"The nerve!" he shouts before I even introduce myself, "You know, I went to talk to those ruffians and do you know what they did?"
My first guess would have been "killed him," but it's obvious that didn't happen. In fact, the old boy looks just fine. Not a scratch on him.
"They took my handkerchief!"
"You... went into the lair of the guys who just burned down Archet and all they did was swipe your handkerchief?" I stammer.
"Can you imagine?!" he says, stomping his foot.
I am trying to do exactly that:
BANDIT: Hey boss, this short little geezer said we're all good-for-nothing!
LEADER: He's got some nerve coming in here and insulting us to our faces. Looks like we need to teach him a lesson, boys!
BANDIT: Right! Let's cut his throat and dump him outside of town. That'll show 'em!
LEADER: Hm. I don't know. That seems a bit... extreme.
BANDIT: Boss? We killed like, a hundred of these guys last night. I don't think one more is a big deal.
LEADER: Let's just take some of his things.
BANDIT: Ah! Yeah, We'll strip him naked and send him home. That should be good for a laugh.
LEADER: I was thinking of just taking one of his things.
BANDIT: Like what?
LEADER: Does he have anything with snot on it?
"So will you do it?" Filbert asks.
"What? Do what?" I ask, suddenly snapped back to reality.
"Get my handkerchief back for me? I imagine one of their leaders will have it."
"Great. I'll get right on that," I find myself saying.
And with that, I wander off into the heart of the ruffian-infested woods.
Farewell the Mudbrick
Rest now dear Mudbrick, farewell to your sheep.
The bucket you'll now kick, and go to your sleep.
So lay down your sword and forget all your hurt.
Here's the heroes' reward: a layer of dirt.
Your grave I have strewn, now forget all your pains.
We'll see you real soon. (The next time it rains.)
Next Time: Why did I agree to this?