“Thank you, thank you good Sir Tengu! You’ve saved my purse, and quite likely my life!”, huffed the fat merchant. With hands still trembling from his ordeal, the man fumbled with the clasp of his leather pouch. “Please accept this as a token of my gratitude!” The man pushed a noteworthy 10 plat and an impressive ruby brooch up towards Plek. Plek didn’t even hesitate. The weapons still in his hands, with the muggers’ blood still warm, cut a swift X-shaped double arc through the air. And through the merchant’s face and neck. Followed with a quick peck to the forehead for good measure, he was dead before he was able to be surprised, and his purse in Plek’s hands before his body flumped over to the ground. Plek walked away quickly, wondering what surprised him more: what he had just done, or the fact that he didn’t feel the slightest hint of remorse.
Just a few minutes earlier:
Libations were ample at the Purple Lantern, as they typically were. Plek and the gang were seated on and around the usual table. Mugs in various states of fill and balance covered most of the table’s surface. Lazarus was nowhere to be seen- he may or may not have accompanied the group… Plek was never quite sure. X was leaning back in her chair with her pipe, doing her best not to notice the wolf whistles and slightly less than appropirate comments coming from a nearby table. Cayden was drunk. Just sloppy drunk. Kalib had Hamish cornered and was reminging the Duergar for the nth time that day just how disappointing it was that we didn’t get to unleash chimeric Hell on the city. Hamish looked like he was listening, but that was another thing that Plek was never quite sure about. Plek decided that it was usually safe to assume that Hamish was not absorbing information. He wasn’t particularly tired, but Plek decided to call it a night, and said so. It was late by the common folk standards, but not by insert our party name here standards. So after the standard “going home to preen his bird-gina” jokes had run their course, Plek left Purple Lantern; skipping out on the bill. Heh heh heh. Oh hey- bill! Bird joke! Cutting through alleyways, Plek was making his way home when he happened across a routine mugging. A pair of Fetchling thieves had a well-fed, fancy-pants (literally!) merchant at knifepoint. Plek’s hands went instinctively to his daggers, even though the Tengu had no intention of intervening. He had only lifted his foot to stealth past when the merchant noticed him and squeaked out a “Help me!” The Fetchlings, who looked young and not very good at the whole robbing thing, turned on Plek at once, eyes all crazy with adreneline and worry and stuff. They rolled initiative and it was low. Plek had enough time to throw the merchant a look of sheer annoyance before sneak attacking the thieves. Well, he sneak attacked one of them, the other kind of ran into Plek’s other dagger- but the result was the same. They reduced to zero or less HP and fell over all bleeding and dying and things. “Thank you, thank you good Sir Tengu!....”, began the merchant.
This story was typed to commorate a slight shift in Plek’s alignment. He was Neutral, and now he’s… well, I’ll let you guess. FREE HINT: the new alignment ain’t lawful good. It rhymes with “Poo-trail Weeble”