Disclaimer: If I owned Neverwinter Nights, I wouldn't have gotten killed so many times while playing it. Also, the song the bards sang would have been Brave Sir Robin.
The Stirge leaned against a tree, picked at his nails, and wondered when they would find him. It couldn't be much longer now before the bounty hunters got wind of his whereabouts- those comrades of his would sell him out in less time then it would take to wipe away a spec of dirt.
He had been waiting for his pursuers for some time now, and so he was almost relieved when he heard the sound of twigs snapping and saw two shadowy figures coming towards him. He sized them up. The female, obviously the leader, was a fellow bard- a human most likely. Her showgirl's costume was spattered with blood, and her otherwise attractive face bore a battle scar. The male was a hideous half-orc, bearing a battleaxe twice the Stirge's size.
There's no way I could ever defeat those two. Better try to bargain.
"Greetings, fair maiden!", he said as he bowed to the bloodied bard. "I'm Stirge, the baby killer!"
The two adventurers stopped in their tracks. The male bore a look of revolted disbelief, but the girl seemed almost amused.
"Not making much attempt at staying undercover, are you?"
"Ah well, how could I possibly hope to hide from someone as clever as yourself?"
She laughed at that, but her eyes didn't move from him.
"So, let's hear it."
"Hear what?"
"Every crook I've captured has some sob story to tell me- some tragic tale of being misunderstood that led them to their life of crime. I'm interested in what excuse you could possibly have for strangling newborns in their sleep."
"Judging from the brief time in which I've known you, I gather the sob stories, as you call them, were of no avail."
She smiled. It was slight, and there was something strangely sinister about it.
"Oh, but you're wrong. I took pity on the monster, and the elf was far too lovely to kill. I'm still waiting. What's your excuse?"
"I have none. I did what I did for my own pleasure."
The half-orc began to lunge forward, but the female pulled him back.
"Daelen, wait."
The Sirge took her hand and whispered softly:
"No one would have to know I'm alive."
Her laugh came again, but colder this time.
"Do you mean to tell me that you would cut off your own ear? That would be highly amusing to watch."
He took out his dagger and drew it up to the side of his head. At a nod from the bard, he sliced it across. The pain was unimaginable, and he felt more then a bit sick as he handed her part of himself.
"Goodbye, love."
As he turned, he suddenly felt a sharp pain in his ribs. As he slid to the ground, he realized the tart had slid in a dagger.
The last words he ever heard were "Bloody baby killer!"
