Bungleau's Missy Hissy Adventures (all in one thread!)

[Wyvern]

CHAPTER ELEVEN:

Taking leave of the Stout King, Missy returned to Ishad N'ha. While she still had work to do at the mines, particularly to get that nice set of dragon armor, she was anxious for whatever training was awaiting her. She stopped in at the warrior guild. "Greetz. The stouts said they'd consider the invitation, but they made no promises."

"Aye, 'tis only reasonable. Still, you're the first to get them to at least consider it. That's gotta be worth something. Perhaps we'll be able to call on 'em soon."

"We can only hope," she replied. "Now, about that training you promised...?"

"Yes, you're finally ready for one of the best-kept secrets throughout the land. The making of arrows from things you find along the way... branches from trees, stones in dungeons... all can be used to make arrows to slay your foes. Just grab an arrow to study, and in no time, you can make another just like it. Sometimes, that's the only source of income an older warrior may have. That, and training the misbegotten offspring of drunken elven tailors and haircutters. Arr... some days they make me want to send the whole lot of 'em to the bottom of Erathsmedor's belly, just to see if he could even stomach 'em."

"I met Erathsmedor earlier," volunteered Missy. "'Twas quite... interesting..."

"Ya did? And you're still here? Without protection of the gods, you ought to be comin' back on a barbecue spit!"

"Well, we didn't exactly meet officially," she said. "I sort of ran under him as I burst from the trees. And I high-tailed it before he saw me."

"Har!" laughed the guildmaster. "Well, that's certainly one way to do it! And no one who knows anything would fault you. Dragons is tough meat, no matter how you look at it."

"Aye," said Missy, "but now I've got to run. Freyedies promised me some dragon armor if I can find some dragon ore, so I've got to go looking through the mines for it."

"Good hunting," replied the guildmaster. "Say, you might consider studying the samurai's craft at the bushi dojo. They've got some tricks you can learn."

Missy stopped at the dojo and grinned when she realized the guildmaster only wanted the baton she'd found earlier. She handed it to him, and began her studies of the master swordswomed. Not that she was a slouch herself...

Wandering through the Gael Serran, she picked up experience quickly and trained frequently at the guilds. Soon, she headed back to the Stout Mines, where Freyedies repeated his offer to make her a suit of armor. She headed to the mine shaft area, to where she'd fixed the trolley car on her previous visit, jumped on board, and started to ride.

As she flew down, she noticed some observation windows where the tracks forked. Making a mental note to check them out later, she hopped off the trolley car and began searching.

With a pickaxe she'd picked up, she searched through ore piles, finding the occasional gem of little or no value. Then she spied a piece of silvery metal in one of the lodes and pocketed it, certain that it might be the dragon ore. She continued searching, and came across a fire-breathing dog. That dragon armor was sounding better by the minute, for sure... She did notice that she could withstand the heat. Perhaps she was getting used to it, or perhaps Jathil's mind tricks continued to bear fruit. Or perhaps the fire charms she'd invoked at the wizard's guild were actually working. You never knew with wizards...

She came acros a second piece of silvery ore, guarded by another dog, a mother to the fire-breathing beast she'd slain earlier. "More's the pity," she muttered. "I'd like to have one of those at home for when the company stays too long...".

She headed back up to Freyedies to give him the ore. Excited, he began bashing it with Kraokendon immediately, forgetting she was there. "Come back later," he said. "It takes a while."

She headed back to the trolleys, musing over the devotion the dwarves showed to their one-eyed king. Was it really something they felt, or were they biding their time, afraid to confront him and the dreaded hammer? One thing's for certain -- none of them wanted to talk about it.

She ran behind the trolley as she sent it on its way, hoping to inspect the observation area for clues. She saw a switch that seemed to control the tracks; curious, she reached carefully through the barred windows with her sword to touch the switch. A sudden *CLANK* made her drop her precious sword, and it fell, point first, into the rock floor. "Another repair job," she muttered. "Taking care of a good weapon like a rookie." Grumbling, she used the string from her bow to fashion a loop and retrieve her itinerant sword.

Putting her gear back, she headed up to the trolley area to recall the trolley. Climbing on, she went down to another cave area, this one hiding a small body of water. Apparently, the stouts occasionally misread the rock and opened shafts into lakes. Aside from a giant sea-crab, there was little of interest, so she ran back and flipped the points on the tracks again.

This time, she ran back to change the points on the second fork in the tracks, and on returning, she found herself face-to-face with the rat Scanthril wanted killed. Not giving anything away, she listened to him rant about working for years with nothing to show for it. She looked at the lift he'd created and rode it up, looking for easy booty.

She found herself in a small room with a door that wouldn't open. Frustrated, she pulled out her sword, only to see a small reflection on the wall. Closer examination revealed a lever that opened the stubborn door. Curious, she entered... and found six chests, all heavy.

She debated the merits of stealing from the dwarf who was trying to save her life, but realized that she didn't know if the armor would truly work or not, and the only way to find out was to put it to the test. Saying a silent prayer, she betrayed her benefactor and earned the trust of Rathskalion.

As she descended the list, she realized that she really needed to take care of Scanthril. She asked Rathskalion about the Hidden Circle and the Black Hand, and eventually challenged him to combat. She betrayed the trust she had so recently gained, and wondered if it was really worth it as she slung her sword across and back, inflicting damage on his strong arms. He tried to defend with a pickaxe; alas, it just didn't work...

He died, but not before cursing her and her lineage. Some things would never change... that's what had gotten her into this mess to begin with.

She headed back up to meet Freyedies, collect her dragon armor and head back to town. She toyed with the idea of letting Scanthril know all his quests were completed, but she really wanted to make him pay. No quick and easy death for him... a slow painful one, like she'd watched him inflict on her father as she hid beneath the counter. Her father's teachings had paid off, and soon Scanthril was going to get his due...

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Enjoy.

*B*
Minister, etc. (ret.)

[Wyvern]

CHAPTER TWELVE:

As Missy Hissy headed out from the depths of the mines, she reflected on her father, gone these three years now. While he hadn't been the king's equal, he had done his best to do right by her, and to teach her the things he'd learned, and the things he'd wished he'd learned. 'Twas her father who placed the first sword in her hand, and 'twas he who showed her how to wield it.

Alas, he'd never finished his lessons; that rat Scanthril had shown up, claiming her father owed him a pendant he'd acquired. Missy knew that pendant had been her mother's, and her grandmother's before her; she was sure Scanthril had simply seized on the pendant as a plausible reason for shakedown. He'd threatened her father, and promised to come back that night to collect. She'd urged her father to run, but he would have none of it. "Run once," he said, "and you run for life. They'll never stop, no matter who they are." Instead, he'd prepared her with the family's few possessions and himself with a strong dagger he'd purchased in the orcish lands.

She had been heading into the kitchen when Scanthril and his thugs burst into the house. She'd barely had time to hide in a cupboard before a pack of rats came in, throwing things around and herding her father like a cow headed for the slaughter.

"So where is it?" sneered Scanthril as he pushed her father into a chair in the kitchen. "My client wants that pendant, or your life. And your brat's life, too."

She could see her father glaring at Scanthril through the chinks in the wooden cupboard. "Gone and buried with my wife," he mustered, "gone these many years. And the child's gone, too -- far away from the likes of you."

"Gone, is she? Well, we'll just have to hunt her down too, then. I'll spit her on my sword like a worgur for the barbecue."

Her father could take no more. He stamped his foot on the floor, hitting a loose floorboard that caused a bunch of powder to fly up into the air in the kitchen.

"My eyes!" screamed one of the thugs. "I can't see!"

As the rats swirled around, her father crouched away from the chair and slid the orcish dagger into his hand. As he prepared to backstab Scanthril, the wily rat whirled, his eyes shut tight, and threw five shuriken in a high-low spread pattern. Two of them hit her father, and as he sank to the floor, he caught Missy's eyes through the crack in the cabinet. "Go," he mouthed to her as his knees grew weak. Tears in her eyes, Missy drank the one special potion her father had acquired many years ago, the potion that gave invisibility. Slipping out of the cupboard, she slid behind the rats, hidden in the shadows.

Scanthril looked down at her father through watery eyes, recovering from the powder's blinding effect. "So you want to play smart, eh? Well, you've got to be better than that to outsmart me! Now," he said, flicking aside her father's dagger and tearing one of the shuriken out of his body, "about that pendant..."

On her way out to the stable was when Missy Hissy made her first kill, one of Scanthril's rogues. Half an hour later, when she was safely out of sight and mind, she stopped to throw up at the thought of the rat she had killed, and to weep at the passing of her father. "I swear, Scanthril, by Kerah and all that's holy, I will see you pay. And I swear by Cet and all that's unholy that it will not be quick..."

As Missy rode up the last elevator to where Freyedies was, she realized that though she enjoyed the life of the samurai, there was something missing that left a hole in her heart. Perhaps the warrior guildmaster might have a thought for her of a study or action she could take...

She collected the armor from Freyedies, giving him as well the second piece of dragon ore she'd collected. He turned and began hammering again, not noticing the shield in her pack that stuck out, the one she'd retrieved from his vault.

She made her leave and headed back to Ishad N'ha-ha-ha. She almost stopped to see Scanthril along the way, but decided against it. She sold the items she'd found (gold was so much lighter to carry), and stopped in at each guild for suggestions on new techniques.

The warrior guildmaster suggested she try the life of a ninja; when the dojo master gave her the quest, she almost grinned again. She'd opened the gates to Shurugeon Castle already, and when she mentioned it, she was promoted to ninja on the spot. She spent several hours working on the skills of the ninja, learning something in the dojo and then running into the woods just outside Ishad N'ha to practice. In short order, she'd made a high level in the arts of darkness, earning the admiration of the dojo master. She also earned his ire, for he kept insisting she find out about Grunaxe. She promised yet again to find him, and headed out from Ishad N'ha to see about taking care of the bronze beast that Barrenhawk was so worried about, and perhaps to take care of Scanthril, too...

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Enjoy.

*B*
Minister, etc. (ret.)

[Wyvern]

CHAPTER THIRTEEN:

Leaving Ishad N'ha, Missy Hissy headed up to Dragon Spire. She'd seen the firebeast before, and she wanted to try the Dwarven King's armor. Sure enough, it enabled her to withstand the beast's heat, and she quickly disabled it. She poked around a bit in the Spire, discovering some giant funguses that looked like brain corals and spewed poisons like the giant salads; a couple of firestorms that she had learned as a samurai soon safely took care of them.

She still wanted to take care of Scanthril before moving on, though, so she headed back. She went north to where Grunaxe was last seen; at least she'd be able to placate the dojo master for a bit. She came across a lake, and forded into it with her horse. Occasional small schools of piranha attracted her attention, but it was quiet out... almost too quiet.

As she rode around a clearing on the other side of the lake, the ground in front of her seemed to rise and disappear. Stopping, she stepped side to side to watch what was going on. The perspective didn't seem quite right, so she moved ahead slowly. As she reached the top of a small hill, the ground dropped away to nothing. Looking down, she saw an opening below her, and rode her horse around the side.

Looking up, she muttered to herself. "Good thing I wasn't riding fast," she said. "Otherwise, I'd be nursing a broken neck, and perhaps a broken horse." Sliding off the horse, she unslung her sword and began to head down the opening to see what was below.

As she closed the door, a sudden bad feeling came over her. As she whirled around to try to get back out, a raspy, almost stupid-sounding voice called out from behind her. "Trapped you, my pretty. Youse nots gets away now," the voice cackled.

Turning again, she saw a huge misshapen creature, green of skin and rough of complexion. She assumed it was female; it was wearing some kind of chest covering, but she couldn't be sure.

"What's going on?" asked Missy. Without answering, the creature cackled and pulled a lever behind her. Missy felt the floor move and jumped, and then jumped again when she realized the floor was going away. She dropped into a cage, where another misshapen creature began to cackle at her as well.

Suddenly, she remembered where she'd heard of these creatures before. She'd overheard two travelers talking about Boogres, great huge creatures that made up in brawn what they lacked in brains. This one seemed to be different from the other one; it seemed like she had more authority. As Missy approached the Boogre, she suddenly realized that the female was casting a curse on her! Backpedaling furiously, Missy tried to cast any offensive spell she had, attempting to break the Boogre's spell, but to no avail. Not even the powerful firestorm she'd learned did anything, and with the Boogre's last words ringing in her ears, "... to Boogres!", Missy fell to the floor as the powerful curse began its work on her.

Groaning and thrashing, she felt her armor becoming tight and quickly loosened it. After a few minutes, the agony stopped and the Boogre laughed from the other side of the cage. "Checks on youse tomorrow," cackled the Boogre as she left the cage area. "Spell be permanent then."

Spell? Permanent? Missy grabbed one of the potion bottles in her pack and looked into its reflective surface. "NOOOOOOOO!!!" she screamed. Her face, while not unattractive for a rattkin, was now the hideous mottled green of a Boogre. Looking down, she saw that her lithe athletic body was now the dumpy muscled mass that defined the Boogres she'd seen thus far. She'd been caught; she was now a Boogre, and there was no known cure.

But maybe not! The Boogre had said she'd have to wait until tomorrow, until the spell was permanent. She still had a chance, if she could just get out of this cage. Another Boogre, one who'd been assigned to guard the cell, came over by the locked door.

In a few minutes, Missy sweet-talked him into opening the door. Sliding through, Missy began exploring. Soon, she came across more of the vicious mantraps she'd seen earlier, except she didn't think their huge bodies would fit in the narrow caves. Inspecting the cooked corpses (would the wonders of firestorm ever cease?), she decided they were a smaller variation of the mantrap, perhaps a swamp rose or jungle lily. Smaller they were, but just as deadly.

Still exploring, soon came across Grunaxe's ghost. At least she now knew the reason for his disappearance, and the dojo master would leave her be for a bit... The ghost told her where to find his body and equipment, and after dispatching the giant crayfish that had killed Grunaxe, she found that most of his gear was rotted and only his ring was still in good shape.

More exploration found a series of teleports, each of which wrenched her gut and exacted a price in blood. Groaning as she made her way through the last teleport, she came across a Boogre, the one who had dropped her into the cage to begin with. Before she could exact her revenge, the Boogre, Prisk'iela, began lamenting about her departed Grunaxe. Having already appraised the ring she'd found and found it wanting, Missy offered the ring to Prisk'iela, who was so excited she turned around and opened the door leading to Skeser Da's chambers. Skeser D'a, Missy had learned, was the Boogre Queen who had cursed Missy to begin with, apparently along with all the other Boogres in the cave.

Missy slid into the chambers to the sound of a low, deep, thunderous rumbling. As she stopped, she identified the source of the rumbling – Skeser Da herself, sleeping and snoring like she was in a contest. Catching a glimpse of her own Boogre-ized face, Missy felt her blood begin to boil, and sent a firestorm down on top of the sleeping witch. Perhaps it wasn’t playing fair, but the witch had started it…

Unfortunately, the firestorm wasn’t quite enough, so Missy stepped forward with her magical katana and finished the job. Expectantly, she looked into a reflective shield, but saw no change. The witch’s curse persisted even after her death. Muttering and debating whether she should raise Skeser Da so she could be killed again, Missy picked up the ornate eye that Malgrim had told her about, and headed back to where Prisk’iela was.

Rather than face the teleport traps again, Missy decided to take the other path out of the chamber and soon found herself face-to-leaf with more of the junior salads. Backpedaling furiously, she called up firestorm after firestorm, cursing the Boogre curse that in turn caused her spells to fail. Eventually the salads were burnt, and she crept forward, finding a small room with holes in the wall, holes that looked the right size for the wooden rods she had found earlier.

After sticking rods in for a long time, Missy decided that she either had too few rods, or she needed a lot more brains to get it to work. Looking up at the two passageways above the stick room, she realized that if she jumped just right, she might be able to climb up. That is, as long as nothing else was trying to catch her…

Gathering her breath, she stood below one of the passages and jumped as high as she could. She nearly reached the top, and tried again and again. After a few tries, she managed to climb the rest of the way and headed out of the passage to the world above.

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Enjoy.

*B*
Minister, etc. (ret.)

[Wyvern]

CHAPTER FOURTEEN:

She exited into a small clearing and looked around. It was dark, and there was little she could see. The occasional glowfly lifted the darkness slightly, but it was truly the hour of the night. Wishing she could remember the words to the torchlight spell she’d seen, Missy Hissy began to explore this new area.

Not far ahead, she spotted some other Boogres. These didn’t behave like the Tinkers and Plunders she’d seen in the caves; they ran around a bit more purposefully, and soon they fixed their purpose on her. With no choice but to defend herself, she dispatched the poor cursed beings. Perhaps, in another day, she’d have been able to save them and restore them to their normal families; tonight, she simply ended their existence.

Stumbling around in the dark brought some mountain spiders, a few rattling rogues and sneaks, and the occasional worgur pack. As she slew them one after another, she spied something moving in the distance. Something large.

As she moved forward, she realized she was wrong. It wasn’t large – it was huge! With the words of the guildmaster ringing in her ears… you’ll recognize ‘im ‘cause he’s a giant… an’ he’s got two heads… which is why we calls ‘im a two-‘eaded giant… she began to move forward.

He was a giant. And he did have two heads. Well, time to collect the debts for the warrior guild… and yet, she didn’t really want to use firestorm, and wipe out the giant in mere moments. Somehow, it didn’t seem right to use magic to settle a warrior’s score. With one hand on the handle of her katana, Missy strode up to the giant. “Ho, friend, what’s the news?”

Doshi-Gin looked at her with both heads. “You not from here,” the giant said, more a statement than a question. “Youse goes bye-byes.”

“Are you Doshi-Gin?” asked Missy. Better to have a straight answer than no answer at all.

“Me Doshi-Gin. Youse Warrior?”

“Aye, I can call myself a warrior.”

“If youse is warrior, youse is yum-yums. Come here, yum-yums. Me hungry.” And so saying, the two-headed warrior began swinging a pair of huge battle-axes in tandem, creating a windmill of slashing steel.

Missy stepped back and returned the favor, inserting her katana into the fray and slicing away at his arms, occasionally getting a shot at his torso. Because of the windmilling axes, she couldn’t get a good strong hit it like she wanted, couldn’t deliver a major blow to cripple his ability to attack or defend. In fact, it seemed like every time she went in for an attack, she came back out with as much pain as she’d inflicted.

She began to question the wisdom of taking on this giant warrior. True, it seemed like he wasn’t the sharpest arrow in the quiver, but the skills he showed, even as addle-brained as he seemed to be, seemed to be equal or superior to hers. Shaking, Missy stepped back a few meters to grab a quick healing potion, and then a few more when she realized she needed a great healing potion instead.

Missy thought of all the clan members who’d been slain by the giant, some warriors, but some only pages and squires. She thought of all who had been slain since the guildmaster asked her to look into it, easily another 30 or 40 clan members. She thought of how handily Doshi-Gin was besting her in spite of all her training. She realized that if anyone could slay the giant, it should be her, and with a burst of renewed energy, she leapt back into the fray.

Had there been a bard available, he would have sung songs late into the evening. Axes flying, katana darting, jabs, thrusts, parries, blocks, slices, nicks – the battle lasted for hours. Others soon joined – swamp flies and worgurs – but Missy kept her focus on the giant. The others would only annoy her, and might take her away from an opportunity to finish the fight.

Missy’s only advantage was the hundred potions of healing she’d acquired in her travels, and by the end, they no longer measured in the hundreds. At long last, a final thrust from her katana split the battle axes and pierced Doshi-Gin’s heart, sending him on to the clan hall in the heavens.

Dispatching the other creatures who’d threatened her, she looked down at the decomposing corpse, her mouth drawing a tight, thin line across her face. “Rest better,” she said, gazing down. “No more you’ll bother, and no more you’ll slay.”

Grabbing the twin axes, she went back to the Boogre Cave and climbed up the other wall, to the other exit from the hole room. In a chest near the end, she found the Band of Boars that Bratsol had been looking for, and she put it into her pack. She thought for a moment about heading back into the Boogre Cave to finish off whatever was left, and perhaps to search for a clue to ending this Boogrism, but she was tired and weary, and really wanted to let the clan know that the giant was no more. Stepping out, she cast the spells to take her back to town to rest for the next day.

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Enjoy.

*B*
Minister, etc. (ret.)

[Wyvern]

CHAPTER FIFTEEN:

As Missy Hissy stepped out from the Boogre Cave, she thought about the long walk back to Ishad N'ha-ha-ha and groaned. "As if I weren't sore enough," she muttered, "now I have to walk half-a-day's journey to town." As she started to head down the trail, she remembered the latest spells of the night she had learned. Perhaps it was time to see if they worked.... and without further ado, she created a portal near the Boogre Cave entrance. She moved several paces off and tried teleporting to it... it worked, and on the first try, yet. "I love it when magic works. And when it doesn't, I love my sword, spear, and staff."

Trying another new spell, Missy called home and saw the stars in the sky around her turn blurry, then fade into the mystic daylight of Ishad N'ha.

She wasn't sure what surprised people more -- the sight of a Boogre walking through the town, or the sight of a Boogre simply materializing in the middle of the town square. She could see their unspoken thoughts written in their faces.... mothers suddenly remembering their children had homework, youngsters suddenly remembering that they had someone important to see somewhere... anywhere... else. As she strode down the village streets, her heart ached. She hadn't felt this alone and outcast since she'd left town after her father had been murdered by Scanthril.

With tears stinging the corners of her eyes, she knew that she couldn't go just anywhere. She strode into the armory, throwing open the door and blocking most of the wizard-generated daylight from the town square.

"Whatcha want?" asked the guildmaster as he struggled to identify the new customer who had just come in. "Armor, weapons, we got the best..."

"Enough of the prattle," said Missy, hardening her heart to protect it. "It's me, Missy Hissy, though I may not look like it."

The guildmaster looked her up and down. "So ya sez, but I canna be sure. How can ya prove it to me?"

Missy leaned down with her enchanted katana in her green muscular paw. "You've got your choice. Either recognize the equipment I've bought from you and had you identify, or watch me practice my swordstrokes on your scrawny carcass with the sword techniques that you taught me."

Feeling a brief shiver run down her spine, Missy stopped and let him go. "Ah, never mind. Been Boogreized for less than a day, and I'm already pickin' up their manners. Look, ask me anything about what you and I have done, and I'll answer correctly, or else ya can spit my for the barbecue, like the orcs would have done with my remains had Erathsmedor caught me."

The guildmaster stepped back and straightened his tunic. "Aye, 'tis you all right. Any other would have ended poorly, for certain. How came ya to be this way?"

Missy related the story of the Boogre Queen and how her death hadn't ended the curse. She also told him of the passing of the two-headed giant, and showed the giant's twin axes.

"Here," said Missy. "It's late, and I'm tired from the battle. Here's the stuff I picked up from this round. Cash it in, and give me half the gold. Put the rest in the guild coffers for the families of those who lost members to the giant. It's the least I can do."

"Ye've done more than any other," said the guildmaster. "None other came back alive, and none other dispatched the giant. Little ye may consider it, but great do we consider it here. 'While it may mean little, I'll sponsor ye for another promotion within the guild. Ye have truly done good for us, and ye've taken care of all the work that's been needin' doing."

Collecting her gold and repairing her gear, Missy then stopped in at the Bushi Dojo. After once again explaining that she was still herself, she passed on the news of Grunaxe's fate, and was rewarded with a guild promotion and the possibility of new training. That, and the request to take out an assassin who had the dojo's head in his sights. "A woman's work is never done," she grumbled as she headed out to the other guilds.

After visiting each one, she left with the urge to wipe the dirt of their shops from her boots and never visit them again. "What a pity," she thought. "Can't see below the surface to who's inside this great green grossness of a body, and assume that the worst that can be is going to happen. The simplest of protection spells could take care of that, and yet..."

She left the town and tried out the teleport spell again. Miraculously it worked, and she finished cleaning out the rest of the Boogre Caves. Toward the end, guarded by another set of walking salads, she found a strange idol. When she touched it, she felt a strange shiver as her body contracted, her muscles and sinews screaming in agony. After a few moments, the pain stopped, and she realized that the Boogre Queen's curse was now ended. "So that's why she was protecting that eye," she thought. "It led the way to the cure for her curse, and she couldn't have her loyal subjects finding that."

Calling home one more time, Missy walked into the inn for a large room with a large tub for bathing. She planned to see Scanthril tomorrow, and she wanted to be in her best mood.

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Enjoy.

*B*
Minister, etc. (ret.)

[Wyvern]

CHAPTER SIXTEEN:

The sun peeked over the forest west of Ishad N’ha as Missy Hissy set out to settle old scores. As she walked through the woods, it was eerily silent – neither bird nor bug was talking this morning, as if they sensed the impending maelstrom that would overtake the Gael Serran.

As she passed Erzebette’s house, her thoughts drifted to the last house she had shared with her father. True, it wasn’t much, and the landlord had probably rented it to a dozen people since then, but it was home, and happy, at least for a while. Her father’s eyes burned holes in her memories, reminding her yet again that he loved her enough to give everything he had for her.

The memory of her father’s eyes locking on hers, bidding her to leave, knowing that he was giving his life for hers, brought warm, stinging tears to her eyes. She’d never known the depth of love that a father has for his daughter, and the moment she had realized it, it was gone... forever.

His final lesson as a father still weighed heavy on her heart, and she wished that she had realized earlier how much he had tried to help her, how much he cared that she faced the world well-equipped in its ways. She remembered how heavy-handed he used to seem, back before Scanthril brought darkness to their door.

As she rounded the bend she thought of as the eastern hairpin, so named for the sharply hooked shape of the pin that high-society females used to keep their hair in place, she thought of the legacy her father left behind. A daughter who, truth be told, wasn’t making the biggest waves in the ocean. A frayed necklace, bejeweled with exotic stones or plain glass, depending on how she felt about it. And a few lessons in life, ones that did not get the attention they deserved when they were given.

What would she leave behind? If she were to die today, there would be little less than a skeletal body, to be eaten by four-legged scavengers and stripped clean by two-legged ones. Perhaps the warrior guildmaster might wonder where she’d gone off to, and the children might scare their children with stories of the Boogre that came to town, but in a matter of weeks, if not days, she’d be but a distant memory.

As she made the turn north to head to the burned-out house where Scanthril was hiding, determination gripped her, and she set her mind straight. She’d see Scanthril, take what he would freely give her, and then… she’d take what was left. And if she died, she’d make sure that she died second, if only to chase Scanthril to the gates of Hell where she could punish him for eternity.

Sunlight reflected high off one of the broken windows in the burnt shell of a house that marked Scanthril’s camp. She headed ‘round the back, elbowing his thugs out of the way as she went forward to face the wily rat. “I’m back,” she announced in a low voice.

“I see,” Scanthril squeaked. The sound irritated her like steel running across a piece of slate. “You killed him, didn’t you? I could tell by the look in your eyes.”

If he could really read my eyes, thought Missy, he’d be scrambling to get out of the way. “Now, about that payment...”

“Here,” continued Scanthril. “Everyone’s always wanting payment. You’ve got some skill, to be able to get Rathskalion. He was a clever old rat, and never an easy mark. You’ll find this useful, I think,” and he handed her a black-bladed dagger with a worn leather handle.

At least, it looked worn. As she held it, she felt a warmth coming from the leather. Not a dangerous feeling, but one of comfort, as if the blade were welcoming her. Still, she pressed. “That’s it? I risk life, limb, and games of fetch-the-stick with fire-breathing dogs, and you give me a lousy dagger?”

“Greedy, aren’t we? I like that in a woman.” Scanthril leered at her and continued. “It’s a special dagger, as you’ll see in short order. And if ya want something more, here’s a few gold. Now scram, or you’ll find out just what that kind of dagger can do.” He turned around, suddenly finding something interesting in a tree on the edge of the forest.

Missy stepped closer. “You don’t recognize me, do you?” she asked.

Scanthril looked back at her, sizing her up and trying to place her. “No, can’t say as I do. Obviously you’re no one I’ve taken care of before, or you wouldn’t be here.”

“But not for lack of trying,” hissed Missy. “You took care of my father three years ago, all for a worthless pendant.”

Scanthril looked at her again, recognition starting to light the recesses of his eyes. “Wa-a-ait... You’re Bungleau’s whelp? You’ve changed in three years, that’s for sure. But the contract on you is still open, once I return with your ears.”

Missy was confused. “Contract on me? For a piece-of-glass pendant?”

Scanthril snickered. “You think this is about a pendant? Then you probably think your old man was simply a merchant who traveled the world, making a profit where one could be found.”

He leaned closer. “Get this straight. Your old man was as dirty as the alley we dumped his rotting carcass in.”

Missy fought back tears that stung her eyes. She knew she’d need all her senses in the next few minutes. “You lie,” she uttered through clenched teeth.

Scanthril laughed. “Ha! Me lie? Well I have, but not about this. Your old man was no merchant. He was a spy, and he used his travels as a merchant as a cover for buying and selling information. Who do you think caused the Trollish civil war? Your daddy, who sold one faction the dreams of the other, and sold the second the fears of the first, that’s who. Remember the dwarven iron shortages? Of course, not, because there weren’t any! But your dear, departed daddy convinced enough people that there were, and the price of weapons went through the roof. And guess who happened to have an ample supply, for the right price? That’s right, old Bungleau. Well, I was asked to see that he bungled for the last time, and I did it. You were part of the contract, only to ensure that his bloodline was wiped from the face of the earth.”

By this time, Missy and Scanthril were nose-to-nose, rat-to-rat. She could sense his muscles tensing as he began to move a dagger he had slid from his tunic as he walked toward her. “Boys,” said Scanthril, not taking an eye off Missy Hissy, “we’ve got another little job that needs doing.”

Missy’s mind raced. In close quarters, she felt she could take Scanthril on, but what of all the other rogues around? Suddenly, Missy knew she was breathing her last air. She’d not survive this one, blessed armor or no. And she knew that she had to take Scanthril with her. If he survived… no. Not even his ghost would be safe. But what could she do?

A strike with a dagger? Even the new one she’d just gotten? By the time it hit, the rest of the pack would be on her, and she wasn’t sure she could kill him in one blow, not even from here. Besides, she didn’t know exactly what kind of dagger it was, and for all she knew, it might be a cheap copper shop special.

Her sword? She could trust it, but could she kill him before the others set on her? Not likely, and while the others were attacking, he might slip away. And now that he knew her, she knew she’d never get close to him again.

Suddenly the image of cooked salads came to mind. Fire! If it could toast those overgrown appetizers, it should be able to take care of Scanthril! With one hand, she started casting a spell, and with her other, reached to grab on to Scanthril’s cloak. “I don’t believe a word of what you say, and the only one who can prove it is dead by your hand. So I say let’s go to Hell and ask him!”

Balls of molten fire began falling from the heavens, striking Missy, Scanthril, and his rogues. Missy felt the pain of her flesh burning, but ignored it, staring into Scanthril’s eyes, seeing the flicker of fear and the sly resolve that followed it, smelling his armor burning, and then his hairy limbs. She held both his arms now, making sure he couldn’t grab a dagger and kill her quickly.

“You’re crazy,” said Scanthril, his armor smoldering under the falling fireballs as he tried to pull away. Missy was far stronger than she’d appeared. The sly resolve left, replaced in his eyes by the terror of knowledge, the knowledge of his imminent death.

“Perhaps,” said Missy. “But I’m crazy enough to make sure you die with me.”

Fireball after fireball fell until there was little left behind the burnt house, little beyond burnt leaves, singed grass, and smoldering bodies.

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Enjoy.

*B*
Minister, etc. (ret.)

[Wyvern]

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN:

A tiny swallow flew among the trees in the Gael Serran, flitting in and out between the trees in an aerial slalom, dodging butterflies and glowflies with equal skill. It flew into a clearing where smoke still rose from the bodies littered on the ground. Circling, the swallow finally landed on one of bodies, which suddenly moved, sending the swallow aloft again.

Missy Hissy groaned. Everything hurt, from her head to her toes and everywhere in between. She sat up slowly and looked around, then relaxed. There was Scanthril’s body charred and burnt like an overdone roast. He hadn’t survived. That she did was a miracle; again, she thought of Jathil and his mind tricks, and of the magical enchantments afforded by the wizard’s guild. Between the two, life somehow remained in her body, but not by much.

Using her sword blade to help herself stand, she began to search the bodies of Scanthril and his cohorts. Potions, weapons, and a strange ring were her treasure. Taking the ring in her hand, she selected a wooden staff to support her as she walked back to the town of Ishad N’ha. She could have used magic, but she wanted time to think about what had just happened… to think about what the end of Scanthril meant. His death had been one of her goals for years now, and with him gone… she began wondering about the contract Scanthril had mentioned. Someone wanted her father dead, and her as well.

But who? If all Scanthril’s tales were to be trusted, her father was apparently no angel. But to incur someone’s wrath to the level that they wipe out your bloodline? That was certainly not the result of an arbitraged business deal, or a secret sold to two sides of a war. No, someone must have been extremely angry, extremely hurt, to seek such a thing.

As the glowflies buzzed through the evening air, Missy examined the ring more carefully. It seemed to be made of black pearl, and it was carved into the shape of a merwoman with wings. She would have thought it was an angel, but something about the figure did not seem angelic. More anti-angelic – more evil than good, if she thought about it.

She slipped it into her pocket as she approached the gates of Ishad N’ha. Within moments, she’d be able to check in at the guildhouse to dump her loot, fix her goods, and get an idea of what to do next.

“There’s nothin’ like that I’ve seen before,” said the warrior guildmaster. “Flyin’ fish folk? If there’s ever anything like that, it’d be out in the Enchanted Sea, west of Brimloch Roon. There’s all sorts of craziness there, and that’s where ye’d find one of these creatures, if they exist.”

“Thanks for the suggestion,” replied Missy. “I’m sure I’ll be heading that way soon, as soon as I can find my way to it.”

Everywhere she went, it was the same story – no one had seen a ring like it before, and pointed her in various places – the Enchanted Sea, the Lost Sea, the Gypsies by Nymph Lake, Lake Ogre-Chobee… everyone knew a place it could be, but no one knew a place it was.

Until she got into the pawnshop. Bratsol bid her to quietly step into the private area of the pawnshop, whence he flipped the sign on the door to read “Closed”. He looked around again before speaking, making sure they were not overheard. “I sensed that you brought something new with you this time. Can ye show me?”

Missy showed him the dagger Scanthril had given her for her work. Bratsol let out a low whistle. “Yessss… It is one of them. That is an assassin’s dagger, passed from one member of the assassin’s guild to another worthy of membership. Are ye interested in joining?”

Missy thought of all the turmoil she’d been through in the past days… of the lows of the townspeoples’ reactions to her as a Boogre to the feeling of incompleteness that Scanthril’s death left behind. She thought as well of how long it had been since she’d simply enjoyed life… and how cruelly life had treated her and those she’d known. Kerielle, beaten to death by a windmill… Algamesh, slain by a she-viper… Scabban, betrayed by his magical studies… There was little of the good in life that she could honestly appreciate now, and with Scanthril gone, perhaps a new focus would help.

“Sure, I’m interested. Now tell me, what do I need to do next?”

Bratsol smiled evilly. “Not a thing,” he sneered. “You’re in now, and you can’t get out. At least, not alive… Here. Let me show you a couple of tricks you can work on.”

Bratsol showed her some of the assassin’s standards, poison-dispensing daggers and backstabbing bladework. Promising to practice, she asked Bratsol about the ring.

“Ring? What ring?”

When she showed the ring to Bratsol, he peered at it, and then pulled back, his eyes open wide. “I’ve heard of these before, but I’ve never seen one,” he said. “They’re a sigil for the highest contracts in the assassin’s guild. A pair of rings are held by the contractor and the contractee. When the job is complete, they both turn white, and the contractee can collect his final payment. ‘Tis powerful magic makes that happen, and only the most important contracts are worth it.

“And the fact that it’s still black means that the contract’s still open, and the payee is still willing to pay. Keep it until you find its mate, and perhaps you can collect on the contract yourself.”

Scarce containing a shudder, Missy bid Bratsol good day and left Ishad N’ha to practice the new skills she had learned.

--------------------
Enjoy.

*B*
Minister, etc. (ret.)

[Wyvern]

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN:

As Missy Hissy left the rogues guild, Bratsol pulled her aside. “Now that yer a member of the guild, are ya interested in taking care of some guild business? There’s something in it for ya, if ya can do it.”

“Perhaps,” replied Missy. “What’s needed?”

“A rogue assassin needs to be put down,” said Bratsol. “Grue Morde is his name, and he has… displeased … the guild. Rogue assassins can’t be tolerated, and assassins who give freebies… ugh! There’s no business to be made in free work. Find this Grue Morde and take care of him. The guild will thank you for it…”

“I can do that,” said Missy. “Any idea where he might be?”

“He was last seen near Brimloch Roon, but that’s no guarantee of anything. Ya might even ask him about that ring – odds are he knows something of it, since he was the guild secretary for a bit. Made it a point to know about the contracts out there, in case he might fill one.” Bratsol grimaced. “And then he starts givin’ freebies… argh, it pains me to think of it.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” said Missy as she headed out the door.

The dark night of the Gael Serran was brighter than Missy’s mood as she left the safety of Ishad N’ha. Anger over the unseen person responsible for her father’s death boiled into her blood. Sure, she had taken care of the hand that killed her father, but the body that sent the hand… she still had to take care of that.

Grabbing her cloak, she headed toward the back entrance to the Dragon Spire. She still had some work to do there, and her attitude wasn’t getting any better waiting for it.

Heading back into the Spire, she found that life wasn’t getting any easier. A giant scorpion was one of the first beasties to try her mettle, and after a few well-placed sword strokes, the scorpion’s sting was no more. She found a strange piece of dragon crystal near the scorpion, and later, she found another piece after defeating a giant spider queen. She ran across Kol, the seemingly insane hermit she had met near the serpent temple; he babbled about the Mavin and fate, and disappeared into the shadows again.

“One of these days,” thought Missy, “I may have to put him out of my misery.”

She came across a crystal serpent in the depths of the spire, and retrieved its eye after slaying it and its friends. While retrieving the eye, she spied a dark opening in the bottom of the pool. Surfacing for a deeper breath, she dove down again and looked into the opening.

It opened to a small grotto with yet another Oracle, yet another otherworldly being to help guide her. She was starting to get tired of all these people who knew her destiny, but decided to pay attention one last time.

The guardian spoke to her of her mission, and offered her a ring. But not just any ring; one that could remove the boulders she had seen earlier in a passageway, the boulders that blocked her way to a chest with, hopefully, the last piece of dragon crystal.

Scampering back out, Missy grabbed a jewel-encrusted sword she had spied on the bottom of the pool and headed up to the surface. Upon closer inspection, it was a nightblade, a mystical weapon offering greater accuracy, better damage, and the occasional paralyzed opponent. Missy traded her old sword for the nightblade and spent a few minutes practicing. It felt good… what more could you ask for?

Still nursing a dark cloud of gloom, Missy continued her search through the Spire, removing the two boulders and uncovering the last dragon shard, and finding Hephaestus, Erzebette’s friend to whom she had delivered the letter.

Hephaestus told her much about the dragon and the other things he’d created. The little inventor was quite in demand, making unique items for the Boogre queen, the Stout king, and others. Hopefully he wouldn’t be too upset that Missy had been taking care of his customers.

Missy climbed to the top of the spire with Hephaestus’ strange elevator and found the door where the dragon pieces fit. On the other side, she saw the strange Kol talking to the dragon who had flown over her head some days ago. Interestingly, Kol, who was about as big as the dragon’s claw, was insulting the dragon, demanding it turn over the Mavin sword. After a moment or two, the great dragon simply rolled one leg over and squished the demented priest like a plump waterbug lazy under the hot sun.

As Missy approached, the dragon noticed her and began to roll another leg. Thinking quickly, Missy tried to recall the mystic word. “El Shaddai? El Segundo? Elseeyalater?” The dragon kept coming closer. “Elseramavin?”

“Ahh…” breathed the dragon, rising its giant head. “You speak the sacred word. You are the next champion… but wait! You must still provide the second piece of the puzzle before I can release the Mavin. Have you the Shroud?”

Missy produced the Shroud, which quickly disappeared into the dragon’s hoard.

“Good, good. Now, I offer you the Mavin Sword… but beware! It always comes back, but those who take it never do. They are consumed by its unholy fire.”

Missy stepped back from the great dragon and went through the door the dragon had just opened. On an onyx stand stood the Mavin sword, the item Gareth had sent her to look for. Curious… it didn’t look that impressive. As she hefted it, a brief tingling feeling passed through her arm and quickly dissipated. Well, perhaps it would be useful later.

She checked the two treasure chests near the sword and uncovered D’Soto’s chain, the magical armor of the last champion of the Gael Serran. While it was powerful, she decided that her armor was better. “Who knows – in a hundred years, someone may be pulling my plate out of this same box.”

As Missy left the dragon’s quarter’s, she found herself in the northern reaches of the forests between Ishad N’ha and Brimloch Roon. As the sun rose, burning brightly in the morning sky, Missy’s heart burned just as darkly. Thoughts of the mysterious person who had contracted her father’s death ran through her head, and she headed down the Spire trail towards Brimloch Roon, a foul mood sending stormclouds into the Gael Serran in front of her.

--------------------
Enjoy.

*B*
Minister, etc. (ret.)

[Wyvern]

CHAPTER NINETEEN:

Missy Hissy no longer thought much about whether killing was appropriate or not; it was simply something she did, much as she’d drink a Boogre brew placed in front of her at a bar. Birds flew, flowers bloomed, and she killed. Nice and simple. No shades of gray, no halfway points. You lived, it died. If it lived, then you died. Game over.

As Missy walked toward the town, she spied a lone figure walking through the dappled trees ahead. Putting a bit of fire in her step, she moved closer, and soon recognized the scaly traveler she had met near the gates of Valeia, so long ago and yet so recently.

“Hail, stranger,” she called as she emerged from some low-hanging willows. “Where be—yikes!”

Missy ducked as the traveler threw a spell her way. Venom bite, burning haze – it didn’t matter. The rule was all that applied – you live, or you die. She moved closer and pulled out the wizard’s blade she’d found in the chest near the Mavin sword. After some enchanting in Ishad N’ha, it was now a formidable weapon, and much faster to work with than her old nightblade.

Flicking the blade left and right, using the defensive tricks of the ninja and the swordwork of the samurai, she soon brought the traveler to his knees.

“Hold a moment,” begged the green-skinned snakeman. “Spare me, and I can make it worth your while.”

“Who are you, that you beg for life at the end of it?” asked Missy.

“I am but a simple traveler, a merchant who goes from town to town, buying low and selling high. Grue Mor—er, Mordecai is my name, and I’ve but recently come from Frosgard, where they talk of giants that live in floating castles in the sky,” said the quaking traveler. “Perhaps there’s something I can offer you that you dream of….”

Missy’s eyes hardened into narrow slits. “The only things I dream of you cannot provide, save perhaps one. This ring is tied to me somehow… can you tell me anything of it?” She showed him the black pearl flying merwoman ring.

His eyes grew quiet as he looked at the ring for a long time. Finally, he spoke. “I’ve seen this ring before, it and one other like it. They were part of a dark contract, one of the most diabolical bargains ever struck. The nature of the ring indicates the importance – black pearl is one of the rarest of gems, marking it a high-goldpiece contract. And the figure carved in it represents the contractor, the person offering to pay. There aren’t many flying merpeople, to be sure. The last ones seen were in the area of Collaseum, but that town is long gone, faded from sight centuries ago. Of recent sightings… I can think of none, except – no. Not even then could it be.”

Missy pocketed the ring. “Interesting, but not very useful. And a feeble attempt at lying, as well. No merchant would know the details of an assassin’s contract. Only an assassin would, and one would hope a smart assassin at that. You’re not. And the guild has sent me to put an end to your misdeeds. You know the circle – you live, or you die. And today, you die.”

With a quick dagger thrust, Missy pierced the heart of the scaly assassin, stepping back to watch his green life’s blood bubble into the soil of the Gael Serran. Soon, worms and roaches would be taking the nutrients from his body and passing them elsewhere in the circle of life. So it had always been, and so it would be.

Picking up a scroll that Grue Morde had dropped, she continued on towards Brimloch Roon. “You live, or you die,” she muttered to herself.

The noise of clanking armor came to her over the gentle breeze. Palming her wizard’s blade in her hand, she moved toward the sound. A group of rogues – no, more. True banditos, rogues who traveled the forests and waylaid unwary tourists. She marched through them toward the one who appeared to be their leader.

“Brahmar the Bandit King I am, and today, I’m in a good mood. Leave your gold and valuables, and I’ll leave you your life,” he said, flecks of spit and meat flying from his bearded mouth across the greenery.

“You’ll have none from me,” said Missy, “and less from others.” Taking a step back, she called on Jathil’s mind tricks and her own protections and launched a firestorm at the crowd of banditos. As the molten balls fell from the sky, they began to attack, throwing knives and shooting arrows. She calmly dodged their missiles and advanced forward, dispatching one and then another until she stood in front of Brahmar.

“Not such a good mood now, eh?” she asked. “You live, or you die.” With a final thrust, she left the bandit king to fertilize the forest.

No excitement. No thrill. No fear. Just death. Butterflies twirled in circles. Missy killed. Villagers brought forth a new generation of villagers. Missy killed. Politicians plotted. Missy killed. She didn’t think much about it any more, just did it. You live, or you die.

Ahead, she spied the gates of Brimloch Roon. Standing in front of the iron gates, erected to protect the citizenry, she smiled slightly. Their protection was largely symbolic; anyone with a bit of athleticism could simply climb over the gates. Moderately strong, and you could push them open, using a sword blade to separate the wooden boards. Nothing is as strong as its weakest point, and the use of wood to protect against fire beasts was suspect, at best.

Creating a portal, Missy decided to head back to Ishad N’ha one last time in order to finish up the last few tasks remaining. Summoning herself to the town, she stopped at the pawn shop to collect her payment for Grue Morde’s death. A pity, really. It was much less than she had anticipated. And to the town hall, to tell Barrenhawk of the end of the Bandit king. Gratefulness and an honorarium were her reward, and truth be told, she’d prefer there to be more “arium” and less “honor”.

She stopped in at the warriors guild for a last time. “Yer different now,” said the guildmaster. “Ye’ve moved to the point of oneness, a spot where this world matters less.”

She looked him over. Though he was a simple shopkeeper, and though he was a trained warrior, there was far more to him than appeared at first sight. “Aye,” she said. “There is little of this world that matters, and my role is clear.”

“Say no more,” said the guildmaster. “There are two kinds that reach this spot in life where you are – where life itself changes meaning. Those who survive it become the great ones of the world.”

“And of those who don’t?” asked Missy.

“They make fine corpses for a funeral,” replied the guildmaster grimly. “’Ere. Take this carta and head on your way to Brimloch Roon. It will give you an introduction to the warriors there, and they can help in your path.”

Missy accepted the rolled scroll and headed out the oaken door, her face tight and her emotions in check… barely.

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Enjoy.

*B*
Minister, etc. (ret.)

[Wyvern]

CHAPTER TWENTY:

Upon arriving in Brimloch Roon, Missy Hissy tried to fit into the normal village crowd. Okay, so she tried not to stick out too much. A slender ratling warrior, armored as an assassin and armed as an avatar, she drew glances wherever she went. Some were the curious stares of children, wondering who this strange new person might be. Some were the bitter stares of townfolks, wondering what trouble she would bring to their town. Some were the envious stares of failures, wondering what she had that was so special, and wondering why no one else saw it in them.

She ignored the stares, except perhaps those of the children. She smiled at them every so often, sometimes a smile of pleasure, and sometimes a smile of wicked knowing. She enjoyed watching their parents sputter and spatter after she looked at their children, watched them try to make up excuses for going in the opposite direction even though they hadn’t purchased the bread they needed.

She avoided the stares of the adults, for to match their eyes was to sign their death warrants. Kill or be killed, but if you didn’t notice the cockroaches near you, you didn’t have to squash them.

Missy turned toward the temple, where Malakai welcomed her and asked her to search for a fountain of youth. Missy obliged, privately wondering what good youth would do after several centuries. Sadly, this temple offered no new studies for her; in her meager time in the Gael Serran, she’d surpassed all but the most gifted of teachers.

She then visited the smithy, where Strumbold welcomed her and reviewed the Carta she’d been given.

“Impressive,” he said. “Damosh gives you his highest recommendation… something he hasn’t done since the last dwarven civil war.”

He looked over at her. “Well, you may have figured out by now that he’s the senior guildmaster around here. There’s little he doesn’t know, and what he shares, I know. If ya be needin’ anythin’, I’ll do what I can.”

Missy grunted. “Appreciate it. How much can you give me for these weapons I picked up along the way?”

He tallied up her swords and armor. “Twelve hunnert gold,” he said with a grin.

Missy took him up on the exchange, and asked if he had any work that needed doing.

“Work? Yeah, I’ve got work. That bloody centaur Argothius left without paying for his helm. Bring me his payment, or bring me the helm. It’s a fine helm in any case, and I can recover my money on it.”

Missy agreed, and headed to the pawnshop. There, she once again found work as a delivery girl, taking an iron hook from Miruth to an apparently insane pirate. Well, she’d seen few pirates that would qualify as sane anyway, so she agreed to help.

Sensei Asami at the Bushi dojo asked for help in eliminating a fallen samurai golem, or something like that. Missy wasn’t sure; she figured she’d just kill what she needed to, and the dojo could sort it out later.

Missy then walked into the wizard’s guild, where the proprietor, one Sebastio, welcomed her warmly. She reviewed his wares, but saw little of interest, and soon learned there was nothing more he could teach her either. “Got any work you need done?”

The innocent question was no sooner out of her mouth than Sebastio began to answer. Instead of a simple yes or no, he began a tale of vampires and sacrifice from years gone by.

Missy noticed that the cockroaches on the floor scurried away at the mere sound of Sebastio’s voice. One kept trying to run under her tapping foot, as if it wanted to be squashed.

Sebastio continued talking of hardships and isolation, lo these many years.

A glowbug which had wandered into the shop bashed repeatedly against the windows in an attempt to escape, and finally committed suicide in one of the lit candles that filled the shop.

Sebastio droned on about a resurgence of vampires and badly written romance stories.

Missy felt her legs growing numb, and glancing out the window, realized that the sun, which had been stretching high in the sky when she came in, was now laying out for its nightly slumber. Her fingertips were raw from twiddling them to pass the time while Sebastio rambled. Her mouth was dry, and she could feel herself getting faint. As she sat down on the edge of a display case, careful not to knock over any potions, she suddenly heard Sebastio ask her a question. “Beg your pardon?” she replied.

“I said, will you take the job?” asked Sebastio.

“Sure, I’ll do that,” Missy replied. But before she could ask who she was supposed to take care of, Sebastio launched into another long diatribe about how dangerous the job was going to be. She saw a mouse pull a poison bomb back to its mousehole; moments later, she saw the greenish fog of the bomb sieving from the hole, and the entire mouse family stumbled out, one by one, with what seemed like great satisfied grins on their faces as they keeled over dead. Feeling the hunger growing in her stomach, Missy felt she understood; by the time she got out, it might be dinnertime – tomorrow night!

A while later, Sebastio finally finished his long monologue. Bidding him goodday – correction, goodeve, Missy hurried out into the town. “Why couldn’t he have just said ‘kill the vampiress’ and be done with it?” she growled. Stopping at the inn, she grabbed a meal of venison and tubers, something to keep her strength up.

--------------------
Enjoy.

*B*
Minister, etc. (ret.)