Traps

Shivering from the cold, Gavin stared through his spyglass, looking over the cultist’s compound. They worshiped an ice demon, but that didn’t stop them from staying inside. Judging from the smoke that spiralled up from the chimney, the cultists were keeping themselves very warm. “Hypocrites,” Gavin spat. Gavin reached for one of his trail rations. […]

From the shadows, Gavin watched as the burly fighter came to the agreed-upon location. The fighter warily eyed his surroundings. He had come early, but Gavin had anticipated that and had come earlier still. With him, Gavin had a little surprise. As Gavin expected, the fighter wandered right into his surprise. To the fighter’s credit,

Gavin’s back ached from pulling the cart up the hill. The cart was stacked high with assorted curious and sundry items. A sign proclaimed that “Gavin’s Traveling Store” was open for business. “Where were they?” Gavin wondered to himself. “I should have been hit hours ago.” Gavin sighed. He had underestimated the paranoia of bandits.

Leaning against the rail just above the barge’s prow, Gavin gazed upon his four companions. They were fast becoming exceedingly drunk on the captain’s ale. The barge’s captain, a burly dwarf, stood at the rudder with a deepening scowl on his face. Leoman had taken the lead in splitting the proceeds from their latest adventure.

“Master Kiro?” Gavin’s voice echoed throughout the cavern that Master Kiro used as his workshop. The kobold had invited him to see a new creation, and although Gavin valued innovation, he dreaded the journey. He always felt like an adventurer, just one step away from disaster, whenever he entered Kiro’s workshop. Gavin carefully made his

With the tip of his boot, Gavin prodded the body lying on the kitchen floor. No response. Wedging his foot under the body, he turned it on its back. Zaron’s vacant eyes met his, and Gavin noted the look of mild surprise fixed on the mage’s face. He guessed that magically retreating hadn’t paid off

The lock posed no challenge to his skills. After Gavin opened the door, he saw that the place was filthy and infested with vermin. He took a few steps in, dropped the items he had scavenged from all over town on the floor, and closed the door behind him. The sledgehammer, the rusted length of

Pain jolted Gavin with every step he took, and blood seeped through fingers that he pressed hard on the gash covering his right side. “’Come to his lordship’s party, Gavin,’ she’d said. ‘It’s going to be fun, and you can meet new clients.’” Business had been slow, and she had smiled that smile of hers,

“There goes my reputation,” Gavin mused. “Renowned trapsmith caught in baroness’s boudoir.” Being spotted by the household guards had been careless. Getting cornered by those same guards in the baroness’s chambers was unforgivable. If they caught him, well, that would be his undoing. Gavin took in his surroundings: he saw a steel mirror and a

Shivering, Gavin longingly gazed at the dungeon’s exit, then at the dim light coming from the dangling, crude chandelier above him. All that stood between him and freedom was a burly half-orc. Gavin drew the bedroll he used as a makeshift cloak closer around his naked form as a cold draft started up. Ordinarily, a