Turns out one of the pissant thieves lived. Turns out they also had a little captive all tied up in a sack. Soon as we hashed out whether or not to let the shit live, Tarquin made sure he didn’t bleed to death, and then we got to work on the little bundle of Gnome. Yeah, turns out it was a gnome. Says his name is Vistos or something; that the thieves held him up. Stupid bandits, gnomes are made a’ magic, not money. Lesson learned too late, I reckon.
Anyway, we decided to make our way east out of those fuckin’ woods and make way back to Olaf’s. Tarquin and Oligo made our way through the woods easy enough, but all I wanted was blood. Speakin’ o’ which. The shit we carried with us, called Smits, didn’t say much. Figure he was too scared of death to give up much information.
We hit the road about midday, and lady luck just happened to catch a whiff of my salty link and decided to take a lick and chomp. Giant fucking toads or something, boggards they called em, ran up and started biting our shanks. God’s truth, gnomes may be made of magic but this one couldn’t aim for shit. After some blood and spite, we had our way with the little toad-monsters.
I need a drink.