"The first rule of a warrior is not to be a dunderhead!"

Celo's tale (written for a guild story competition)

Shrillers Tell No Tales
by Celo

It all began, as so many things do, in Temple Street. The gnome-infested hovels where the
exiles are allowed to stay at His Overlordship's convenience were a far cry from the cosy
nest-holes where my siblings and I had grown up, but then, the world is a different place now,
and does not always change to a ratonga's liking.

I'd started the day in a bad mood; the roof was leaking, and with Frostfell approaching, my
bowl of wash water was uncomfortably cold. So when a dirty-furred fellow approached me from a
shadowed corner and asked a favour, I was none too inclined to answer him favourably. The
pay, however, was good, and the task seemed simple: deliver a small package to a contact in
Nektulos Forest. As my funds were running low, I accepted the errand on the condition of
payment upon delivery.

The forest is not a friendly place for the unwary, but I know the back ways and the safe paths
well enough. We used to forage here, my family and I, before the roekillik came and disrupted
our quiet existence forever. I found my contact easily enough and delivered the package; the
payment was as promised and added a reassuring weight to my belt pouch.

As I returned, making my way along the path near D'Abth Bridge, a strange noise caught my
attention. Twitching my ears, I approached with caution, and discovered to my surprise a
half-elf in a very dirty white gi, carrying what looked like an entire house worth of
furniture on her back. She was clearly having a bit of trouble, as the smooth urns kept
rolling out of her grasp, and the smell of burned hair made it clear the flaming paladin
braziers hadn't been properly extinguished. As I watched, her hair caught fire again, and she
dropped three more urns. They rolled safely to a halt at my feet, cushioned by the mouldering
leaves that line the forest floor.

"Yous pretty bad burglar, yis," I snickered, and watched her jump in startlement; she'd been
so intent on the furniture that she hadn't even noticed my approach. "Whos yous steal thats
from?"

The half-elf hastily extinguished her hair, and frowned at me. "What?"

"I's said, yous pretty bad burglar," I repeated more slowly. I have studied the common tongue
for some years, but the hard consonants don't come naturally to a ratonga's mouth structure,
and I've been told I have a slight tendency to lisp. Still, I've yet to meet an elf who can
even attempt to speak ratongan, which just goes to show which species is the more intelligent,
I often say. But I digress. The elf was glaring at me.

"I'm not stealing it! I paid good coin! I'm just ... relocating it." She shifted her grip
on some of her bags, and attempted to retrieve the fallen urns.

"Relocatings, eh? Looks like illegal exports to mes, yis. Yous gots customs certificate from
Freeport Coalition of Tradesfolks, yis? Very strict regulations on furnitures exports." I
peered at the nearest urn. "Thats looking like Freeport Ceremonial urn," I pointed. "Thats
non-exportable, especiallys in directions of Qeynos. Which is directions yous currently
facings ..."

The half-elf appeared flustered. She was about half again my height, but clearly unprepared
for a confrontation. It obviously hadn't occurred to her that I had no more authority with
the Coalition of Tradesfolk than she did. "They're for private use only ... not for resale
... look, can we just forget you ever saw me?"

A glint of gold flashed enticingly in her hand. Tempting; but perhaps a more long lasting and
profitable arrangement could be made? I pocketed the coins but remained in her way.

"So whats yous needs this furnitures for, anyways?"

She glared at me. "I'm a carpenter, all right? I decorate people's houses. And these," she
gestured at the furniture, "are not for sale in Qeynos. Your Coalition has a monopoly on the
recipes, and the carpenters guild hasn't been able to obtain the schematics. So ... I have to
acquire them more ... creatively."

I smiled up at her. I'm told the taller races find it unnerving, so I made sure to bare all
my sharpest teeth in as wide a smile as possible.

"Seems to me, yous gots an opportunity here, yis yis," I paused, eyeing her. "Yous gots the
opportunity for Coalitions to test out new recipe for lashing boards on yous, yis. Or, yous
gots the opportunity for doings little business with Celo. Interesteds?" I grinned wider.

And so it was that I made my way back to Temple Street a little later than usual, but richer
by a few gold coins and a rather convenient arrangement with a certain carpenter. And if,
every so often, I should happen to take a few urns or a brazier for a walk in the forest, and
happen to come across a few strong boxes or nice padded chairs that just happen to have fallen
of the back of a wagon, well ... many strange things can happen in the dark depths of Nektulos
Forest, and the shrillers tell no tales.