G.A.N.G. Post #9 – Road Tax
You begin your long trek to Skyrock Peak. The majority of the trip is through hilly meadows and vast plains, so the travel is fairly light and easy. Three days into your journey, about midmorning, you come across a fairly large rock on the side of the road, probably used as a marker of sorts for landowners and travelers alike. Sitting on top of the rock is a young lad who looks just old enough to be past his teens. His calculating gaze and general manner indicates that he’s probably seen a lot more of the outside world than others of his age. As you approach the rock, he leaps off and lands in front of the group, blocking your path forward.
“Ah, ain’t ye the motley sort? The name’s Ash. Now, I’m not looking for much trouble around here, but this here is my road, and to cross my road, you’ll be paying me a little tax. A hundred zenny for each of you sounds like a fair price to me. So, pay up, and your passage on it will be safe from further…complications.”
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Anhaga reflected for a second, groaned, and started on anyway. He had nothing to say to the boy. He didn’t even bother to really watch him.
Noddle considered the lad before him. He was aware of this type. Typically, one such as this he usually had help waiting nearby. The greeter would usually be working for or with someone more powerful down the road. Only the confident, or the stupid, would challenge a group of somewhat experienced travelers while being apparently unarmed and alone. Noddle looked around the rock and into the woods to spot any accomplices. Finding none visible, he knew better than to assume they were not there. Noddle was not pleased by being extorted, nor was he ever fond of it. This was a step away from, or a prevention payment of, well, highway robbery. Despite his personal objections, he was not without compassion for the lad. He knew as well as, if not better than, anyone else in the party about how difficult a life the boy could be leading. Tricks like this were not without some purpose or desperation. Still, the boy could be bluffing and doing splendid at that so far. Noddle decided to press this a bit.
“Well, our travel here has been well so far. I can only assume that this tax will go to keep the next stretch, your part, just as well. Please forgive my cordiality, for I am used to roads belonging to those of the rank of king or lord. Since this is your road, may I perhaps suppose that you are of such status also? One hundred zenny each for crossing your road, eh? Admittedly, this would lighten my purse more than I would care for. It is fortuitous then that our destination leads us to travel along the road rather than across it. I would dare wager that we could also face a few…complications and survive. Citing these, may I propose, with a later agreement from my comrades of course, 25 zenny each with the knowledge of the terrain ahead and perhaps a suitable guide, such as yourself, to accompany us? Unless of course, the previous 100 zenny offer included benefits, other than the protection from calamity, that were not aforementioned?”
After listening to the long-winded speech by his shorter companion, Tal gained a new sense of respect for this Noddle fellow. Anhaga didn’t seem to worry or care of the dangers, which sat passably well with the dwarf. But Noddle displayed a good knowledge of not only shrewd tactics, but also how to silver-tongue his way around a good trap. If the fight did come down the path, it wouldn’t hurt to have the lad as a bargaining chip. And if he refused? Well, the dwarf could hurl a handaxe faster and truer than any in Clan Stonehewer.
Red’s draw dropped, swearing he hadn’t heard something so elegantly flow from another’s tongue in such a long time. He readied his coin to pay Noddle the extra 75.
So, will we find out what happens? :p
Noddle watched Anhaga walk further up the road. As he looked behind him, he could see Talborenor tighten his grip on his weapon while Red reached for his coin purse.
“I think you should decide on something quickly. It seems my party has their own thoughts.”
Tal couldn’t stand the waiting much longer. His palms were beginning to get the itch. When the stout dwarf’s battle lust started to rise with nowhere to go, his hands tended to develop a phantom itch. Usually to only way to scratch it was to hurl a handaxe at the nearest soft target, and the boy’s skull was starting to look rather target-esque; consequences be damned.