Having narrowly escaped a mob of pitchfork-wielding Steelhead whale-defenders, I've decided to take a more direct approach to commerce in that port-town, a withdrawal of sorts. The managers had carelessly revealed in our meeting the coordinates to the Silver-hoard they had taxed the populace under the pretense of defense. (The silver was collected to "prevent the creation of ammunition that might harm the lycan Sheriff", so I had hopes there might also be other city officials susceptible to damage by arrows of Gold, impalement by Rubies, or nasty paper cuts by negotiable bearer bonds, and these had been collected too.) Having the coordinates in-hand, I wended my way through the tunnels of Steelhead, finding a spot directly (or as close as I could determine ) under the treasury.
Having found the location, I've secured a barrel charge of gunpowder, strung the fuse, and prepared a match...
Booooom!!
Hmmm, no hole...but a still a rumble!! Oh dear. ...it's collapsing!
Rummmmble....Ruuummmmble.....
Ruuummmmble...Craaash...Ruuummmmble....
Ruuummmmble....
Is this the end of Cato Quan?
Rummmmble....Ruuummmmble.....Ruuummmmble...Craaash...Ruuummmmble.... Ruuummmmble.... Is this the end of Cato Quan? 
2 comments:
Take very small breaths and conserve your oxygen Mr Quan! I shall be there shortly with the earthmover!
Now I do remember that excavation rights were most certainly not granted.
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