《Swords and a Shortage of Sorcery》Tracking
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"Looks like we are in luck," Gonzalez said. "Seems like there are some tracks left."
They looked down at the ground and saw a trail leading away from the building further down the street.
"So it would seem," Titus said. "Shall we go?"
The group began to follow the tracks down into the alley. They reached the end of the trail to find the bartender from earlier with their animal. He was examining some of the gold pieces from the bag hanging off its side.
"Oh, you guys are done already—" he began to say as he turned around to look at them. His eyes widened as he backed up.
"Care to explain what you are doing with our things?" Montag asked as they advanced on the barkeep. The man began to retreat at a faster pace, but Gonzalez had already circled around him. They closed in to surround the bartender.
"Now this isn't what it looks like," he began.
"Explain," Titus said.
"Ok, ok! I was forced, dammit! Those guys, you think they were just going to let me walk away if I didn't tell them you were there? I had no choice!"
"Wow. I feel that grossly violates our consumer privacy rights," Derik said. "You could have at least left us the camel."
"Yes, y-you could have it back. The village is struggling after the war. I figured that if you were dead anyway; it wouldn't hurt to put your wealth to good use. I mean, you wouldn't have wanted your attackers to get your money would you?" the man said putting his hands in the air. "Take it!"
"I hardly think someone as dishonest as you would put the money to good use," Montag said grabbing the reigns of the camel from the man.
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"The way I see it, you got bribed to sell us out. I must admit, bribing someone with another person's money is certainly bold," Gonzalez said. "Can't say I would have done differently if I was in your situation, but I hope you're ready to die."
"No! I returned your belongings. What more do you want from me?" he asked.
"Your life," Gonzalez said. "I literally just said that. Try paying attention."
"What? This is immoral. We can't just kill him." Iris said.
"In Palatine law, a man could face public execution in the arena for attempted robbery of a value over 200 silvers. I don't see any problem here," Titus said.
"Indeed. As a previous captain of the city guard, there is no way I could overlook such a transgression, lest it reflects poorly on my superiors. Since there is no prison available, we are forced to more drastic measures," Montag said.
"We aren't *forced* into anything. This is a person's life we are talking about. Someone who poses no threat and has shown regret for their actions. Derik please say something to stop them!" Iris pleaded.
"Hey, I don't agree with it..." Derik said. "We are outvoted three to two, what can I do—"
"Leave him alone!" a voice came out from down the street. A young man that couldn't have been any older than sixteen called out to them. He had two legs akin to those of a horse and was wearing bright white clothes. He gripped a war hammer tightly in his hands. "I'm warning you. Step away!" he continued to shout.
Gonzalez turned around to face the new arrival. "Look, if you know what's good for you, leave us alone. You look like you could barely hold down a tankard of alcohol, much less a weapon."
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"Mind your business," Titus said, approaching the teen.
"You heard what I said," he said pointing his weapon outwards.
"You were warned," Titus said. He stepped forward into striking distance of the teen. The hammer swung out to meet him, but Titus weaved closer using his sword to soften to blow. He then cupped his hand around the nape of the teen, and he delivered a bash to his nose with the blunt handle of his sword. Titus followed this up with a knee that left him sprawled out across the floor.
"That seemed a little bit overkill," Derik said. "It looks like he just got run over."
"I admire the courage, though misplaced," Montag said. He grabbed the bartender as he tried to edge away. "Just goes to show we should really be leaving."
Titus turned to walk away, but the teen rose from the ground to grab his ankle.
"We aren't finished," he muttered.
Titus bent down and unfurled each individual finger one at a time. As he straightened back up, he turned to hear a noise coming from the alley to his side. He took one look and hastily retreated back to the group.
"Trouble," he said.
Out of a side alley came a massive beast with arms the size of tree trunks. It had three heads, one of an ox, one of a lion, and one of an eagle. A variety of different weapons were strewn across its back like a mobile armory. The head of an eagle had an ax lodged firmly down the center— its eyes clouded grey. As it rose to its full height, it easily dwarfed the rest of them by more than a head's length.
The center head that took the shape of a lion spoke, "Step aside, I'll handle these ruffians." He looked at the young man on the ground. "Or don't, seeing as you are on the ground and all."
The beast faced back towards them. "It is awfully rude to go starting trouble like this. I guess I have to be the one to teach you lot some manners."
"He-he's coming! What do we do?" Iris put her hands over her head.
"We fight," Titus said.
"Ok, crayon-eater how well do you think a fight with something the size of a is going to work out," Derik said. "Someone is going to get their skull smashed in!"
"There is nothing more heroic than overcoming the odds!" Montag said, charging forward.
Titus rushed after him. "I've fought bigger."
Derik turned to Gonzalez. "We took down a dragon before. We can take him, easy " Gonzalez said.
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NEWDIE STEADSLAW is a randomized array of Chekhov's red herrings, non sequitors ex machina, run-on sentences, and em dashes—so many em dashes. It's like if the Bible and Shakespeare had a baby that they surrendered to foster care, then it got adopted by Alice in Wonderland and Dr. Seuss—the books, not the people—and then the baby fell down the stairs. In this metaphor, the stairs wrote the story. Part I is the tale of the adventures of Traycup and Roby as they try to hold down a job inside the hollow Earth—a place made possible thanks to the secret science of embargoed relativity—and they get distracted by dancing foxes, a giant's record collection, and something with a train, I think. It's a work of fiction—although to call it work seems insulting to, y'know, actual work—but the fiction label is apt, so, y'know, that's a win. Half the words are made up, and the other half are embarrassed to be seen with them. Part I is complete.
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8 208BLUD
Samuel Grady is alone. Isolation seems necessary to finish his novel, and his cousin hooks him up with a lonely cliff-top cabin with no electricity. It's perfect, until his obsessions with his secretive landlord, his landlord's cycloptic manservant, and the blood which streams down the cabin's windows entirely unseat his cozy reality.
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