A day in the life of Pants
After a couple days on the road, we happened across a carriage with some slaves. Bunch of thugs carrying them off to somewhere. Don’t know where.
Made short work of ‘em, that was for sure, but instead of taking their stuff, we gave it to the slaves and sent ’em on their way. Don’t know why.
So we finally made it to this town in the middle of no where in the dead of night. Lady with the funny name insisted it was important we head there. Someone important, maybe. Don’t know who.
There was nothing important there – bunch of dirt farmers in chains. “Farmers farm,” Flint said, so I figure these yokels weren’t gonna save the world or offer up anything useful. All I did know was that the guards didn’t seem to like Flint very much. Don’t care why.
“Warriors war,” Flint said, so me and him – we made some war. Carved up one of the gate guards good, sent another running away without his weapon. The ladies ran about in the shadows. I guess “Ladies burn,” ’cause lots of fires started while Flint and me tore up the rest of the guards. Once the fires got real crazy, some tough summa bitch came out the wood work – took me and Flint together to take him down.
There was a wizard too, but I guess “Wizards wiz their pants,” ‘cause he didn’t put up much of a fight before I cut him in half. I’d have to ask Flint about ladies and wizards and what they do to be sure, but I’m sure ’bout something.
Don’t know what, though.
Even after all these years with them, I still have trouble understanding mortal titles. A king is still king without a kingdom, because he is a king. A warrior is still a warrior even in peace, and a farmer is a farmer even while traveling. How did these silly guards expect me to stop being a warrior and start being a farmer? We are each what we are, and that cannot be changed. I cannot tell a stone to become water or the air to become wood. Telling a warrior to be a farmer seems just as strange to me.