Inside the Warrens’ tavern, the Half Pint, a so-called reporter named Brim was Tegrin’s most attentive listener. Brim’s quill worked vigorously in his hand as Tegrin spoke.
“Nearly a tenday down in that cell when we made our escape. I swears it was Lord Brandy himself who rescued us. Robed and masked with some motley guise, he blasted a hole in the wall to free us. Gave me this armor and enough potions and flasks to fill a sack. Jack and I fought our way out, lobbin’ blaster-bottles and cracking goblin skulls. Ole Brandobaris laughed the whole time, firing his crossbow left and right. We must’ve each took down half a dozen of those slimy savages.”
Brim leaned close, “Now you really think it was the Trickster himself who broke you out?” The reporter wrote for Happy Toes, a newspaper ‘by the hin, for the hin’.
“Who else could it be!? Who else would be so daring, so risk-taking!” Tegrin was sincere, and had no other explanation.
Brim adjusted his monocle before returning to his notes. “Your sword and shield, your friend Jack’s trident and war-outfit?”
Teg frowned. “My gear likely being worn by some goblin chief. And as for Jack’s..” A glimmer of rare amusement met his eyes. “The Scamp likely stole his things. That would be keeping with stories we grew up on, yes?”
Nodding, Brim asked another, “Now what?”
Teg grew serious. “I have to go back there. There was a hin woman next cell over from ours. We couldn’t free her at the time. I have to go back for her. I didn’t catch her name but she’s someone’s daughter and she’s someone to save!”
The Half Pint
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