Post by Gothrik the Harvester on Mar 13, 2009 23:52:26 GMT -6
Fame had it's uses, just as it had it's pitfalls.
The lean hard man was finding that out quickly, it was the fourth time this clever bandit had stolen from Gothrik, Nothing major each time just enough to show his bravado. Gottfried knew there would be more not far behind unless he strung this one up. He'd be good for tending the fields if he was captured alive.
The line of five other villagers were moving forward with their scythe wielding leader, intent on pushing the bandit up north, higher into the most inhospitable reaches of the Frostcrag. Gothrik was high enough as is, it wouldn't be long before the man would be frostbitten and begging for forgiveness, which might be given if he worked hard enough.
When the cry broke out that the bandit was heading down the mountain, that idea was banished from Gottfried's mind as he turned and began rushing down the mountainside at breakneck pace. Unhindered legs allowing him great speed down the rocks and snow.
It wasn't long before he was on the small time bandit's trail, his mountain experience expediting his path, while his foe's inexperience hindered his. It would only be afew hours before Gottfried caught up with the man, who was breathing heavily and looking about nervously when he caught sight of the man from the stories.
"Please! Please don't hurt me! I'll give it back, let me go! I won't say anything I promise!"
The hazel eyes would judge upon the man for a few moments, the bandit holding out the small sack of goods outstretched in one hand. The scythe was a silvery blur upon white snow as it lopped the hand off.
"You had no help getting this far down the mountain, you'll have no help getting back up. If you get back to the village, we'll tend you and set you churning butter and hammering. You can do those well enough with one hand. If you can't make it up, you've payed for your crimes. Something in the afterlife will look favorably at that."
Gottfried would grab the sack and begin heading to the east, he was a long ways down the mountain, near the foot hills. The road to Belmourne would be a safer and quicker route back home. Even if it lead to another pitfall of fame.
Recognition by common folk.
The lean hard man was finding that out quickly, it was the fourth time this clever bandit had stolen from Gothrik, Nothing major each time just enough to show his bravado. Gottfried knew there would be more not far behind unless he strung this one up. He'd be good for tending the fields if he was captured alive.
The line of five other villagers were moving forward with their scythe wielding leader, intent on pushing the bandit up north, higher into the most inhospitable reaches of the Frostcrag. Gothrik was high enough as is, it wouldn't be long before the man would be frostbitten and begging for forgiveness, which might be given if he worked hard enough.
When the cry broke out that the bandit was heading down the mountain, that idea was banished from Gottfried's mind as he turned and began rushing down the mountainside at breakneck pace. Unhindered legs allowing him great speed down the rocks and snow.
It wasn't long before he was on the small time bandit's trail, his mountain experience expediting his path, while his foe's inexperience hindered his. It would only be afew hours before Gottfried caught up with the man, who was breathing heavily and looking about nervously when he caught sight of the man from the stories.
"Please! Please don't hurt me! I'll give it back, let me go! I won't say anything I promise!"
The hazel eyes would judge upon the man for a few moments, the bandit holding out the small sack of goods outstretched in one hand. The scythe was a silvery blur upon white snow as it lopped the hand off.
"You had no help getting this far down the mountain, you'll have no help getting back up. If you get back to the village, we'll tend you and set you churning butter and hammering. You can do those well enough with one hand. If you can't make it up, you've payed for your crimes. Something in the afterlife will look favorably at that."
Gottfried would grab the sack and begin heading to the east, he was a long ways down the mountain, near the foot hills. The road to Belmourne would be a safer and quicker route back home. Even if it lead to another pitfall of fame.
Recognition by common folk.