A Hin and his Trade
Posted: Mon Jan 08, 2007 12:48 am
Muttering at the falling snow all around him, Bim pulled his leather highneck tighter around himself as he walked down the main road of Shadowdale village. His mastercraft blade and unbelievably powerful crossbow, both of dark elf design, were within comfotable reach, a constant source of both comfort and agonizing conflict to the young halfling.
Glancing up at the Temple of the Morninglord, Bim hurried down the road towards the woods, and a possibilty of seclusion. Stopping as he came to the small pond, and the surrounding trees, the hin quickly began to climb to the lower branches of a nearby elm. Resting the crossbow on his lap, Bim turned in his perch to survey the patrolling Dalesmen on the path below. As his eyes lost focus, his mind began to sort through the events of the last week.
He'd nearly died at the hands of the enemies who's weapons he now so comfortably wore, not a tenday past. Running a hand across his neck, to the beginings of a mass of burn scars, he clearly remembered the dark arcana and flames that had surrounded him on that empty farm. Yet, his allies, his freinds........they had come back for him, leaving his gear in the process. At least I lived..........to be poor, for that short period of snowfall........
Shivering from the memories of sitting outside the tavern in nothing but a pair of hem breeches and a sleeveless tunic, Bim drew his high neck tighter about his burned neck. Swiftly the image of his most interesting ally.......the Red Dwarf......came to mind. Not long after their skirmish with the Sembian nobility, the dwarf had been so eager and willing to fight in the name of his god. Now, merely a day ago, the dwarf seemed a shell of his former self. Head hung low, his armor recently died black to cover the symbols of deity, and his beard cut in half.........the image caused pain to the hin. He could not help him though, was not a person for healing the emotions of others. Still, as the image of his tormented freind, and indeed he was the hin's closest thing to a freind this far from Silverymoon, floated across his mind once more, his heart ached to leave the tree and do something, anything, to see that battle lust in his eyes again.
For that lust was what lead to profit, in the end. Bim desperately wanted nothing more than to settle down in peace, perhaps in Merrydale farther south. To retire from this dangerous buisness, and enjoy the rest of his days in the employ of the local militia, perhaps acting as a town merchant............Bim's deepest desire. To be respected, and to be needed by those around him. How often since he had left Silverymoon had he been saved by another? These heros, these gamblers.........they had their own demons that needed settling, and whenever they had brought the hin along, he had been nothing but a burden, or an occasional tool to them. He so deperately wanted to have them view him as an ally, as an equal........but it seemed less and less likely as the days went by.
Absently pulling back on the powerful string of his crossbow, Bim's thought shifted to the earlier meeting in Ashabenford.........another dangerous addition to his mounting problems. Simply to report on a traveler's movements and reasons for entering the dales........nothing too dangerous. Yet there remained a hidden tension in the employer, in his mark........his mark........laughing at the thought of being a spy for the cloaked stranger, Bim gazed down the road to where he had left his mark. A black gem was his reward for the job, a near worthless piece of rock when compared to what he would loose if his tentative allies found out of his task....their slight trust in him. Grasping at a sudden flare of painful warmth inside his inner pocket, the hin grimaced and leaned forward, clearing his mind of those thoughts........to think of betraying the employer would only end in certain death.....
Taking comfort in his two most precious possessions resting near his waist, the merchant hin removed his hand from the small shard of some long dead creature that he had been given for the task. If only he could trade his drow-craft weapons for those of their surface kin, and warn his mark of her danger without ensuring his own death, Bim would have thrown the shard and the dark weapons in the lake, and ran down the street, crying for all to hear. But even the thought of removing the magical shard seemed to paralyze the short merchant. And losing his only sources of dependable protection.......that would ensure a much quicker death.
Looking up at the darkening sky, the Merchant Hin wished for nothing more than a cosy fire and a cold glass of wine, with his freinds beside him, their current troubles long behind them.
His eyes saw nothing but the falling snow, and heard nothing but the mournful moan of the wind blowing across the empty field.
Gods.........I'm so alone........I'm so afraid.........
Glancing up at the Temple of the Morninglord, Bim hurried down the road towards the woods, and a possibilty of seclusion. Stopping as he came to the small pond, and the surrounding trees, the hin quickly began to climb to the lower branches of a nearby elm. Resting the crossbow on his lap, Bim turned in his perch to survey the patrolling Dalesmen on the path below. As his eyes lost focus, his mind began to sort through the events of the last week.
He'd nearly died at the hands of the enemies who's weapons he now so comfortably wore, not a tenday past. Running a hand across his neck, to the beginings of a mass of burn scars, he clearly remembered the dark arcana and flames that had surrounded him on that empty farm. Yet, his allies, his freinds........they had come back for him, leaving his gear in the process. At least I lived..........to be poor, for that short period of snowfall........
Shivering from the memories of sitting outside the tavern in nothing but a pair of hem breeches and a sleeveless tunic, Bim drew his high neck tighter about his burned neck. Swiftly the image of his most interesting ally.......the Red Dwarf......came to mind. Not long after their skirmish with the Sembian nobility, the dwarf had been so eager and willing to fight in the name of his god. Now, merely a day ago, the dwarf seemed a shell of his former self. Head hung low, his armor recently died black to cover the symbols of deity, and his beard cut in half.........the image caused pain to the hin. He could not help him though, was not a person for healing the emotions of others. Still, as the image of his tormented freind, and indeed he was the hin's closest thing to a freind this far from Silverymoon, floated across his mind once more, his heart ached to leave the tree and do something, anything, to see that battle lust in his eyes again.
For that lust was what lead to profit, in the end. Bim desperately wanted nothing more than to settle down in peace, perhaps in Merrydale farther south. To retire from this dangerous buisness, and enjoy the rest of his days in the employ of the local militia, perhaps acting as a town merchant............Bim's deepest desire. To be respected, and to be needed by those around him. How often since he had left Silverymoon had he been saved by another? These heros, these gamblers.........they had their own demons that needed settling, and whenever they had brought the hin along, he had been nothing but a burden, or an occasional tool to them. He so deperately wanted to have them view him as an ally, as an equal........but it seemed less and less likely as the days went by.
Absently pulling back on the powerful string of his crossbow, Bim's thought shifted to the earlier meeting in Ashabenford.........another dangerous addition to his mounting problems. Simply to report on a traveler's movements and reasons for entering the dales........nothing too dangerous. Yet there remained a hidden tension in the employer, in his mark........his mark........laughing at the thought of being a spy for the cloaked stranger, Bim gazed down the road to where he had left his mark. A black gem was his reward for the job, a near worthless piece of rock when compared to what he would loose if his tentative allies found out of his task....their slight trust in him. Grasping at a sudden flare of painful warmth inside his inner pocket, the hin grimaced and leaned forward, clearing his mind of those thoughts........to think of betraying the employer would only end in certain death.....
Taking comfort in his two most precious possessions resting near his waist, the merchant hin removed his hand from the small shard of some long dead creature that he had been given for the task. If only he could trade his drow-craft weapons for those of their surface kin, and warn his mark of her danger without ensuring his own death, Bim would have thrown the shard and the dark weapons in the lake, and ran down the street, crying for all to hear. But even the thought of removing the magical shard seemed to paralyze the short merchant. And losing his only sources of dependable protection.......that would ensure a much quicker death.
Looking up at the darkening sky, the Merchant Hin wished for nothing more than a cosy fire and a cold glass of wine, with his freinds beside him, their current troubles long behind them.
His eyes saw nothing but the falling snow, and heard nothing but the mournful moan of the wind blowing across the empty field.
Gods.........I'm so alone........I'm so afraid.........
)) 
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