boots or ye’ll be join yer ancestors one piece at a time!” said the lead thug, kicking the dwarf’s boot.
After a moment’s silence, the tall leader turned his head to his crossbowman companion and started to say something. At the moment the man’s eyes left him, the dwarf exploded forward, tucking-in his broad shoulder and slamming his considerable bulk into the bandit’s mid section, bringing both of them crashing to the ground. A crossbow bolt thudded harmlessly into the now empty tree stump. Continuing his movement, Rothgar rolled over the thug, then smoothly drew and hurled a throwing axe at the stunned swordsman to his left. The spinning axe head cratered the man’s face and he toppled backwards, lifeless. Moving like striking snake, Rothgar continued his tight spin. His other hand drew a battleaxe over the shoulder and he lopped off the leader’s head just as the man started to get up.
“No no no no,” stammered the lanky crossbowman as his elder brother’s head rolled by his feet. His hands shook, letting the crossbow slip and fall to the ground. He stumbled backwards, then turned around and ran. Rothgar slowly raised himself from the crouch, his single thick beard-braid swinging slightly. Sweat beaded down his shaved and tattooed head. The fleeing man took a handful of steps before pitching forward with a thrown axe cleaving the back of his skull.
Rothgar, the apple still in his mouth, looked around. The good thing about hunting bandits is that they find you. It saves all kinds of time. These small time thugs would not make him rich, but a job done is a job done right.
A shadow fell on the dwarf as a cloud obscured the sun. It was a lazy summer day.