NPCs (Spells, Swords, & Stealth, #1)

by Drew Hayes

"We'll loot the bodies and be on our way." "The words that start every great adventure," Gabrielle quipped sarcastically. She might have been surprised to discover how accurate that statement truly was.

Just try to understand that sometimes it is better to see a thing destroyed, rather than ruined.”

Grumph replied with little more than a grunt, a sound that spoke to both his profound sadness and his appreciation of the heartfelt sentiment. Or it meant he was hungry. Orcish didn’t have many unique sounds, so there was a lot of room for misinterpretation.

Once they’d thrown down their weapons, a goblin runner had been dispatched, returning less than an hour later with some other goblins riding ponies, and of course, the cage-carts. While getting inside, Eric had managed to slip on the step and strike his head against one of the rear planks, resulting in the one and only injury from their “battle.”

“I once stayed up for thirty hours straight to guard her door because we heard goblins were in the area, and she has her own horse she rides away on.”

Grumph let out a harrumph, which indicated either that he was unharmed and waiting patiently for a new opportunity to arise, or that a sparrow had shit in his porridge.

“Vamoose, escape, do the kobold charge, run away,”

The gnome stood nearly shoulder-to-shoulder with the goblins, meaning he could blend in easily. Two humans would stick out like, well, like a pair of humans in a crowd of goblins.

Eric, in a show of either cunning or stupidity (the difference between the two being an idea works or not) elected to go the one direction that no one was paying attention to.

They weren’t as well-made as the ones he’d taken from the dead rogue, but they had pointy ends he could stab into people and that was really all that mattered in a dagger.

There were surely better ways to die than this. Going down in battle was a point of pride, certainly, but it was supposed to be while making a grand last stand for some important cause. All Grumph had done was whack a polearm against a demon while it was killing several goblins.

One of the warriors, midway through stepping over another goblin’s corpse to take its place, had the very un-goblin-like thought about the futility of this. He would die soon and another would take his place, as had always been the goblin way. But they were dying so quickly; what would happen if they ran out of goblins?

“As someone who has traveled with a barbarian before, I assure you, the capacity to turn fury into blood is almost the entire prerequisite checklist,” Thistle told her.

Still, I find lying to be more dangerous than expertly telling the truth, so I avoid it whenever possible.”

It was like the leader of the guards had always said: “In a real battle, anything can happen.” He’d meant it as a caution to be prepared for whatever their opponent might throw at them, but Eric had gleaned a different meaning from those words. To him, it meant that, no matter how difficult an opponent might be, there was always a chance.

The day of the tournament was a gorgeous one: sun shining brightly overhead and not a single cloud in the sky. Of course, this was the worst possible weather for the competitors; it meant glares of light in the eye from every reflective surface and stifling heat for those equipped with armor.

“Appleram keeps watch over these roads, and has a fine militia. There have been no raiders or outlaws spotted anywhere near here. So what, pray tell, is going to attack us?” Thistle winced inwardly at the words; he’d heard such phrases enough to know they had a strange magic. Words like that presented a theatrical opportunity that neither the gods, fate, nor whatever uncaring being oversaw the world was able to resist.

Paladins didn’t run. Paladins didn’t hide. Paladins were the shield of flesh between the forces of darkness and those without strength to defend themselves. Paladins held the line, no matter what.

“Why didn’t this man come himself?” “I don’t know.” “What made you so willing to do it, then?” “Because the monsters were in the other direction,” Eric replied.

The guards would have to make choices with the knowledge that their first job was defending the citizens of Appleram. Adventurers, however, were under no such moral obligations, and rushed into battle with the sort of enthusiasm one only finds in idiots, champions, and the unapologetically suicidal.

Adventurers, however, were under no such moral obligations, and rushed into battle with the sort of enthusiasm one only finds in idiots, champions, and the unapologetically suicidal.

Gabrielle didn’t need to be beautiful. She was effective, and that meant worlds more than beauty in her current situation.

He understood that arguing would waste energy she didn’t have. She would fight until either the battle was done, or she was. That was the way of the barbarian, which Gabrielle most certainly was. He would do the job of a friend and keep her safe as best he could.

Thistle emerged from the demon’s mouth, careful not to nick himself on the rows of blade-sharp teeth, and breathed a sigh of relief as his shoes touched the blood-soaked dirt. Looking around, he realized the eyes of everyone were on him, ogling the insane sight of a gnome emerging from the maw of a demon. Never one to waste an opportunity, Thistle cleared his throat and spoke as loudly as he could: “Anyone object to a do-over on that last throw? I got a bit distracted by the demons, and I’d wager my target has flown half a kingdom away by now.”

“If a man claims to love children, builds orphanages to help them, saves them from trouble, gets them food when they are hungry, and all the while secretly hates the devil out of children, what does the lie matter? Actions are more important than motivations.

We only need to receive our task, try and survive it, and get out of this town.” “He makes it sound so easy,” Eric said, winking at Grumph. “Oh no, we’ll probably die in the process, but since that’s been the situation for so long now, it hardly seemed worth mentioning,” Thistle said.

the others had to admit that the constant threat of death was such a persistent companion, it almost felt like they should get it a horse.

He looked every inch the part of a king, which was eighty percent of what it took to be a king.

Only fools and gods fought a prepared wizard.

Any divine guidance before I go back?” “Always tip the bartender more than you think you should, be nice to the people who know where you sleep, and beware the bush with red flowers.”

“Oh sure, everyone else charges monsters and it’s brave; I do it once and I’m a madman.”