That accent! (Patreon)

That scratchy voice!  That diminutive stature!  That smell of Antglade barbecue!  Could it be possible?

I yanked back the assassin's hood.

"Burnside??" I gasped in astonishment.  "How did you survive the Plague of Battles?  What are you doing here?"

"I ain't tellin' you nothin' you durn scallywag," the mysterious interloper grumped.  "You'll have to torment me repeatedly with your Orgasmic Touch before I'll talk!"

Could this really be Burnside?  There was one way to find out.

I reached into her robe and started pulling knives out of her Elfintory.

This was definitely Burnside all right.

"Dad blast you Adler!" she growled after shaking off her mask.  "You better search every nook and cranny, cuz I might have a blade hid in a secret place, and so help me, if you leave me with one I'll stick ya!"

"Can I have 'em back when you're done?" she added as I slid the fistful of cutlery away from us across the scry-tower porch.

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