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Pest's End


Xarkly

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A misty sunrise over the farmlands near the Shrieking Drake Island.

 

"Ooh, I once knew a lass from Ker'Nor ... She had stunning eyes, and a rack like a who-"

 

Bramber's singing was suddenly interrupted when one of the wooden wheels of his cart suddenly caught in a dip in the road. Without a second's hesitation, the Halfling let the reins of his ponies fall out of his little hands before he reached behind him to grab his pre-loaded crossbow, nestled among the bushels of wheat piled onto the back of the cart. Steadying his breath, he fumbled to find the crossbow's trigger, before he sucked in a breath to brace himself. "C'mon, Bramber boy, grow some stones," he breathed. Licking his lips, he forced himself to look over the edge of the cart, crossbow aimed down. With shaking fingers, he found the hole that the wheel of his cart had caught and, as he had feared, it was narrow, and deep. He kept his crossbow trained on it intently, though he shook so much that he knew he had no chance of hitting anything that came out of that dark little hole.

 

"Are ye alright?" a voice abruptly called.

 

"GAH!" Bramber did not remember pulling the trigger, but the recoil suddenly threw him back into the cart as his bolt sank into the dirt road, a few inches from the hole. He quickly straightened up, let his floppy straw hat slide from his head, and scanned the road for the source of the voice. Just a dozen feet away, a man in a bleached-cloth shirt and leather skullcap was leaning against the stone wall of a heather farm and watching the Halfling with bewilderment. 

 

"What's gotten in ye?" With a grizzly black beard, the man's broad face had more hair than skin. "Thought ye were a peaceful folk, now here ye are shootin' up the road."

 

"S-s-sorry," Bramber stammered, before he swept up his straw hat and promptly plopped back on his head in the hope that its shadow would conceal some of his frightened expression. "It - it's just m' cart hit a hole an-an' I-I thought it m-m-might be one of 'em S-S-Silverfish that des-destroyed m' cousin's farm, and -"

 

The bearded man cut him off with an amused an amused snort. "Don't ye know? Them Silverfish 're gone now."

 

"G-gone?" Bramber stammered as his brow shot up. "H-how do y' mean 'g-gone'?" 

 

"They're ploughin' gone, ain't they?" the bearded man repeated with a jagged laugh. "Nests 've all been destroyed, so they 'ave."

 

Hope welled within Bramber. "I - I thought there was a nest of 'em nearby, a-at Sutica."

 

"There was," the bearded man affirmed, "'till some mad fucker poured magma in it."

 

"Magma?!" Bramber repeated in alarm, and the bearded man nodded between hoarse laughter. "B-but I thought there were nests of the buggers down in Haense 'n Marna," the Halfling stated uncomfortably. "Wait if they just come back up 'ere?"

 

"Not much chance of tha'," the man exclaimed. "Nests 've been destroyed down there, too. Word is the Haensetian army fought a thousand of the buggers before they torched the nest."

 

"A th-thousand?"

 

"A thousand. Folks 're sayin' it were a proper bloody battle, field turned grey with corpses."

 

Bramber turned queasy at the very thought of that. "A-and the nest down by Marna?"

 

"Blew the fuckers to bits, so I 'eard."

 

"So - so they're gone? They - they're really gone?" Bramber breathed.

 

"S'what I said, didn't I?"

 

"H-hah! Haha!" Gripped by euphoria, Bramber suddenly flung his crossbow out of the cart and halfway into the neighbouring field. He scooped up the reins of his ponies, and tugged with vigour before the cart began to tug down the road with a series of disgruntled whinnies. "Thank y' sir, thank y'!" he called to the bearded farmer as his cart rolled past. The man only laughed as the Halfling burst into song down along the road.

 

That night, Bramber the Halfling raised a glass to his nameless heroes.

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The Marnan nest, destroyed with acid and collapsed by Klaus the Alchemist and Adelmar the Reiter.

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The Haensetian nest, slaughtered and torched by the Haensetian Royal Army.

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The Sutican nest, drowned in magma by a party of Suticans.

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So ends this eventline; thank you to everyone who took part.

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*Upon hearing the new, Ivan pops open a bottle of wine and says* "This calls for some celebration!"

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Everyone knows preloaded crossbows are inviable!))

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3 minutes ago, grubgoth_wud said:

Everyone knows preloaded crossbows are inviable!))

 

halfling engineering))

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Moved to The Great Library. It shall be sorted into the appropriate category shortly.

 

If you feel this is a mistake, please contact myself or any FM and we'll restore it. 

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