Diary of Samsneed, Part 3

By Moleare Kragnar
Old Forest Times

This is part III of the ongoing series of publications by detective Samsneed, ranger at large. In part II, the plot thickened as Samsneed learned that the Moria Murderer had cheese-imprinted boots, and then encountered the mysterious man himself, DeepHelm!

BREE - Something smelled rotten in Bree, and it definitely wasn't me. I may be a two-bit detective who didn't have two dimes to my name, but I keep my pants clean, mister! No, the rotten smell was the fella standing before me, DeepHelm himself! I pulled him off the wall I'd just shoved him against, and for emphasis I threw him against it again. I wasn't afraid to get rough, especially against a little guy like DeepHelm. Beating up little guys is like taking candy from a blind baby, I don't do it unless I'm either really desperate or really, really hungry!

"What do you know about the murders!" I asked, shaking my clenched fist before his face for emphasis. I meant business!

"Dey wuz deadly," DeepHelm responded.

"What does that mean?" I yelled.

"It means dey wuz deadly!" he yelled back. I knew this wasn't going to be easy. Thugs like DeepHelm were a dime two dozen here in Bree. Heck, if you threw an apple out your window it would hit two thugs and a block of cheese before it hit the ground. I had to get rough.

"Tell me something, you little fairy fodder, have you ever had your fingers broken before?"

"A whole buncha times," he responded slyly. "I usta have twelve anna half of dem, but you can see I only have seven anna haff now. Why would you ask dat?" His innocent response gave me pause, but only for long enough to realize that I had a flask of schnapps in my coat pocket. I needed to get back on my game, and fast, or lives were in danger. I whipped out the flask and threw back a shot, and while the sweet, searing schnapps burned past my charred, broken heart, I got back on track.

"Because if you don't tell me what I want to know, I'm going to break them in half. Again." The little fella jumped out of fear or revulsion, or maybe a twisted combination of both. I knew I had to press the attack quickly. "You think you know things, huh? Well, tell me something short-round, what do Brandelion and Xade have in common, eh? Tell me that!"

"Ok!" he responded. "Dey are both failed wizards. Dey wents ta wizard shool t'gether, and had good grades, but then some sorta incident happened. I don' know 'xactly wat all da details was, but it involved some goats, an oliphaunt, a dozen giant hobbits (carney types, ya know), an' a magical sex toy. Dere famblys were shamed for 3 generations. Da whole t'ing was covered up by someone way up in power. I'm afraid ta inquire more into it."

Very interesting. So they knew each other early on, eh? This had to mean something. BranMorda, manager of Brandelion's Moira Miners, had somehow scared Xade into quitting the league! Maybe there was more to that than meets-the-eye!

"Power, eh? What do you know about power, you foul smelling little punk! You wanna talk about power? Tell me about Solonor Rasreth!" I was trying hard to intimidate him into the truth, but strangely enough he got a wistful look on his face, like a baby in a bikini fitting room.

"Solonor Rasreth...now dat is one odd bird," he said. "I don't t'ink 'e knows 'nuff ta come in outta da rain. Once I sees him standin' in a big pool o' mud, upta his knees, he was. He had dis fishin' pole- and was castin' it onto da dry land. Den he'd reel it in an' cast agin. I watched him fer almos' an hour. Just kept doin' it- over an' over. I finally asked him wat he was doin'. He looked at me and said 'Mugwump'. An' then he went back to castin' and ignored me after dat."

So he knows Rasreth! I stored that nugget of information away, like an orc would store his love for his mother in a deep, dark, secret place that no one knew existed, not even the orc in question! ...do orcs even have mothers?

"You're all talk, buddy!" I said roughly, refocusing "All you have is speculation! Tell me what you really know!"

"Hey, hey! I knows t'ings. I have access to beings in high places. An' low places. An' places in da middle. An' places in between da high places and da middle places. An' places in between low places and da middle places. An' places in between da places in between da low places and da middle-to-low places. An'- ... An'... I'm confoosed. Wat was da question agin?"

"I...I'm not sure myself," I said honestly. He was more confusing than an algebra question, and twice as hard to understand. "And Sgt. Grump? What do you know about Sgt. Grump?"

"Who?" he asked. "Never heard of 'im. Seriously. I know nuttin' 'bout no grumpy guy. Who said I did? Dey was lyin'! Nice weather, huh? Oh- lookit dat pretty rat!"

There was definitely a rat, alright! And I have to say, it was freaking huge! It was twice as big as the average Bree dog, and it was scavaging through the alleyway trash as desperately as a drunk tipping the bottle for his last sip of... his last sip of...

I lost all concentration then, and threw back another drink of schnapps. When I regained my concentration I saw that DeepHelm was slowly edging away from me. I grabbed him by the shoulder like a cliff diver would grab on to the last rock hold available before he took the final plunge!

"Not so fast, I have a few more questions. I heard through the grapevine something you said about missing players. Not dead, just missing. What did you mean by that?"

"Go lookit da league's list of free agents. Sort dem by age. All da players 'cept one under da age of 25 have disappeared. Somebody's been kidnappin' 'em I tells ya! Probably sellin' 'em into slavery. Or maybe makin' stew outta dem. Dat remind me- I'm hungry. Gotta go!"

And before I could say "My dear, it would seem as though I have spilled my flask all over the harsh concrete of this dark allyway, oh what ever shall I do," he had skittered off into the dark like a Dwarf fleeing daylight. I drew my arrow and fired a shot, but it was hopeless, and I missed him by a wider margin than Mirkwood's projected 2006 win-loss record compared to Mirkwood's real win-loss record!

Things were getting complicated, but I had learned at least a few things since I started the case. First, Xade and Brandelion had a link. Second, Solonor Rasreth knows who DeepHelm is. Third, DeepHelm pretends not to know who Sgt. Grump is! And fourth... fourth...

I needed a drink like a SGCBL player needs a bodyguard, and I went to the Beer and Boar for a quick round of Samsneed Specials. I didn't notice at that moment, but had I only paid a bit closer attention, I would've seen the day's paper, and its' headlines, which were shouting out at me louder than a Dwarf Rock Concert for the hard-of-hearing. They read:

Bywater Bans Dairy!

Riots Ensue after Moira Mixup

Hops Ownership Refuses to Name New Manager

Dirk Pleasant Escapes from Asylum

I was so desperate for a hard drink that I didn't even notice at first the utter silence that greeted me upon entering the bar. I walked up to the bartender, as ignorant as a religious fanatic at an atheism conference.

"I'll take a scotch on the rocks, hold the rocks," I told him. He mouthed a response that looked like he said look atmay. "What?" I asked. He mouthed it again. Then, I heard the voice behind me. The voice was as crazy as the theory of relativity, and that's saying something!

"I think he's trying to warn you about me," he said.

I turned around. And standing before me, weapons drawn, was Dirk Pleasant, insane assistant GM of the Old Forest Merry Fellows!

Things were getting hot in the Cheese City.

Posted at October 27, 2004 07:09 AM | more from Old Forest