[Ransom]

9-24-02

Ransom slowly opened his eyes. What memories he retained of his previous activities echoed throughout his head, greatly aggravating a pounding headache. He remembered the hours of fighting, followed by a precious few minutes of rest. Of course, this did not do much to explain his current situation.

He sat up and stretched. It felt good to move, despite the pain that flared as he stood. He took a few minutes to examine his surroundings. His cell was bare, save for the mattress of straw that he had woken on top of. The cellblock itself was shaped like a circle, with the cells lining the exterior. Ransom could not see any other occupants, and the room was dead silent. In the center of the room, their jailors had assembled a pile of gear, including Ransom’s armor and his sword.

Ransom smiled. Whoever his captors were, they did not know the history of his sword.

Ancalagon was aptly named. Forged by a powerful renegade dwarf, part of the great dragon’s spirit burned within the sword. In any instance, the sword would return to the owner who quenched its thirst for blood. Said sword owed Ransom a large boon.

Moving in front of the lock on his cell, he spoke softly to his sword. “Ancalagon, remember our bargain. Return to my grasp and I shall satisfy your lust for blood two times over.”

The sword, evidently, liked the bargain, slamming through the rough iron lock on the cell. Ransom smiled. Woe be to his captors.