Nerfidelle kept drawing as Seraphim’s body slid down to the camp with the rest. She had just figured out why the pig-pen was on this end of the bandit’s camp – this probably wasn’t the first, or even the fifth time they’d been attacked from the lookout. This was just the easiest way to dispose of the bodies – let them slide straight to the pigs. She’d noticed it as the bandits all stormed past her – even the bandits understood bardic immunity – that they couldn’t interfere at times like this – and her role was clear even to a fool from her blatant position – drawing the battle, not even attempting to hide, walking right past her to perform their ambush, no, their execution.
“That Barbarian was really something, wasn’t she,” she casually commented to the bandits. One looked down at her with a smile, extending a hand, which she took. “Yeah. Haven’t seen someone take a beating like that since Harkin took on my brother down at Ranger’s fall.” Nerfidelle raised an eyebrow. “You saw that? Were you guys in that rediculous-”
“Yellow Willow tree, yes. Our Cleric foresees attacks on other camps and we all go and take bets.” Nerfidelle laughed, remembering how conspicuously the tree shook. Especially given that the tree had arrived earlier that morning. “So your cleric. You’re not concerned about the deaths of three of your comrades?”
“Nah. They’ll be up and about within the hour. And they owe everyone else in the camp five monarchs.” The cheerful bandit, dirty hair wandering about his face, regarded the gnome as she packed away a few magical pictures, one of which portraying him as slightly more rugged that he had pictured himself, moved to help her. “Thanks. Speaking of rezzes, would you mind saving a finger off each of my friends? Royal bounty and all, I’m required to send them to the court for resurrection.” One of the other, younger bandits chimed in. “What, so they can come at us again? Don’t be crazy, Barna.”
Barna, Nerfidelle’s new friend, shook his head. “We TPK’d them, Jorrel. They aren’t permitted to do anything related to that bounty after they get ressed. Something about terms and conditions. Sure, I’m sure Brother Gallywig’s already taken the samples you’ll need.”
Nerfidelle beamed, hopping to her feet. “Brother Gallywig, your Cleric? He sounds like quite a character!” Barna nodded.
“He’s a gnome, just like you. Most bandit clerics worship the gnome god, Garl Glittergold, but I suspect you both are disciples of-“
“Flarlaghn! God of the open road!” she finished, hopping onto the table.
As the other bandits were already most of the way down the hill, Barna looked behind him, eager to head back to the camp himself. As the light caught his other ear, his one pointy ear, Nerfidelle realised he was half-elven. “Want a drink,” He offered, lifting the gnommish bardess to his shoulders. “Sure,” she said, grateful for the ride. “And maybe in the morning you can come with me to town to deliver the remains?”
Barna thought about it for a second and smiled. “Sure. I could use the walk.”
“Great,” Nerfidelle said. She liked this guy – he wasn’t as much of a pig as most bandits. She wanted him to be out of the camp when the smell of pigs feeding got to a certain goat’s nose. And she knew it would – she knew that goat well. She felt in her pocket, and stroked a finger over the onyx statuette in her pocket. A small figure of a goat’s head.
She had no doubt that he’d feast well come the morning.