Linden's Tales - Not on My Watch
Dear Pelor, these humans stink, thought Linden making his way through the woods, I can smell them a mile away.
The dying embers of the campfire illuminated the sprawling shape of the snoozing ‘guard’. Linden slightly shook his head in disapproval. Wouldn’t make much of a difference, he thought, they wouldn’t stand much of a chance anyway. Probably better like this. An hour later he heard what somebody must have thought was a good imitation of a bird call from the edge of the clearing to the left. An answer came from the right. Linden peered into the darkness. One. Two. Another two on the other side of the clearing. That seems to be it.
The figures crept closer to the encampment, crouching low. An occasional glint hinted at the drawn weapons. Linden drew back his bow, tracing their progress with the tip of his arrow. Just turn back and leave, he wished, you could walk away with your life. The features of the man closest to the snoozing figure became visible as the remnants of campfire outlined them in a reddish glow. Even from this far away Linden could see the greed and lust drive any vestiges of humanity from the bandit’s face as his dagger rose above the helpless victim. “Not on my watch,” muttered Linden as he let the first arrow fly…
As the bustle of the suddenly awakened camp faded behind him, Linden wondered again at the futility of his endeavor. He’d been taking out bandits for almost five years now, and to what end? It was like swatting ants away from honey. What can one elf do?
Well, camp for the night and then back to Cauldron. The druid wanted to meet up in the tavern tomorrow, said there was someone he to introduce Linden to. Probably another night of non-stop talk about the evils of plantations.