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"The Taxman" (Radat) "I'm telling ya, I paid all my taxes," I said reasonably. "I'm sorry sir, but the records plead otherwise," he responded calmly. To the casual observer, it might seem a calm discussion between two men who were having a little disagreement,but it wasn't, not by a long shot. It was a typical discussion between two well-muscled men both of whom were absolutely sure that the other was a raving, although solidly built, lunatic. Of course, one of them was me, Amada Numori, and the other was Taxman Bleary Tomlin. I knew I hadn't paid my taxes, but I certainly wasn't going to admit to it. (If you'd like to know where that tax money went, I would reply that I might have misplaced it. However, if we were alone and I was fairly intoxicated, I would point to my new boat and state that 'I hear it retails for around two thousand potch or so.') I was trying to think of a way of rebutting his logic and could come up with nothing short of going for his throat. In fact, I was leaning heavily towards that option when he blew me outta the water. "Sir, altogether, you owe two thousand potch," Taxman Bleary continued matter of factly. If he hadn't said that, odds are, I would've been springing for his neck about now. As it was, I only managed a rather sluggish crash onto the floor. True, I should have expected it, but knowing it and then having someone come to your door and ask for it NOW is another thing completely. "Wha...er, um....how much...did you say," I inquired meekly. "Two thousand potch, sir. I'm afraid it must be collected today also," Bleary added. "But I don't have that kinda money," I exclaimed. Bleary seemed to think about this for a moment, holding his slightly chubby (but muscular) chin in one of his chubby (but muscular) hands. In fact, most of Bleary's body fell into the category of slightly chubby (but muscular) group. He reached up to brush one of his well-trimmed blonde hairs out of his eye. Regardless of his huskiness, many women have been heard to claim he is handsome (maybe in the hopes of a tax break) to varying degrees of sincerity. However, Bleary isn't the kinda guy to accept bribes or flattery, at least, that's what I've heard. He glanced out the window of my humble cottage and smiled. Just a little piece of advice, whenever a taxman smiles at something, that something is really gonna hurt your checkbook or, as my friends claim, a bodypart, usually one you are very fond of and, if possible, multiple times. "Weeeellll...I guess we could take that boat off your hands," he suggested hopefully. Another little piece of advice, never even joke about taking a sailor's boat. It is perhaps one of the easiest ways to get yourself beaten about the head with anything at hand. For me, it happened to be my oar. Bleary had some time to moan before he lost consciousness and collapsed on my floor. I've never been a man to result to violence, but sailing is, and always will be, my life, except for baking casseroles which I am strangely good at. But all this was beside the point, I needed to get away. I grabbed a few essentials like: my oar (still in hand), some traveling money (suffice to say, very little of it), and my casserole cookbook. I raced out to my boat, untethered it, and took off, stopping only to wave good bye to some of my friends. After I was out at sea, I reflected on what I would do now. Radat is out of the picture for awhile. I didn't really want to go to Kuskus, too close. That's when I remembered that I had some crates onboard that were headed for Coronet and that I had someone hire me to deliver them to Lakewest. And the person who'd hired me claimed he'd pay me two thousand potch for the ride. Kinda suspicious, but for that kinda money, I could pay taxes (with a little extra for that Bleary guy) and return to my shippin' business in Radat. Glad that things were going right for a change, I set course for Coronet. As a minor note, on my way, I reflected much about many things and concluded that, one, the Universe was far too vast for any one man to solve it's mysteries and two, no one truly knows what a casserole is made out of. I arrived in Coronet early next morning. The first part of the day was essentially uneventful. The only thing of note, really, was how much of a tip the dockhands expected from me. I was able to convince both of them to settle for a little less and they both went home happy, if a little bruised. I went down the alley next to the inn, which I reflected, was a rather odd place to meet my client. All I saw, was a couple of trash cans and a boy that could've been no more than thirteen or so. Seeing no one else, I turned to leave but was stopped by the boy who inquired, "Are you Amada?" I looked down at the kid and noticed he had wings. So he's a winger, is he. "Yes sonny, I'm Amada, how can I help you," I inquired right back at him. "My name is Jowal. I am the one that hired you," he said simply. Frankly, I was surprised. He was short, about 5'5" or so, with a mop of brown hair and arms I could've encircled with my thumb and forefinger. This was the guy that hired me? The one that would pay me two thousand potch? I couldn't believe that and I said as much. "Yes, I will pay you two thousand potch, but on one condition (catches, don't you just hate 'em) you take me to Lakewest and escort me to Greenhill City," he said, emphasizing the "but". So that was the deal. Still, for the money, it was a pretty simple job. "Okay, you've got yourself a bodyguard," I said enthused at the sum of money that'd be mine soon. It was at about that time that a menacing figure stepped out of the shadows, brandishing two knives. Luckily I had my trusty oar with me, so I did some brandishing of my own. Even in the darkness, I could see that the assailant was a kobold, the moonlight glinting off of a very large number of very sharp teeth. He moved towards me with a grace that belied my first impression, that he was a simple mugger. He stalked forward in a sinuous way kinda like a snake, soundless and deadly, that much even I could tell. Of course, the whole affair was ruined when he stumbled over a can on the ground. I capitalized on his mistake and slapped him silly. I checked his pulse and he was still alive. I knew I'd regret it later but I let him live. "Is it okay if we leave now," I queried calmly, like I did this every night which, in fact, I did do quite often, though usually when I was really drunk and only on weekends. Jowal nodded dumbly. I stood up and guided him to my boat and we left. I am not a stupid man. In fact, I could be considered quite brilliant. Most people don't see me that way mainly because they don't want to and secondly because I don't go to great lengths to exhibit it to anybody. After all, hidden strengths can be very effective. The only reason I make mention of this fact is because I could see the obvious connection between my new client and the assassin/kidnapper or whatever they were. My intuition told me that I had gotten myself into something both pretty big and pretty bad, specifically something that could get me killed. I didn't have enough evidence to back it up, so I didn't mention it to Jowal, who probably would play stupid anyway. The next day we arrived in Lakewest. It was getting dark so we got rooms at the local inn. It was a rather run down place and the prices were outrageous but I wasn't in the mood to go camping. If you're ever in Lakewest, don't stay at the inn. Not only do the rooms stink and cost more than many five star hotels, but their food is absolutely terrible. I ordered a steak and they gave me something that resembled a steak but it had some odd green spots that occasionally tried to crawl off the plate. I must say that dirt never looked more appetizing. Afterwards we retired to our room, brushed the roaches off our mattresses and went to bed. Much to my amazement, I actually fell asleep. Later that night, I awoke to find a wicked looking kobold holding a wicked looking table leg. I would've asked him what he thought he was doing but he showed me,... three times right across my forehead. I think I heard Jowal groan as I lost consciousness.
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