A lone figure stood atop the sheer cliff facing the convoy below. The convoy was owned by the rich Abreil of Ascalon; a rich merchant on his way to Kryta. His carriage was located in the middle of the convoy, It was an equisetly carved delicasey compared to the bulky transports around it. It was lit by an eerie glow by the four torches on it's corners. The lights faltered as the snow fell around it. The figure watched it from the cliff. The lights of the coach lit it up like a beacon and the figure stared at it with a renewed interest.
"Riches", he thought, glaring through the dark, "they must be loaded with a coach like that". He got up from under the cover of snow and shook himself to disloge the flakes. He walked slowly along the cliff face, certain he could not be seen. Every step made a crunching sound on the compacted snow, but this high up, no one could here it.
He took his bow from off his shoulder and took an arrow from the quiver on his back. The carriages rolled down the snowed in path, clunking as their joints banged together. He crouched beside a dead pine tree and waited for the convoy to pass. There was a light at the front; a lone guard with a torch. The convoy rolled on; three bulky carts with peasents driving, cold and half asleep. Then the expensive carriage, he could almost smell the gold that lied in wait, then another three carriages, then a guard with a torch. The guards feet slumped across the ground tired of having to walk while others rode.The figure pushed his hair out of his eyes and over his ears. He nocked his arrow, and focused on the light; his eyes squinting he drew the arrow tight, hand to ear,. He let it fly, a brief whistle and then a thump signified the death of the guard. The figure tensed, as if frozen, waiting for the convey to react. It didn't.
He slung his bow over his shoulder and scaled the cliff as quickly as he could, he stumbled and fell the last few feet landing with a hard thump on the snow. He groaned and got up of his back. Half running half crawling he ran to the dead guard and jumped to the floor next to the torch. He grabed it and got up on his hands, The snow below him red, he looked at the body and jerked back in shock; a look of fear was fixed on its face and cold blue eues stared right at him, the face was pale and already frost was beggining to form on its features. He jumped back onto his feet, eyes still fixed on the body, after a brief pause he jerked his head up to look at the convoy. It wasn't their, it had dissapeared into the night. He held the torch firmly a head of him and ran as cautiously as his body would let him, his eyes on the floor to follow the path in the torches gloomy half-light. He looked ahead and saw shapes;the convoy. He knelt down and buried the head of the torch in the snow; extinguishing the light. He scarped up to the back of the first carriage, the goods were covered with tarpaulin and he daredn't risk a look in case of alerting the driver. He snuck round the side of the cart as it was movind, the sounds of his footsteps drowned out by those of the yaks pulling it. Once he was near the drivers seat he stayed in pace with the cart a craned his neck to look at the driver. He was dressed in warm ragged clothes with a few loose layers of fur, and a wide brimmed straw hat that shrouded his eyes. By the way the mans head lolled he guesed the driver was asleep. he ran forward and swund up, with one hand on the railing, in the same movement the other hand holding the torch swung down and hit the man with a sickening crunch. He pushed the unconcious driver out of the seat and it made a soft thud as he hit the ground. The bandit grabbed the reins from the drivers hands as he fell and tied them to the front railings, his fingers fumbling as he struggled with the rope. At last he managed to make ka not an he pulled back with his hands to tighten it.
He leant back on the seat and relaxed his body, letting out a comfortable sigh. He looked ahead, a good ten feet away was the next cart, on the right continued the cliff face from where he began, the black rock of the cliff jaggedly protuding from the layers on snow that covered it. On the left was another sheer drop into god knows where, the path the convoy was on was Borlis Pass. He looked up, the stars twinkled in the midnight blue sky and the moon was a perfect cresent; a lopsided grin in the night. Revitalised he jumped out of the cart and strode confidently up to the next one, feet crunching through the snow he came level with next carriage and executed the same manouvere he had used with the first one, effortlesly dispatching the driver and tying the reigns to the rails. He then moved up to the back of the next coach crawled on top of the tarpaulin, whatever riches that lyed beneath were suprisingly solid. For a moment he thought he heard voices and he tensed, his ears straining, but he could hear nothing but the rattling cart and the yaks. He crawled towards the driver, and knocked him out with a swift blow to the head. He shoved the driver out of the seat and snuggled into it himself, grinning. Just ahead was the ornate carriage, it had no back windows, perfect. He tugged on the reigns and the obedient yaks stopped in their tracks, the ones behind followed suite. He decided to have a look at the goods he had stolen, hopping of the cart he jogged through the snow to the back of the cart with the grin still firmly on his face. With a triumphant gesture he pulled up the tarpaulin and his smile vanished. He was met by the squeals of a dozen pigs delighted that someone had come to see them. He let the cover fall down. "Aww shit!" he said.
The bandits' name was Van Harl, he led a relatively reclusive life as one of many Shiverpeak bandits, preying on the few people who dared come through the mountains. Borlis Pass was the route most took as it was the most easily traversable and many had lost thier lives to the bandits that preyed upon them. Most bandits worked alone, although a few worked in groups, most notably the Anvil Rock bandits and the far more ruthless Mt. Spearhead Bandits. These groups of sometimes found work as mercenaries for the guilds and for the dwarves, but the lone bandits had to lead a competetive life with each other. Van Harl was not succesful as far as the loners go, but this convoy was to be his big break, needless to say he was dissapointed to find it was a convoy full of pigs.
Van checked the other two carts, both full of pigs. He ran as fast as he could along the passage, spraying snow behind him. The carriage was in sight, moonlight glimmered of its gold carvings. "at least that'll be worth something!" he thought. He grabbed his bow of his shoulder and nocked and arrow. He kicked the carriage doors as it moved, his hands full. The door opened and a round face peered out. The face squealed, eyes wide in shock and quickly withdrew into the carriage, slamming the door shut. Van stood still for a moment, pulled back his arm and opened his right hand. The arrow thunked into the wooden door, not piercing it but splintering the dull purple paint that draped the areas not covered in ornate carvings.
"Hey" he shouted through the door "what the hell is with this, were are the goods".
"Please", came the whimpering response "were just transporting the prized pigs, we have no money!".
"What about the gold on the carriage!" said Van.
"It's just paint!" replied Abreil. A squeal came from within the carriage.
"What the fuck, is there a pig in there to!" exclaimed the irritated bandit.
"Please" pleaded Abreil "It is my favourite pig, Sir. Oinkalot, do what you like with the others, just don't hurt me and my oinkikins!".
"I don't care about the fucking pigs, I just want the valuables!"
"I don't have any!"
Just then another voice entered the fray, this one was more stern than the high pitched argument from either side of the wooden door.
"Hey, what's going on down there!"
It was the guard from the front of the convoy, torch in hand, he had been alerted by the increasing loudness of the bandits shouts.
"Aww shit" said Van quietly, as if only just aware of the noise he'd been making. The guard was getting closer, armoured in a faded red cuirass and spiked helmet; he looked devastatingly sinister as he drew his sword in the fiery light of the torches glow.
Van turned and ran, straight past the carts he had commandeared and straight into darkness. He could hear his footsteps spraying up the snow. He could also here another pair of footsteps doing the same thing only faster. He could see his shadow now, and it was lenthening and the snow around it becoming lighter. He skiided to a halt and span round. The aggressor was almost upon him now. He shuffled his feet on the snow to try and get balance. The guard swund his blade fiercly, and Van through himself out of the way. But he didn't hit the ground, he fell and kept on falling, right of the cliff into blackness.