Jemmy
Vidge-urr-lanty 'ero O' Cove, Speshul Ajunt Of the Barrun....(And resident village idiot)
Covian Citizen
Karma: +3/-2
Posts: 51
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« on: January 07, 2006, 01:59:37 pm » |
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The thick mud of the road squelched between the swiss-cheese-esque soles of Jemmy's boots. The grime of weeks of travel through the Brittanian winter hung all over him, his clothing patchy, even the peak of his much-beloved cap fraying beyond all repair, yet Jemmy smiled despite his discomfort. The forest and mountaintops were familiar. Every now and again he'd catch a waft of sea breeze.
Jemmy The Rat was almost home.
Shifting around the bulging sack of junk on his back, the young peddler quickened his step. Cove MUST have missed him, and like Eason had once told him, the guards couldn't do their job without people like him. He looked down at the faded Commander's sash that hung across his chest, a gift from his friend after he had helped fight the Yew monkeys, and he smiled, talking to himself in his lilting, unplacable mockery of the Brittanian language.
"Dunt wurry, Misser Eason! The Vidge-Urr-Lanty 'Ero O' Cove bist commin' back tur save yur agen!"
He sniggered to himself and patted the battered, half-blunt Kryss at his side. He'd missed Cove something terrible. He'd missed the camraderie, he'd missed the guardsmen, he'd missed Eason and Grief and Trisha. He'd missed his designated sleeping spot on the flagstones under one of the library tables. He'd missed all of it.
Still, his year on the road had been profitable at best, and it had been a chance to put to use skills he had neglected since taking up his tenure as resident street urchin and riff-raff squatter at the barracks. Part of his agreement with Eason had been that in return for his lodging, he wouldn't use his...less-savoury talents within Cove's precincts. Therefore, it had fallen to citizens of Minoc, Vesper, Jhelom, and Trinsic to unwittingly line Jemmy's pockets during his harsh year peddling goods around the land.
Yew had proven very bountiful as new settlers made very good customers for the rag-tag items he "collected". By flogging off whatever he had looted, stolen, or just scavenged, Jemmy had made a considerable profit compared to most of his other ventures. At least enough to live in Cove for a while before having to traipse off on another extended "bizziniss trip". And what with the war and all, there was always rich pickings to be had from the corpses.
Jemmy chuckled to himself again. "Tur 'em vickturs goes the spoils, an' the res' goes in moi pokkit!" They all said he was stupid, or simple, but Jemmy knew differently. After all, he was the one wth coin in his pocket and not lying six feet under ground, wasn't he?
His spirits remained high as he rounded a hilltop and glanced into the distance. Nestled against the mountainside, surrounded by it's stockade, Cove was a mere speck on the horizon, but it was enough to raise the joy in his heart. Jemmy knew it was there, and that he was almost home.
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