Crocodile tears

Mama always said "don't call a crocodile big mouth till you cross the river" well today I got a good look at that big mouth!
 
It must have been day 7 or 8 on our trek back through the Root Garden swamp, escorting the villagers of Bel back to Drynna. I was herding up from the rear, the long legs of our posse were tired enough that even us gnomes could keep up this time. Miss Brightflame and our new compatriots were ahead, leading by best an example as they can set in this merciless territory. It was stupid of me to hold the back by myself, but I just needed a moment or two alone with my thoughts.
 
I had embarrassed myself the night before trying to hunt some game with my old crossbow, and that darn clumsy claw of mine couldn't hold it right when I went to shoot. Fortunately Miss Zenirith is a capable cook as well as caster, and magicked up a serviceable vegetable stew.
 
It was the first time I used the crossbow since getting to this swamp. I had intended to use it so that I could keep Bayou discreetly away, but getting attacked by a crocodile first thing after stepping foot here put paid to that. In the 20 odd years I've had Bayou, I think this is the most I've ever used her and certainly the most public she's been. Naturally I got some questions from the others, but I appreciated their directness and I hope that I could return the same courtesy despite my old habits of discretion when it came to Bayou. I don't care for snoopers, you can find a bullet when you go looking for a gun like that, so the open discussion was new but cathartic. I felt as if a valve had started to release a long held pressure. It reminded me of when I first told Ceri about Bayou after she stumbled upon me tinkering with it in my quarters at the Bastion. I thought initially that I could excuse it away as some gnomish instrument, but I couldn't, no I wouldn't lie to her. Not after all these years we had each other's backs since when we were rookies together. But those are stories for another time.
 
It wasn't until we reached the village of Bel and I happened upon Mr Sprocksmith, a gnome kin who hailed over the sea from Wildemount, that the pressure from those open discussion raised back up. Mr Sprocksmith had lived a proud and rich tinkerers life, as well as being graced with a wife, Mrs Galoti, who overshadows all those great achievements. But it was his tales of Whitestone, a city north of Drynna, ruled by the inventor Lord De Rolo and protected by guardsman with guns that caused me great consternation. Ever since fate brought Bayou at my door, I've done my best to keep it a secret. A powerful tool that could herald a new era of technology, but also destruction in the wrong hands. I wasn't naïve, I knew these weapons were out there but to hear how public and brazen this Whitestone and its Lord were with these weapons. I had to think, have I wasted all these years with sleepless nights, paranoid looks over the shoulder, to keep this hidden for nothing?
 
I would contend to say this secret wasn't just a lie to others, but the biggest lie to myself. As a I now realise a secret is just the truth in waiting. Maybe that would be an interesting conversation with Mr Veris, our cleric of Ioun, although for a self described truth seeker he seems to wait to be invited! I wonder if these wisdoms would also ease Lord Raphael with his burden as well. For a man that does such obvious good, a shadow hangs around him. And I don't mean Mr Sabali!
 
As I was reflecting on these personal musings, Mr Sprocksmith had slowed his pace to come in line with me at the back of the convoy. He said he could tell that whilst my head and eyes were scanning around the swamp it was inward that I was truly looking. Us gnomes can recognise a face that's going over problems in its head. I hadn't know Mr Sprocksmith long, but I felt a kinship I haven't felt since my times back at the guild in Vasselheim. The creative possibilities and ideas that just fill the air when you meet a fellow tinkerer is intoxicating, like the bards of Kraghammer who get lost in their songs of creation. But before I could start to harmonise a tune on my reflections with Mr Sprocksmith, I felt my boot connect with something solid in the swamp water we been treading through. I thought it must have been a large tree root or boulder, until I felt the massive shift in the water behind me, and a mighty holla from a Sprocksmith who was no longer by my side but now a leg deep in the mouth of the biggest crocodile I'd ever seen. A giant the size of felled redwood of moss green and putrid brown, scales like jagged platemail adorned in scars of hard earned territorial victories. Its jaws full of teeth like daggers of sharply broken bone, and dark red eyes full of a deep primal hunger.
 
I pulled out Bayou to try and pump it with enough lead to loose it's interest in Sprocksmith, or at least let Bayou's boom tell the group trouble was at the back. Boom! Miss! C'mon Orlando literally get a grip! Boom! Hit! Blew off a back scale, exposing the dull pink flesh underneath. Make it hurt this time! Boom! Hit! Straight through its right elbow. Now I made you bleed. With that shot, it lost its balance and I rushed towards this jurassic head, with Mr Sprocksmith still just above the water I managed to grab his hand and pull myself close to the side of its jaws. I hate having to get close and personal, but it seems lately I haven't had much choice as everything has brought the fight to me. Time to return the courtesy.
 
I rammed my claw hand into the right side of it jaw and flipped the spring to jack it open, giving room for Sprocksmith to slide out. I pulled Bayou up close, ready to get a kill shot on this croc's head but it pulled itself with me in tow back into the water. My claw was still stuck in its mouth and it started rolling somethin' fierce, like a tornado in the water I was blinded by the rush of murky brown swamp and our respective bloods. The brown and claret I saw soon turned black as my breath waned, the only warmth I found in this cold swamp was the burning in my lungs for air. Truth be told, I always thought it'd be a bullet that would silence ol' Boom, guess we can't all end in a bang. Maybe I should make my peace now, with whatever God or power that would listen to the last thoughts of a foolish gunslinger that shirked the commitments of faith.
 
But something did come to me, a flash like the sparks in metal work, "Use what you create". Don't know if that was my dying subconscious or a power that took pity on me, but I felt the burning in my lungs burst through my body, hot like the very forges of Kraghammer and I channelled that last spark to survive. With that instruction, I kicked my body down to where I shot it in the elbow, hoping to use the injury to create an opportunity and it worked! I could feel the spurs on my boots dig deep into the gash, almost severing its arm, it stopped rolling to then burst out of the water releasing a desperate growl of pain. Back up in the air, time passed by like molasses, I still had a grip on Bayou and my arm was locked in its jaws. We were eye to eye. I squeezed the trigger and prayed the powder was still dry enough in the cartridge. "Bye you big mouth sumbitch!" Boom! Hit! Now we were eye to dead eye! Where once there was a hungry red orb that stared me down, was now the dull lead of my shot, drowning in a waterfall of salt tears and iron blood. Thank Gods I still had a bullet left...I really need a bigger cylinder or better yet another gun!

The croc swung its head back with the momentum of my shot, tearing the claw right off my arm. It thrashed around in panicked and pained blindness, its jaws snapping wildly and crunching through the metal of the claw. I could hear it start to gag on the gears! Before I could stand back up, its tail whipped into me like charging a bull knocking me back into the shallows by Mr Sprocksmith. Whatever desperate breath I had taken once I was above water was knocked clean out of me! Mr Sprocksmith dragged me up onto the marsh, the old coot still had the strength even though from what I could see left of his leg looked real bad. We sat and watched this large lizard thrash and choke through its last fight, scrambling and splashing till it drowned in the blood and murk of the swamp, and finally the light went out of it.
 
Of course right on time Miss Brightflame arrived with the group and Mrs Galoti, swords, bows, magic and maces all at the ready. Ceri stopped and surveyed us two broken gnomes and the floating crocodile carcass, that angelic face full of concern soon gave way to a wry smile, "Well Sergeant Boom, I see you have everything under control". "Yes ma'am, everything is in good hand!" I wince back, tipping my drowned hat with my stub. Sprocksmith and I just cried with laughter, right through the pain of it all. Fate had brought me and him together, and it seems fate still has plans for us!
 
I don't rightly know who I'm writing this to or for. I know Miss Brightflame is a gifted writer, and every letter to me has been a treasure when she left whilst I was still in Vasselheim. But I felt inspired to try myself, to get these big thoughts out of my small head. Because this day has shown, if I worry about things I've kept on the inside, I'll miss the big things on the outside. So if you're reading this I hope you found a boon rather than a bullet.