Bounty
Xoscyl - February 1, 2006
I stood by the lake in Thunder Bluff in the early eve. I was
lost, staring in my own reflection, it dancing in the silky
water, paying no attention to the hook and line I’d cast onto
it’s surface. To say the least, I was disappointed. My trek, with
fellow members of the grim, into Blackfathoms deep, had failed to
reunite me with my precious rope. It had been destroyed and there
was nothing that could be done about it. Many of the cultists who
worked this ordeal had been slaughtered via my bullets, and many
more cut down by my axe for good measure. As satisfying as that
thought was, my mind wandered back to the rope and the long
nights I’d spent braiding and scheming against the King of
stumps.
As I thought to myself, my silvery hair floating in a breeze, a
shimmering reflection from across the lake distracted me. I
looked up to see a dwarf man, standing waist high, in only his
under rags. A battle cry from the left stole my attention, and as
I turned, I saw another nearly bare dwarf, a woman, barreling
towards me. These stumplings must have been crazed, for, although
they wore no armor and held no weapon, they sprung to attack me.
With the female too close in range, I turned back to the charging
dwarf man and leveled my gun, firing. As the smoke poured from
the barrel, a hard fist met the back of my knee, sending me to
the floor. As quickly as I could, I jumped back up, shifting my
weight onto my uninjured leg. I looked around for the wee ones,
but they were nowhere to be found. The guards ran back to their
watch posts, giving me a since of security. I stood in shock of
such an event. Regaining my focus, I picked up my hearthstone to
inform the group waiting for me that I had been attacked, and
that I’d need more time before I could make my way out to them.
The familiar voices of Taegol, Chavie and Kogan rang over the
stone. I was touched to know that they wished to assist me
against my attackers, but since there were only two, and the
guards and myself had kept them in check, I saw no reason to call
them out of their way.
As I replaced the hearthstone in my sack, the dwarfs began a
second attack. They had caught me off guard once again. But
unlike the last time, they came with harder blows, and I had been
felled. For a moment, I stood in a world without color, looking
down at my body that lay on the floor in a pool of blood. By the
luck of the gods, I regained consciousness, only to see that my
attackers were run out of the city once more.
My mind ran rampant. What was the meaning of these attacks, in
broad day light, in the midst of a grand city so well guarded?
Why would crazed dwarfs, wearing nearly nothing, risk their lives
to kill me? Many a man, races of many kind, chased me down to
profess their love for my beauty, risked their lives to empress
me with their courage and strength… but something of this
magnitude… this had not happened before. Then it came to me. Why
else would this all be happening? It couldn’t be a coincidence.
Not but 2 days earlier did I enter Blackfathoms deep to retrieve
my rope, and take revenge against the cultists. The dwarf King
must have heard word of my work and placed a bounty on my pretty
little head. He would have me killed to ease his worried mind, so
that he might sleep at night with out the nightmares of my face.
I must have been speaking aloud, for my party arrived, weapons in
hand, ready to defend me. As the dwarfs came once again, they
turned their attentions to my fellow Grim, Grolish and Chavie.
They must have been instructed that I was amongst their kind and
that they would be a threat. Finally, I was able to see the
dwarfs fall, their lifeless bodies littering the grass with
various organs and blood.
I now know the level of threat the dwarfs pose me, and how much
their King fears me. I shall dodge their advances and strike them
down. Their beards shall be added amongst my rope. I will not be
stopped. My will is greater. You shall have me in your Hall,
King, but I will not be your wall ornament... you shall be mine.
*Xoscyl placed the quill pen down on the table and closed the
tattered book. She then took out a few fistfuls of hair from the
incident she wrote about, and began to braid.*