Tavern - SheriffRachel Pice? I know that name. A cool, collected bounty hunter armed with a halberd that fires liquid nitrogen to freeze her enemies solid-- Wait, no... that was Rachel Ice.
But this business about hunters and bandits... Yes, if I recall correctly, Vikki was telling me about this just when I came in this morning for my drink. What had she said? Let me retrace my steps-- I came in, told her about Orbodrill, then she said...
The Sheriff's eyes suddenly lit up. Of course! He knew the solution.
Yes, sure, he hadn't been much help when things were going down in the Tavern. But now was his real moment to shine-- To prove his worth as the Sheriff. The Bandits had gold, and luckily he had just the thing to find it. Not such a waste of money after all.
"Well, Miss Pice," The Sheriff said, leaning up on the counter with a smile, "You're in luck-- I figured something like this would occur, and I have quickly gathered a solution. I think you'll... dig
With that, he held up a slip of paper between his fingers and tossed it onto the table in front of Rachel. The worn out paper seemed familiar, as if the writer had described it before in one of the earlier posts. Perhaps unfolding it would yield some familiar information first unveiled in this post
Just outside, a crowd had gathered in town square-- The citizens of Flytrap had been awakened, crawling out of the woodwork with curiosity and fear. Usually when there were gunshots around here, Sheriff Kidd was doing target practice. But this time there were some new guns in town, and everyone wanted to see what had gone down.
A herd of goats began trampling up to the crowd in a chorus of bleating and headbutts. Following behind was the jangling sound of milk bottles banging together and the crunch of spinning wooden wheels on dirt as the Goatman sped up to the area, a look of grim determination on his face. He scanned the crowd, his old hands gripping the cart tightly, and put the whistle to his lips.
A sharp hiss went out, and the goats immediately paused, and then began to scamper through the crowd and around the town. They were on the lookout now, searching for any sign of... well, something. Though it might not be too hard to guess who Goatman would be looking for.
"For the love of God, Goatman, don't blow that thing in public!" A shrill, female voice cried out-- All heads turned to see what appeared to be a tall, thin woman approaching; it was hard to tell, since the thick, pale white cloud of bug repellent constantly sprayed forth by her body guards made it virtually impossible to see what anyone within actually looked like. At the same time, though few had hardly ever seen her face, everyone knew that the shrill, disapproving tone and haze of white spray could only belong to one person: The Mayor of Flytrap Town.
The citizens began to cover their mouths and noses in vain to try and block out the chemical cloud-- But for most it was too late, and they began spitting out the bitter vapors involuntarily sucked into their mouths. Goatman's nose wrinkled, ever so slightly, but he otherwise showed no reaction to the approach of the Mayor and her guards.
"...I wish to find my son." The Goatman replied simply.
"Yes, I as well," The Mayor's voice said, like rattlesnake to the mouse, "He certainly does owe me an explanation for why the people of this town are banging at my door saying that he's nowhere to be found while machine gun fire is spattering out of the local Tavern! When your... friends... find the boy... Tell him to do his job or turn in his star."
Goatman grimaced, but said no more.
"It is detestable out here today, as always," The Mayor muttered with an audible scowl, "One of those disgusting flies already touched me on my way here... But since I am here, I might as well attend to business. Harvey Copper-- Where is he?"