02-21-2012, 06:17 PM
Jeremy trudged along the faint dirt path towards down, the comforting weight of his club bouncing against his thigh with every step. If the man's sheer size was not enough to intimidate any highwaymen, the crude but imposing weapon would surely deter anything short of an organized party of attackers. Wiping his brow with the back of his sleeve, he replaced his wide-brimmed leather hat atop his head.
Why a man as paranoid as his boss chose to live so far from the relative safety of town was a mystery, although given the recent events it seemed town was more dangerous than the distant farm the thug had left a few hours earlier. Regardless, well-worn shoes did little to protect his feet from the constant assault of sharp rocks and other general debris on the backwoods road and Jeremy briefly fantasized about joining the crime spree and bringing his club squarely into the old man's face. He imagined sliding the codger's polished copper ring onto his finger and staring into the roughly cut garnet as it glittered on his hand, the hand of a man far better off in the world.
A particularly sharp stone found its way into his shoe and cut deeply into the side of his foot, eliciting a quiet curse and breaking his daydream. Sighing heavily, he resumed his journey. Even if he were to murder the old man, Jeremy was no farmer and had little desire to be, and though the farmstead was fairly far from town, eventually someone would come looking when the donkey-drawn cart loaded with grains failed to appear in town.
"Hail, friend, come to kill again?" Startled, Jeremy realized that he had reached town as his mind had wandered, and he sized up the guard cheerily approaching him. "You'd make a good start," growled the thug, his hand resting on his weapon and his eyes narrowing. "Whoa, friend, rest easy, " replied the guard, his smile unwavering. "Trust me, I'd prefer you were the murderer, a death at the end of that club there would be far more merciful than the torture being dealt the folk of our fair town. Wouldn't be much need for an investigation either, as much as a simple following the trail of crushed bones. Don't suppose you're here to help with that, provide some muscle or whatnot, friend?"
The brute briefly considered punching the guard in the throat before he could utter the word "friend" again, but thought better of it and lumbered towards the town hall. Hopefully, there would be minimal investigating and a lot of quick bone breaking to be done before he could put this nonsense behind him and get back to his life of relative ease.
Why a man as paranoid as his boss chose to live so far from the relative safety of town was a mystery, although given the recent events it seemed town was more dangerous than the distant farm the thug had left a few hours earlier. Regardless, well-worn shoes did little to protect his feet from the constant assault of sharp rocks and other general debris on the backwoods road and Jeremy briefly fantasized about joining the crime spree and bringing his club squarely into the old man's face. He imagined sliding the codger's polished copper ring onto his finger and staring into the roughly cut garnet as it glittered on his hand, the hand of a man far better off in the world.
A particularly sharp stone found its way into his shoe and cut deeply into the side of his foot, eliciting a quiet curse and breaking his daydream. Sighing heavily, he resumed his journey. Even if he were to murder the old man, Jeremy was no farmer and had little desire to be, and though the farmstead was fairly far from town, eventually someone would come looking when the donkey-drawn cart loaded with grains failed to appear in town.
"Hail, friend, come to kill again?" Startled, Jeremy realized that he had reached town as his mind had wandered, and he sized up the guard cheerily approaching him. "You'd make a good start," growled the thug, his hand resting on his weapon and his eyes narrowing. "Whoa, friend, rest easy, " replied the guard, his smile unwavering. "Trust me, I'd prefer you were the murderer, a death at the end of that club there would be far more merciful than the torture being dealt the folk of our fair town. Wouldn't be much need for an investigation either, as much as a simple following the trail of crushed bones. Don't suppose you're here to help with that, provide some muscle or whatnot, friend?"
The brute briefly considered punching the guard in the throat before he could utter the word "friend" again, but thought better of it and lumbered towards the town hall. Hopefully, there would be minimal investigating and a lot of quick bone breaking to be done before he could put this nonsense behind him and get back to his life of relative ease.