Toma #28

As you round the bend, the scene has already unfolded.
There are two men, fully shrouded under their hoods, barring the path of the captains. Both strangers are brandishing long knives—their polished blades reflecting the starlight. On the ground before them is a man, bound and gaged. A sac over his head hides his features. He tries to struggle, but the larger of the two captors yanks on the rope of the sac—restricting his airflow.
The other captors kicks the bound man in the back. The wiry body falls forward and stops moving.
“What is this?” demands Deron. He reaches for his sword, but a knife at his throat stops him.
“Do it!” hisses Toma, looking to the two looming figures, “Slit the elf’s throat!”
“What!??” gasps Deron, “Toma…why would you…”
His laughter is uncontrollable. Triumphant. Toma strikes the Kutollum across the jaw, knocking Deron to the ground.
“You…pig! There’s no one that hates your filthy breed more than I. You don’t belong in Andilain! You and these tree hugging elves have been a plague to this land since you arrived!!”
With a swift kick, Toma sends the captain rolling in the dirt.
“What better way to get rid of both your filthy races, than to murder Lord Raywhen’s son…” he leans down to the dwarf, “…and frame you for it!”
Spinning back to the two hooded men, “Did you here me, you morons!? Slit that elf-bastards throat!”
As the last word leaves his lips, the alley is flooded with soldiers.
The Royal Guard of Andilain.
Torches held high, the polished armor of High King Gaston’s elite surrounds the two hooded figures.
“Toma Thornberry,” grins Marshall Golace, taking a puff on his pipe, “You are under arrest on charges of kidnapping, attempted murder and sedition.”
Rising from the ground, Captain Deron leans close to the Marshall. “May I?”
The Marshall gives Toma a sideways glance. Golace turns his back…and in perfect, obedient unison, his men do the same.
The heavy leather glove is all that softens the anvil sized fist of the dwarf. Thornberry collapses under the brutal blow, crumpling to the ground.
With a nod of satisfaction, Deron nods at you.
“Never thought I’d collaborate with an elf,” Deron spits.
Sheathing their long knives, Lord Raywhen and his son pull back their hoods.
“Evolu,” Raywhen says cooly in clarification, yanking off the hood from his prisoner. It’s Julian—who looks about terrified.
“So where’s the other accused?” asks the Marshall.
You give a quick whistle. Valda and Dorbane yank Corey into the light, bound and gagged—and with a broken nose.
Dorbane shrugs, but says nothing. Valda shoves him to the ground next to Julian.
“All here and accounted for, sir,” you grin.
“Excellent work, young man,” Golace nods, then looks at Valda and Dorbane with raised eyebrows. “Excellent work indeed.”
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