Welcome to the beginning of Season 2 of The Wizard Killer.
Note that this is posted RAW, meaning it has not been edited nor revised.
Season 2 – Episode 5
What the yig am I doing here? And where the yig was I when all of this took place?
I push against that muddled fog that I think’s my memories. Just as I’m about to give up, I feel something. I recall wanting revenge on someone for killing me last time… but it’s different this time. It’s like… ah, it slips through my fingers. No, I’ve got it. It feels like the desire belongs to someone else.
Wiping my lower lip and grizzly chin, I keep pushing. It’s like I keep running down a road, then suddenly the road’s gone, like I took a wrong turn.
Hang on, there’s something. There’s…
I suddenly rock forward. My eyes snap open. “What the yig was that?” I glance about, there’s nothing. “That was like… someone pushed back.”
Staring at the blade, I wonder if the librarian and orb thing were real or… I have no idea what they were.
I get a good grip on the serated blades and wait for something to happen, and to my surprise, the minutes tick by peacefully. Glancing up at the late afternoon sun, I decide it’s time to check out the trunks.
Giving the first travel trunk a shove, I note it’s got real heft.
“That’s a good start,” I say moving on to the other one.
The second trunk rocks too easily. Peering around it with a firm grip on one of the swords, I see that one of its dark wooden sides has been broken through. That must have been where its lock was.
Was someone trying to get in… or was something trying to get out?
A shiver runs down my spine. I glance at the sword in my hand, which now feels weird and heavy. “Hey, where’s my pistol?”
After a brief search, I find it half-buried in the fire-pit. “There you are.” I snatch it up and dust it off. I flip the switch on the bottom and open the chamber, checking how many conventional bullets it has left.
“Three… I can live with three.” I close it up and flip the switch back so that it’s mana powered.
Running a finger along the blue that goes from its base to the end of the barrel, I smile. “Nice to have you back.”
I roll my shoulders and crack my neck. “Time to give up your secrets,” I say the trunks.
Bouncing around first to try and get some adrenaline flowing, I wind up and give the light trunk a solid kick, sending it end over end.
“Come on!” I yell at it, my pistol and sword pointed and ready. Creeping around to the broken opening, I peer in from a few yards away, ready for anything.
“I almost want to say I’m disappointed. You look empty.”
Putting my pistol on the ground, I grab hold of the trunk with one hand and lift it up so the sun shines it. There’s a shiny cup and plate, and a small roll of blue fabric at the far end. That’s it.
Turning to the other one, my eyes focus on its sturdy looking lock. I whack it hard with the hilt of the sword.
“Yig me!” I yell, dropping the sword and massaging my hand. “Mother of Mercy that’s some nasty vibration.”
I remember something about magical locks and traps, and immediately count myself lucky for not having blown up or something. Concentrating for a moment, I don’t feel anything like magic failing, so whatever magic this thing might have, there’s no avoiding it.
Glancing about, I figure what do I have to lose? I pick up the sword and give the lock another whack. A piece breaks off and gives me a cut just below the eye.
“Had to go down fighting, didn’t you?” I laugh.
I make my way to the side of the trunk and open it. No need to be front and center and get some poison darts in the throat or something stupid.
On the top, the trunk’s full of rolls of red, blue, and green silks. I try to find a clean part of my hand, and run a finger along the silks. “That stuff’s worth some good coin.”
I bring the other trunk over and lay the silks on it.
“Huh, thank goodness for small miracles.” I pull out a some decent looking clothing: shirts, vests, pants, even boots.
Glancing around, I wonder if these were trading tents. If so, were they new to the area and were surprised to find it had wind spiders, or have they been here a while and the wind spiders are new?
I lay out a set of clothes and boots that look like they’ll fit and keep digging around in the trunk.
Hauling out a small brown bag, I open it up and laugh as I pull out a six inch long wooden handle. Pushing on the end, the razor comes out of the handle.
“A yigging razor.” I squint up at the sky. “Doesn’t look like anything’s about to fall on me.” I sweep my gaze across the campsite. “Is this paying me back for everything I’ve been through, or teeing me up for what’s to come?”
I go to tug on my unruly beard and realize its not there. Narrowing my eyes, I remember a bit earlier rubbing my hand on my stubbly chin. My hand’s drawn to my head, where I find that my hair’s gone. Like my face, all there is, is a day’s worth of stubble.
My eye twitches and head bows as I glare about. I hate that feeling of something being off, but it is. Maybe this is what happens to you after a floating city tries to rip the life out of you, or maybe something else is going on.
I put the razor back in the bag. Tucked into the trunk on the far side is a leather bladder full of water, and a half loaf of bread.
Sitting down and gazing upon the carnage and ruin around me, I eat and drink, a king of a desolate land.
I tie up the water bladder and stare at the setting sun. I need a plan that’s better than just ‘head out and see what happens during the night.’
Sighing, I force weary myself up. I’m pretty sure that wind spiders don’t usually come out at night, but that’s usually, and says nothing about the million of other things that could be waiting for me. I’d rather see it coming.
“Best to stay here, I guess.” I nod, as if I’m agreeing with someone else.
First things first, I should double check everything, make sure I didn’t miss anything that could be useful.
A careful and methodical search turns four empty pistols and a belt pouch of bullets. They’re old and cheap looking, not the type of thing that I want to bet my life on.
Finding two scabbards large enough for the Oner’s blackened swords, I cut up one of the dead guy’s leather vest for straps. It’s a good fit; I should be able to run with the swords on my back if I need to. Ha, if.
I look at the smoke that’s been coming from that place off in the west, and wonder how far it is. I loath the idea of just waiting, but if I’ve learned anything recently, it’s that I’ve got be more careful.
My fingers reach down to my side, and then scurry about. “Yig, my short sword.” I spin around, my eyes darting about furiously before the memory of the scavengers comes back to me. “All the more reason to be careful. No short sword, no healing.”
I’m tempted to make a fire, but my gut’s telling me that the last thing I want to do is let anyone know that someone’s here.
Folding my arms, I stare at the too familiar campsite. “So what do I do, just lay down?” I shake my head. “Sleeping on the ground and out in the open’s a bad idea. Never mind the temperature could drop, this feels like desert. Hey Randmon, you around?”
No signs of the little guy. Where’d that mouse go, anyway?
Staring at the trunks, an idea hits me. I put the damaged trunk in front of the other one, and load it up with bodies. I turn it so the hole’s facing the other trunk. Standing at the firepit, the first thing I see’s the body-trunk now. I make sure the other one opens away. Part of me wonders what the yig I’m doing. I’m in the middle of nowhere, as far as I can tell.
Washing myself off with as little water as I can, I wipe myself on some of the silks and get dressed in the clothes I laid out. I’m sure I heard my feet sigh being in boots.
I gaze up at the dark orange and red sky. The day’s almost done, and my body’s beat.
Putting the Oner’s swords and my mana-pistol at one end of the other trunk, I climb in and cover myself with the silks. Closing the lid, I make sure that if anyone opens that thing, I’ll be able to see them.
I don’t remember falling asleep, but something slams the trunk and my eyes snap open.
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