Corner Pocket - Session 14 Excerpt
The fetid swamp air made the tired halfling's clothes cling to his already sweating body. They'd left the safety of Morstad's borders at the crack of dawn, but it was only at noon that they finally escaped the shadows of the towering city. With nothing to protect them from the sun's harsh gaze, they were forced to sweat and slog across the uneven, unstable ground.

Irritably, Pockets slapped at a greedy mosquito that had begun gorging itself upon his exposed forearm. The red smear left behind hinted at how successful the pest had been thus far. The swarms had plagued them endlessly, and even the stoic Ragnar could be seen grimacing at the countless itches that covered his arms. The only one who seemed unaffected was the fair-haired lass that picked their path across the marshy earth.

With nothing to entertain him but the raw, molding flora around him, he idly considered how they'd been stuck with the ranger. The symbol upon her sleeve marked her a member of the Blue Rose; an officer of the law. Some part of him wondered if the brass had some inkling as to his hijinks... but he figured they would have arrested him on the spot if that were the case. No, she was here for another reason. Surveillance, fear maybe. He wrinkled his nose as they passed a particularly rank pool of stagnant water. Maybe it was just punishment.

"Swamp's no place for a thief..." The halfling mumbled to himself. His laggardly pace let the group gain a hundred feet or so on him as he let his mind wander. His last heist had gone rather poorly, so it had been necessary to slip away from the city limits until things cooled down a bit. He wiped his brow with his sleeve wryly. Never really 'cools down' this far South...

A prickling at the back of his neck caused him to stop short.

Ahead, a small copse of thick-trunked trees towered over the stationary party. He could faintly hear a feminine voice from on high, though the distance made it impossible to make out just what she said. He dropped low, darting behind a small, gnarled bush and peering over the side. His sharp eyes soon spotted the pair of poorly-dressed women lounging in the trees, their slender forms crossed with paints and stains that gave them a wild look.

He swallowed, unhitching the finely-crafted sling Ragnar had given him not a week before. He loaded a bullet into the unassuming weapon as Giddles began to speak. Doubtless, the silver-tongued gnome was trying to negotiate some profit for himself... but it offered Pockets his chance. As the pair of women listened and laughed at the small man, he crept across the mud. He cursed the way the wet earth sucked in his boots, praying that the small pop of each rising foot wouldn't give him away.

When he finally had a clear shot at the nearest woman, a long-legged witch with hair of saffron, he couldn't help but smirk. They hadn't a single clue. From just outside their vision, his sling began to whirl. The small, hard stone it held sliced through the air ominously.

One...

Ragnar shifted his stance, slinging the heavy axe from his back and stepping in front of the group.

Two...

Giddles spoke once more, an offer of trade.

Three!

The stone whipped from it's prison. Time seemed to slow as Pockets watched it arc across the short distance. A loud smack filled the quiet swamp, followed by a howl of pain. The long-legged witch toppled from her perch, landing upon the gnarled roots with a sickening crack.

Pockets smirked. Bullseye.
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