Maybe I shouldn’t continue.
The thought surprised Gavin, and he stopped working on one of his more experimental designs. Pacing back and forth, Gavin considered his supplies: a neat row of surgeon’s tools, a stuffed weasel, a potion of healing, and a bedsheet. He knew what he considered to do with the potion of healing was “wrong,” but if he did it, the result would be legendary.
In the end, legendary won.
“And these are the teeth of a vampire. I’ve forgotten his name, but I’ll never forget the look on his face when I knocked them out.” Thundar the Mighty grinned widely before moving to the next display in the former warrior’s trophy room.
As he followed his host, Gavin didn’t doubt a word Thundar the Mighty said. Even at his present age, the man could tear him in half.
“Oh, and look here,” his host said, pointing at the next display. “This is the hand of a troll. We grappled a bit, and then I tore its hand straight off. It grew back, of course, but he didn’t want to mess with me any more. After I killed the thing, I had its hand magically treated so that I can display it here. Don’t you worry a bit about it regenerating back into a full-size troll!”
“You’re sure about this?”
A stiff nod from Jito and the determined glint in his eyes were answer enough for Gavin. Gavin often had trouble distinguishing between determined and crazed when it came to kobolds, though.
Gavin checked his operating theater: He had the inner workings of the cuckoo clock Jito had brought, as well as the shard from a mirror Jito had broken just for this purpose. He’d use the mortar and pestle they had to whip up some glue.
“Again, I am no healer, and you are absolutely sure?”
A growl and a nod.
“Just making sure. This might sting a bit.” Gavin raised his hand axe and, with one fell swoop, severed Jito’s tail.
Gavin chewed thoughtfully on some exquisite squirrel jerky as he monitored the bounty hunters’ approach. They clearly knew his reputation because they were moving slowly and methodically checking their surroundings for hidden surprises. Yes, they knew who and what he was. This was going to be fun.
Taking off his right boot, Gavin collected his sock and, with his knife, cut off a length of rope. He dismantled his morningstar, taking the head and whittling a sharp point on the haft. With some regret he laid aside some of the jerky.
Expectations are there to be met. When they expect a trap, you give them a trap. But the rule of misdirection always applies, so give them a trap they expect and one they might not. Putting some jerky on a sharp pole creates the jerky stake. Touching the jerky launches the stake upward, which is very nasty against animal and vermin heads, but greedy hands can suffer as well. The seeing stars trap targets two-legged vermin. You dig a hole and use the sock to vertically launch the morningstar head, hopefully hitting something tender. To the rope, you attach a hefty stone, which swings down upon the distressed target.
Gark peered deep into the flame, waiting for the blessed moment when the Mother of Destruction would whisper her words of inspiration. Blinking heavily, he withdrew from the flame. “Free the flame” she had said, but what did that mean?
Snacking on some pigeons, he sifted through his trapsmithing stores. There was the sturdy dwarf-sized backpack his tribe had taken from an unlucky miner. He cracked a toothy smile, remembering the fun they’d had with the dwarf. Then there were the cans of paint he had stolen from the halfling temple. Gark’s eyes lit up when he spotted the lantern he had taken from the thieving human. Free the flame. Free the flame, indeed.
Every good trapsmith knows about the three C’s: cheap, crude, and cruel.
