The Ghost Blunderer
87 Ashan, arc 719
He had to admit, this whole business of "Sand Flea" was wearing on his patience. In his world, you helped those who were up against a foe beyond their capability. Sure, if they got stupid drunk and made an annoyance of themselves, they could be said to have brought it on themselves. But that had not been the case last Saun, when the shadow creatures had poured fourth from their little two-dimensional hideaways and started taking bites out of the shadows of the three-dimensional mortals minding their own business. Those bites reflected on the three-dimensional world with lethal effect and a strangely celebratory mayhem had ensued.
Eddrick still had his little snatcher, named 'Shade' appropriately enough. The 'pet' status of this little holdover from that event, formed entirely of shadow, stood as testament to the success of his attempts to reason with the creatures. But all that was cast aside now, in lieu of derision over having aided some avriel mix against a snatcher the size of a house. These damned Yaris actually scorned him for doing what he thought all soldiers would do without hesitation; combine efforts against a common enemy.
The resounding and repeating cries of "Sand Flea", that had met his ears since his return, however, had given strong indication that he was alone in this conviction. It appeared that these mercenaries would prefer that he'd stood by and simply watched the one-winged defender be stricken down for lack of support. Had these idiots truly intended that there was some unspoken obligation to allow themselves to be defeated one-by-one, when they could prevail without loss by fighting together?
'Yup...looks that way.' he grumbled to himself as he continued to meet with self-satisfied mockery for his efforts to find the Ghost Burho. It did not help that his one out was the equally consistent offers of duels to assuage his "hurt feelings", as they so often described what HE considered good sense. He knew these duels were usually to the death, and he was here on the Empire's business and was not about to let his pride be the hook by which he'd be reeled into some idiotic death match.
He turned now and then, nearly giving in to the impulse to invite the callers to enjoy intercourse with themselves. But always managed to catch himself with a smile and a shake of the head, as he pressed on to another gauntlet of ridicule.
There was not much of the city he had not travelled by the time he found the Ghost Burho, other than those areas inaccessible to someone with only a silver circle. It did not surprise him to find indications that what few directions he had been given with seeming good intent had actually served to "herd" him through town so all could enjoy heaping insult upon his weary brow. He could only hope that his shame had satisfied his detractors for the duration of his visit.
Finally, before him stood the domicile he'd been promised. 'A last slap in the face.' he mused sorely as the decrepit structure seemed to sag further with each new visual angle. 'Ghost Burho indeed...I am given the rotting corpse of a house.' he chuckled to himself as he entered. 'Perhaps the rats will be killed when it collapses.'
With that he laid out his bedroll. There was a bed, such as it was. But bedbugs were not the most disgusting thing he could imagine to have soaked into the linen. Hearing various degrees of skittering and chittering, he decided to sleep in the main room instead.
He took a moment first to assemble the floor-stand perch for his hawk, "Arrow", giving the long, low whistle that let the bird know it was free to fend for itself. With the windows all boarded and the door blocked into its jam with what appeared to have been intended to be identified as a table of some sort, the predator should have free reign over any household rat and mouse population.
Perhaps the place would have more appeal in the morning.
Eddrick still had his little snatcher, named 'Shade' appropriately enough. The 'pet' status of this little holdover from that event, formed entirely of shadow, stood as testament to the success of his attempts to reason with the creatures. But all that was cast aside now, in lieu of derision over having aided some avriel mix against a snatcher the size of a house. These damned Yaris actually scorned him for doing what he thought all soldiers would do without hesitation; combine efforts against a common enemy.
The resounding and repeating cries of "Sand Flea", that had met his ears since his return, however, had given strong indication that he was alone in this conviction. It appeared that these mercenaries would prefer that he'd stood by and simply watched the one-winged defender be stricken down for lack of support. Had these idiots truly intended that there was some unspoken obligation to allow themselves to be defeated one-by-one, when they could prevail without loss by fighting together?
'Yup...looks that way.' he grumbled to himself as he continued to meet with self-satisfied mockery for his efforts to find the Ghost Burho. It did not help that his one out was the equally consistent offers of duels to assuage his "hurt feelings", as they so often described what HE considered good sense. He knew these duels were usually to the death, and he was here on the Empire's business and was not about to let his pride be the hook by which he'd be reeled into some idiotic death match.
He turned now and then, nearly giving in to the impulse to invite the callers to enjoy intercourse with themselves. But always managed to catch himself with a smile and a shake of the head, as he pressed on to another gauntlet of ridicule.
There was not much of the city he had not travelled by the time he found the Ghost Burho, other than those areas inaccessible to someone with only a silver circle. It did not surprise him to find indications that what few directions he had been given with seeming good intent had actually served to "herd" him through town so all could enjoy heaping insult upon his weary brow. He could only hope that his shame had satisfied his detractors for the duration of his visit.
Finally, before him stood the domicile he'd been promised. 'A last slap in the face.' he mused sorely as the decrepit structure seemed to sag further with each new visual angle. 'Ghost Burho indeed...I am given the rotting corpse of a house.' he chuckled to himself as he entered. 'Perhaps the rats will be killed when it collapses.'
With that he laid out his bedroll. There was a bed, such as it was. But bedbugs were not the most disgusting thing he could imagine to have soaked into the linen. Hearing various degrees of skittering and chittering, he decided to sleep in the main room instead.
He took a moment first to assemble the floor-stand perch for his hawk, "Arrow", giving the long, low whistle that let the bird know it was free to fend for itself. With the windows all boarded and the door blocked into its jam with what appeared to have been intended to be identified as a table of some sort, the predator should have free reign over any household rat and mouse population.
Perhaps the place would have more appeal in the morning.
