[Durelin]

His eyes searching the tavern room from over his tankard, Raken watched as Miller crumpled to the ground. You should know you're hunting too big of game for you, little man, he thought, shaking his head. They never learn Pretty Mara. "Huh," he grunted, turning to the group of swarthy men he was sitting with, "I don't see why so many want 'er, she's got too much pride. Bad thing in a woman. And why' s she doin' man's work? Fightin'…Someone oughta put her in her rightful place." Raken growled and clenched his fists, looking around at the men. They all nodded, but no one said a word. Not a very smart lot, he thought, sighing. But he straightened up as he saw a tall cloaked man come stumbling with fatigue into the tavern room. "Oi!" Raken called to the man. "Over here!" Then he yelled to the innkeep, a portly man with greasy gray hair and large watery black eyes, to bring another ale. As the cloaked man strode, almost gliding, over to the table Raken was at, he hissed at the men sitting with Raken, and they jumped up from their seats and ran like startled deer when the stranger hissed at them. The rest of the tavern sat frozen in their seats, staring at Raken and the man. But as Raken glared around the room, everyone went back to their drinks, shaking a little. Not worth wondering. Not worth your life. "Menglin, Menglin!" Raken whispered to the cloaked man now sitting across from him. "You've come a long ways." Menglin merely growled. Obviously too long, Raken thought.

The innkeep, covered in cold sweat from fear, came over and set the ale on the edge of the table, then jumped back and ran back to his place behind the bar. Menglin laughed. "Outside Raken," he spoke with a small hiss. Menglin finished his ale and the two rose and walked out into the muddy streets -- if they were worthy of being called streets -- leaving money on the table. They found a shadowy spot behind a building, and Menglin removed his hood, chuckling. He had wild red hair and small squinting gray eyes. "It is quite amazing how easily your people scare."
"They just know that shadowy folk can mean men of the Eye," Raken snapped, "And ya are, ain't ya?"
"Well," Menglin began, "You have always been a loyal servant, you are much like us 'shadowy folk', as you call us, I did not expect for you to care about them."
Raken sneered at him. "I was born here, live here," he whispered, plunging deep in thought. Finally he looked back at Menglin. "What've you got?" Menglin simply held out his hand. Reluctantly, Raken pulled a copper out of his bag. "Now."
"Well, I went into Rohan --"
"Ro--," Raken almost yelled, then caught himself and spoke in a whisper. "Rohan? How the…?"
Menglin grinned, "Yes, I was disguised as a poor, lowly beggar. Got a lot of good information. Disease in the crops is all over, just one disease, up north a ways. They're starving." He stopped to smile a small twitch of his lips. "But they know how to stop it." He paused again, holding out his hand again. Raken sighed and pulled out another copper. But the hand did not go away. Menglin looked at the copper, frowned, then stared at Raken with a foolish grin. Raken sneered and gave yet another copper to get the information out of him.

"Ainereg, Raken, Ainereg," Menglin whispered, "And in Fangorn." He was smiling again, and so was Raken. "Fangorn. So the legends are true!" Menglin nodded, chuckling under his breath. "You know they'll send a group made up of all sorts, they aren't going to a bunch of elven warriors. And, of course, they'll have women with them."
Raken snorted, "Of course they will." Suddenly he laughed, "Well, the weak fall, the strong rise."
Menglin laughed with him, "We'll finally get as we deserve, to be rich as lords!"
"But, we can’t do this alone, we'll need my men. How will there be enough?" Raken wasn't smiling anymore. But Menglin was, "Raken, Raken," Menglin began exasperatedly, "there is plenty, believe me." He paused, stroking his chin, "Or, this could be your people's time. Time the Rohirrim paid. Revenge. It would be more than enough to pay for your revenge. I know some who could supply, if you have the right amount of money."
"And we will," Raken said, laughing again, "with the flower."
"We should start planning immediately."
"Right, Menglin, I know, it won't be that easy." Raken grinned broadly, "Funny, a stinkin' flower's gonna pay for our war."
"Yes," whispered Menglin, "A flower of healing will be the death warrant of the Rohirrim."

[ March 23, 2003: Message edited by: Durelin ]