A Land Far Away

SMASH! The rodent's flattened corpse spread it's gore from the impact. Gone was it's instinctive plea to flee the danger. Gone was it's need to feed, to consume for it's growing young. Gone was it's need to exist in one powerful smack of metal, flesh and dirt. The violence inflicted upon it was unwarranted, unprovoked. (Evil or uncaring gods... You loved it and you know it.)

The little one squirmed from fright, the rats taunting her as they circled the injured hin. Red eyes glowed dimly in the darkness that was her room, the last vestige of privacy… the last shred of innocence...

The halfling lifted up the warhammer with both arms, grunting from the effort. That was her 12th dead rat she had smashed since she arrived in this depressing little village. The 12th accursed monster. She couldn't kill enough. For each monster she killed, she grew a little. Regained a little. Conquered a little. Little steps taken, little steps passed. It was hard to do. Difficult to resist the impulses that urged her, implored on her to reek as much vengeance on Mother's Children. (Wow. This silly dale is Soooooooo target rich…)

A large rodent, bullied his way past his siblings. Upon seeing the halfling helpless, unable to fully move away because of those chains, took his first bit into the emaciated flesh. The scream that followed, harrowed terror, brought a smile to the woman's expressionless face...

A absent expression befell her then. Awareness to her surroundings finally. The teachings that kept her little island of sanity fertile reasserted themselves. Reminded her of her goals, her duties… She stood across the lane from the Head Quarters of the former Whitestars (some do-er-no- good-goodies the inn keep told you & Me about). and that big, bottomless pit (That rat was sooooo surprised when you batted him into that pit and the inn keep didn't lie to you. It probably, really was bottomless...)and the seamstress (very nice stuff. Too bad you might make a heist of all of this someday). The path, led west and south, was ill kept. The grasses were very tall, almost twice as the hin herself. She didn't get that feeling of invitation from what she could see...

A lopsided smile looked down upon the expression of fear, terror, horror that the halfling could muster. She reached down her bare chest, bloody fingers tracing the tattooed leaves that ran from her pelvis to right between her small breasts. Branches appeared to lift her bosom, to encase her areola. She didn't recall what was worse when she received these gifts: The ink art or the multiple piercing of her child feeding flesh. She tugged at a silver nipple sing, in time to the spasms the hin did each time her rats took a bit. Bitten several times now, wounds sure to fester and still she cried out for succor. 'Ma ma!'

SMASH! The already dead rat was further pushed to infinite by one more vigorous strike. She might go exploring down this path. She might not. It was starting to matter little to her again. (HatedthatHATEDTHATHAT-TED-THAT!) That whimsical exterior she gave everyone around her, all those retarded tallies. Everyone! They didn't help when she cried in public, when her 'parent' smacked her into stupor on the dull cobblestones of Selgaunt… Nobody helped. The black men laughed. LAUGHED. They approved of the woman's actions, metal gauntlets clapping their approval. (Heh, turn about is a b*tch)

She ignored the calls and screams of the pitiful creature before her. She was deep into her high, that feeling of indescribably ecstasy as she felt being pulled in two. 'Dark, I can feel the cum. Soooooo good'. She opened her eyes again, the smile of pleasure wide as she drew her dagger from her hip. It was a gift from her cell leader, blessed with runes from two deities, with a blade half as long as it's pommel. It wasn't very powerful in itself but it was considered very holy in her line of work. The edge had tasted many different pieces of flesh since it's creation, used in many ways martial and sexual. 'Dark!' It felt so good when she thrust the handle into herself last night.

I guess a coop happened. The black metal men all died. Good. They didn't help so why should I? Hump a bunch a sheep, all of 'em! I think I should start looking for this Gee-N-nah person now. Whether she's right-sized, a tallie sorcie with flames outta her bum or a red dragon herself… I need to find this person. (Why?) I was told to find her… Wasn't i? She's lost, right? I NEED to find her… (Why, Nyca?)

A small pool of blood slowly grew around the hin, slowly leaking from her wounds. This above all else made her think this was a wise choice. This act of depravity would elevate her standing. No one would doubt her passion to the cause. A crashing sound echoed in the room. 'Damn'. They finally found her. She shrugged as she quickly kneeled and let the dagger drink from the growing pool. The halfling whimpered weakly, still clinging to this life. No time, must flee, the orgy can't start without it's lead harlot, after all. She rose and slipped the dagger back into it's place. The halfling opened her eyes, blue pale slits to her former parent. It must have been the blood loss, but she swears she saw her mother slip the dagger into her thigh, until the orifice closed around it. The woman saw this, and her expression changed to something far more vile, more fitting her dark nature.

'Die, darling Nee~kah… die for both of your sins', said the woman linked to the halfling child by law, if not by blood, before showing that dismissed creature her departing backside (and the large purple bruise on the center of her back, perfectly oval. A perfect shape for the missing shape that could have been filled by her mad heart).

'So much to do, so many to kill…', the woman mused as she departed to make her excape, with not a further thought to the mess she was leaving behind. After all, not every mother gets to whore herself equally to two mistresses of evil? Why worry about morals?

The sign didn't budge when she ran into it. Didn't flex, didn't give. The red headed halfling did, however, falling back on her rump. 'The hells in Lurien..?' She blinked many, many times as she read and re-read the sign's warning. Someone lived nearby that didn't want visitors. Heh, just like old man Maju. He was the one that found her that dark day… (He smelled of Elven Mede and incense)

'Footsteps. I hear footsteps? PleasepleasepleasetakemenownownownownowNOWNOWNOWNOW…..' But those soft, strong arms that lifted her up, that caressed her ills had other ideas. No pain accompanied the touches, no rough handling, no abuse. 'I'll take this one. Find the bitch, kill her. Quickly. This can not be allowed to spread. A holy union of Poison and Darkness would snuff out Faerun in a heart beat.' Three grim heads nodded in agreement and they left the priest and hin child to go do the unspeakable, all in the name of mystery.

She blinked away unwanted tears. 'Magic. Just what I DON'T need'. She turned back towards the road, not looking back. Always she felt she was to be cursed forever, to be searching in vain for something… Anything. It didn't matter how or what or why. She always seemed fated to a vain search. This woman was but the latest in her tasking. Maurine wasn't the most patient of men. He made it clear that she better find that lost 'woman' soon...

'Before I become lost myself?.' (Already there, darling!)

It was the late afternoon crowd in the Old Skull Inn and rainfall could be heard on the wooden rafters above. Business was lively, for once. Commoners spending coin freely, albeit with caution in these gloomy times. Ms X didn't mind the bustle. It was a good sign and with good service plus good tips as a result, hopefully the mood of the dale as a whole might improve… (Heh, and all the orcs will take up needle point instead of pointing needles in their enemy's eyes)

Things were looking on the up and up, when the front door opened up and let in a wet soaking cat… or what could have been a cat, had the little halfling harbored more similarities to felines beyond her current evident mood. Dripping wet, her lavender colored hood crept down the top of her brow, threatening her limited vision. Her leathers had that clear mildew smell and her large hammer, slipped into her loops with a weak peace knot, made her seem even more diminutive. (Right-size, you stupid tallie HUMP!)

Pity welling up into her eyes for a scant second before more firm conviction took over, Ms. Reminded herself that this particular halfling was a bundle of trouble. Oh she was very good at treating her vermin problem. If fact, when she ('Nyca? Was that her name') offered, nay, begged for the job, stating she'd work for peanuts to kill rats ('No. She said she'd SMASH 'em'). It wasn't a hard sell at the time but peanuts? Gift horses and warm mouths, I say... (That was Paignuts, from The Vast Swamp! Stupid Tallie!)

And so it went, the hin showing up every two days, spending several hours hunting and clearing the cellar's of rodents of various kinds. Customers rarely had a complaint (though some grumbled of lost or pilphered gold, evidence of larceny somewhat evident) and it was that blind luck that allowed Nyca to be able hitch and gleam needed coins for so long. (Cheap bastards. They don't even have to whore their asses for sustenance!)

Today was no different, she avoided detection twice, both her 'victims' prior drunks, thus easy to hit. But she was nearly caught when one tallie felt the tell tail tug. Only blind luck and false accusations flying to the wrong individual saved her backside (With tensions on the rise, the local lord 'Fancy Pants' hasn't been kind to criminals, the ass) . That near misstep made Nyca so angry at herself, ruining her mood. The weather did the rest...

Already she was fuming for catching the ill timed rains that soaked her to her bones (Chauntea and her damned need to piss her bladder! And to think, tallies want that to happen. Sick HUMPS!) and when she got inside the safety of the Old Skull Inn, all that Nyca wanted was something warm and filling. She scuffed her boots to the knowing nod of the inn keep. No scolding this time. (wiping is overrated, whether it's yer boots or yer dung. Both keep that healthy amount of disgust to protect y'ahs) Just a warm meal…

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The door to the cellar creaked (Miss Skull Inn Lady? Can I get another can of oil for that other door?), making the halfling cringe. Not that she worried she alerted all the monsters down here that she was coming down, she didn't like the idea in principle…

'Dadda…. Why did monster hurt me?' The sudden question uttered by the halfling child surprised him, his rushed step almost a stumble. The hin child was cradled in his arms, a limb sack of flesh, so cold. His sorrow for what happened to the hin fueled his anger, his rage at such a tragedy incalculable. No being has the right to harm a child, any child this way. Quick death would be merciful to what he would decree performed on the mad woman of dark poison...

The cellar was quiet, damp, with a lingering smell of mold mixing with the fermented scents of apple, grape and cherry. The halfling inhaled deeply the intoxicating and delicious smells, already smacking her lips. The dust had been disturbed recently, small bare foot tracks clearly visible, but that fact was obvious to the hin. She was too much into her game face, the Terror of Mice & Men. Something scraps against something else, a noise that brings her from her reverie. She sneaks down to investigate the noise…

Here eyes shift around quick, lookin for the dangers she's sure of being down here. A shadow slips from view suddenly 'There!' She growls, rises up tall, unafraid (Bah, you'd piss yerself at first chance, darling) "OI! Halt! oh... something…" And what she was SO sure of being some fierce evil monster that would kill her, hump her corpse and sacrifice to the Lady of L~er……. Was actually a little human child, still and quiet.

(Well this is odd like nuts on a lady…) Nyca visibly calmed and took a step into the impromptu alcove of barrels and sacks of what not. The little girl, dirty, scraped but in a pretty dress (had it been clean and new) was sitting on a sack of wheat, her lips and fingers white covered. Nyca decided to have some fun (You bitch! How dare you do that to her!) and she placed her palm on the head of her hammer. "HALTS! I-den-tifies.. YOU!" The little girl recoiled with a shutter, audibly gulping. "I'm Nalyn. I was hungry. ... and wet. don't tell nobody. ... please?" .

Nyca moved in, slowly, non threatening in her manner finally, any thoughts of whatnot forgotten as she took a seat across with the human child who was searching for food, the idea of looking for rats briefly forgotten for the irrational need to be a girl for a little while longer....

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It was several hours past dusk a few days later when Nyca went looking for the child again. The cellars were empty, save a few bold rats which Nyca slew with fury. But no child. The bag of sugar, that both girls nibbled on was patched and set on top the pile of sacks. The deck had been swept, with just a faint (and undisturbed) layer of dust to so forth. Nalyn, orphan, lost and delightful… was gone. (They always leave ya, darlin'. Get a frigging clue!)

This by itself didn't bother Nyca. She meet quite a few individuals in her brief time since arriving on that wagon from the south. That shouldn't bother her a lick. It was later though, when she was battling orcs on the eastern wall. Guards screaming as orcs showed them inventive means to play with intestines. Building burned (Because arseholes love Kossuth and would hump a flaming pile of shit if their mad priests told 'em soos!) ,people died, lives changed. But she didn't care about that…

What she wondered, privately since she had no one to ask (Oh? And I'm just here to frig mahself in Sharess's name for self pleasures? Phfff!) and was sooooo profound, was this:

'Gods, I hope she wasn't in the orphanage when It was torched…' (That would suck…. Heeeey, there goes a putz tallie and her flea bag horse? let's steal it!). She surmised that it would be a shame that the world didn't allow little girls to be little girls, that there was nothing, NOTHING, to protect them from the evils that were false parents and elders...

Her eyes opened as she realized she was being held in powerful arms. She looked around, burning buildings all around her. She glanced up, saw hanging forms from poles hanging over the courtyard. Burning. She couldn't tell who they were. She just knew they were bad and she was…. Something else. All she recalled after that was darkness as her protector took her away into the darkness beyond...

The three woman and a nag of a horse walked along the east lane at a leisurely pace. Tall grasses were coming back in patches that they passed, signs that at least nature was recovering from the recent warfare in the Dale of Shadows. One woman was dressed on local garb, her dirty gloved hands holding the reins of her horse tightly.

Another woman, more flamboyant dressed with long pleats in her skirt, a checkered shirt and long hair rolled in a pony tail below her waist, kept pace in speed and conversation. She was enjoying the time clearly enough. "I don't trust her at all. She's a thief, through and through…" The final traveler, dressed in frills, dark silks and satins, kept her own pace. Her movements were dance, grace with each step. The elven woman was grace quantified, her expression of amusement at the moment. "Now, now… she's young, confused. A pest, mayhap and useful." (What? Bite me, elf Bit~*)

All the while, though the elfin maid knew instantly that she was followed, the little shadow skirted along, using cover, shade and what ever else was in hand to follow them in concealment. She had been trailing the elf maid all afternoon. Her clothing, her manner, everything screamed Mother Magic (Praise the mysteries!) and Nyca could not resist to follow. It seemed the nag holder wanted to reshod her horse. Hehe, what fun I could have leading the fleabag astray. (It'll be hilarious! What could go wrong with that?)

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Nyca was ram rodded tall, all of 3 feet tall as the elfin maid named Aszûne Whisperwind towered over the halfling. Taera Eluandrar was in the distance, still calming her horse while Qillia Xiloscient stood by, arms crossed under her bosom with a flat expression, having caught the almost horse thief in the act of mischief. Nyca puffed her chest out, and clasped her hands behind her bottom. Hoping and praying that a simple bluff could get her dimpled hide out of trouble once more, she rolled the dice of fate. "...think flea bag is too tallie.... and... Uh, Something…"

Taera muttered as she stroked the mane of her horse softly, mixed of bemusement and annoyance. "Flea bag? Don't make me make you brush Beldran. He deserves better…" Aszûne could not hide a smirk from this precocious halfling but Qillia narrowed her eyes, not buying Nyca's comments at all. "So you would steal a horse if it were shorter? Mmhmm... don't suppose you'd know the whereabouts of a black horse... a little taller, a little thicker…"

The elf laughed to Qillia's susurrations, smiling brightly. "Oh no, she lacks the skill, Qillia darling." Aszûne's smile never faded as the sorceress spoke back. "Or this is just an act." Qillia narrowed her expression to deadly serious tones, not trusting the hin farther than she could toss her.

"Nae, trust me, it isn't. She'd do it if she could, but she couldn't." (What the fu~* Whatta mean I can't????) Nyca stood dumb founded as the elf maid spoke, blinking furiously. "Wha…? I can do tha…. Well…. I mean…." The halfling continued to stammer hopelessly as the three woman turned and headed south towards the Skull Inn, Aszûne beckoning Nyca to follow.

Qillia slowed up to walk apace with Nyca and spoke in clear terse tones. "Something for you to think on. I'm a sorceress. I can read minds. If things start go missing. Guess who I will check first?" She picked up her pace to follow the others, while with a visibly unhinged jaw, Nyca followed out of obedience rather than any desire to actually follow. (Holy Magic Sh*t, Nyca Darling. We need to GO. NOW.)

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The Priestess of Mystra reached the archway to the inn first and she paused a moment before turning towards her companions. "Qillia... can you keep the hin in check out here a moment? Or in, I don't mind"

Quillia was passing the corner of the inn, her pace changing from uphill to level grass, the halfling studious behind her by 3 paces back down the hill. She nodded affirmative which brought a smile to Aszûne's face before nodding to Taera. "Thanks. Come, miss." And with that, they stepped out of view. Nyca was nervous, planning, scheming and when she realized her chance to flea (Bitch, RUN!) She turned into a sprint down the side of the inn. Quillia was turning to address the hin when she saw her boots disappear, before swearing and taking pursuit.

The rear of the inn was littered with gravel and made for normally treacherous passing but the halfling had spent her life with quick reflexes and made the turn with ease. She dared a glance behind half way across the inn, saw nothing and began to laugh aloud (Check Six), giddy from success and excursion. The land dropped off at the other corner and Nyca leaped, rolled and jumped into the air at the apex of the hill, certain her acrobatics would bring cheer to the refugees in the distance (Where is sh~)… Darkness overtook her easily.

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Qillia frowned as she picked up the sleeping halfling, finally convinced she wasn't a immediate threat. She had ran around the opposite way and nailed the flying hin mid air with a sleep spell. The comatose unguided body rolled, miraculously avoiding injury before skidding to a stop. She was still hard asleep but she took no chances and hog-tied the hin first.

The sorceress held Nyca easily in her arms and walked to her to the table in front of the inn. She gently placed her down, the table creaking a little from the sudden weight on one side, but held easily otherwise. Her hand brushed the annoying Halfling's red hair, feeling the hot skin and strong breath. Hard asleep but fine otherwise. A frown creased her expression as she weighed the decision before her.

The Old man grinned as Nyca moved her fingers, gestured this way and that. He was enjoying the frustration building in the halfling, watching her struggle to learn how this simple spell worked. "Nyca, darling. Sorcery is willed, not gestured or postured. It flows through you, like an extension of your living will. Magic, however, MUST be postured, formed through effort. Or in my case, through voice and song"

The halfling growled, bared teeth as she tried the motions again. "Nothing. Nothing, nothingNOTHING! It won't work, Boss! I piss more than I can fart magic!"

"Nonsense! It takes time. Effort. Patience. Patience in boat loads, my darling. How else do you think I acquired my measure of the lady? Hmm?" Eldred gave Nyca that enchanting smile, reassuring her, encouraging her…

(It's funny. For a man who claimed be only a bumbling bard, it should have not surprised me then, instead of many moons later, WHY that he enjoyed the good music of a harp…)

Qillia frowned as she sensed the first thing the halfling was thinking, and it wasn't what she presumed she would sense. She didn't lie to the hin, she could read surface thoughts, anyone could with the right spell and proper training to enterpite those thoughts. But Nyca was thinking of something else entirely. 7 stars, she saw in Nyca's head, a constellation formed, in the shape of… what? What ever it was, it was so brief that Qillia did not see the dark shape behind veil of Nyca's thoughts and the 7 star formation. She was distracted by what she did predict to 'hear' from the halfling thief: Relief in not getting caught. Grinning ear to ear, Qillia tugged at the knots keeping the halfling secure. " Aszûne will be certain to roar with laughter after seeing her favorite puppy well trained...

(Heh, keep on thinking that, pony tailed bitch…)

The sky is very pretty today…. So blue….

She never even saw the sweep of the sword as it's wide blunt face tripped her easily, the angered face of the blue mailed elfin maid replaced by blue sky, green and light brown leaves, shade… and sudden, painful grass and gravel. She didn't comprehend the pain at first. She remembered the punch (She shoved you first, idiot!), the speed of the impact, the so quick and helpless blow that made the hin rage (Oh yes, Master would be sooo proud of us. Lookie the hin strike first and think far, far second!)and take that swing. It was wild, unguided, full of power. It hit the elf woman's shield flat, first pushing her shield and forearm into her abdomen and then forcibly side stepping her (T'was amazing she didn't trip over herself from your hammer, Nyca Elf-Smiter, darling… but she's an elf. Your grace is genetic. Her's is her very existence). Nyca didn't acknowledge the counter strike. She just did it, didn't think, just… swung… at someone who was not her true foe.

(The halfling was terrified tonight. The screams from the building could be heard even here. The Selunites battle with the Cyrists had gone bad for them. 'To the victors, visit upon their foes rape', Master sometimes says and dear, uncaring gods, those selunites are still being violated. She knew there was a few families there. She didn't like to think about what was happening, or who could be making those high pitched screams...)

She never saw the other blows, or the elf's sword sweep (She actually saved you by doing that. The others would killed you outright.). What she did see was sorrow from Merri (Disappointment), anger from Renny (It was hatred of what transpired, she later learned), and pain, from the elf maid Miri. It was not her blade that road her neck, keeping her at heel (That bitch, We'll see her guts yet!) . Miri was the one who apologized to me, asked for my forgiveness. What could I do? My beef was not with Miri, it was with the tramp who raged at my obvious conclusion to what happened to her lover's body. She didn't like my explanation, my speculation of orc rituals. They told me I was too harsh, too uncaring. She was a grieving widow, alone once more.

(The hin and the old man were hiding in a cudesac, shadows providing cover and comfort as they kept their vigil. Madam Mashjel will want to know a head count to who she lost this eve to the Cyrists. Oh Mother Mystra, curse those black sun zealots... The door! It bursts open and a girl, barely of age, Ran naked into the street, her Pursuiters right behind her. Master clamped his hand to my mouth, staying my hand to help her... Gods, they violate so many AT ONCE…)

Pehfh! Big deal.

I grew up in a place were rape was visited upon the weak, the innocent, for no more the vile reason than the need to circulate their spit and their seed. After seeing (and experiencing) a life like that, being told that orcs hump their dead should raise no eyebrows at all… (harsh, Nyca. Show some sympathy. That elf's tallie bit the big one fighting orcs… She was grieving!)

(At last, Nyca and her master, her handler, depart. The corpse was left in the dirty lane, long dead before it finished being raped. Nyca was amazed what death did to the body, amazed all the holes in the body could be opened, raw and bloody. Nyca vowed to never allow such a violation to herself. She would swallow her own tongue, drown in her own blood before allowing her arse to ripped open for another's dark pleasure.

Gods kill them all, Tallies are so f*cking evil sometimes.)

And Yer point being? My arse isn't round and bloody, conscience. ...Just sore, like my neck...

'Well how quaint is this?', Nyca thought to herself as she liberally enjoyed not being in the spot light for once. Seems that dwarf did more larceny than her, albeit far more poorly compared to the halfling. Other than the time with that horse… 'Still it's times like these that I pray to Mystra.' (What's this?) 'What's this…?' She was shifting through the muck that was a animated mud dwarf-something when her fingers touched the orange colored gem.

Rather large for her hand (but most things, not made for Right-Sized, are like this, Nyca Darling), it felt vaguely warm to her. She checked her flanks, making sure Qillia or the others were busy or distracted. Satisfied that her discovery would reap rewards, the gem was placed in her special place, safe and sound. Still checking where the others were , she crawled around and made more effort to search the other piles but found nothing else that interested her. Even better? NOBODY ASKED! How cool is that for a thief in a party? (If Nyca could see her conscience, it's arms would be crossed her chest with a knowing, disapproving expression towards the halfling...)

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'Wow! This gem is huge! It's one of the gems the party is searching for, certainly! I know which nitch it fits, too! But what to do with it?' (Give it to the party.) 'Whut?' The halfling was in outright war with herself and having learned the lessons of the other choices made from the dwarf and his squabbles as a result, she was planning to head south to sell the gem instead to avoid…. (No, Nyca! We need it!) 'See? My conscience can't see the profit from this. We could make TONNES of gold! Enough to fill a bath basin to merrily masterba… Wha…?' It was then, while in the safety of the Chauntean Abbey of the Sheaf, that Nyca came out of her delusion to hear those persuasive words from the Right-Sized bard: "Give It to the elf. They'd never SEE THAT COMING…"

"Master? Why did you say that to the soldier? You should have lied and saved face. He could have killed you!" The young halfling was playing doctor to her injured elder, the black rings around his eyes telling of the lesson the Cyrist Knights had given the man. "But had I lied, I would be no better than them. Besides, by being truthful was the last thing they expected me to do. It made them lose face to their superiors but it saved us by making it politically dangerous to harm us further. A loose tooth is a pain minor in comparison."

'…. Oh go f*ck a go….erk…. But I need gold…. God dam…..' (Her conscience smiled that expression of most certain moral victory, for even dense headed Nyca could see the profit from here) "Crap. Do I really have to?" Meri was next to them when Nyca whispered about what she found and her head was nodding in agreement. The hin bard was adamant about this, that it would help the group immensely AND bring positive light to Nyca the thief. It seemed a very good idea to both of her friends but Nyca was still unsure….

The young halfling wiggled her nose as she processed all of this, before snorting with derision. "Bah! Yer nuts, old man. What if they found yer pin? Yer philosophy wouldn't save ya then, would 'it?" The old man merely grinned, his left molar bent forward in relation to his other bloody teeth...

Gods, she hated it when she wasn't right… or that his idea was better than hers (It profits you now, Nyca Darling. And it's portable! No weight, no fuss, no muss and it feels good to DO good. Besides, you can pleasure yourself anywhere, anyway, hedonist…) 'Alright.' "Alright, Renunzio Buonofortuna… I'll do it." and with that, she raised her hand and meekly got everyone's attention...

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Wow. After all that work, with so many brushes with death (Ahem. Your tanned and pampered arse is lacking bruises, Nyca Darling. Your companions to lesser degrees can not say likewise. Pray nobody thinks about THAT), she finally got her share of the loot: 10 Platinum coins. The halfling held those ten coins in her hand as Qillia moved on to find the others, her smile slow to grow but eventually it was huge enough by the time she was done counting for the twelfth time. 'Gods, who will I think about this time? Who wants this hin bod? Oh, it's gonna feel good once I'm safe and naked...' The hammering halfling could only sigh in anticipation to the self pleasures that only Sharess herself could provide. (Who gets your passions aflame? Who or what, Nyca Darling?)

'Young hin males and gold, conscience. Not necessarily in that order but always more than two at time…' (oh voi, you're such a slut, opening yourself to everyone, my dear? I thought so…)

Wow. I swear i never saw this coming. Even though i was taunting them along to do so... Man, dead dwarf smells as bad as live dwarfs...

It was early evening at the Inn. Qillia and Hilinar were arguin' about that stone. REALLY arguin'. It seems she thought he was lying about who had it. they traded cussing, prices (he kept ignorin', the poor fool) finally, they battled 'em...

Now there was Noilir there, not siding but.. still in the way. and i mean in the way. Qillia started chanting numbers, slowly down. got to zero and both started swingin' and chanting...

Then she calmly melted his face off. (bugger! His eyes popped and the acid musta ate at his very brain!)

I swear it's the trueth! (For once, dear...)

The boy screamed as the towerng orckin held him by his scalp, little legs kicking helplessly. 'Lemme go! I didn't st-stea~*' Pitiful squeals came from his mouth as a dagger made short work of his jaw, blood flowing everywhere, making the Cyrist sergant grin even wider. He didn't particularly care if he got the right thief or not. Making another Black Sun puppet was sport enough.

The kicking stopped, mercifully quick enough and the table stopped moving so much. for under that very table was a motionless and very horrified shadow, watching those well worn and now bloody boots hang there. In the shadow's hands was a large pile of apples. The shadow nicked them, somehow evaded death, and now looked forward to some relief from this horrid life. True, the boy died and she lived but being not even 10 summers old, the shadow knew enough a cruel maxim...

Better you than me.

Qillia fled the scene, cursing that the dead dwarf DID in fact have the stone. All i could do was trade glances with the rashmadi foreign woman (that wasn't nice of you, that prank with her pant's and all) and be glade i gave up my stone when Renny urged me to do so.

Heh, bet Hilinar thought that gem was safe up his tight arse! Too bad that freak litterally had to fist 'em to prove otherwise (Oh Mystra! How vile!). Orcs aren't the only ones who hump thier dead...

'WHY?' the hin wailed in silence, as she growled and smashed her fists into the dirt of a tailor's flower bed. 'WHY?', as more dandelions and petunias were reduced to mulch from the power of sorrow and hardship. 'WHY?', cried a halfling after being threatened and ashamed in front of her friends.

'Why can't I go?' (Because they don't trust you, perhaps?)

It didn't matter, regardless. THEY followed the killer queen, followed her sweet poisoned words, her venomous demands… (Are you afraid of her, Nyca?)

Your supposed to love your mother, correct? Your supposed to loved by your mother correct? Taught how to be proper and poise? Taught to be polite, caring, loving, correct? No know right from wrong, do right, not wrong? Correct?

My mother did none of those things. WAS none of those ideals. My mother was a monster to me, when I'm supposed to be protected from monsters. How can one trust anyone when the one person you must trust, leaves you….. Alone….. For the rats…


The echoes of footfalls stilled after a while, as the group headed north out the Ashabenford North Gate, but did nothing to still the tears that ran down the Halfling's face…

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She hammered on the tower door, around midnight. Her metal hammer ringing loud around her (though the sound did not travel far, Nyca. Magic helped keep the peace the wizard required and his neighbors desired) with each impact on the door. 'Lemme IN! Lemme IN!'. It went on and on, for several candle melts, before a door opened on a awning high above her.

A dark shadow looked down, muttered arcane words and pointed down, and the Halfling's hammer slammed into the dirt and rock around the base of the tower. The halfling herself was solid and asleep the rest of the night and so what ever irrational idea she might have had was lost to the whims of magic…

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Her travels too her away from the dales, some said. Some people claimed she was charmed into a impossible task. Some people said she was eaten by something. Some people said she settled down. Others said she became a bandit. or a nut. thing is... nobody knows what became of young Nyca of Mystra. Did shame drive her off. Futility? Did her past come to haunt her one to many times....

Did her insane step-mother finally kill her? Her foster father bail her out and kept her safe at home back in Selgaunt?

Nobody knows... fer certain at least. Somethings are never certain, some stories never complete. that's life fer ya....