by Justin Wayne
***
The guard captain rubbed his temples with the hand that covered his eyes. Stress lines were beginning to develop on his young face above his bright green eyes. Leaning heavily on his desk, he sighed and looked back up at the shopkeep in his office. “One more time, the thief stole what exactly?”
The burly man stamped his foot in aggravation. “He stole my most prized possession he did!” he snarled. “The dagger they used to kill the last dark elf that dared set foot in this town over a hundred years ago! It’s got a purple gem in the hilt and a black blade.”
Captain Robaine jotted down notes on a roll of parchment quickly as the man recounted the incident. He’d heard a thousand stories like it in his ten years of service. He also knew that no one had ever managed to track down the elusive hobbit.
“So here’s my advice. Enhance your security when running a stall, and save up for a store.” Already he could see the man’s face flushing with anger. “Meanwhile, I’ll call in a few favors and ask around for any information.” The captain stood and ushered the plaintiff to the door.
“No, captain, you don’t understand! That blade it..” He stopped short and looked at war with himself. Robaine knew the look.
“If you know something that may help find it, I can always say it was anonymous.”
That appeased the burly shopkeep. “Alright. The dagger. It’s named Darkbane. And the black blade be enchanted to turn white around the disgusting creatures; let you know they’re around.”
“You’re a racist.” Robaine stated simply. “You know full well the dark elves have been formally introduced to society for over fifty years now with the Treaty of Broken Sky.”
“I’m no racist; racism is against people, and they’re only monsters. Plenty of people distrust them for we still remember their evil ways. Besides, even I did love them; it’s a one-of-a-kind weapon and priceless.” The man’s tone implied he was still holding back.
“Then why was it in a stall in the first place? Surely a merchant’s market is no place for such an invaluable item.” the captain goaded. To his pleasure he saw the look of defeat in the man’s eyes.
“Alright, captain. I may have..acquired the blade by let’s just say questionable means.”
“So you stole it.”
The man nodded the affirmative.
“And that was enough to hold your tongue for so long at such a high cost? Who’d you steal it from? Drell himself?” Robaine jeered.
The man paled and sweat beaded his brow. His eyes were wide with fear and his teeth had begun to chatter. “No... the Heavywinter Clan.”
At once the Captain of the Guard wished the man had stolen from the God of Death.