Salagar the Grim

By Lalaith's frost bearded mug, what in the blazes are you doing?" I exclaimed, slowly backing away from the three pronged pitchfork that my slack mouthed cousin, Balfor Slyfoot, was using to menace me. "I never dallied with your woman and I never would! You must understand that she is just not my type." At this avowal, Balfor seemed to become even more enraged and cried, "So, she isn't good enough for you, but you had a roll in the hay with her anyway! By Lalaith's sly daggers, I will have your heart for your betrayal!" Pondering the fact that the girl in question was short for a Halfling, extremely overweight, with greasy hair that clung to her misshapen head and eyes the color of mud that looked out crosswise at the world, I could not but chuckle at the irony of the entire situation. For, I had tussled with many a lass in my time, but never would I consider ever touching Balfor's girlfriend. Thus, I could see that this encounter was only going to end badly for one of us. Primarily me, I thought, especially since my cousin was becoming angrier with each breath, and held a dangerously pointy weapon in his clammy clutch. Hence, I began in earnest to look for a likely place of escape before my befuddled cousin took it upon himself to skewer me.

"Look here Balfor, I did not come near your precious Matilda, and I wouldn't, since you are kin. It would be a travesty for an action such as that. Can you just release that nasty pitchfork and place it on the ground so that we can talk about this like adults? Come man, think clearly here. Do not commit some hasty folly!" Balfor merely looked intently for a matter of five heartbeats or so, and then with a scream of rage, rushed straight for me, brandishing the pitchfork in both sweaty hands. "That does it," I thought, as I quickly dived to my left, barely passing but inches from the threatening tines. With a roll and a breathy exhalation, I jumped up and turned in one fluid motion, poised to move right or left depending on which way my slack witted cousin attacked.

As I turned and assumed a defensive stance, I observed that my bumbling cousin had pierced the door with his improvised weapon and was struggling to extricate it from the hardened wood. Well then, I thought, this may be my chance to disarm the dangerous fellow. I moved up behind my laboring kin and chopped down on his left arm in an attempt to separate the damn fool from his makeshift weapon. Balfour, still enraged, not only at the perceived insult to his manhood, but also to the intransigent pitchfork that did not seem to want to leave the wooden door, whirled around, lost his balance, and stumbled past me. Seeing, at once, my chance to end this charade, I put my left foot out and tripped the blundering oaf, sending him sprawling to the ground.

"Now see here, you great buffoon, I never had congress with your girlfriend and never will! Get up, shake the dust off your already soiled clothing, and let us talk this out like rational Halflings." Thus, I waited a few heartbeats to catch my breath and see what reply my cousin would provide. But, after almost two minutes, he remained mute, merely laying on the dusty ground. Concerned that it might be a trap, although I didn't think my cousin was smart enough to attempt such a ruse, I carefully moved to his side. Attempting to discern his true state, I looked down at my kin's head and eyes. "Well, I will be damned!" I exclaimed. Quickly, I knelt by my stricken cousin, all thoughts of bombast and fool girls washed away in panic. For when I knelt, I could discern the source for my cousin's inert position - his head was cloaked in blood.

I swiftly pulled a kerchief from my back pocket, thanking my luck that I had remembered to place one inside my wardrobe for that day, and placed it upon the leaking wound atop Balfor's head. Yet, I soon discerned that the task was fruitless, for the blood quickly soaked through my cloth, quickly coating the hardwood floor. Furthermore, no trace of breath escaped Balfour's colorless lips and his fixed eyes hinted no sign of life. "Now, this is inconvenient," I thought, as I pulled myself up to a standing position and thought upon my next step. I knew full well that this may well be the final straw that broke the proverbial bull oxen's back, since I have been in trouble almost my entire life and my families sympathy had been wearing thin of late. I could not count the numerous times I had been punished for this infraction or that violation; therefore, I knew that any story I would likely prepare for the family court would swiftly backfire. This recent affair would undoubtedly land me in the most serious trouble of my short twenty three years of life. So, holding my head in my hands and furiously thinking, I quickly realized that I required a safe haven while sorting through this sorry mess, for Balfor was quite dead and I would pay a pretty price for the death of a kinsman.

As I stood there pondering my fate, an idea came to mind; I could hide in the lower basement! In fact, it was a jolly idea, for I was the only person that ever visited the lower basement, as that area of the Grand Slyfoot house had been abandoned for at least ten years and off limits to all for at least seven. Of course, the original reason it was thus sequestered had to do with some nonsense about my great, great grandfather's ghost supposedly roaming the lower basement, which was pure poppycock. For I had never seen such a visage in all my time traipsing about the dusty place. That is why I continued to visit the lower domain, for I was always seeking new challenges and loved tweaking the noses of my Slyfoot elders. Thus I delved the deep second basement frequently, seeking adventure, treasure, well for me, treasure, and solitude. So, without another thought, I swiftly ran to the large pantry at the back of the manse. Gratified that not a soul was present, I grabbed a mug of ale that was sitting on the kitchen table and then stuffed a bag that was hanging on the back of a kitchen chair with bread, cheese, and some dried fruit. With provisions in hand, I made my way to the old back stairs and then down into the first basement.

As I descended the stairs to the first level of the basements, I detected a slight noise and a certain odor that could only be my Aunt Merry, who always seemed to smell of dust and onions all at the same time. So, I moved to my left and swiftly slid in behind some old crates that were piled haphazardly along the back wall. No more than two eye blinks later, Aunt Merry shuffled past, carrying a large sack of onions that had been stored in the back room since the last spring. When she was past me and up the stairs, I stealthily moved towards the back of the first basement, passing all manner of goods. Some of the many provisions were fresh, while some had been prepared for long storage. Some items had been laying in the basement ever so long, that the dusty shapes could represent anything. As I passed the smoked, hanging meats, I plucked a few, for I did not know how long I would be in the lower basement and would surely need more than bread and ale to sustain my refuge. Finally, I made my way to the old, moist warped heavy oak door that led to the second and lower basement.