Alex Vanderskye III
He was the only person I have ever met
who never had an enemy. Just knowing he
was on line brought a smile to your face.
--Prather
The Scoundrel and the Elf Maid
THE SHOVEL'S REPROOF
(How Alex Learned Humility about Weapons)
It was a particularly bright and cheery day when the May-
time sun gently dragged me back to the land of the living. It
was somewhat remarkable that it was even day at all, since I
tend to sleep off hangovers for long periods of time, and wake
without any regard to a normal biological clock. I find it
rather hard to judge the day cycle at all, and yet there I was,
staring straight out the window into warm midmorning
sunshine. I was pleased. You see, I'm not the sort of thief
who likes the dark and gloom, slinking from one town to
another. Certainly I've got a practical streak, and when the
need arises I can sneak and skulk with all the rest, but really,
I'm a more romantic soul. I've a taste for sunlight, spring
flowers, merry songmaking, and fine wine (though I've yet to
be able to stomach it).
I found myself passed out on a table at the Green Dragon
Inn, as is my usual custom. Marigold, seeing me rise, smiled
and rolled her eyes, tossing me a wet washcloth to clean last
night's old, sticky beer from my face and hair. Refreshed and
looking my dapper self again, I nodded thanks and stepped out
into the crisp air. Despite my boisterous mood, I had to
remind myself that just the day before I'd had a run-in with an
assassin, from which i was still recovering, and so the
procurement of funds was a matter of some urgency. My
physical condition had recovered to its former level, but my
fighting skills had lapsed somewhat. Batlin offers some of the
best training in the west, but he exacts his due price, and there
was also the matter of discovering the individual that had
hired Loke to snuff me, whose identity was baffling to me.
And so, off I went to all of my usual haunts in serch of, for
lack of a better term, "donations."
The sun had just crossed its highest point an hour past when
my message stone shone gently and a bright voice rang out in
my head: "Yello Fello!" I smiled at the familiar greeting and
answered back. Now the "Fello" part is explained simply
enough, since i obviously am one. The "Yello" might well
refer to my blonde locks, though who can tell with elves? It
was enough that she bid me greeting, so I hurried across the
countryside toward Hobbiton, and soon outside its boundaries
came face to face with the voice's owner.
Evenstar "Pepper" Greenleaf leaned against the hitching
post, sly piercing eyes complemented by an alluring smile.
If possible it seemed the sun shone ever brighter. I smiled at
her in return. After some typically merry words of greeting,
the Elf-maid and I walked hand in hand down the lane to
Bywater and settled into our usual spot at the Green Dragon.
Suitable snuggling and related activities ensued, but soon
the two of us both turned our thoughts to adventure (or loot,
for those of a mind for more practical terms). After some
discussion, we settled on an expedition to Deadman's Dike,
and so I set down my beer mug and rose. "Would you care to
go and equip yourself?" I asked as we walked out the door. I
started off toward Manny's, thinking Pepper was sure to want
some weapon for the coming battle.
The lovely elf threw back her hear and laughed, tossing her
fiery hair about her body. Smiling mysteriously and holding
up a battered farm implement, she replied sweetly, "this
shovel's all I need, Alex." resting the rusty old thing across
her shoulder, she clasped my hand and led me out toward the
Great East Road.
I shrugged my shoulders and grinned, but inwardly I
thought, "WHAT'S SHE GOING TO DO, RUST THE ORCS TO DEATH?"
When Pepper wasn't looking, I sneered at the shovel. I had
just purchased a Silver Plated Sword, a good and hardy blade
of tempered steel that could be counted to cleave all manner
of orcs and men with swiftness and finality.
Even in my hands, which are admittedly better acquainted
with a lock pick than with killing steel, that great sword had
caused much calamity among orcs.
How could anyone, even Evenstar Greenleaf, hope to
compete using a simple farming tool? I chuckled to myself
and thought that perhaps she could dig orc graves for me.
When we arrived in Bree, I dropped in at Brand's shop and
tried to convince Pepper again, but she smiled and kissed me
and would not hear of it. I gave up, sighed--after I was
through enjoying the lingering kiss, of course--and led Pepper
off up the Greenway toward the North Downs.
Soon we had descended upon the ruined fortress of Fornost,
and it wasn't long before we came face to face with a drooling,
sneering, yellow-toothed orc. Pepper and I looked at each
other and smiled, then, weapons ready, rushed the foul
Goblin.
It was then that my shock first came. Though many times
my blade found its mark, sometimes cutting quite deeply and
seriously, the orc paid little heed, continuing on as if the
wounds did not exist. Pepper Greenleaf, however, had far
different results. Her shovel flashed through with lightning
speed through the gloom, catching the goblin full across the
face! The stunned orc staggered back muttering epithets in an
unfamiliar tongue, and the trusty shovel came back stained
with blood.
Pepper grinned. I recognized that bloodthirsty look of
battle hunger in her face as she fell upon the still-dazed orc.
The shovel swung, connecting with a sickening THWACK,
and the orc slammed against the tunnel wall. The orc shook
his head and glared angrily at Pepper, but she brought the
shovel upwards and caught the orc in the chin. I, realizing that
I had been gaping, recovered my wits and reentered the fray,
slicing the orc across the chest to finish him. And so there we
stood, Pepper's shovel dripping redder than my prized blade.
I wasn't sure what to say, but Pepper simply motioned me
down the Dike's great stair to further battle. The remainder of
the afternoon was spent much the same, my sword taking its
fair share of the killing, but Pepper's trusty shovel doing the
real damage. One orc caught the rusty implement on the arm,
splintering bone and pinning him to the ground for my killing
stroke. Another lay stunned on the ground, struggling to clear
his head, when the mighty shovel came down and shattered his
misshapen cranium, scattering the unimpressive contents of
his skull across the dismal stone of the Dike! Still another
unfortunate orc tasted the shovel and was forced to continue
the fight with two ribs jutting out from his bleeding side.
"All hail the Shovel!" I exclaimed. Pepper, bloody shovel
still at her side, smiled sweetly and gave a graceful courtesy.
I kissed her long and hard and tried to forgive myself for
having scoffed earlier. Whether it was the shovel itself or the
gentle yet powerful hands that wielded it which granted its
power, the shovel was truly a force to be reckoned with!
*
*
*
If I were the sort to bother myself with such things--as is my
bothersome brother, Nathan--I suppose you could say that I
learned a great lesson that day. Do I still go out hunting and
adventuring with the likes of the Silver Plated Sword? Why
certainly, when I can get my hands on one. But know this, my
friend, and know it well--I have never mocked a shovel since
that day.
--Alex the First Son Disowned
of the House of Vanderskye