The Happy Muggers

The Next Level

On mastering the weapon of choice

The room was littered with corpses. No sound could be heard except for the heavy breathing of the assailent. No one heard or saw him coming, and now all were in pieces on the floor; their inner parts littering the room, and the floor covered in a thick layer layer of… stuffing.

“Ronstein!” D’cafnaet’d angrily called from the room that he had claimed as his training facility. He also slept and took most of his meals there. He was on a mission. He had always felt comfortable with a dagger in his hand. But he needed more. At this point in a rogue’s career they would be branching out, considering what kind of job opportunities are available. D’caf was quite comfortable where he was. He was nearly flawless at wielding a dagger in a fight. Nearly… that’s the word that nagged at him most. Nearly flawless wasn’t good enough. He wanted mastery over his daggers.

“What do you want?” Lady Ronstein had appeared in the door. “Oh merciful gods, look at your hands!” she said as she took in the site of the dissheveled drow in his room. His hands were beaten and bloody from the constant practice. She walked into the mess, “You need to take better care of yourself.” she said as she took D’caf’s hands in hers, examining them. She took the daggers out of his hands while she whispered a healing word. A faint glow lit up his hands aas he watched his skin knit back together and the bruises start to fade. “You know, some people actually let go of their weapons once in a while” she said, setting them on a nearby table. “You should at least consider putting them down while you sleep.” She advised. “Now, you summoned me?”

D’caf flexed his hands. He appreciated her gesture, and his hands did feel better, but magically healed skin always felt weird; Like the skin was stretched too tightly over the bones. “You said you know of a man in town who sells training equipment. I’m going to need a lot more training dummies. A lot more.” D’caf looked around at the mess that was his bedroom. “… and a broom.”

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joeburly

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