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Glenn rethought running headlong down the debris-cluttered path. Within ten feet he’d startled a trio of rats, each more than a foot long—discounting their tails. He stopped and listened. There was no going back down the path to the scene of his fight. He had no clue where the current path led. Locals certainly did, and none followed after him.
He decided to cut right, squeezing between two weather-worn shacks. Their brick foundations were eroding. A hand rubbing against the planks making up the walls would come away with dozens of splinters. But there was enough room for his gnome frame to squeeze through, if he held his shield ahead of him, sideways. If a group eventually did give chase—the shouting hadn’t died down—they wouldn’t expect their quarry to make an immediate turn. Plus, it would keep him moving the direction he’d last seen his party member. Losing track of Kirby almost frightened him more than facing an angry mob. Almost. Otherwise he would’ve backtracked onto the street.
It became obvious where residents dumped their chamber pots. Glenn did his best not to scrape against the walls, so that only his boots would require a thorough cleaning. He breathed through his mouth, shallow breaths and thought of pleasant things—like fishing on the Snake Claw River with Kirby. And gorgeous Stephi, lounging under the nearby willow tree.
He came to a sludgy puddle of human waste and whatever else. Moisture in the dry city was odd, and a couple of large rats were taking advantage of it. One of the big rodents stood on its hind legs, observing the gnome’s approach. At some unseen signal they all scampered away.
Glenn did his best to straddle the muck. Then he passed between another five rickety buildings to his left and four to his right. He came to a T. Both paths were wider than the one he’d just taken. Holding his breath, he went right, heading back toward the street he’d just ducked off of.
A gaggle of ten or eleven people were on the street, watching as two men dragged the hook-handed thug from the middle of the street. Glenn kept to the side of the road, a few feet from each shanty hut and forced himself to walk away from the crowd. Kirby once told him it was better to walk like you belonged. Running was more likely to draw attention. With the darkening shadows of the sun nearly set, he kept moving, not looking back.
A pair of strong-armed laborers with short-cropped hair and bad teeth walked past Glenn. They ignored the gnome, being more interested in finding out what they’d missed.
After ten or fifteen seconds, the gnome healer remembered he was tracking Kirby, and began scanning ahead. He didn’t see his friend. A moment of panic started. A gurgle of stomach acid bubbled up, but he swallowed it down and kept moving, doing his best to pretend like he belonged...belonged in the slums of an unfamiliar and oppressive city...in a world based on Monsters, Maces and Magic, a role playing game.
At the moment that was his life and, if he wanted to keep it, he needed to find his friend.