“Hail, miss!” The short freckled man leaning on a rock near the path hailed Enniliel loudly enough to pull her attention from turning over thoughts in her head.
Riding on her small but sturdy horse, she had just been mentally reviewing the summons sent by Ranger Captain Aranarion. Even after the war’s end and the change of winds in the lands, dangers and evils still had to be dealt with, and her thoughts wandered far afield. Pulled out of this reverie by the greeting, she gave a gentle tug on the reins and her horse drew to a halt.
“Good afternoon, sir?”
The fellow was stocky and seemed Bree-ish, with a notable mustache, but his manner of dress was odd enough to pique her curiosity. He wore a steel kettle-helm and mail coif with a quilted jacket -- one with integrated mittens, no less! -- and garish orange hose. Stepping onto the path he offered a wooden stave, of which he held two.
“Henry Thistlelip, at your service!” The last name, she surmised, was a reference to the rather frightening reddish mustache he sported. “Care for a friendly wager? A test o’ skill at arms?”
“...What?” His gesticulation revealed a patch marking him as Trestlebridge militia but that did little to ameliorate her bafflement.
“A friendly spar! Ye win an’ I give ye a fine bag o’ these Dwarven coffee beans. Lose, an’ ye give me thirty silver!” He offered the stave again.
The promise of coffee beans was enough for her to dismount her horse and take the stave. “This is certainly a strange offer, but why not. No breaking bones or anything, though, I have important business.”
“Not too important for a duel, though, hmm?” He grinned and took a dueling stance.
Enni harrumphed as she took a similar posture. “Coffee is always important.”
He was reasonably skilled for a member of the militia, but tended to telegraph his strikes and have weak counter-plays. In a few moments, she had managed to disarm him with a twisting move that sent his staff flying.
True to his word, after he bowed and retrieved his staff, he offered her a bag of aromatic beans from his bag, though his expression looked a bit chagrined and he seemed not quite to have expected to lose so fast. She returned the bow and accepted the beans.
“This has been… entertaining, mister Thistlelip.”
“A pleasant distraction from th’ boredom o’ the road, miss!” He grinned again and pulled out his pipe, returning to leaning against his rock.
“Do you waylay all travelers for duels?”
He took a puff of pipeweed and she coughed a bit at the smoke. “Only ones as look entertaining! Ye fight well, lassie!”
She drew herself up to full height -- only an inch or two shy of his. “Sir, I am a Ranger, thank you very much. Under the command of the King, Lord Elessar.”
“I mean no offense!” He raised his hands in surrender, leaving the pipe half-dangling from his mouth. “Ye’re clearly a fighting sort, just not such as one sees a lot o’, being a small lass an’ all.”
Enni sighed and remounted her horse. “Fair enough, I suppose, but if I find out you’re bullying mercenaries and militia that you think you can beat, I will have a word with whoever you report to.”
He looked a bit shamefaced at that but conceded. “Just looking for a bit o’ sport t’ pass th’ time, I swear. Listen, if it’s any help t’ ye, I suggest ye keep an eye out for some goblins. Some have been infesting th’ hills up a ways an’ waylaying folks as are heading past Deadman’s Dike. Ye’re clearly capable o’ handling yourself but might want to keep an eye out.”
“Thank you for that, I will make sure to be careful and try to get some of my brethren to deal with this nuisance.” She tossed him a coin. “Here’s a silver in thanks, but I suggest better methods to pass the time than betting on duels with passers-by. The coffee is appreciated, though!”
He grabbed the coin and returned his focus to puffing on his pipe as she rode off, shaking her head at the oddness of some folks.
