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Post by bdtgazo on Nov 16, 2017 17:15:55 GMT
Chapter I
"'Bandit problems?' What do you mean, 'bandit problems?'"
"Just that, citizen. Farmlands are infested with bandits lately. Watch your back out there."
"Rats inside the walls, rats outside the walls. You call yourselves guards?"
The gate guard managed not to smile. This wasn't the first bounty hunting adventurer to ask him about any outstanding warrants. They all thought they were so tough.
"Just watch yourself," he said. "Especially at night."
Mosk scratched his chin. "So who do I collect the bounty from?"
"That'd be me. Alive or dead, mind you. Just a head will do."
Mosk scratched his chin again. Nodded. "That's how I prefer it." He turned on the spot, and looked out at the surrounding farm land, flat grass and fields all the way to the distant mountains. Turned to the north, where the farms turned to dense forest that traveled all the way to the great city of Fer. Then south, towards mysterious Arakan. "Any guides looking for work?"
"Plenty," the guard replied. "If you can dig 'em up and resurrect 'em." This time he didn't bother to hide the smile.
"I see." Well, he'd been in similar spots. Nothing for it but to get to work. He patted his leather jerkin. "Say, you happen to have any smokes on you? I seem to be out."
The guard just shook his head, so Mosk set out. He'd heard some of the locals talking about a cave to the northeast, so that was where he was headed first.
He'd been on the trail for a couple of days when he came across a monk, sitting on a boulder, on the side of the road.
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Post by bdtgazo on Nov 16, 2017 19:14:34 GMT
At first, Mosk was just going to ignore him, pass him right by. But then he decided that doing so wouldn't be prudent, not two days out from civilization. He stopped a good distance away, hands on the straps of his pack, making an effort to appear casual and unconcerned. The monk just watched him.
"Well, met, friend," Mosk said loudly, loud enough for the Monk to hear him clearly. "Strange place to be sitting for a rest."
The monk didn't reply. Just remained seated, looking content.
"Headed to Wheaton? I'm headed to Fer myself. Any news from there?"
At this, one of the monk's eyebrows raised.
"News from Fer?" the monk asked. "About what?"
Which was the type of question to set off all kinds of alarms in Mosk's brain, no matter how innocently the question sounded when asked. Reason being, asking about news from Fer was every highway traveler's method of discerning if someone they met on the road was a friend or foe, without being insulting. And any other traveler should know that, and would reply with a bit of news if friendly. Most would, anyway. You did get some strange ones, after all. And, Mosk reminded himself, monks could be pretty strange.
Well, he had kept to the 'code of the road,' as they say. And he wasn't what some would call patient. He spread his legs a little, for better balance, and eased his pack off. "About Fer, wouldn't you think?" he said, with that sort of slow and careful pronunciation people use when they're trying to control their temper. "Or the regions about? Maybe the iron war?"
The monk tilted his head. "News from Fer, about Fer? Iron war?"
"That's right," Mosk said, "use that bald little noggin of yours."
The monk, still seated cross-legged on the boulder, tilted his head to the other side. "I would think you'd be asking me about these bandits you're after. A much wiser question. Especially for a man who missed his turn three hours back."
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Post by bdtgazo on Nov 16, 2017 19:42:07 GMT
"Three hours back, eh?" Mosk asked, unsheathing his greatsword, and pulling it over his shoulder so he held it in front of him, pointed down the road, towards the monk. "That's important information. I appreciate it." He was turning the blade a bit to the left and right, inspecting the edge nonchalantly. "And we'll get to that bit of information in a minute. But first I'd like to discuss how it is you came to know I was looking for some bandits." He gave the monk his best squint.
"Now that," said the monk, "is a wonderful squint. One of the best I've ever seen. Not *the* best, mind you, but very good. As a matter of fact, the finest squint I've ever seen will be along shortly." He looked along the road, towards the north. Then turned back to Mosk. "Shortly. Shortly. You know, I can't decide if this means you are lucky, or unlucky."
"How did you know, monk?"
"I have my ways. But relax, sir, please, I am not your enemy. I am a friend. My name is Taroc."
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