R.A. Salvatore rimson Shadow

Salvatore: I understand that your time is short— 

deBurrows: Please, I must insist, do not use that word. 

—as certain parties have caught wind of your whereabouts and are soon to arrive. Thank you for speaking to us. 

I have not broken wind. They have caught their own smelly bottom burps. But yes, a highwayhalfling's time is inversely proportional to his height, and I assure you, I am taller than I appear. 

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Your exploits are legendary. Robbing from the rich to give to the poor—including yourself—

A re-figuring of "poor" is always necessary, of course. The more I have, well, the more the peasants seem to need. I did not expect such an outcome as this, but alas, I must remain a hero to the downtrodden. 

About your name. Isn't it true that you were born plain Oliver Burrows? 

This is a most scandalous accusation! You call me short in height and time, and I am gracious. But plain? My glove is in my hand. If you must use that word again, do bend over so I might properly slap your face and begin our du-el. 

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Your pony Threadbare is almost as famous as you are, but I must say that he is very ugly. Why don't you choose a more attractive mount? 

The dawn is more glorious after the darkest night. Threadbare is the darkest night, and I am, of course, the sun. 

Your position as sidekick—pardon me, fellow adventurer—to Luthien Bedwyr has led to numerous close scrapes. Which was worse, dragons or cyclopians?

Which is the wiser, the shark who must hunt and can never find his rest, or the clever pilot fish who cleans the teeth of the shark? Luthien is my shark. I eat most very well. 

By the way, have you heard the most noble stanzas the ladies are singing of me? Some claim it was stolen from an obscure poem called “The Highwayman,” but that is mere slander. Here is the real version.

“Let Threadbare's clopping shiver your bones/ when the wind is in the trees.

For now I come a'calling,/ to wob-ble your so-pretty knees

To catch your gaze—you see, in my sight/ your lips do slightly part 

I took your fancy jew-wels and now/ I flutter, flutter your heart.

“The highwayhalfing comes riding - riding - riding

The highwayhalfling comes riding, to feast on his pretty tart.”

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The Crimson Shadow

By R. A. Salvatore