It was a busy day in Barter Town. The market had to be packed up and moved. Nightstalker and I were dealing with the monotony of emptying endless bags of obviously legally obtained goods into the new vendors I had hired. One vendor, Jade, was complaining that the color of her clothes was not exactly to her liking, so I sent Nightstalker to get me a tub and dyes to stop her incessant whining. He returned to the market, pale as a ghost. "What is wrong?" I asked.
"Oh the horrible things that I have seen!" He said. "In Yew there is a man, doing things..... To sheep!"
"What?" I asked, not truly understanding what types of things a man might want to do to a sheep. "Show me."
We hopped the closest gate to yew and sure enough, a man, doing unspeakable things to humble sheep while their masters can only stand around in horror. We could not let this be. Something must be done. I turned to Nightstalker for a plan but he was fast asleep, I assume from trying to count the staggering amounts of sheep that were violated. It was now solely on me, the fate of these fine wollybacks depended on it. I drew my bow.
A direct hit! The man dies in agony as his mutton victims cry out in utter excitement. The farmers shall sleep well this night knowing that I, Stinky Pete, am always lurking in the shadows!
You would think that this would be the last I heard from this man, but this vile man could somehow speak to me from beyond the grave. For some reason, I found myself replying to the dead man:
"Oh the horrible things that I have seen!" He said. "In Yew there is a man, doing things..... To sheep!"
"What?" I asked, not truly understanding what types of things a man might want to do to a sheep. "Show me."
We hopped the closest gate to yew and sure enough, a man, doing unspeakable things to humble sheep while their masters can only stand around in horror. We could not let this be. Something must be done. I turned to Nightstalker for a plan but he was fast asleep, I assume from trying to count the staggering amounts of sheep that were violated. It was now solely on me, the fate of these fine wollybacks depended on it. I drew my bow.
A direct hit! The man dies in agony as his mutton victims cry out in utter excitement. The farmers shall sleep well this night knowing that I, Stinky Pete, am always lurking in the shadows!
You would think that this would be the last I heard from this man, but this vile man could somehow speak to me from beyond the grave. For some reason, I found myself replying to the dead man: