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Peter
peered out from his hiding place to see the Displacer Beast still crouching
before the door. A quick glance about the room revealed that his sword
was lying only a few feet from where the monster had stationed itself.
If he could get to it, he would have at least a fighting chance to defend
himself against the partially disabled creature.
If this were any normal cat, he would have simply charmed or beguiled
it, using the skills and spell abilities learned as a young man when
he had studied with the Druids of The Greatwood. There he had also developed
a profound respect for all animal life. He might have simply commanded
it to sleep or sit quietly. This unfortunately was not a normal animal
however but a creature with higher intellegence, capable of a more sophisticated
thought process. As such, it would be immune to his animal control ability.
In addition to their formidable claws and teeth, Displacer Beasts have
a set of powerful, tentacle-like appendages, tipped with razor sharp
horns. Wielding tremendous strength, a single blow from these tentacles
could send a man sprawling and sliced wide. All in all, there were few
creatures endowed of such a potent combination of cleverness, power
and sheer speed.
Creeping slowly forward, Peter employed all of his skill for silent
movement. Choosing the placement of each step upon the sandy floor with
the care and precision of a jewelers hand, it seemed like an eternity
passed as he inched his way closer and closer to his precious magical
blade. Nearing the sword, he was now so close to the Displacer that
he could hear its heavy breathing and low-guttural growl. Bending down
to grasp the hilt of his weapon, Peter was horrified as his leather
armor gave up the smallest squeak, barely audible even to him.
Suddenly, the beast was alert. It began sniffing at the air and Peter
froze, hoping against hope that he was not discovered. The great cat
turned its head from left to right, obviously straining to see through
watering and irritated eyes. The eyes halted their rotation peering
directly at him. Peter stood still as stone, silent an immobile. The
cat showed a concentration few other creatures possess but apparently
was still unable to detect his presence. A moment later it lowered its
head once again and returned to wiping the dirt from its eyes.
Peter breathed a silent sigh of relief, then it happened. The one thing
a stealth master, no matter how skilled or experienced can neither control
nor predict. He might have felt it coming, might have chosen not to
eat Tubera root for breakfast, but he did. It was so abrupt and unexpected
he didn't even know it was happening until it had already had. Peter
passed gas.
The Displacer looked up sharply and Peter dove quickly for his sword.
The beast was already in mid leap, teeth bared, claws outstretched and
tentacles held high in the attack position. Grasping it and rolling
in one smooth motion, he was still hit so fast, he had no time to mount
a defense. The weight of the creature was too much for him and he found
himself crushed hopelessly under its massive bulk. It screamed in a
chilling and soulful way and then there was nothing but darkness and
silence.
Epilogue:
Striding lightly up the front stair of the "Weasel", Peter whistled
a cheerful tune. The bag of gold and jewelry was slung over one shoulder
and a set of long curved teeth was threaded through a cord as a crude
necklace. Whatever fate it was that had propped his sword at just the
right angle to impale the great cat with the power of its own leap,
was beyond him but he was as happy as he could be. Well, as happy as
he could be until he reached the inn and was ministered to by his bartender
and his girl. Or girls, hell he could afford a harem now.
Entering the darkened inn, the fat man greeted Peter. Sally came running
up to kiss him, hanging her arms about his neck.
"So how'd it go?" she asked already eyeing the sack slung over his shoulder.
"Nothin' to it hon, another easy score."
A few weeks later, as Peter tipped back his eighth Frost Giant ale (or
was it his ninth? ah, no matter). He thought about what a wonderful
life it was. Sally was gone and of course so was his treasure (they
left together for parts unknown one night as Peter slept) but he wouldn't
go after her. She deserved a break in life. He had been living large
the last few days but really never did care that much for gold anyway.
As he absent-mindedly
spun an empty mug on its edge, The door of the Inn flew open and Rafael
the Sneak came rushing into the common room. "Peter... Good... You're
here!" He, crossed the bar and sat down next to the half drunken, half
elf. "Have I got a tip for you. This one will be a real easy score."
That night, as Peter walked back to the small two room shack he called
home, he rubbed his sore fist and hoped he hadn't broken the mans nose.
At least not in more than one place.
THE
END