3. Janika Cars - Not a pretty face

Janika Cars - Not a pretty face


  • Narfell a/c : sciolist
    Character : Janika Cars

    Life Sucks.
    Norwick is an unforgiving town. 'Specially if you're poor, or not well-liked, or just plain not an elf. Folks say it used to be better, and now the town is weak and complacent from all the adventurers flocking in. Changing the land, keeping the goblins back, fending off the bandits… And who'd want to be a farmer, when there's adventurers in town, flashing their fancy gear, throwing money around like they've got too much of it. So sometimes you got to get out, make your own way, make a difference, just... jump, I guess. Why the hells not?

    You travel. You dance, a little. You drink and you fight and you sleep rough some in barns, lofts and sometimes under the stars. Good? Nope. Not easy, either. Better'n farming? Better'n farming someone elses land cos you got none of your own. Oh yeah. No ties. No responsibility, just what you need to do to survive. Maybe an odd job, here and there. Nothing regular.

    Then comes the crunch. Shaking down some weedy merchant and his cart. Never normally a problem. Face like mine? Folks tend to pay up sharpish. It's always the fear. They look and they see someone bad. Henh. Maybe not bad, but someone who isn't afraid to get close and take a few knocks. 9 times out'f 10 it works, they'll pay a toll. The 10th, well there's trouble, another notch on the bedpost. This'n was even worse... It was like a farking bardic story. Heroes and Goodly milita boiling out of the back of the cart like rats in Old Wald's barn. All stood up there and smirking and grinning and 'We've got ya surrounded!'

    Do I work alone? Yep, easier'n trusting folks. Am I surrounded? Yep, looks like mouldy bread and tan-lines from what little light seeps through the bars. Jus' got something snappy to say, some zinger as would make 'em angry, a last bit of bravado I can tell the other cons about while I wait for 'em to release me.

    An arrow takes the merchant in the neck, blood spraying in a neat arc, droplets caught in the chill morning air before splattering across the back of his horse and the nearest Guard's tunic. A heartbeat passes, me an' the boss guard look at each other, some of his men starting to turn, looking for the archer. Boss opens his mouth... so slow, you'd think he was simple, his axe coming up, hatred and fear in his eyes. Always the fear. What's a girl to do? This wasn't my plan... So I's dropped and rolled the mans axe closer'n I'd like it, scrapin' by the wheels to get under the cart. Maybe I can hang on, maybe the horse'll bolt. Better'n nothing as the arrows rain in.

    Silence. Even the bloody horse has dropped in the traces. Clinging to the underside of the cart, willing the shadows to hide me, watching several sets of dirty furred boots tramp up to the cart and the bodies, stripping 'em, looting 'em. They got a better plan than me. Have to hand it to 'em. A guttural voice rasps 'Come out'n die. We're firing the cart anyways'. The owner of that voice and filthy furry boots is too smart to put his head down to cart level. Hells, even if he was that dumb, I left my club out there in the carnage. One last bit of bravado…? Dead to some orc's axe? It always comes down to the fear...

    Local rangers later found a burned cart on the road to Jiyyd, signs of an ambush, several dead guards slain by axes or black-fletched arrows. Orc tracks led away to the south, and a lone pair of smaller, human tracks East to Jiyyd


  • Reviewed, XP pending.