#abouttocook

                The wind settles on the walls and a strange breeze picks up from the grates imbedded in the cobbler stone pathways connecting the town to the sewers.

                “Do you feel that commander?” The king says turning his head and walking to the edge of the wall. “Something’s not right.”

                “Sire. That is just the festivities, come home, your wife is worried.” The heavily armored man says walking slowly toward the mad man while holding his arms cautiously out as to capture him.

                “GET DOWN!” The king shouts throwing the commander to the ground and pulling his shield above his sleepless eyes to take the blunt force of a small volley of arrows. As they impact and pierce his shield he draws his sword and lets out a violent roar. “SCOUTS!” He leaps from the walls and plunges his falling sword into an enemy spy with the force of his entire falling body. The commander jumps to his feet and waves to the other guards along the wall to charge.

                “THE SON OF THIEVES AND BUTCHERS! THEY ATTACK ON THE FESTIVAL OF GIVING! TO ARMS MY BROTHERS!” He shouts drawing his long bastard sword from his back and circles the wall to jump onto the roof, arrows flicking and sparking against at his feet as he runs. After clearing the wall to roof he impales an archer through the chest and with monstrous power throws him against another two and lets a flurry of slashes loose.

                On the ground the king tramples through ten enemies and begins making his way to a sewer grate on the opposite side of twenty of so soldiers, of which he dispatches quickly with deadening accuracy and vigor. Once he reaches the grate he holds a hand to the roofs and screams “Commander! The Failsafe!” The higher man decapitates a lightly armored man in front of him and kicks another off the roof into the contained battle below. He reaches into a small satchel at his side and tosses a small bottle to the king below before lunging back into another brawl.

                The king kicks a spy back into the grate where it had been climbing out of and drops the bottle, a whistling sound is heard as it cascades downward. In a moment the sewer is engulfed in a blue magical fire that burns in an intensity not witnessed by any man in attendance to the spectacle. The last spies are picked off immediately following their retreat, a few escape but as the king wipes his blade clean he signals to the watchmen to release the hounds. Following the order he approaches the gates with the commander “Get your men to the barracks and suit up, we ride for Aragorn in two moons.”

                He stops, stunned. “My lord, why Aragorn?”