I figure I should go whole nerd here and complete the social awakwardness. Fan fiction! No RP on this server, mate! The bronze shield was bulky, heavy and grubby. The interior handles were worn and flimsy, and a mismatched collection of scratches, dents and pockmarks littered the once polished exterior. Gilbert had gotten off most of the blood, but it seemed there was still a tooth of some description half buried in the brown metal which wouldn’t budge. And, unfortunately, no matter what Gilbert did, the shield still smelt like goblin dung - no, it wasn’t dung. Dung was the polite word for useful farm animal excrement. Goblins did not produce useful excrement, they produced goblin ****. Sloppy, acidic, nostril burning ****. And THAT is what the shield smelt like. He put the shield against others in similar condition in the far corner of his shop. There was a crude sign reading “Won Guld” above the unattractive collection. Spelling wasn’t Gilbert’s forte - but it wasn’t any self respecting adventurers forte either, and that was ninety-eight percent of his clientele. The other two percent were crochety old wizards looking for the bookshop next door, or tourists. Gilbert dealt in profit - and secondhand items off recently expired adventurers had the largest margin.There probably wouldn’t be many customers tonight, but it might be worth staying open all the same. After that incident in Woodhome a few months ago, business had been booming - almost every fresh faced kid had wanted a sword and shield to stick it to the hordes of undead, and night time was the best time to feel the heavy weight of a sharp sword in your hand. It was almost dark outside his little shop at the Kyburz Market, and the cold seabreeze was ushering in another autumn storm. Distant thunder growled. When the cold wind shrieked up the cobblestone alleys, you could hear the steady crash of waves pummeling the pebbled beach. Gilbert stoked the hearth, provoking the fire to glow brightly. Golden, friendly flames danced in the fireplace, enticing the passerby huddled in their thick leather hides to come in, sit by the fire and survey the array of fine pre-adventured items at Gilbert’s Gallery of Gear. But no one came. So Gilbert busied himself looking over the newest items he’d secured over the past week. All the new stuff lay in the small back room where his newest acquisitions were packed into a variety of chests. Some were serviceable, others were destined to break on a hopefully distant battlefield in the not-to-distant future, whilst one or two had real hope of being something very special indeed and would attract a hefty premium. A knock on the heavy shop door echoed through the confines of his little shop.
“Coming!” cried Gilbert, rubbing his hands together. He began to set some clearance items up on the counter in obvious view. “Can ye hurry up, ya inspid wee man!” cried a gruff voice from out in the dark. Gilbert’s heart sank in recognition of that particular accent. Dwarves. Bloody-minded, good for nothing, persistent-small-man syndrome dwarves. Arrogant, impatient, dour and worst of all, stingy. For all their reported mountains of gold, they were as a race, very hesitant to part with so much as a handful. So much for easy pickings tonight, Gilbert thought. A meaty hand crashed on the door again, more like a battering ram that the civilised knock of a customer. Gilbert opened the door. A frigid gale roared through the shop, setting the cowbell over the door into jangling song. The wind screamed straight down from the high mountains to the northwest, carrying snow and ice and fear with it. “Good evening, frie-” he began. “Save it” said the first dwarf, a chunky blonde female in leather armour. She hefted a weighty stone mallet over her shoulder and a flimsy shield across her wide, muscular back. She pushed past Gilbert and made straight for the fire, muddy footprints trailing in her wake. Another dwarf followed, a male this time, carrying a slab of rectangular metal on a short stubby handle, which Gilbert took to be a sword of some description. In his other meaty paw was a bloody axe crusted in black gunk. His mail was dirty, bloody and brown in places with rust. He pushed past with a ‘hrrmph’ that barely escaped his substantial beard. The wind picked up, it’s voice shrill against the night, and Gilbert strained his meagre frame against the door to close it. “Wait!” a hand checked the door and Gilbert opened it again. In front of him stood possibly the most beautiful female elf he had seen. She slipped through the doorway without a sound, almost ushered in by the frigid wind, which finally stopped once the heavy oak door was closed once again. Gilbert reached up and held stopped the cowbell from jangling. The dwarves were already at home, muddy boots and bloody armour seemingly thrown about only in their undershirts for modesty. The elf was dressed in mage attire, and she sat with her back against the side of the heath as ghostly hands of steam drifted from her robes. Her silver hair lay wet against her pale neck and over her delicate shoulders. “Well then” said Gilbert, “Welcome to Gilbert’s Gallery of Gear. I specialise in pre-adventured items which are suitable for any low-level adventuring. I’d say anything you purchase here would be good to take down some troglodytes, golems or anything up to say... a juvenile wyrm. With a cold. And a broken leg. Mmmm, and maybe if he was missing an eye you might...” “Dya have anythin’ that’ll kill a kobold?” said the male without looking away from the fire. “Well, Mr Dwarf, a kobold can be killed with pretty much anything, even a decent sized stick would do the trick. In fact, I have a very nice used sword here you could probably use to chop at your foes. And a bargain at a single gold coin!” “That’s nowt but a crummy sword. Common as they come” he grumbled. “I want something that’ll kill a whole ruddy nest. Something that’ll snap their Bram-forsaken shields in half and so powerful the devils’ll not be able ta parry. If it can cleave their bloody arms off in the process, so much tha better”. “And we need some new boots” the female dwarf said gruffly. Her dirty face was broad but unmarked by scars or tattoos, the traditional hallmarks of a dwarven warrior. “We musta stood on some goblin ****e on the way out of the cave and its chewed through the leather” “Cave?” asked Gilbert. “What cave?” “Arrgh, now ye’ve done it woman” the male said. “Give it a week and there’ll be nowt but fresh-faced adventurers runnin’ up to feed the ruddy nest, 'less you ken keep yer mouth shut, shopkeeper”. “My name is Gilbert”, Gilbert said, drawing himself up to full height, which wasn’t that high. “Thanatos” said the male gruffly though his beard. “Ceoban” he nodded at the female dwarf. “And that, is Eros”. The elves eyes slid open for a moment, transfixing Gilbert with their piercing blue. A half smile and then she rested her head back against the hearth. “So I take it you’ve been up to a cave in the frozen hills and found a nest of kobolds which have given you a beating?” “Now ye shut yer mouth!” said Ceoban angrily, getting up. “Ya ken nothing aboot adventurin’ in yer little shop ya piddlin' human!” “It’s not just a nest, Gil-bert, it’s an entire colony set up in an abandoned mine” Eros purred quietly.
“We heard tell of the mine from a friend, but he was a little less than forthcomin’ aboot the local wildlife”, said Thanatos, still sitting wiggling his toes against the fireplace. “The first time we got surprised. We didn’a ken about the little bistards, though Ceoban here clobbered one right good with that mallet. Bludgeoned the divvil into the stone floor. Skull popped like a bomb. I was picking out head shrapnel from me beard for the next day and a half”. “Head shrapnel?” “Teeth, bone, eyes - a bit of brain sometimes. If you hit anythin in the noggin hard enough you get head shrapnel. Turns out kobolds dun have much brain in there, but a lot of teeth. Fly out all over the place with enough persuasion”. “I’ve heard they re-grow their tee...” Gilbert began. “The second time” Thanatos continued, ”they were waitin. They let us come in, closer and closer so we could see the glittering diamonds in the walls in the halflight” “Diamonds?” “Then the persistent wee divvils scrabbled out from the rocks in a side passage, hooting and yollerin like scabrous Ibrekian monkeys after a goat. We took a few out, but they got us good and proper. So now we need to go back and finish the job”. “I’m here to serve” Gilbert replied smoothly. Now was the time to wheel and deal. “What, um, is your budget?” “What have you got in the manner of magical items?” Eros rose gracefully to her feet. Her blue robes and silver hair were now dry and lustrous. Her smile itself was magical, and Gilbert giggled like a silly schoolboy, though he coughed loudly to clear his throat and compose himself. “I have quite a selection of fine items... very fine ones, if you catch my drift” he said with a wink. “Specifically, magical items that deal with fire. Jets of fire and intense heat will do ever so nicely, dear Gilbert. The more powerful, the better”. “Bit of a firestarter, are we?” Thanatos laughed “You have no idea!” he said, hefting an expensive battleaxe. “Ah, Mr Thanatos, please be careful with that item. It is quite exceptional” “Oh, indeed. It IS quite exceptional” he replied testing the balance. “Dwarven size too!” “Now, Mr Gilbert” Eros purred, touching him on his arm. “Could you please direct me to the magic section?” Gilbert showed Eros all manner of items, even the most excellent ones he held in the chests in the back room. She seemed particularly taken with a staff that could spray fire over a large area and some rather unique bracelets that could melt stone into puddles of red hot lava for a while. Gilbert wasn’t worried about the dwarves being left alone, he had locked the door behind him. The windows were barred from the inside, true, but were too high for a dwarf to reach. Those dwarves were going nowhere until they paid whatever price he demanded. He was just about to show Eros another arcane item when there was a loud crash from the showroom. Gilbert grabbed the nearest weapon and charged into the store. The dwarves were wearing the best armour and had in their grubby hands a complete catalogue of unique weapons “borrowed” from a derelict caravan. Thanatos had made a substantial blow to the door and it hung of it's hinges at an odd angle. Another hit and they'd all be free. Gilbert charged them, sword above his head, yelling his throat out, but found he now couldn’t move his arms or legs. He was frozen in midstep. He stopped yelling. Eros walked in front of him and fished the door key from his pocket. She tossed it over to Ceoban. “I’m terribly sorry, dear Gilbert, but I couldn’t let you hurt my husband” Eros said, stroking his cheek. “A dwarf and an elf? Married!?” Gilbert gasped. Ceoban held the door open as Eros slipped out into the night on elegant legs. “Who do you think married them?” asked Ceoban with a disdainful look. “Do I look like a scrubby dwarven warrior? No offence, my lord Thanatos. I’m a priest, ya dunce”. Thanatos was the last to leave. “We’ll pay you when we come back!” he cried out into the night. And though he lived for a long time after that, Gilbert never saw a smile so large from any dwarf as from Thanatos the Kobold Slayer.
Fan Fiction...Already....Really? Not even NetStorm, in all its time in existance have even one Fic on FanFiction.com
That was actually a joke i wouldn't waste my time posting to tell people i didn't read it if i didn't actually read it
