The Dastard

By Postmortem Studios

A pulp short-story in the swords and sandals or thieves and barbarians ilk, but with a bit more of a modern eye. The Dastard has a plan to steal the wealth of a powerful slaver, but to get it, he's going to need help - and permission.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Postmortem Studios
• Release date: Jan 7, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301640522

Postmortem Studios

Game designer, writer, self publisher, freelancer, rakish fop, gentleman bastard, ten times more charming than that Arnold on Green Acres.

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The Dastard Cover

The Dastard

Written by James 'Grim' Desborough

Editing by Salome Jones

Layout by Michael Garcia a.k.a. The Crazy GM

Published by Postmortem Studios (James Desborough)

© Postmortem Studios (James Desborough) 2013

Part One : Rat Bastards

Upon reflection, things were not going too well for me. The Thieves' Brotherhood didn’t take kindly to interlopers or independents, and I was no exception to the rule, no matter how polite and helpful I’d intended to be. That was why, I thought, they had greeted me with laughter, punched me around a little and slung me into their miserable excuse for a dungeon I didn't look like much. Dirty, shaggy haired and bearded. My shirt was more tatters and mud than silk before I ever got to them and my lambskin boots were long gone. All the remained of my finer attire was my jerkin of fine draco leather, and even that was starting to look worn. I must have seemed like a vagabond to them. Not that they were any better off than me.

They called themselves thieves, but what I’d seen so far suggested that they were little more than footpads, cut-throats and bandits. No finesse, no style, nothing of the true art of thievery about them, and, as a result, I’d spoken to them with ill-considered scorn.

I acted, as usual, before I thought. It was a curse and a blessing. Sharp reflexes had saved me often, but leaping before I looked had also caused me no end of pain. I was forcing myself to think now, though. The cell's bars were wooden, its walls compacted soil. Though they considered it their stronghold, I could escape this place easily. But escape wouldn’t serve me. I was here for a reason and I had to win them over.

The soft thump of heavy men in furred boots came down the tunnel at last. Waxy, yellow light from their lanterns glowed against the wall. I could hear a single voice going on about something, so was surprised to see two shapes appear in the tunnel opening.

Rise, spy! muttered the talkative one, his