Elendor
Some help, sahr?
Another bandit attack outside of Bree.
Sort Date: no date set
Location: Bree - Chetwood
Description: It's early evening and still light out with the lack of clouds in the clear skies above. The air is hot and dry, the dust on the road just waiting for the faintest breeze to be stirred to life. A man sits against a tree, the leaves overhead providing little more shade than the wide-brimmed hat he wears already accomplishing.
Not far from this stranger lies a carcass. It seems to be a goat, and has been baking in the sun for quite a while because there are dozens of flies buzzing around it and a couple of crows watching from low-hanging branches, occasionally cawing loudly.
[Nob(#16122)] Clip-clop. Clip-clop. Jinglejinglejingle.
A pony comes into view, a fat man dozing on his back and swaying from side to side. The beast is almost as fat as his rider, and all his tack is white. Or was white, once now it is a dirty grey that only is white in the imagination.
The man in the hat looks up slowly at the sound of the pony approaching, one hand lifting to swipe some sweat from his brow in a lazy fashion. His brown eyes flick to the carcass, the animal laying dead right in the middle of the road, then travel back to the rider. He waits.
[Nob(#16122)] As the duo near, the pony stops abruptly, planting all four feet in the dirt. Its ears prick hard forward, and its eyes widen, white-rimmed and rolling. The rider jerks forward, his hat rolling into the dust. "Here now," he says, clutching the saddle. "Here then, Pet, what's got you in such a .... oh!" Brown eyes fix on the dead goat, and the rider's nose wrinkles. "Yes, yes, my pet, that /is/ a most horrendous sight. And odor, too, I'm sure. I don't blame you in the slightest for stopping." He looks vaguely to one side, wondering perhaps, how to get around the flies and stench.
This particular man in the hat, Hatman, rather prides himself as quite the actor. Slowly he climbs to his feet and lurches towards the rider in a clumsy fashion. "Sahr.. Mahster sahr.. I be nee.. needin' some help. Mah goat.. well, she be mah mahster's goat, ya see? She up ahn died. He tells me not tah be comin' back without her or ah be whipped somethin' fierce." All of this is said in a slow, exaggerated fashion, his accent horrid and his eyes frequently rolling over to the corpse. He makes his way up to the man with one hand habitually tugging at his shirt on his right side.
[Nob(#16122)] Fredder is urging the pony towards the other side of the road, the side where there aren't too many trees, and not quite so much in the way of tangling, snagging brush. "Oh yes," he says vaguely, and only looks up belatedly - to find Hatman standing right next to him. "Er. Um, of course..." His eyes dart back to the goat, then up to the other man's face. "Ah... you have a bit of a problem, I'd say?"
"Yah're smart.. yah? Ye think maybe.. well, you could talk with me mahster?" The man in the hat asks, reaching with his left hand in a quick grab for the rider's pantleg. His right hand slides up under his loose-hanging shirt that he was just tugging at in a wierd fashion. Something isn't right with the man. "Could ya tell 'im? That the goat.. she died? Sahr? Please?"
[Nob(#16122)] "I beg your pardon!" Fredder looks affronted, jerking his leg away from the man's grasp, and kicking the pony in the process. The creature startles and almost bucks, sending his rider sloshing sideways in the saddle. When he has regained control, red-faced and furious, he glares at Hatman in no mood for placating employers. "I most certainly couldn't!" he snaps. "Take the goat and tell him yourself!"
Hatman shies away for a moment when the pony rears, then approaches again when the animal settles on four legs once more. "Oh.. sahr, I am bein sorry." Only, instead of grabbing for the rider's pantleg, he reaches lower for the strap of the saddle. His right hand pulls a sharp dagger from beneath his shirt and he swipes at the leather that keeps the saddle secure to the beast.
[Nob(#16122)] Fredder is far too busy trying to stay astride to notice the knife until it is too late. He finds himself hanging sideways off his pony, a cut strap dangling in the dirt, staring half upsidedown into Hatman's face. "Don't just stand there," he sputters. "Help me off!" Clearly, he still hasn't quite gotten it.
"Help?.. Ah.. yes sahr.. right away!" Hatman moves foward to offer a helping hand, his left arm hooking beneath Fredder's armpit while he casually moves his right hand with the intent of pressing his knife to the man's throat. "Jahst don't be movin, aye? Iffen the pony gets scared I might not be movin quick enough to get me knife away.."
[Nob(#16122)] "Yes, yes... be careful of my jacke...." Fredder's voice chops off and his face turns abruptly a congested purple. "What is the meaning of this?" he demands, his voice a strangled octave higher. The knife dimples his skin, and he swallows.
Nob has partially disconnected.
"Yeees.. Your jacket. Aye, sir. I bet it's worth something." The bandit drops the dull-witted mannerism, grinning now. "Tell me, what else do you have of value? Cooperate and I might let you keep your pony, though I feel I would be doing the poor animal a disservice by doing so. Then again, the creature looks well fed." He'll try to tug the man away from the mount and keep the knife in place in the same motion.
[Nob(#16122)] Fredder lands on his rear in the dirt, and the pony, kicking up its heels, flees down the road at top speed. "Value?" Fredder gapes up at Hatman, witlessly. "Value?!" He looks down at himself. "Nothing!" he shouts. "And what do you mean, disservice? I'll have you know I take good care of my animals!"
"Ah.. well, now you'll have to prove you have something of more worth than the beast, on your person. I truly hope so. Start emptying your pockets... -sir-." The bandit keeps his hand wrapped tightly around the haft of the dagger, none of the clumsiness present now. "And honestly, the people around here. A daft fellow in need of a helping hand and you push him aside. No decency left in these parts."
[Nob(#16122)] "Decency!" Fredder gargles, and glares impotently. But after a minute, his hand starts to fumble at his belt. He throws a pouch into the road it lands with a satisfactory thud - clearly it is heavy, whatever is within. "There," he says angrily. "Now if you'll let me up, I'll start chasing down my beast! You've probably frightened him into a heart spell."
Hatman grins when the pouch hits the road with that audible thud. "Now the coat, Softy.. and your shirt. Argue and I'll take your boots as well." He moves his left hand up to try and grip a handful of hair, and the right keeps that dagger locked in place. "Decent would have been to at least ask the fellow what -happened- to his goat. Then he would have said.. "Why sahr, a bandit come and slit 'is throat, he did!".. then you might have been on your guard. It's your own lack of concern that cost you." Oh, not Hatman is trying to instill -morals- into his victims? As if his need for theatrics wasn't enough.
[Nob(#16122)] "My SHIRT?" Fredder turns still redder - if he's lucky, maybe he'll have a heart attack. But he struggles a little with his jacket, then says furiously, "I can't take it off with that knife there! You'll cut my throat!"
"Hmmm.. a problem." Hatman purses his lips for a moment and somewhere off in the bushes his partner is snickering in amusement. "Just bring it up around your neck. I'm only making certain you aren't sneaking any hidden coin pouches by me. I have to be thorough, you see? And you'll need to turn out your pockets." He slides his free hand to gently pat the fellow on the cheek in a mocking fashion. "We're almost done, Applecheeks."
"Hmmm.. a problem." Hatman purses his lips for a moment and somewhere off in the bushes his partner is snickering in amusement. "Just bring it up around your neck. I'm only making certain you aren't sneaking any hidden coin pouches by me. I have to be thorough, you see? And you'll need to turn out your pockets." He slides his free hand to gently pat the fellow on the cheek in a mocking fashion. "We're almost done, Applecheeks."
[Nob(#16122)] Fredder is beyond speaking now. He raises his arms, there is nothing hidden. Pulls out his pockets - again nothing... at least nothing of value. A wooden spoon falls from one pocket. He glares futily.
When the bandit is satisfied he steps back swiftly, pulling the dagger away at the same time. He sidesteps over to where the pouch was tossed to the ground, sweeping a quick bow for his victim as he swipes up the bag and jacket. "Good day.. Good day." There's a broad smile on Hatman's face as he reaches up to tip his hat with the point of his knife and begins backing towards the woods.
[Nob(#16122)] Fredder sits in the road, unmoving, staring at the gathering dark. For a long time, he doesn't move. Finally, he gets wearily to his feet, and walks defeatedly after his long-gone pony.
Not far from this stranger lies a carcass. It seems to be a goat, and has been baking in the sun for quite a while because there are dozens of flies buzzing around it and a couple of crows watching from low-hanging branches, occasionally cawing loudly.
[Nob(#16122)] Clip-clop. Clip-clop. Jinglejinglejingle.
A pony comes into view, a fat man dozing on his back and swaying from side to side. The beast is almost as fat as his rider, and all his tack is white. Or was white, once now it is a dirty grey that only is white in the imagination.
The man in the hat looks up slowly at the sound of the pony approaching, one hand lifting to swipe some sweat from his brow in a lazy fashion. His brown eyes flick to the carcass, the animal laying dead right in the middle of the road, then travel back to the rider. He waits.
[Nob(#16122)] As the duo near, the pony stops abruptly, planting all four feet in the dirt. Its ears prick hard forward, and its eyes widen, white-rimmed and rolling. The rider jerks forward, his hat rolling into the dust. "Here now," he says, clutching the saddle. "Here then, Pet, what's got you in such a .... oh!" Brown eyes fix on the dead goat, and the rider's nose wrinkles. "Yes, yes, my pet, that /is/ a most horrendous sight. And odor, too, I'm sure. I don't blame you in the slightest for stopping." He looks vaguely to one side, wondering perhaps, how to get around the flies and stench.
This particular man in the hat, Hatman, rather prides himself as quite the actor. Slowly he climbs to his feet and lurches towards the rider in a clumsy fashion. "Sahr.. Mahster sahr.. I be nee.. needin' some help. Mah goat.. well, she be mah mahster's goat, ya see? She up ahn died. He tells me not tah be comin' back without her or ah be whipped somethin' fierce." All of this is said in a slow, exaggerated fashion, his accent horrid and his eyes frequently rolling over to the corpse. He makes his way up to the man with one hand habitually tugging at his shirt on his right side.
[Nob(#16122)] Fredder is urging the pony towards the other side of the road, the side where there aren't too many trees, and not quite so much in the way of tangling, snagging brush. "Oh yes," he says vaguely, and only looks up belatedly - to find Hatman standing right next to him. "Er. Um, of course..." His eyes dart back to the goat, then up to the other man's face. "Ah... you have a bit of a problem, I'd say?"
"Yah're smart.. yah? Ye think maybe.. well, you could talk with me mahster?" The man in the hat asks, reaching with his left hand in a quick grab for the rider's pantleg. His right hand slides up under his loose-hanging shirt that he was just tugging at in a wierd fashion. Something isn't right with the man. "Could ya tell 'im? That the goat.. she died? Sahr? Please?"
[Nob(#16122)] "I beg your pardon!" Fredder looks affronted, jerking his leg away from the man's grasp, and kicking the pony in the process. The creature startles and almost bucks, sending his rider sloshing sideways in the saddle. When he has regained control, red-faced and furious, he glares at Hatman in no mood for placating employers. "I most certainly couldn't!" he snaps. "Take the goat and tell him yourself!"
Hatman shies away for a moment when the pony rears, then approaches again when the animal settles on four legs once more. "Oh.. sahr, I am bein sorry." Only, instead of grabbing for the rider's pantleg, he reaches lower for the strap of the saddle. His right hand pulls a sharp dagger from beneath his shirt and he swipes at the leather that keeps the saddle secure to the beast.
[Nob(#16122)] Fredder is far too busy trying to stay astride to notice the knife until it is too late. He finds himself hanging sideways off his pony, a cut strap dangling in the dirt, staring half upsidedown into Hatman's face. "Don't just stand there," he sputters. "Help me off!" Clearly, he still hasn't quite gotten it.
"Help?.. Ah.. yes sahr.. right away!" Hatman moves foward to offer a helping hand, his left arm hooking beneath Fredder's armpit while he casually moves his right hand with the intent of pressing his knife to the man's throat. "Jahst don't be movin, aye? Iffen the pony gets scared I might not be movin quick enough to get me knife away.."
[Nob(#16122)] "Yes, yes... be careful of my jacke...." Fredder's voice chops off and his face turns abruptly a congested purple. "What is the meaning of this?" he demands, his voice a strangled octave higher. The knife dimples his skin, and he swallows.
Nob has partially disconnected.
"Yeees.. Your jacket. Aye, sir. I bet it's worth something." The bandit drops the dull-witted mannerism, grinning now. "Tell me, what else do you have of value? Cooperate and I might let you keep your pony, though I feel I would be doing the poor animal a disservice by doing so. Then again, the creature looks well fed." He'll try to tug the man away from the mount and keep the knife in place in the same motion.
[Nob(#16122)] Fredder lands on his rear in the dirt, and the pony, kicking up its heels, flees down the road at top speed. "Value?" Fredder gapes up at Hatman, witlessly. "Value?!" He looks down at himself. "Nothing!" he shouts. "And what do you mean, disservice? I'll have you know I take good care of my animals!"
"Ah.. well, now you'll have to prove you have something of more worth than the beast, on your person. I truly hope so. Start emptying your pockets... -sir-." The bandit keeps his hand wrapped tightly around the haft of the dagger, none of the clumsiness present now. "And honestly, the people around here. A daft fellow in need of a helping hand and you push him aside. No decency left in these parts."
[Nob(#16122)] "Decency!" Fredder gargles, and glares impotently. But after a minute, his hand starts to fumble at his belt. He throws a pouch into the road it lands with a satisfactory thud - clearly it is heavy, whatever is within. "There," he says angrily. "Now if you'll let me up, I'll start chasing down my beast! You've probably frightened him into a heart spell."
Hatman grins when the pouch hits the road with that audible thud. "Now the coat, Softy.. and your shirt. Argue and I'll take your boots as well." He moves his left hand up to try and grip a handful of hair, and the right keeps that dagger locked in place. "Decent would have been to at least ask the fellow what -happened- to his goat. Then he would have said.. "Why sahr, a bandit come and slit 'is throat, he did!".. then you might have been on your guard. It's your own lack of concern that cost you." Oh, not Hatman is trying to instill -morals- into his victims? As if his need for theatrics wasn't enough.
[Nob(#16122)] "My SHIRT?" Fredder turns still redder - if he's lucky, maybe he'll have a heart attack. But he struggles a little with his jacket, then says furiously, "I can't take it off with that knife there! You'll cut my throat!"
"Hmmm.. a problem." Hatman purses his lips for a moment and somewhere off in the bushes his partner is snickering in amusement. "Just bring it up around your neck. I'm only making certain you aren't sneaking any hidden coin pouches by me. I have to be thorough, you see? And you'll need to turn out your pockets." He slides his free hand to gently pat the fellow on the cheek in a mocking fashion. "We're almost done, Applecheeks."
"Hmmm.. a problem." Hatman purses his lips for a moment and somewhere off in the bushes his partner is snickering in amusement. "Just bring it up around your neck. I'm only making certain you aren't sneaking any hidden coin pouches by me. I have to be thorough, you see? And you'll need to turn out your pockets." He slides his free hand to gently pat the fellow on the cheek in a mocking fashion. "We're almost done, Applecheeks."
[Nob(#16122)] Fredder is beyond speaking now. He raises his arms, there is nothing hidden. Pulls out his pockets - again nothing... at least nothing of value. A wooden spoon falls from one pocket. He glares futily.
When the bandit is satisfied he steps back swiftly, pulling the dagger away at the same time. He sidesteps over to where the pouch was tossed to the ground, sweeping a quick bow for his victim as he swipes up the bag and jacket. "Good day.. Good day." There's a broad smile on Hatman's face as he reaches up to tip his hat with the point of his knife and begins backing towards the woods.
[Nob(#16122)] Fredder sits in the road, unmoving, staring at the gathering dark. For a long time, he doesn't move. Finally, he gets wearily to his feet, and walks defeatedly after his long-gone pony.
Players: Hatman, Fredder
Located in: Breefolk
