The puppets dueled across the stage, their swords flashing as they wove in and out in a deadly pattern. Their lines rich with panache. Which made sense, considering their owner was one of the best puppeteers in the world.
Somebody muttered, "Marvelous animation" as Carrie walked by. She ignored him.
The shoulder still hurt. Even after a couple of weeks. And she was feeling feverish. Felt like she still had a splinter of that arrow in her, and she just didn't have the money to get the wound healed. Maybe a bowl of the tavern's beef barley soup would do her good.
"Excuse me. I need to get that shirt off you."
She turned to the voice. A man in clerical robes. A priest by the look of him. In the background the duel had ended with the defeat of the villain, who was now giving his "Oh how do I regret the evil that I have done." soliloquey.
She said to the priest, "What?"
"You stink of corruption, and death shadows you closely." he replied.
Before she could move he had her shirt off in one easy motion. Before she could complete her move he stood behind her and was probing at the injury.
She, naturally, was irate, and let him know it.
"What do you think you're doing!?"
"Keeping you from becoming a burden on some charity hospital."
He took out a cloth and dabbed at her injury.
"How did you get this?" he inquired.
When she refused to reply he added, "I had the feeling."
As she started a retort he brought out a bowl, a small knife, cut through the skin over the cyst and drained the pus. This shut her up.
"There, that will make the next part easier."
With a deft hand he flushed the wound out, closed it up, then laid his hands upon her. When he was done she felt no pain in her shoulder, not even a touch of discomfort.
She gave him a look. To that look he answered, "We will heal people even when they have no money. All you need to do is forget your childish pride."
Again she opened her mouth to protest. Again he interrupted, this time by saying, "Your name is Carrie. You are 16. You take things that don't belong to you."
"What do you want with me?"
"We need information on a lich. You are going to help us get that information."
That puzzled the young lady. Who asked, "Who wants this information? And why me?!
With a smile he brought a new shirt out from his cassock. As he helped her put it on he replied, "The lich does, and he asked for you."
As she puzzled over that she noticed, there was no sign of blood or pus in his bowl.
(From The Case of the Forgetful Lich, a work in progress.)
Somebody muttered, "Marvelous animation" as Carrie walked by. She ignored him.
The shoulder still hurt. Even after a couple of weeks. And she was feeling feverish. Felt like she still had a splinter of that arrow in her, and she just didn't have the money to get the wound healed. Maybe a bowl of the tavern's beef barley soup would do her good.
"Excuse me. I need to get that shirt off you."
She turned to the voice. A man in clerical robes. A priest by the look of him. In the background the duel had ended with the defeat of the villain, who was now giving his "Oh how do I regret the evil that I have done." soliloquey.
She said to the priest, "What?"
"You stink of corruption, and death shadows you closely." he replied.
Before she could move he had her shirt off in one easy motion. Before she could complete her move he stood behind her and was probing at the injury.
She, naturally, was irate, and let him know it.
"What do you think you're doing!?"
"Keeping you from becoming a burden on some charity hospital."
He took out a cloth and dabbed at her injury.
"How did you get this?" he inquired.
When she refused to reply he added, "I had the feeling."
As she started a retort he brought out a bowl, a small knife, cut through the skin over the cyst and drained the pus. This shut her up.
"There, that will make the next part easier."
With a deft hand he flushed the wound out, closed it up, then laid his hands upon her. When he was done she felt no pain in her shoulder, not even a touch of discomfort.
She gave him a look. To that look he answered, "We will heal people even when they have no money. All you need to do is forget your childish pride."
Again she opened her mouth to protest. Again he interrupted, this time by saying, "Your name is Carrie. You are 16. You take things that don't belong to you."
"What do you want with me?"
"We need information on a lich. You are going to help us get that information."
That puzzled the young lady. Who asked, "Who wants this information? And why me?!
With a smile he brought a new shirt out from his cassock. As he helped her put it on he replied, "The lich does, and he asked for you."
As she puzzled over that she noticed, there was no sign of blood or pus in his bowl.
(From The Case of the Forgetful Lich, a work in progress.)
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)) Bob is 20,
