Selina Fairchild
The Burden
I was wandering the streets of Britain so as to familiarize
myself with its topography and local citizenry. I wandered in and
out of several shops and inns, taking note of my surroundings and
of the activities the populace was engaged in. Living on the
outlying farmland for the first fourteen years of my life, I had
never realized that the capital of Sosaria was so immense. The
greatest activity could be found on the Western side of the city,
presumably because of the banks locale. I explored for what
seemed like hours.
I am greatly pleased at what I see so far; these people are
like fattened sheep ready for the slaughter. They place their
trust in Lord British, and it is a trust that I know from very
personal experience is sadly misplaced.
Presently I came to the Eastern side of Britain. There were
far fewer people, and I had wanted to distance myself from the
leering, drunken men at the tavern, and the loathsome noises of
bards strumming away at their music with skill equaling that of a
feebleminded and clumsied llama. I chanced by a tailors
shop, where a flowing green dress in the window caught my fancy.
As I entered, I spied a red-bearded man across the shop. He
carried a backpack that was absolutely stuffed with badly
tailored skullcaps. The shopkeepers rolled their eyes at yet
another would-be weaver hawking his poorly crafted wares.
The man bent over, huffing and straining, and lifted another
pouch that rested by his feet. He seemed to be able to move it
only a few inches before pausing to rest. I felt sorry for this
poor overburdened soul, and decided that I would relieve him of
his heavy encumbrance. Stepping behind the partially opened shop
door, I hid, and watched him struggle in my direction.
His face was as red as his beard as he groaned and lifted the
bag yet again. He slung it forward onto the floor within inches
of my feet. Suddenly one of the tailors in the shop turned from
the middle of a business transaction and screamed at him:
"MAXIMILLION JAZ! If thou hast but a moment
Royce hates
me and wishes me dead! Thourt a good choice for a
murderer
" Startled, Maximillion glanced in her
direction. In that moment, I grabbed the edges of the bag with
both hands and dragged it behind the door.
Max turned back to where his bag wasnt. A puzzled look
crossed his brow. He turned in first one direction and then
another, becoming visibly agitated.
"HEY DWAR DID YOU SEE A BAG OVER HERE IM LAGGING" he
shrilled at a wizard who was also in the shop, dressed in yellow
robes and a bear mask.
"I think you dropped it by the wall. I saw it fall
through," replied the mage. From the look in his eye, I
could tell that he knew this was not so. Whatever his reasoning,
he did not reveal my position.
"OH WELL GUESS I HAVE TO WAIT TILL IT COMES BACK"
Max yelled, an anxious tone in his voice. He waited. And waited.
After some time, he stormed out the door without a word, no doubt
cursing the gods and his own misfortune.
I then stepped from my hiding place, and smiled sweetly at
Dwar. "Thy friend looked so pitiful, dragging such a weighty
burden. He looked ready to collapse, as weak as a day-old kitten.
I hope that thou doth not mind my assistance."
"hehe" said Dwar, returning to his own business.
I attempted to leave the shop, and found that I myself was so
overburdened that I could not lift my feet. What in the worlds
had this lad been carrying? I peeked into the pack.
The contents of the bag confirmed my suspicion that the
average Britannian is, shall we say, somewhat less than
intelligent. It contained more than twenty of several types of
reagents, a double-headed axe, a war fork, a map, two crystal
balls, a partially filled spellbook, and numerous other items.
I quickly handed several clothing items contained within to
the nearby tailor, who thanked me profusely and nattered on about
a magical set of chainmail leggings somewhere to the west. Still,
the burden proved too much. Removing my mortar and pestle from my
pack I ground up a bit of Maxs mandrake root and drank it
down. Increased strength flowed through my limbs, and I strolled
out the door and into the night
|