Hall of Infinite Doors
You set your hoe down and walk toward the barn. The constable and his chubby assistant are busy pawing through your house, probably looking for what few precious items you have left. They are alerted by a whistle from the prison wagon driver. You duck into the darkness of the barn and lay your hand on a heavy pick, designed to separate the rocks from the precious soil of your land. Then you stand in the darkness contemplating your next move.
Soon two shadows appear in the doorway to the barn with swords drawn. The sunlight behind them makes them larger and stronger than otherwise would appear.
"Alright, then" speaks the county sheriff. "Come outta there, Henry Sharpsword."
"I ain't comin'." You reply.
"Naw donna gimme troubl'," replies the sheriff in a sharp voice. "I don care' ta whether ya live 'er die."
He's not kidding. He slew Wallace Linklater not two miles from here. Nevertheless, you remain steadfast.
"Go get 'em," commands the gruff constable to his lackey.
The lackey nears you with sword drawn but soon sees the pick in your right hand. You swing with both hands. He steps aside and back, but trips on a board and falls backwards. The pick tears through his chain mail and into his chest. He gasps twice before becoming still. You are unmoved.
The sheriff, having witnessed this awful sight walks backward shouting "I'll hunt ya down! I hunt ya down! I will see you hanged!" After he has walked back about ten paces he turns and runs for his horse. As you stand in the doorway of your barn, you feel a sense of pride as the sheriff, prison wagon and the empty horse make haste to leave your property.
You check the body of the assistant sheriff. Before you left, he was a local goon in a street gang. Now he is a sheriff. How times change. You take the few coins from his pocket and find a chain and locket that belonged to your mother. You take the sword and his belt from around him. You may be needing these things.
You decide that you can either run away to the hills above the town or try to hide out in some woods near your farm.
Soon two shadows appear in the doorway to the barn with swords drawn. The sunlight behind them makes them larger and stronger than otherwise would appear.
"Alright, then" speaks the county sheriff. "Come outta there, Henry Sharpsword."
"I ain't comin'." You reply.
"Naw donna gimme troubl'," replies the sheriff in a sharp voice. "I don care' ta whether ya live 'er die."
He's not kidding. He slew Wallace Linklater not two miles from here. Nevertheless, you remain steadfast.
"Go get 'em," commands the gruff constable to his lackey.
The lackey nears you with sword drawn but soon sees the pick in your right hand. You swing with both hands. He steps aside and back, but trips on a board and falls backwards. The pick tears through his chain mail and into his chest. He gasps twice before becoming still. You are unmoved.
The sheriff, having witnessed this awful sight walks backward shouting "I'll hunt ya down! I hunt ya down! I will see you hanged!" After he has walked back about ten paces he turns and runs for his horse. As you stand in the doorway of your barn, you feel a sense of pride as the sheriff, prison wagon and the empty horse make haste to leave your property.
You check the body of the assistant sheriff. Before you left, he was a local goon in a street gang. Now he is a sheriff. How times change. You take the few coins from his pocket and find a chain and locket that belonged to your mother. You take the sword and his belt from around him. You may be needing these things.
You decide that you can either run away to the hills above the town or try to hide out in some woods near your farm.