Last of the Mastiff Riders, Part 3

Tirn’s figure quickly reemerged from the shadow and was once again bathed in the moonlight, granting Ferun a brief respite from the tightness that had dug its way into his chest.Ferun and Yesola seized the opportune moment to close in just as he turned his back from the shack they had been waiting in. Their hoods drawn low, concealing their features, they moved with calculated silence.

The pair, weapons in hand, began their approach, their swords gleaming in the faint moonlight. Their hearts beat in synchrony, a symphony of determination echoing in their chests. As they approached, their presence felt like a phantom whisper, not even perceptible to Tirn's experiences senses. With each step, Ferun and Yesola's grip tightened around the hilt of their swords, their muscles coiled like springs ready to release upon command. They closed the gap, their forms melding into the shadows that surrounded them somehow escaping the basking glow of the moonlight. The tavern keeper remained oblivious to their presence, his attention focused elsewhere, perhaps lost in the labyrinth of his own thoughts. As the distance between them evaporated, Ferun and Yesola positioned themselves strategically, one on each side of Tirn.

In one swift and nimble movement, Ferun launched himself through the air, his lithe form propelled by a surge of agility and determination. With the grace of a woodland creature, he soared through the darkness Like a silent predator pouncing upon its prey, Ferun's small frame found purchase on Tirn's broad back. His strong legs wrapped around the human's waist, securing his position with an unyielding grip. His fingertips, calloused from countless endeavors, sought stability on the fabric of Tirn's garment.

Tirn, caught off guard by a sudden weight on his back, tried to turn, but before he could react, Ferun swiftly ascended his frame, like a nimble shadow seeking its prey. In an instant, Tirn found himself staring into the cold, unyielding edge of a blade pressed against his throat. The shock registered in Tirn's eyes as he dropped the refuse bucket as he realized the gravity of his predicament, he quickly raised his hands in a gesture of surrender, his palms open to display his submission.

Ferun's voice pierced the silence of the night with an underlying threat. "Don't make a sound," he hissed, the words carrying the weight of impending danger. Tirn nodded, his fear mingling with resignation, as he understood the consequences that awaited him should he defy the command.

In that tense moment, Yesola emerged from the shadows, her presence a silent assurance that compliance was the only option. With a swift and graceful movement, she sprang forward with a determined purpose. Her blade gleamed in the dim moonlight as it arced through the air, finding its mark at the very edge of Tirn's throat. Her eyes held a steely determination, a reflection of the danger that lurked within the confines of the night. The sudden pressure of cold steel against his skin sent a shiver of fear down Tirn's spine, his eyes widening with disbelief and alarm.

With her free hand, Yesola delicately pressed her index finger to her lips, a gesture that demanded silence and reinforced Ferun’s command. Yesola motioned towards the dilapidated shack that stood ominously nearby a silent command for Tirn to turn and walk in that direction. The weight of her authority, combined with the threat of the sharp blade at his throat, left him with no choice but to obey.

Tirn, his shock and apprehension palpable, turned slowly under the watchful gaze of Yesola. Each step felt heavy with uncertainty as he made his way towards the shack, a prisoner to the situation that had unfolded before him. His mind raced, searching for a way to escape this perilous predicament, but the firm grip of fear and the presence of the blade silenced any thoughts of resistance. As Tirn approached the entrance of the decrepit shack, his gaze darted between the blade to his throat and the building, wondering what fate awaited him within those walls.

Yesola kept her new rear position remaining vigilant, her keen eyes scanning the street and treelines for any signs of danger or potential interference, her blade poised to strike should Tirn attempt to deviate from his course or at any outside threat that would interfere. Her intense stare followed his every movement, her own emotions hidden behind a veil of determination.

With each deliberate step, Tirn, burdened by the weight of Ferun clinging to his back, moved towards the weathered shack. The uneven ground beneath his feet echoed his cautious progress, the sound muffled by the surrounding darkness. Though his every instinct screamed for him to resist, to fight against his captors, the cold edge of Ferun's blade pressed against his throat served as a constant reminder of his vulnerable state.

As they approached the entrance of the shack, the faint moonlight cast eerie shadows that danced across the worn wooden walls. The creaking of the door hinges filled the silence as Tirn carefully pulled the door open, his heart pounding in his chest as he entered the shack. As the trio stepped over the threshold of the shack, the air seemed to thicken with anticipation. Yesola's commanding voice sliced through the silence, “sit, there”.

Ferun, released his hold on Tirn's back, gracefully descended to the floor, his nimble halfling frame seamlessly transitioning from the perch to solid ground. His movements exuded a calculated confidence, a testament to his skill as a master of stealth and infiltration. With a quiet determination, he positioned himself near Yesola, forming a united front against their captive.

Her words carried an undeniable authority, leaving no room for defiance or hesitation. Tirn didn’t need to ask where, they had only left the single chair in the room, where else could he possibly be directed to. The worn wooden chair creaked under his weight as he settled into its weathered embrace. His eyes darted between Ferun and Yesola, their unwavering gazes bearing down upon him, their intentions masked behind the shroud of secrecy.

The mastiffs, sensing the charged atmosphere, emitted low, guttural growls from the depths of their throats. Their presence filled the room with an aura of menace, a silent warning that echoed through the shack. The beasts, fiercely loyal to their masters, stood as guardians, ready to defend at a moment's notice.

Yesola's gaze remained fixed on Tirn, her piercing eyes dissecting his every reaction. Her voice, steady and resolute, broke the silence once more. "We have questions, Tirn," she declared, her tone a blend of calm authority and undeniable curiosity. "Answers that could shed light on the secrets hidden within the Dead Wood."

Read part 4 now!