The Drylands (Pathfinder)
Flight of the Bonecobbler
The Bonecobbler held tightly to his skeletal mount as it raced through the wilderness. His precious tools had been stolen, his artwork destroyed, and his home no longer a safe haven, but at least he had escaped. He took a small satisfaction that the greedy robbers would be likely coughing up dust for a week.
After a short but wild ride there was no apparent sign of pursuit and the Bonecobbler slowed to consider his options. He couldn’t go back. There wasn’t anything left there and the robbers knew where to find him. He couldn’t go hide in the ruined capital since the guardian was awake again.
Of the fey territories, he could try the Unbowed. They had an appreciation for esoteric artwork and weren’t as quick to kill the undead as the Lake Freeholds (and weren’t as quick to kill everything as the Wild Fey). But then he remembered, he didn’t have his tools. The Unbowed weren’t known for their charity to beggars.
He slashed a tree with his claws in frustration. Why couldn’t they just leave him alone!
The Bonecobbler thought about trying to build some new, crude pieces and take his tools back, but he couldn’t remember any local materials that he could gather easily that would also serve the purpose.
The more frustrated the Bonecobbler got, the more splinters flew from the tree he was venting his emotions on. He hadn’t survived this long just to end up stranded and alone.
As the Bonecobbler reached the peak of his fit of temper, a memory clicked into place. Years ago, long after Planewalker had left but before the fey arrived, he’d had a visit from an odd creature who’d traded materials for some of his art. She’d asked if he would like to create for her on a regular basis, but he had been busy with his own project at the time.
She’d left the offer open. The Bonecobbler had no idea if she was even still alive. But if she was, he was certain nothing had moved her from her home. Lacking a better idea, he set off to the Northwest to see if his old client was still in business.
The tree wasn’t sorry to see him go.