Melora Hawke is plotting something (smallbutdeadly) wrote in pup_prompts, @ 2008-07-10 23:16:00 |
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Entry tags: | prompt 10 |
Muse: Nessa Telemnar
From: D&D/OC
Writer: Mandy
Nessa stalked down the long stone corridor, her soft leather boots barely making a sound. She was annoyed, but it didn't detract from her careful movements. A few hundred feet behind her was the cleric. Her primary reason for leaving him behind was the intolerably loud noises he made in his platemail armor. She was much quieter and effective when she could scout ahead on her own. The added bonus, of course, was that she didn't have to listen to him proselytize. Any distance she could put between herself and the holy man was welcome.
There were torches every forty feet, or so. Nessa managed to keep to the shadows well, using the darkness to her advantage. She moved slower when the light was so dim that it was difficult for her to see. Her vision wasn't as good as her annoying companion's. She heard noises ahead, though. Small, skittering noises. They sounded like kobolds. Had to be. She didn't think they'd heard her. They weren't the most strategic of races; If they'd heard her approach, they would have come running at her.
Eventually, the corridor opened up into a large room. Pressing herself against the stone wall, still halfway hidden in the shadowed hallway, she surveyed the scene. There were four kobolds sitting around a table wearing rusted armor that obviously wasn't meant to be worn by their race. Their weapons were on the ground.
This would be simple. She could probably even finish them off before old Pious the Good got his heavy ass up here. She wasn't even sure he would be able to hear the scuffle, from where he was. She could finish them off, loot them and pick the chest in the corner, and then keep the winnings for herself.
Nessa's hands were steady and silent as she slipped the shuriken off her belt. Her aim was true and deadly as the first throwing star landed squarely in the back of the nearest kobold's skull. He slumped over and the others sprang to life. She threw another shuriken into the second kobold's head, killing him quickly as the remaining two struggled to gather their weapons.
The kobolds rushed her, one of them swung out at her with his rusted spear and missed. The other barely managed to lift his sword that seemed much too large for him, missing her by a large margin. Nessa's quick hands pulled the dagger from her belt and she thrust it into a kobold's neck. She shoved him off her blade with her foot while the last surviving kobold made another vain attempt to hit her. She turned, slicing across the kobold with her dagger and it fell dead.
She knelt down with her dagger, wiping the blood off onto its previous owner's scraps of clothing. She also found a small pouch on the kobold's belt which felt like it contained a few coins, at least. There was some money on the table, as well. It seemed the kobolds had been gambling. It wasn't much, but it was better than nothing.
She crossed the room to the chest in the corner. The metal on the hinges were the cleanest things in the room. Nessa pulled out her thieves tools. They felt like extensions of her hand, so comfortable and natural. The right pick just found itself in her fingers without her even having to exercise much thought. As she prepared, she examined the chest for any traps that might be hidden. Seeing none, she began to work. It took less than half a minute before the chest sprang open, and as it did, Nessa found herself entangled in some sort of invisible webbing and pulled quickly toward the ceiling. She struggled, which drew the webbing closer around her. This was no kobold trap. Still, she should have seen it. She cursed under her breath. Not only was she trapped now, but the chest had been practically empty.
Her eyes widened as she heard the loud, quickly approaching footsteps from further in the dungeon. She tried desperately to slice through the webbing with her dagger, but with no luck. From around the corner, she saw a giant, ten foot tall troll storm into the room, attracted by the sound of the trap catching a new victim.
"Oh shit."