You tighten your grip around Killfinger’s handle. This hippogriff is about to get nine feet of cold metal through its hot bird-slash-horse intestines.

It takes all your strength to heroically raise the elongated sword into the air. Killfinger wobbles uneasily in your hands, like a wizard lightweight in a tavern. The blade catches the sun, momentarily blinding both you and the bird of prey. In a fit of rage, the hippogriff leaps for Killfinger and easily snatches it from you with its powerful talons. The beast whinnies defiantly as it flies into the sky, back toward town. 

As luck would have it, you purchased a warranty against theft from the bladesmith you bought it from. So you run back to town and tell everyone within earshot that a bird stole your blade. He sighs, giving you back your gold. All the townspeople laugh at you, and the town fool does an accurate parody of you, but once the hippogriff starts defecating from 200 feet, they quickly change their tune.


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