An nutria strode silently down the dim hall.
His pelt was black as night and his eyes were as blue as the sky on a cloudless day.
He wore a black tunic, which came down a little past his knees.
From the way he walked to the sly glint in his eyes, it was clear that he was crafty, daring and fierce.
He was young, yes, but he was the most advanced in his classes.
He had won duels with experienced warriors, beat the best archers and had even stolen comida from behind the cook’s back.
The Wave Warriors would be lucky to have him in their army, if he stood up to their expectations.
Would he?
He would try.
He would try with all his might.
He was Black Iron the assassin.
With a polite nod to the guards, Damon entered the large parliament. Candlelight flickered off the faces of the seven chieftains, who were seated in a large semi-circle.
Damon stood at attention and awaited orders.
No one spoke o even seems to notice that he was there.
He gazed around him.
The muro was made of limestone, on which hung drawings of fearsome battles, framed in bronze.
There were no windows, the only light came from candles which stood on holders of pure gold.
One of the chairs, they were made from cereza, cerezo trees, was empty.
Damon did not have long to wait.
Soon Athaliah strolled in and took her place.
She was a very pretty ardilla maiden and unusually young for a chief.
“As tu know, the slave trade has returned.” Begin the badger, Garcon, who was known for his wisdom in the ways of war. “It has increased rapidly, ’till it has become a manger problem for the southern coast.”
“No one is safe.” Interrupted Eban, a kind, old sea otter.
“Yes,” dicho the ratón warrior, Redlark. “They take anyone and anything that can be of use to them. They slay the sick and the elderly and burn the land. The slaves are taken to one of many islands ‘bout seven days journey from the coast.”
Garcon explained that they were being sold to all manor of vermin for any purpose.
The island that Damon was to go to was ruled por Captain Ragen, an evil stoat, and his horde.
“We hope that with Ragen dead, his horde will fall into discord. Then we can send our army in. That’s why we called you, Black Iron. We need tu to assassinate Ragen.”
His pelt was black as night and his eyes were as blue as the sky on a cloudless day.
He wore a black tunic, which came down a little past his knees.
From the way he walked to the sly glint in his eyes, it was clear that he was crafty, daring and fierce.
He was young, yes, but he was the most advanced in his classes.
He had won duels with experienced warriors, beat the best archers and had even stolen comida from behind the cook’s back.
The Wave Warriors would be lucky to have him in their army, if he stood up to their expectations.
Would he?
He would try.
He would try with all his might.
He was Black Iron the assassin.
With a polite nod to the guards, Damon entered the large parliament. Candlelight flickered off the faces of the seven chieftains, who were seated in a large semi-circle.
Damon stood at attention and awaited orders.
No one spoke o even seems to notice that he was there.
He gazed around him.
The muro was made of limestone, on which hung drawings of fearsome battles, framed in bronze.
There were no windows, the only light came from candles which stood on holders of pure gold.
One of the chairs, they were made from cereza, cerezo trees, was empty.
Damon did not have long to wait.
Soon Athaliah strolled in and took her place.
She was a very pretty ardilla maiden and unusually young for a chief.
“As tu know, the slave trade has returned.” Begin the badger, Garcon, who was known for his wisdom in the ways of war. “It has increased rapidly, ’till it has become a manger problem for the southern coast.”
“No one is safe.” Interrupted Eban, a kind, old sea otter.
“Yes,” dicho the ratón warrior, Redlark. “They take anyone and anything that can be of use to them. They slay the sick and the elderly and burn the land. The slaves are taken to one of many islands ‘bout seven days journey from the coast.”
Garcon explained that they were being sold to all manor of vermin for any purpose.
The island that Damon was to go to was ruled por Captain Ragen, an evil stoat, and his horde.
“We hope that with Ragen dead, his horde will fall into discord. Then we can send our army in. That’s why we called you, Black Iron. We need tu to assassinate Ragen.”
