“Where is she?” Poffo Rosetti screamed. He grabbed one of his many servants by the collar. “Where is she?” he repeated. The halfling was a head taller than his servant, and weighed twice as much. Poffo wore nothing but a heavy crimson robe and a gold medallion, which dangled around his fat neck in the same manner that his unmentionables swung between his fat thighs.
“Who? Who?” the halfling servant asked desperately.
“My wife!” Poffo shouted. The servant hesitated. He was scared to point out that “my wife” only narrowed it down to about seventy-five women of all different races. Poffo understood the man’s pause, and attempted to clarify. “The gnome one with the short hair.” Now it was narrowed down to about six. “I don’t remember her name. OK. But she is missing.” He walked the halfling servant to an open door, and pointed inside. “The one that stayed in here.”
The servant, whose name Poffo didn’t recall either, looked inside the room. “That is Gimmy’s room, my lord.” The two halflings walked inside and took stock of the empty room.
“I didn’t say that I cared what her name was. I just said that I didn’t KNOW what it was.” Poffo looked around and noticed what looked like blood on the floor. “What is that?” He pointed at the spot.
“It is blood, sir.” The servant knelt down for a closer look, and he covered mouth to keep from throwing up his breakfast. He looked to Poffo and saw his master staring back at him expectantly. “And it looks like… like um….”
“Spit it out!”
“It looks like skin.”
Poffo Rosetti bent over, which was not a pretty sight, and picked up the bloody skin. He turned it over in his fat hands, fingering the brand that he placed on all of his wives. Poffo shook his head, admiring the gnome’s mental and physical fortitude. “Where did she get a knife?”
“The better question is, where did she get this?” the halfling had regained his composure and found a small vial. He handed it to Poffo.
Poffo took the vial and sniffed the opening. “Healing potion,” he laughed. “The dirty gnome whore got her hands on a knife AND a healing potion.” Poffo went to the window and found exactly what he expected; there were notches running down the wall, all the way to the ground. The servant did not know how to respond when Poffo Rosetti, the wealthiest halfling in Delphia, started laughing heartily.
Gimmy had earned her freedom, in Poffo’s mind at least. She deserved to be free. The same could not be said for the wives down the hall. He would find his physical needs met by them, but his mind kept going back to the gnome. She had cut his claim to her from her arm and descended to freedom. Poffo would not recognize Gimmy if he saw her on the street. She was free, and he was proud of her for it.