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[indent][indent][indent][indent][indent][h3][sup][sup][color=a9a9a9]Your words ring out as a series of heads whip around, wide-eyed. One-Eyed Billy, self-imposed sheriff of the watch, had a special, shoddy non-lethal crossbow he liked to use to take pot shots at misbehaving Swampmuckians. He sometimes enjoyed taking a little bit of extra love and care with his work before dumping people in the stocks for all to see. No doubt he would take it as a mark against his pride if things went poorly before the biggest day of the year. The group of peasants closest to you begins to scatter like young street urchins as they themselves duck for cover or scarper away. 

You hear a HURK as you grab the dwarf's collar instead of his sleeve in your rush to get moving. You manage to trip over your own feet all right, knocking yourself prone over the crate as you misjudged exactly how much motor control you have right now. It is neither elegant nor out of sight to be splayed out in such a manner. The dwarf from out of town bumps into the side of the crate as well, loosing his footing.[/color]

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