the smuggler’s bible

Balan le Savage

“So I’ve got my boot on this guy’s chest, fists around the lance, trying to twist the stubborn fucker out of his rib-cage.”

“Uh huh.”

“When his girlfriend runs out of the woods and—no kidding—doesn’t look around for two seconds before slicing herself open.”

“You mean on purpose?”

“On purpose!” Balin says. He tips his helmet back and shrugs. “What a mess. I swear to god some days the bodies just won’t quit piling up.”

Balan gives his brother a hug. “Cheer up, buddy,” he says. “And tell me about this new look. Two swords?”

“Pretty bitchin’, right?”