How's the turn coming, neblime? Things progressing nicely or has this prison gotten you. . . locked. . .up?
jesus, no, worst pun of my life, regret
- - -
(best to read Nidilap's post above first)
Me, dead? Where did you hear that? Ha, I should be, after what Nidi did. . .
A dagger through the ribs ought to stop a dwarf, right? I'm of the opinion that a half-foot wedge of steel suddenly bisecting your average dwarf's liver should at least cause a moment of hesitation for that liver's owner, much less pain or death, and I think most dwarfs would agree (Mind you that I don't really know that many dwarfs and the ones that I do know tend to have shorter than average lifespans, for reasons I haven't yet grasped).
Not Nidi, though. He just turned to me, something broken in his eyes. For a moment we just stared, as blood blossomed from his wound and folded over my shaking hand. Then it was over, then he hit me, I went down, and before I could collect myself he was punching, punching, punching. It felt like he was punching
inside me, and then I remember nothing.
What? You're wondering how we got to the kings room? Well of course there's a way past the badger maze! How else would we end up at the trove? What?! Why would I share the route with a maggot like yourself, a thief so pitiful he's lucky to swipe rotten apple skins from the swine troughs? No, no, I'm just saying what I need to say and you're lucky to be audience.
Some weeks later I awoke to my tombstone being carved. As in I opened my eyes and saw a poor approximation of my face staring back at me, over the shoulder of some robed craftsdwarf. Apparently no one could identify me, and since they were planning to execute me if I never woke up they decided to have my likeness carved upon a slab. How thoughtful of them! Now that I was awake, however, I was quickly brought before the King's General himself.
He demanded a thorough explanation of my motives, my financiers, and (most importantly) how I managed to slip past those damned badgers. I considered not telling him for a moment, but quickly realized that I wasn't going to live for very long anyways and said hell with it. I dove right in to a detailed explanation of my intent to steal the legendary gem, Golem's Eye, from right under the kings nose. I spent time, at great length, describing the various partners who helped me plan and equip for the heist - including a short biography of Nidilap, considering that I had known that dwarf for quite some time. I also drew a sketch of the route we followed through the hedges, past the ravenous striped beasts known to render small mammals into a paste-like substance in the blink (squish?) of an eye, (the aforementioned badgers) and finally up the smoothed, limestone walls and into th -
NO, I already said I wouldn't tell you the route! . . . WHAT?! That's the most absurd, illogical, shit-brained argument I've heard since this story happened! This story doesn't even have a 'narrative timeline', so how could me not sharing the route disrupt it? I don't care if you minored in English, or that "you really know this stuff", that's completely irrelevant because
I don't fucking care. Look, I'm done talking to you.
Oh, you really want to know how the story ends? FUCK YOU! WE'RE BOTH SITTING ON A DONKEY CART DESTINED FOR THE WORST PRISON ON THIS PLANET, HOW DO YOU THINK THE STORY ENDS?
And so Zaneg traveled.
Author
Topic: Ice Station WereZebra (Read 57270 times)