TBE: Nod, and be quiet
From Create Your Own Story
The man has a knife at your throat, and he’s twice your weight in pure muscle. If he wanted you dead or harmed he would have done it by now. Clearly, he’s trying to save himself, and perhaps you as well.
You decide to do what the man says, and slowly nod your head.
“Good,” he whispers. “I’ll kill you if I have to. I don’t want to, but it’s enough that you know I will. Do you understand?”
You nod again, slowly, and twice, to make certain the man knows you understand what he’s said.
Slowly, and keeping the knife at your throat, he drops his hand down from your mouth. He rests it against your chest, close to your left breast, and for a moment you wish he would cup that breast. But you squash that thought.
You don’t even know what this man looks like and you’re fantasizing about him!?
“Be still, be quiet and we’ll both live.”
You remain exactly as you are, with his arm around your chest, his knife still at your neck. A moment later, you hear what sounds like hooves on stone cobbles. You realize that you’re in a dark alleyway, behind a small alcove of brick. It might be a fireplace chimney, but it’s too dark to tell. Ahead of you is a street, lit by lamps. One of them is just within your field of vision, and you’re certain it’s a gas lamp.
“Look everywhere!” a voice commands, and you realize that this man is being hunted.
“Quickly, men,” another voice says, and you hear more hooves and under them boots. “Fix bayonets and down the alley.”
“Damn,” the man curses. His hand drops from your chest and comes up with an archaic looking flintlock pistol.
“You should run,” he says. “If they don’t see you, you might get away.”
You turn around and look into the disheveled face of a man who is really not much older than you are. He might be 18 or 19. He has long, blond hair, pulled back into a ponytail, with several locks falling out to frame his pale face. Light green eyes sparkle with the gaslight from the distant street. He is wearing a long brown coat over a vest and white linen shirt. His pants are cut strangely, and fastened to his waist with a thick leather belt, the buckle on his left hip. His shoes look like something out of the First Thanksgiving, with square toes and a buckle.
He looks from the alleyway to you, concern filling his eyes.
Do you:
| Status | ||
| Health | #100 | Equipment:
Nothing |
| MP | #0 | |
| Level | # | |
