{Illustrated}
Once upon a time Pagne planned parties in a palace of fungus, now he is planning a revolution.
Success requires a cunning plan, hinging on the element of surprise, careful catering, and colourful costumes.
However, an unfortunate ser...
Nibbs' horse had carried him to the Tyvern town of Whereth, a small village in the affluent Alphysian Fields on the Drakeward side of Tyrunvern. It was built in the crook of the Alpheron where the river turned Drakewards. Unlike the greater cities of the fields, Whereth was home to a mixture of meagre aristocrats, who spent more than they could afford, and soldiers who were too old or too injured to return to battle.
Sherri trotted slowly towards the centre of town where she laid down. It was quite the embarrassment for Nibbs to be seen strapped to her, and made no better when an old Tyvern with bushy grey eyebrows, bandy legs, and a creaky laugh wandered over to inspect him in his most undignified position.
"Well now, looks to me that someone got the better of our Mister Nibbs! I never thought I'd live to see such nonsense," said the fellow while stroking Sherri's neck.
At least made quick work of the knots securing Nibbs to her, but the fellow had to enlist the help of some passers-by to carry him into a nearby cottage.
The place was more humble than even a penniless aristocrat's abode, so the fellow was most likely a retired soldier. His assistants lifted Nibbs onto a sturdy dining table, muttering things they would have been wiser not to.
"Get out of here! You're of no use to anyone, standing around and chattering like a bushel of overripe radishes," Nibbs snapped at them. He may not have been in a state to refuse help, but if he was going to accept it he would rather it involve as few gossiping old fools as possible. "What's your name, soldier?" he asked the old fogey after the others had cleared off.
"Retired cavalryman, Snipps, sir. You came to Whereth in pretty bad shape. I'm only trying to help."
Snipps brought an old bucket of juice over to him and began to wash away the blood. There was a lot of mess, but most of Nibbs' injuries were bruises and broken bones. For a creature that had been wasting away in a dungeon for twenty years, that fiend could swing that bar of his pretty bloody hard.
"Just give me a splint for my leg and I'll be on my way." Nibbs told him and sat up on the bench.
"I hate to wound your pride, sir, but even a tough old boot like you will need more than a splint with injuries like these." Snipps had a delicate hand with the old sponge, but he still brought out the occasional wince on Nibbs' more tender spots. "I'll send for a doctor when I've cleaned you up a bit. The local fellow is quite good at keeping old folks from passing on their pittance."
After a cough that confirmed a few broken ribs, Nibbs gave a reluctant nod. "Clear the audience from your window while you're out there, or I'll add some eyes to my finger collection," he wheezed and laid back.
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"Saloonka, you're an idiot," Pagne murmured as the fiend sat down on his bed. Tears were stinging his eyes, a mix of anger and guilt stirring together in his head like a pot of confusion soup. "You almost died. Why did you come this far just to do something stupid like that?"
