The Sacrifice of Saffron Truefoot

“I’ll go,” the halfling said stepping forward. Heads turned, human and elven, but not the half-ogre who stood between her and the devil.

A smile spread across the devil’s face, his tail twitched. “Are you certain? The contract is binding you know.”

She nodded, blue eyes sparkling with unshed tears. “Saffer,” came the soft voice of the half-ogre, “don’t. It’s for me. It’s meant for me.” His shoulders shook.

“Why Schnookums? What did you ever do that you should be doomed to this orderly hell for eternity?” Her voice was soft, but it carried. Years of bardic training counted for something. “Besides, you don’t get to decide for me, remember?”

“Saffron,” a level elven voice spoke from behind her, “if you do this, we cannot rescue you.”

“I know, Mistweaver,” she said. “Where do I sign?” As her pen scratched across the paper, a howl tore from Schnookums’ throat. “Besides,” she turned to her friends, “it’s epic – ‘The Bard of Chaos Sacrificed to the Devil of Law!’ Just make sure you write it, hey?” She grinned.

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