Scrape - Day 5

We are currently sneaking through Scrape's only religious site, a temple dedicated to the worship of evil dragons (particularly the one that lives in the hills somewhere in the interior) and presided over by Sost (a pious and ambitious Roman that Kheops would love to cleave in two they tell me. I have never seen him). Actually, I'm in Helmut's pocket, as are most of us except for Vortigern and Durail, the aforementioned "Bitch".

One of Helmut's most prized (and jealously guarded) possessions is the Hankie Hole. Imagine a hankie that rolls out into a 15' diameter circle. Once unrolled it suddenly becomes a portal into extra-dimensional space, straight down for 10'. In here, Helmut keeps his gear, a few bunk beds, his money and other odds and ends. From time to time, he carries us in that same hole (while the hankie is once more rolled up and secured in his pocket) in order to sneak deep into an enemy strong hold and then let us out for the attack.

And so here we are.

It goes without saying that he resents us using his personal property in this way. He is a curious one: friendly, generous in spurts, honest about his intentions, a good one to have at your side in a fight, and as twisted and bloodthirsty as the rest of us; and yet he is also stingy and mean-spirited, and I dare say even abusive toward us when we rely on his ways and means. Well, as Sorak would say, "That's just Helmut being Helmut." But Sorak isn't exactly renowned for his wisdom.

And ever since Helmut became mayor, he's gotten even worse. I blame The Bitch, that conniving Danish tart that he spends so much time with these days. She was not 5 feet from me in the hole only moments ago while Helmut dimension-doored into the main hall of the temple. When Helmut first opened the hole to let her in, I choked down the urge to attack and tried to stay inconspicuous (a difficult task for a bald-headed elf dressed in the raiment of war). She stared at my boots and cocked an eyebrow as Jorja whispered something in her ear.

"Hey Fjord, nice boots!" jeered Helmut, keenly aware of my miscue. My boots! How could I have been so foolish? My Boots of the North are far too unique in design not to be noticed in this town, and Ixie has worn them on every occasion, as has Fjord the Faerie on every occasion. Helmut laughed and lauged as he closed the hole back up. Well, there's no way she couldn't know who I am. It now must be clear to her that I am Ixie, no Celtic wizard at all, but the ugly, scowling and altogether humiliated elf standing so close to her.

I'm probably going to have to kill her - before she kills me first.

But for now, she is our resident thief and far too useful. Besides, who knows how Helmut would react? Perhaps I'll let her attack me, and then I would only be defending myself ... some careful planning is in order I would think. Although, I haven't been careful at all recently, so I may be out of practice.