Tales from The Outpost

by Zwack

"Pling Pling"
"Pling Pling"
"Pling Pling"

Zwack gave up her attempt to find sleep and rolled out of the bed that the monks at the abbey had provided. She was in a bad mood. Just earlier that day she had had a run in with a guard in Papua as she tried to distract a murderer's ghost from mindlessly waiting out its' sentence, and now some irritating bard seemed to feel that 3 am was the best time to stroke her lute.

And she wasn't even very talented.

Zwack threw on her boots and stomped over to the room of the offending bard.

"Hey- beggin your pardon, but I'm gettin tired of that song!" This was an understatement. At one point Zwack had slept for a thousand years, and she could remember this song overplayed even from her childhood.

"Pling Pling"

The bard ignored Zwack and continued murdering the simple melody. Her face was rapt with a concentration that seemed so intense that nothing would break the
spell. Zwack's face grew red with rage; she did not like to be ignored.

Zwack was not a nice girl- when she felt put off by something, she was not always charitable with the way in which she dealt with it. But she liked to pick her fights. One of the things that delighted her so about the time in which she lived was that the foolish king sanctioned not one, but *four* murders before he outlawed you. This appealed to Zwack's sense of violence, and seemed just. Four she could manage.
Especially with the short memory of the local constabulary, which seemed to forget at the rate of a murder every few hours. Even so- she'd rather not waste such a generous quota on the likes of a talentless bard.

Surely there were more efficient ways.

Oblivious to her own breach of etiquette, Zwack marched down the hallway, opening every door and peering carefully at the occupants of the rooms before she moved on. On her fifth attempt, she found a disreputable man grinding nightshade with a mortar and pestle.

Zwack let herself in, and closed the door behind her. After taking in this man's unkempt appearance, she elected to use a more gutteral dialect.

"Hiya. I'm Zwack, and I can't help but noticin the hue that your little concoction is taking." She pointed at the telltale green of the substance in his vial. "I think we might have some business to discuss."

The man looked up, slightly startled at such a direct approach, but not averse to the suggestion.

"Ah'm called Zane. You wish me to handle a... negotiation?"

Zwack nodded and motioned for him to follow. They went out through the hall, and back into the Bard's room.

"This racket is drivin me crazy. Do ya think you could talk to her and settle matters for me?" Zane started to speak, but she interjected, "Name your price, I just want this done."

This seemed to satisfy Zane, and he began looking around the room. After a few minutes, he motioned for Zwack to be quiet. They both held their breath and
listened. A few moments later, Zane was able to discern the steps of a monk upstairs.

"Ah will have to climb in the window- You stay in here, and open it fer me when the monk is too far away to hear anything." Zwack nodded, and Zane disappeared
into the dark corridors of the abbey. Presently, she heard his footsteps outside.

Zwack waited for the monk to pass, then opened the window for Zane to climb in. Like a shadow, Zane crossed the room, and nicked the bard with his blade. The Minstrel immediately went into spasms, but- remarkably, kept playing. Her tunes were beginning to acquire an air of proficiency, and she made fewer mistakes.

Zane struck her again, but failed again to break her stride. Suddenly, Zane appeared distracted.

"It's... It's just so beutahful!"

After a moment, though, Zane regained his composure, and struck the bard again. Too late, he heard the footsteps of the guard outside, and fled for the window.

The guard was quicker, and struck him down before he made it. Zwack thought Zane dead, but he pulled himself up as soon as the guard had disappeared.

"Can't you work any faster?" Zwack whispered furiously, "I was hoping to get some sleep when this was over..."

Zane remained unperturbed, and answered in a calm voice, "Ah believe tha song she is practicing is s'posed to distract aggressors lahk mahself. You will have tah stand guard and warn me if anyone comes near."

With this agreement the two went back to work- with Zane working steadily if slowly with his dagger. Several times he had to renew his efforts against the increasingly enchanting melody, but the poison on his blade did it's work faithfully where he did not.

Finally the bard's eyes glazed over and she fell forward onto her lute. With a startling barbarism, Zane cleanly lopped off the head and presented it to Zwack.

"Tha negotiations are complete, and tha contract fulfilled."

Just then, a loud snore broke the stealthy and blessed quiet of the room. A knight, who had been sleeping unnoticed in the room's bed woke with a start.

Zane's robe was still bloody, and the head still in his hand. Thinking quickly, he said "'Tis tha most dreadful accident ah've ever seen..."

"What happened here?" The paladin pulled himself to his feet, his sword at the ready.

"I am surprised that you slept through it, sir-" Zwack purred in a much more cultured voice than she had shown Zane, "This poor lady had worked herself into quite a fervor, and was pounding away at her instrument, oblivious to the world around her. She was making quite a racket, and seemed quite intent on going on the whole night... Such dedication to one's art is a rare thing to witness..."

"Aye, and then it happened!" Zane had managed to conceal the bloody dagger, at least, and was holding the head in a much more compassionate manner. "She had just begun ta find her muse when- "twang!" a string broke and... and lopped off her head!"

The knight was no fool, but these were not romantic times. Even nobility, except for in a few very rare cases, was just a pretty skin covering a much more primitive and bloody animal. This knight, it seemed, was no exception. He plainly understood the score, and yet- as long as there was a pretext for gullibility, he was more than happy to play the part, and even derive some small pleasure from it.

"Mayhap 'tis for the best, in the greater view of things, for is it not said that one must suffer for one's art?"

The knight laughed mightily and all three relaxed.

Zane tossed the head in the corner. "Aye! And this one hath suffered most greatly!" And with no further ado, he and the knight left Zwack to get some well-earned sleep.