A Modest Proposal

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Kestil
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A Modest Proposal

Postby Kestil » Tue Jun 22, 2010 7:46 pm

Or, An Unlikely Alliance

(Part 1)

As written in the private journal of Thallis Stonecutter.

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Quite a peculiar thing happened to me today.

I was doing errands, like I’m oft wont to do when the front-job is slow goings, and I was hired by a nice young lord to retrieve a stolen item of his. He was paying his dues at the Raven Hill cemetery, he says to me, when a pack of thugs with shovels and shifty looks in their eyes came upon him. ‘You’re being robbed,’ they told him, or at least he told me that they told him, because I’m still in doubts as to whether a proper scoundrel would be so blunt and uncreative. But no matter.

‘You’re being robbed,’ they told him, and he handed over his coin purse to them, which had a pretty amount inside, from what I’m told. But then one of the robbers spotted the crest on his cloak buckle, and they demanded that as well.

‘It’s a family heirloom!’ he pleaded desperately as he told me of his plight. ‘I must get it back!’

I was about to tell him that a family heirloom shouldn’t be worn so conspicuously when he offered to pay me a reward of quite some weight. The specificities I shall not record here, dearest journal, but for a rough amount, it lasted a week at the inn and a night at the pub.

So I made my way to Raven Hill, my pony quite content to stay at the stable in Darkshire while I rode Nightmane instead—quick as the wind and as fearless as ever a horse I’ve known. We arrived to find the graveyard infested with all sorts of dark creatures, and I wondered if my employer had me sent here for sport. I dismounted Nightmane and led him to a large tree, and whispered to him gently. He would come for me if I called, but we both knew our limits and our priority to save our own hides.

I crept through the courtyard, blades at the ready and a piece of cloth tied around my face to protect against the foul stench on the air. As I crouched behind a tomb, in the near distance I saw a small group of men standing near a broken wagon, their voices heated but quiet. A glint of metal caught my eye, and the larger of the men had clasped together his tattered cloak with a fastening far too rich for his line of work.

I removed my bow from my back and notched an arrow, pulling the string back tight. I aimed and released it, and it struck him through the neck. He fell instantly, and after initial shock, his men unsheathed their knives and stood back-to-back as they searched the darkness in the direction from which the arrow came.

But I was no longer there, and when I appeared in front of the smaller man with blade at the ready, it was over much too soon. His stomach was sliced open before he could feel the blood flowing from the wound, and his partner made a few decent parries before I made his chest a sheath for my sword. Stepping over the two bodies, I knelt next to their leader and rolled him onto his back. The cloak buckle was covered in blood, and I wondered if the young lord would dock my pay because of it.

A skittering sound caught my attention, and to my right I saw a skeletal figure hunched in the darkness not ten yards away. Its head was rotten and eyes eaten by maggots, but yet it acted as if it could see me quite as clear as any other—living—animal. It chittered, and looked from me to the dead man to my side, and from the man to my hand which stayed unmoving over the metal clasp. My eyes darted to where its gaze fell, and when I looked back the vile thing had sprung towards me. I dove to the side and rolled upright, blades at the ready, when I saw that the creature had bit the heirloom, ripped it from the cloth it held together, and ran off with it in its mouth.

I must admit, dearest journal, that for a moment I was agape—eyebrows furrowed and the like—but that moment soon passed, for I sprinted off after the creature that was bounding away so hunched forward that his front arms dragged on the ground.

Like hell I was going to return empty-handed.

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X-posted here: http://omgitsafox.blogspot.com/2010/06/ ... art-1.html
Kestil, Thallis; Sentinel, Imp.

"No such thing as mistakes. Just decisions that... didn't go quite as planned."

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