/lit/ - Literature

You are an adventurer, a sword for hire, and have been roaming the northern borderlands of your kingdom. Having always spurned the dullness of village life you now wander the lands in search of wealth and danger. The world holds no fears for you as you are a skilful warrior, well practised in the art of slaying evil men and beasts with your trusty sword.

Whilst awaking at your camp one morning you hear the loud crack of a twig breaking under a clumsy foot. Then you hear a groan, followed by the dull thud of a body falling to the ground. You slowly advance over to the bush where the noise is coming from and carefully pull back the branches.

You look down to see a little old man with a great bushy beard, his face contorted with pain. The dwarf is delirious from poisoned tipped bolts lodged in his stomach. His eyes half close and the pain seems to ease a little and as the delirium subsides he speaks in a low whisper:

“Help us, friend... take the hammer to Gillibran... only the hammer will unite our people against the trolls... We were on our way to Darkwood in search of the hammer... ambushed by the little people... others killed... the map in my pouch will take you to the home of Yaztromo, the master mage of these parts... he has great magics for sale to protect you against the creatures of Darkwood... take my gold... I beg you to find the hammer and take it to Gillibran, my Lord of Stonebridge... you will be well rewarded...”

The dwarf opens his mouth to start another sentence but nothing comes out except his last dying breath. You reach over to the still body of the dwarf and remove the pouch from the leather belt around his waist. Inside you find 30 gold pieces.