A Fistful of Coins (Jhi)

[Anonymous]

To say that Maralee was in dire need of money would have been a gross understatement. A woman with expensive tastes and a penchant for gambling, the bandit had a way of spending her coins before they had even had a chance to firmly settle into her money pouch. She lived every day as though it were her last, fully immersing herself in her hedonistic tendencies. Not but a day ago she had managed to score a hefty sum, and now all she had to show for it was a half empty bottle of fine elven wine. A bottle which was quickly growing empty as she lounged against a tree, waiting for the next unsuspecting fool she intended to prey upon.

Banditry, she had discovered early on after leaving Connlaoth for personal reasons, was an exceptionally easy way to make one's way in the world. There seemed to be an overabundance of cowards in the world, none of whom ever seemed to have the balls to stand up to her. The bards could sing epic tales of brave heroes all they wanted, but she had yet to ever encounter any such person. Which was precisely how she preferred it. It made her job quick and easy, and generally without the need for bloodshed.

This was not to say that every single robbery went down smoothly. There were always exceptions to the rule, and cowards were no different. There were two types of cowards; a fact which Maralee was certain in. There were men who were cowards and knew this, and then there were cowards who thought they were heroes. The first form of coward was easy enough to handle, but the others always proved slightly more difficult. They inevitably wished to prove some brand of manliness to her, and of course she was then obliged to send a volley of poisoned darts into them. It was a tiresome process, but one which she felt was vital in maintaining the balance.

This balance was one which Maralee viewed herself as the guardian of, though she highly doubted any law officials would ever agree with her methods. She held a firm belief in spreading the wealth, most particularly to those who found themselves living in the slums of the cities. Since those who were wealthy tended to not share her ideals, she had taken it upon herself to bear the burden of enlightening them. She viewed it as more a give-and-take arrangement rather than a one-sided robbery, and often told them as much as she left them stranded without a horse and clothing in the middle of the road. It was for their own good, but not even she could ever maintain a straight face when informing them of this fact.

Swishing the bottle of wine before her, Maralee glumly stared at the dark liquid which seemed to be disappearing at a far more rapid rate than originally anticipated. She had been resting against the tree for the better part of the day, a point which her sore back and ass protested against dearly. She had chosen the spot due to its ideal location for springing an ambush, but as the day went on she had grown bored after hours of nothing to do but listen to the birds chirp overhead. The bottle of wine in her pack had eventually proven entirely too tempting.

Hiccuping softly, Maralee was just corking off the bottle and about to call it a day when she caught a glimpse of an approaching traveler through the brush. Her vision was more than a little bleary after finishing off half a bottle of strong wine in one sitting, and the waning light of evening did nothing to improve her scrutiny of the figure. Normally she would have been careful to appraise her target before attacking (soldiers and bounty hunters were not people she wished to meddle with), but she'd be damned if she didn't at least leave with a fistful of coins to her name after wasting an entire day of waiting for just this opportunity.

Quickly tying a black scarf about the lower portion of her face, Maralee silently crept around the side of the tree, slowly pulling out her hand crossbow and locking in a bolt in the process. Patiently listening for the person's approach she counted down the seconds, and then at the very last moment sprung out from her hiding spot and into the middle of the path, her crossbow leveled at the figure's chest.

"Your money or your life!" She exclaimed, realizing only afterward her dire mistake.

The blasted half-elf had the looks of a mage.

[Anonymous]

The robed figure stopped in the middle of the road. The white-golden light of the evening sun lent a mock flush to his pallid skin, and as the breeze caught the hem of his hood a few strands of black hair blew across his face. Steely eyes blinked, slowly swerving to meet her eyes, wide and apparently ignorant of her intent. There was a strangeness to his actions, an odd dysfunction, a small delay between each movement as if even the simplest things required a brief moment of forethought. A frown of confusion wrinkled his smooth brow.

"You are not..." He trailed off. His voice was completely void of any kind of human emotion; neither pleased nor upset or even surprised at her presence. It was a statement, though unfinished. He shook his head, as if clearing away some unpleasant thought. Even his expressions seemed disjointed; each one flickering into the next as if there was no neutral state, like turning a page in a tome of portraits.

A sudden movement made him flinch. Two dark shapes burst from the reedy undergrowth; the leaves and long shadows materializing into a pair of men. They wore the nondescript, anonymous garb that marked true professionals - the only noticeable thing about them being the two swords whistling out of their well-oiled scabbards. Without any sort of battlecry they leapt from their hiding place, spurred to rashness by the woman's appearance, their swords glittering in the evening light.

"The Shedanai send their regards."

[Anonymous]

Maralee wavered in her steadfastness, though never once did the hand crossbow swerve away from its threatening aim at the half-elf's unarmored chest. Her entire body had siezed up the very moment she had realized she was robbing a mage, her Connlaothian blood furiously screaming heated epithets at her intelligence. She had been raised to believe that all mages were vile, deceitful, inherently evil creatures. They were to be executed on sight as though nothing better than diseased dogs, and for the latter half of her life she had been consumed by that part of her cultural belief system. However, life had a way of gradually changing one's outlook on the world.

Still, superstition and uneasiness had managed to survive in Maralee, and while she did not necessarily believe that mages were too be condemned so harshly to death, that did not mean she had ever wanted to actually meet one face to face. She had heard many a tale of how mages were able to call down fire and lightning from the skies, striking down their foes with but the simplest flicker of a finger. And here Maralee stood, a simple hand crossbow leveled at the half-elf's chest.

Maralee did not know much about magic, but she was fairly certain that lightning trumped her little poisoned bolt.

Staring in confusion as the half-elf managed no more than a few emotionless words before trailing off, Maralee steeled herself against the urge to call it even and let bygones be bygones. She needed money, and while the half-elf had the looks of a mage, he also had a daft look about him. If she was lucky, he'd prove to be an easy target, magic or not.

Just as the female highwayman was about to reiterate her threat and urge the half-elf to hurry up with the process of handing over all his money, two men in nondescript garb burst forth from the brush, the sound of steel ringing upon the air as they unsheathed swords in one fluid motion. Maralee jumped in startlement at the sound of their voices, hastily swinging about and twitch-firing a poisoned bolt directly into the shoulder of one of the men.

"Oh gods," she murmured, her half-drunken state leaving her confused and startled.

Just what had she gotten herself into?