Big Crime in Small Town Part 2

GM Wakefield drops part 2 of Big Crime in Small Town on Sunday morning. The scene has already been set, and we may see the face to face encounter with the tart thief …

http://bit.ly/2oxFk3R

Category: Towns
Topic: Icemule Trace

Date: 04/02/2017 08:07 AM CDT

From: GS4-WAKEFIELD

Subj: Big Crime In Small Town – Part 2

Hurrying as best he was able, shoulders hunched and shuffling his steps along in what he thought seemed like a quiet way to move, the half-elf scurried towards the gate. He darted past the guard before he turned back around. His momentary triumph was fleeting, as his feet once again lost traction, and he slid a few feet across the icy stone of the street in the snow. Waving his arms and trying to maintain his balance as he bit his lip, the half-elf glided by the guardhouse and out of the open gate, a silent ghost on ice skates. Or so he thought. Unbeknownst to him, the guard inside of the hut had seen his mad dash and remarked to the other standing outside that some idiot had just slipped trying to walk out the gate. A shared laugh, and a shrug later, they resumed their discussion. It happened to be regarding which waitress at the Thirsty Penguin, where they occasionally snuck off on uneventful nights to drink, was the prettiest.

The half-elf stood up carefully. Brushing snow from his cloak, he hoped that the man-sized hole in the snow bank directly outside of the gate would soon vanish in the blizzard. The half-elf cast his eyes about for the tiny footprints that would tell him which way to go. Seeing how rapidly the footsteps heading west were disappearing, he followed with a bit of trepidation. He was outside the safety of the walls in the middle of the night. In a blizzard, that reduced visibility to almost nothing. Glancing back over his shoulder, he realized that although he was only about a hundred feet from the gate, he could no longer see the towering stone walls in the cloudy midnight evening. As he crept forward, the realization that he was very much alone settled uneasily into his stomach.

Squinting into the snowstorm, with wind whipping massive flakes against his face, the half-elf saw an indistinct shape standing in the middle of the path a dozen feet or so away. As he approached, the shape resolved itself into that of a small humanoid. This far away from the walls of the town, they were the only two souls in sight. He came to a halt no more than six feet away, uncertain of what to do now that he had actually caught up with who he had been following.

Hesitantly the half-elf called out, “Y-y-you there! Are you the one that’s been stealing tarts from the bakery?”

The half-elf’s eyebrows rose in surprise, and he took a hesitant step back, as the figure began to stride forward and lowered the hood of a ratty torn cloak. Revealed was an angry face that belonged not to a halfling, or child of a larger race, but to that of a kobold. Sharp beady eyes stared back at the stricken half-elf, and he let out an involuntary “…oh!” while taking another step back.

Boney hands waved energetically as the kobold began to speak, “Why you following me, hooman! Go away. You leave me alone!” The kobold began slowly walking towards the half-elf while it continued its demands to be left in peace.

Backing up carefully at an angle, the half-elf licked his lips and raised his hands in an effort to soothe the agitated kobold. This was definitely more than he had expected when he decided to bring in the pastry pilfering purloiner. As the kobold stalked towards the half-elf, he found himself backed onto an offshoot path from the main road. He was becoming increasingly isolated, further and further away from the gate, and from help. Abruptly the world lurched backwards, and the half-elf found himself flat on his back staring up at the falling snowflakes. He had caught his heel on something unseen in his retreat and been knocked to the ground.

Hastening to roll over and get back on his feet, the half-elf stopped on his hands and knees as he came face to face with the rigid body of another kobold. Frozen blood made slender icicles at the corner of its mouth, and its lifeless eyes stared blankly into the half-elf’s with the foretelling of his own death yet to come. Waves of terror rolled over the half-elf and an involuntary cry burst forth from his lips. Quickly backing away on his hands and heels he sprung to his feet, only to find the thief had followed him and was now blocking the way back towards town. The kobold had drawn a short sword and was making its way towards him now in a menacing and methodical stalk. He noticed the creature’s knobby knees were slightly bent and each step was taken in a careful, deliberate manner. I’m going to die out here, the half-elf thought to himself as his eyes darted wildly looking for a way to escape.

Suddenly, the kobold flashed his sword at the half-elf in a horizontal arc in front of his body. It was a crude motion, but with no way to defend himself, and no practical experience with any weapons, the half-elf was forced to dive out of the way to avoid the swing. He found himself once again laying face down in front of the other frozen kobold corpse. He could hear the breathing of his executioner in the silence of the night, as the kobold approached from behind. With a brisk shove, the half-elf rolled the body of the departed kobold over, searching frantically for something with which to defend himself. The kobold still held a short sword of its own, the hilt grasped in a hand now frozen stiff around it. Frantically, the half-elf worked to free the blade from its icy prison, managing to rip it free just in time to turn and swing wildly behind him as the kobold reached where he was.

A brief look of surprise flitted across the kobold’s face, and it had to hop back out of the way to avoid the swing. The half-elf scrambled to his feet, holding the sword awkwardly before him in both hands. He was a great deal taller than the kobold, topping him by a few feet, and he tried to use this now to his advantage; waving his arms and shouting in an attempt to intimidate his opponent. His efforts were in vain, however, as the kobold watched him for a few moments before deciding it would still try its luck against a now armed, but ungainly opponent. A few minutes later (which felt like hours to the half-elf) he found himself standing over a second kobold body cooling in the frigid air. His own cloak was now torn and ripped, and he had bloody gashes across his left forearm and down his right thigh.

Breathing through clenched teeth, the half-elf took a knee beside the body, rolling it over onto its back to make sure his assailant was dead. Unseeing eyes stared upward, unfocused at the twilight sky. The half-elf exhaled in relief and began making a hasty inventory of the kobold’s belongings. He found the two tarts that had been stolen, smashed to crumbled paste in the fighting. There was also an iron-bound box that seemed to be locked, but which had a bit of heft to it. The half-elf couldn’t find a key anywhere on the body, but he knew that sometimes locksmiths congregated in town to offer their services. He would have to sneak over there sometime after work. He didn’t want Horace inquiring too close as to where the box had come from, or what was in it.

The half-elf labored painfully to his feet, but not before carefully slicing off the tip of the kobold’s ear for proof. He wanted Horace to believe him when he explained that the thief would no longer trouble the bakery, and he doubted dragging an entire kobold body with him as evidence would win him any favors. As it was, he wasn’t sure if his story would be believed. He wasn’t sure he believed it himself, though the ache in his thigh told him it was real enough.

He limped back towards the gate, along the path he had been backed down while carefully running the sequence of events through his mind over and over. He had successfully tracked down, and killed, a thief who was terrorizing his town. Well, sort of. Terrorizing one pudgy halfling baker, anyway. He was upon the guards before he realized how far he had stumbled in his reverie. The guard was quick to spot the limp and blood on his leg as he approached the gate. A brief glance up and down to make sure he wasn’t dying, and he raised a hand to halt the half-elf.

“Ho there”, the guard said, as the half-elf came to a stop in front of a gauntleted hand.

“What is it? I’ve just been in a terrible fight and I’m wounded. I’d like to get back someplace warm”, replied the half-elf with a grimace. “I’m sure I was hollering my head off, by the way. Where were you guys? I almost got killed out there!”

“We’re here to guard the town, not the outside of it.” replied the guard calmly. It was clear this wasn’t his first angry individual wanting answers for a lack of intervention. “But you ain’t dead, is ya?” he continued.

“Well… no. I’m clearly not dead. I’m standing right here!” stated the exasperated half-elf.

“Right ho, then. You’re alive, good for you.” replied the guard in a fairly mocking tone. “That’ll be 5 silvers to use the gate.”

The half-elf stared at the guard, poleaxed. I almost died! I saved the town! And now I’m being told to pay the gate fee?

Numbly, the half-elf dug into his pocket and almost threw the silver at the guard, as he tried to stalk past. His show of displeasure was ruined only slightly by the heavy limp, and the fearful glance he cast over his shoulder at the guard once he was past. The half-elf made his way painfully towards the center of town to receive treatment for his injuries. All the while thinking to himself, I’ll show those guards. I’ll show everyone! I’m a hero…