The Last War

[Callista Miala Moonshade]

Holly stared at the dark night sky, she had been travelling for 7 weeks and she was no where closer to finding her looked for location, she yawned as a shooting star streaked across the sky leaving a large trail of shinning dust behind it, she smiled, her lushes lips pressing together as they always did when she smiled.
   
    Holly was a tall girl, with long blonde hair which she always kept up in a high ponytail, she was very thin and looked almost starved, her eye's were the prettiest blue that you had ever seen, but her temper, she could lose like that. She had been run out of town for killing one of the kings soldiers, because he had striked her down, because she was trying to get in to see the king of Palaten, to tell him that there was an army approaching the city, they had ran her out of town or at least thats what she tolds people, just before the army arrived and massacred anyone who stood in there way, they had killed everyone that Holly ever knew, and now she wanted revenge, she was trying to find her way to the city of Halbad, to consult the king about her knowledge about the army now marching there way, she had heard some of the soldiers talking freely as they passed by her hiding place, where they travelled to next, and know Holly is trying to stop them.

    Holly had trained for 19 years in Palaten since she was 4 she was 23 now, and she could hold her own well, she needed no help, but if someone passed her by now she wouldn't refuse the help. she dug deep into the rucksack to her side, and found a small bottle filled with reddish liquid, she popped off the cork and took a deep hearty swig, before putting the cork back in, she placed the bottle back into her bag and leant against the tree, closing her eye's for a moment, to enjoy the soft sweeping wind which now blew among the trees, the patch of land she had found was in the heart of a deep forest, and she had come across many dangers getting out of them with a few scratches, hopefully she would find someone who could help lead her out of this mess and too the city of Halbad.

[Wogden]

[OOC] D'you mind if I join?[/OOC]

[POG]

Rory jogged to keep up with his brother’s long legged gait.  Baldwin was three years younger than him but you wouldn’t know it by looking at them.  Especially the way they acted.  Baldwin was clearly the leader.  Piercing eyes the color of the ocean to the west swept side to side as he strode down the nearly invisible path.  He wore a leather shirt with studs of metal that would offer protection but wouldn’t hamper quick and silent movement in the forest.  He carried a longbow that could reach out and touch enemies at 200 spans and fought in close with longsword and wooden shield.  He wore a cloak the colors of grass rocks and water.

His brother Rory was quite the opposite.  Although he was of medium height he was not nearly as tall or imposing as Baldwin and lacked the obvious physical frame.  His slender frame was nearly lost in the swirl his oversized cloak.  His boots looked two sizes too big for him and, opposed to the assorted deadly weapons Baldwin sported he carried a long knife and a long staff.  The staff looked almost too light to do any real damage but had a sling attached to the top of it.  It appeared that Rory’s prized possession was a large wine flask.  As he walked he had it turned up over his mouth and was attempting, in vain, to extract a drop of wine from the now empty flask and keep up with his brother.  

Baldwin walked with his head jutted forward and his torso leaning, like a hound straining against an invisible leash.  He saw Holly before she saw him and called for Rory to stop.  He approached her cautiously.

“Well met stranger.  My name is Baldwin.  This is my brother Rory.â€?

Rory had gone back to trying to squeeze some wine out of the empty flask…

[Callista Miala Moonshade]

OOC: no i don't mind at all

IC: holly didn't move she kept her eye's closed "my name is Holly" she said without making a motion of greeting, she slowly opened her eye's to look at the new-comers, her eye's slid down there form sizing them up, and then rested on there weapons, she chuckled lightly and stood brushing herself off, her long black cloak fell to her ankles, covering most of her tight legged black trousers and her red bustier, she looked at the man who called himself Baldwin, "May i ask what you are doing here, in this forest on such a dark night, not that i am not thankful for the meeting" she leant lazily agaisnt the large oak which she had been resting underneath, it's high branches casting evil looking shadows all over the clearing.

[Wogden]

His pack chafing him terribly, Smeed Wenderferns stumbled over a root in his path and stuttered an oath. "Cursed - plaguey - no thought - growing all over the place..."

The wizened fortune-teller stopped to rest his weary knees. Such travelling was hardly worthwhile anymore, what with times being as hard as they were. His all-too-light pockets kept him painfully aware of his situation, though - Palaten had been mercilessly put to the torch, and the soldiers would have preferred slitting his throat to crossing his palm with valuable spoils. At least in Halbad the townsfolk would be frightened for their futures - an ideal situation for a wandering clairvoyant.

Truth be told, Smeed cared little over whose wars were fought where, so long as they left him out of it. He was only trying to make a living; didn't they understand? He coughed - a hoarse, choking sound - and immediately wished he hadn't. The accursed forest seemed to be listening to his very heartbeats. He dropped on his knees and rummaged noisily in his pack to mask the unfriendly silence. He'd never liked the wilderness. It was time someone put a decent path in for unfortunate old souls like him.

He found what he was looking for - a dried rabbit's ear on a leather thong. The pair of merchants camped by the forest edge had assured him that without a ward of some sort he would be dead meat in the dense foliage, prey for all sorts of wicked fanged monstrosities. Smeed never relished a fight, so he accepted the charm gratefully, especially at the meagre price the pair had offered. Two coppers was hardly enough for a crock of porridge in Halbad.

Twisting the ear in the way the men had shown him and muttering the clever little rhyme that went with it, he draped the cord over his own left ear to ward off any approaching predators, and flopped over painfully onto the forest floor for a catnap. At his age he found they were the best remedy for everything but death itself. He rearranged his pack as a pillow and closed his eyes wearily.

[POG]

Baldwin appraised Holly like he did everyone he met.  Looking for strengths and weaknesses and saving the information for later. “We’re headed for Halbad.â€?  He smirked at his brother who was staring into the empty depths of his empty wine bottle as if it held mysterious secrets.  ÃƒÂ¢Ã¢â€šÂ¬Ã…“We’ve been traveling for a while.  You’re the first person we’ve encountered in a while.â€?  Baldwin’s eyes slowly looked about the shadows of the clearing.  Gimlet orbs vigilant for any possible threat, his hands never straying far from blade or bow, he took out a piece of hard cheese as he spoke, cutting a piece off with a small knife he produced from some easily accessible spot on his belt.  ÃƒÂ¢Ã¢â€šÂ¬Ã…“This isn’t the safest place.  I’m surprised a girl like you is out here by yourself.  Where are you headed?â€?  He popped a slice of cheese in his mouth.

Rory scrunched up his face running a hand over the stubble that occupied its bottom half, and looking at Holly as if seeing her for the first time.  He appraised her like he did everyone he met.  She looked like she’d be fun.  ÃƒÂ¢Ã¢â€šÂ¬Ã…“Hey hon,â€? he inquired, “Got anything to drink?â€?…

[Scrasamax]

Brother Tantus made his way easily along the road, staying to the side and in the shade of the great trees. He could smell people ahead, their smells carried on the wind to his nose. The others at the monastary had told him that the fleshy bulb of a nose he possessed was twice as a keen as a bloodhounds. From what little he knew of his kind, perhaps the tonsured monk had been right. The bugbears were hunters and stalkers, and why would he not have their ability to track by scent. He already knew he had their temperment and bloodlust. It was only by his daily prayers and abslutions that he was not a slavering bloody-eyed monster, like the rest of his savage kind.

Ah, they were not moving, and he was closing on them. He made short work of the distance. One of the advantages to being nearly seven feet tall was the ability to take long strides, made for quicker trips. It also made up for the fact that he was completely incapable of riding a horse. He gave a snorting laugh, and pulled a small hand written book from his pack, the gospel of St. Logan of Stratia and began to glance over the scriptures. It was a calculated effort, some people...most people only saw the bugbear, and not the robes of a monk, or the holy symbol of the Liturgical Church around his neck.

He made sure that he was in no way sneaking up on the newcomers ahead and instead of pulling up directly to them, he stopped about twelve paces back, holding his book in one hand, and has walking staff in the other.

"Hallo there, travelers." The bugbear said.

[Wogden]

One of Smeed's eyes, a painful green, snapped open at the ominous footfalls that were growing closer. Ward or no ward, he would much rather be under cover and not half-asleep when whatever it was came into view.

He had barely hoisted his pack onto his shoulders when the enormous, terrifying sillhouette of a full-grown bugbear lumbered into view above the next tangle of bushes. Supressing a terrified whimper, Smeed's wide eyes also caught sight of three innocent people - directly in its path!

Too late to save any of them now, he reasoned. Never one for bravery, Smeed crouched into a hollow of a tree, shivering, and tried to look away from what was surely to become a feeding ground.

[Callista Miala Moonshade]

"another new traveller" Holly thought to herself, "come forth new-comer we mean no harm if you don't" she called loudly into the silence of the clearing, she bent down rummaged into her pack and threw the bottle of the reddish liquid to Rory, "i believe that should quench your thirst" she said cooly, she stood up straight and walked forward a few steps to get closer to the stranger but not taking her attention off of the other two "i am travelling to Halbad, and trust me i can take care of myself, i may be a girl but, i am more to myself than any other female" she looked at Baldwin and smiled a small but noticeable smile, "and there is no need to hide," she called to the man she had seen cower into the hollow of the tree

[Dream]

Grumple was a troll.  But Grumple was no ordinary troll, oh, no.  Not Grumple.

Grumple came from the soglands only a slog-day from shiny city.  Grumple didn't know its name.  Grumple didn't know if it had a name.  Grumple didn't think much of such things.  Thinking made Grumple's lumpy head hurt anyway.

Many, many bad men came marching up to shiny city and there was shouting and smashing and hot red stuff flaming up everywhere and some big horses (that smelled very, very tasty) came crashing through the soglands and one ran over Grumple as Grumple lay sleeping in the sog next to the bridge having just eaten a number of somewhat tasty green wet lily-jumpers and and Grumple sprang up and hit the man on the back of the really-tasty smelling horse and more of them galloped over to Grumple and it went like it usually did...

...Grumple knocked flat one horse that smelled particularly tasty and snapped the fragile neck bones of its rider and roared at another horse that ran away with the man falling off but the other bad men on horses chased Grumple away before Grumple could eat the man.  Or even the horse.

Too bad.  It smelled really tasty.  And the green jumpers weren't really enough in his belly for really good sleeping and some were still jumping around in there, so the horse-flesh would have really hit the spot.

Of course, as luck would have it, one of the men really hit Grumple's spot instead -- with a spear -- that now stuck completely through Grumple's belly.  Grumple ran off, and the spear hurt Grumple's spot; the one where the tasty horse should be.  

So Grumple ran and ran and his belly grumbled for both reasons, and left the horses and men behind -- who really seemed more interested in fighting and galloping into the shiny city which was, after all, looking less and less shiny and more and more red.

Grumple ran through the forest now, toward Halbad.  Not that Grumple knew its name, either.

**************
OOC:  Sorry.  I am new at this posting online stuff.  I guess my icon from my other posting will show up since I don't have an icon drawn of Grumple.  If someone can tell me how to have a second icon I will try to draw one up for this new character.  Anyway, I hope you like him.  If you don't want another character in your story, please let me know and I'll drop out.

[Wogden]

Smeed spluttered, caught off guard. "B-but miss! The - the bugbear!! You're all in mortal peril!" His nervously wandering eyes caught sight of the lumbering creature's frame, dressed oddly in the garb of a holy man. Oh lord. The thing had eaten a priest. Not even the most righteous were safe. Smeed suddenly felt that his little rabbit ear wasn't holding up its side of the bargain.

How could this woman be so calm and collected in the face of one of the biggest, meanest forest predators that stalked these treacherous woods? Smeed's natural survival instinct kicked in and he hurried over, bent double, to stand a good ways behind her and the other two men. At least while the fiend was chewing their bones he might be able to make a dash, but he'd heard nasty things about the noses of bugbears...

[Scrasamax]

"You are hardly in any danger from me, old man." Tantus said, closing the Canon of St. Logan. The book made a smart snap as it slapped shut. "I am a far cry from my more feral brethern, you see I was raised in a monastary from swaddling clothes. I am now a traveling monk of St. Logan of Stratia. Logan was a converter of savages, goblins and other feral folk of the far eastern woodlands."

[Wogden]

Smeed jumped out of his skin as the monster addressed him in his own language. Bugbears didn't talk! He peered around the other three and uttered a little grunt of confusion. At least it didn't seem to be eating any of them, but who knew when it would pounce. The thing was obviously far too clever for simple tactics, it was trying to catch them off guard...
 
He addressed the bugbear with as much snivelling politeness as he could muster in the circumstances. "Of - of course, of course... sir. As you please. I see now. Of course you are a priest. Of... Saint Logan." He'd never heard of this particular saint before - no doubt the beast was lying to lure them all into its jaws.  
 
Smeed turned back to the men and woman, his green eyes wide and dilated. "Now will you run?" he hissed as quietly as his painfully thumping heart would allow. "Do you not see that this... thing means to eat us all!? They say bugbears chew the skin of their prey clean off before their eyes!"

[Scrasamax]

Tantus gave a deep laugh, sometimes the misunderstandings of his kin were as amusing as they were wrong, but the errors had to be delt with in order of appearance. "Friend, If I may call you such, I am not a priest. I doubt that any temple would ordain me as such. I am just a monk, trying to spread the word of St. Logan."

"As for the chewing of skin and the eating of eyes, that is just silly. Personally I would prefer a nice porridge or a pot of stewed fish. I cannot speak for the more feral of my race, but I doubt very much that they chew skin. Eating eyes, that might correct, but I was not raised among the Bugbears."

"I was little more than a year old, found laying next to my mother. Apparently she had been wounded, or killed. Father Carmody could not bring himself to harm an infant and I was raised as the monastary oddity. Imagine their surprise when I learned the art of reading. Writing is a bit more than I can manage myself, but I can get by if I have to." Tantus said with a small smile. He had learned that while humans could have large jovial smile, when he did the same it showed his larger pointed teeth and was unnerving.

[Wogden]

Smeed opened his mouth, but found himself entirely at a loss to offer any sort of reply. What did one say to a seven-foot-tall monster wearing a monk's robes that could argue a point with more eloquence than he himself could? "Er... Who is this Saint Logan, then?" he managed at last, his eyes still wide as saucers.

Truth be told, he was rather frustrated about the entire skin-eating falsehood. Those fellows who had sold him the rabbit ear ward had been adamant that bugbears relished human skin most of all. If they had been lying about such a trivial matter as that, what about his purchase...

Smeed fingered the charm, still dangling from one ear, and was suddenly aware of what a fool he must look to the other travellers.

[POG]

Baldwin sprung into action striding boldly in front of Smeed and drawing his longsword with a steely rasp.  ÃƒÂ¢Ã¢â€šÂ¬Ã…“What foul sorcery is this?â€?  His gaze locked with Tantus’ eyes with deadly intent.  Three feet of sharpened steel held horizontal by strong arms quivered scant feet away from the bugbear’s chest.  ÃƒÂ¢Ã¢â€šÂ¬Ã…“I’ve slain more of your kind than I care to count and I’ve never heard one speak in the common tongue.  Your cowardly trickery knows no bounds!â€?  Baldwin’s sword had long flowing script etched into the blade.  Magikal dweomers fused into the blade.  ÃƒÂ¢Ã¢â€šÂ¬Ã…“Rory!â€?  Baldwin called, “To me!â€?

Rory looked at the bugbear as he took a hefty swallow from the flask Holly had given him.  He grunted in appreciation at the potent brew she was sharing and threw her a wink.  ÃƒÂ¢Ã¢â€šÂ¬Ã…“Don’t mind my brother.â€?  Rory said with a slight slur to his voice, “He is quite a fighter.â€?  He took another swig.  ÃƒÂ¢Ã¢â€šÂ¬Ã…“Baldwin…â€?

“WHAT?!?â€?  Baldwin answered, annoyed at his brother's lack of interest in the bugbear he was about to slay.

“Your sword’s not glowing.â€?  Rory replied lazily.

“SO!�

“So it appears there’s more to this bugbear than meets the eye.â€?  Baldwin stared at his sword as if he had been betrayed by a trusted friend.  His mouth dropped open.  Rory returned the flask to Holly, expressing his thanks and plopped down by the tree.  He arranged his oversized cloak around himself and was snoring softly in a matter of seconds.

Baldwin looked at his napping brother and snapped his gaze back to the bugbear, his sword still pointed at his chest.  ÃƒÂ¢Ã¢â€šÂ¬Ã…“My sword glows in the presence of evil.  How have you defeated its magik?  Speak now while you yet have breath.â€?…

[Dream]

Standing in the forest, Grumple knew something was wrong.  Wounds were something Grumple was used to, but this spear sticking out from Grumple's back was really worse than usual.  The tri-point of the enormous head had to be nearly a cubit in length, and when Grumple grabbed the razor-sharp point it to pull it through Grumple's belly and out it simply cut his knobby hands again and again.  The spear head had huge barbs that were imbedded in Grumple's back, and one at least was jammed into Grumple's spine.  It did not help in this case that Grumple's flesh was already trying to heal around the painful implant, but the healing was going very badly.

Roaring in pain, Grumple reached behind and grabbed the shaft and tried to pull it out.  Grumple's knobby hands covered in blackish blood slipped on the polished oak shaft.  There was no good leverage to be found from that angle.  This was really, really getting annoying.  Besides, all this exertion was making Grumple hungry.

Grumple didn't know it, but this was no ordinary spear.  

*******************

Captain Kraggis, leader of the Blackhand Riders, was furious.  Two of his men and a fine horse were dead, but that was not the problem.  His war-horse, Nightstorm, had gotten bogged down in that accursed swamp by the collapsed bridge and that stupid troll had escaped with his spear protruding from its back.  The accursed weapon was known to all simply as "The Tooth" and it symbolized his strength and prowess.  He raged at his horsemen, who were similarly unable to cross the swamp and so, Kraggis instructed his best scout to track the troll and report back when he had been found.  

In the meantime, the burning city beckoned and he drew his broadsword and led his men into its gates to finish off the pathetic defenders.  He would finish off that troll later and recover The Tooth.  He grinned from beneath his black and red helmet which appeared as a hideous burned skull, and lowered the visor.  There were women to rape and plunder to be had in the meantime.

[Dream]

Captain Kraggis' scout, Private Realen Fox had been tracking this troll for some time.  Fox had been really crossed over Kraggis' command to break off from pillaging and looting at Palaten.  He would miss all the fun, one of the few pleasures of a soldier's life with the Blackhand.  It was what they lived for, dreamed for.

Here he was, going every which way in search of that wretched beast.  It had left quite a meandering trail, and apparently still had the spear with him, for there were no other tracks and the spear was not left behind.  Sometimes he found the remnants of deer or goats or other animals the monster had killed and eaten.  With The Tooth still stuck in him?  Unbelievable.

Fox knew the real objective was to recover The Tooth.  That accursed weapon left wounds that never healed, at least in men.  He didn't know what it would do to a troll.  Those things had unbelievable powers of regeneration.  Just like the frogs and other disgusting things they ate.  They grew back limbs, recovered from fatal wounds, sprang up from the "dead" and killed good men... and were just hideous.  Fox intended to keep his distance from the thing if he found it.  On horseback, that is.  He'd never outrun it on foot.

Not If.  When he found it.  Fox was an excellent tracker.  And he knew better than to go back to the Captain and report failure.  So it was just a matter of time.

[Scrasamax]

Tanus heard the troll thrashing around in the brush, looking away from the sword wielding human. He didn't doubt that the warrior had slain many of his kind, nor did he doubt that the weapon was magical. But Tantus had faced his share of irrational humans, hell bent on slaughtering anytihng that wasn't human. The reason the elves and the dwarves largely escaped such persecution was beyond his wisdom.

"If you will pardon me." Tantus said, making his way into the shrubbery to find the source of the noise. It sounded like a wild boar had been snared in some sort of trap, or had dragged off a leg clamp left by a hunter. If he could heal the animal, well that was good. If it was beyond healing, he would put an end to it's misery. There would be a nice pork for the cookfire then. The world provides for those who know how to look. He was rather surprised to find a rather large, lumpy looking creature.

His instinct told him it was dangerous, a predator. He recognized it as some sort of troll, though its ethnicity escaped him. There were very few trolls where the monastary was, the humans had done a fell job with their swords and flame. "Brother Troll..." Tantus said, speaking in the gutteral language of trollshaw, "I would help if you need."

He hoped that the troll was not going to be a trouble...

[Dream]

Grumple was lying on the ground, and not willingly.  The huge, cursed steel blade was drawing out Grumple's health and energy, as fast as Grumple replenished them with animals killed and eaten.  The heavy shaft that stuck out Grumple's back threw off Grumple's balance.  Black blood dripped out his tummy hole.  Grumple was dying.

"Help Grumple," the troll muttered through cracked lips.  "Pull out bad steel.  Hurts.  Pull out steel..."  Grumple racked his primitive mind for the Magic Word that the wizard's daughter had taught him so long ago.  

It came to mind... There it was...  Grumple said it in the Common tongue...

"Puhleeze Help Grumple".  "Puhleeze".

[Wogden]

Smeed breathed a sigh of relief and straightened as far as his bent spine would allow. At least the thing was gone for now, so he could ponder over its abnormalities without being wary of his life.

This Baldwin character... so his sword glowed when it met something evil. But did that count towards simple predators as well? Strictly speaking, the thing didn't have to be evil to want to devour them all. But even as Smeed thought, he was aware of the doubt nagging at him from the back of his gnarled mind: If the creature had wanted to attack, wouldn't it have done so by now?

Another thought hit Smeed as he considered the bugbear's appearance: come to think of it, since when did regular human monks wear clothing that enormous? The robes had fit the beast very well for something stole off a dead man...

He spoke up, in his hoarse voice, addressing the fellow named Baldwin. "'Scuse me, but... I don't suppose you might allow me to take a look at that sword of yours, to see what's amiss with it? I know a little something about enchantments..."

[Scrasamax]

"Puhleeze Help Grumple". "Puhleeze".

"I will." Tantus said, still speaking in Trollshaw, a common tongue among the bugbears, and the ogres. "This could hurt." Tantus warned as he examined the wound, and the weapon that had inflicted it. The troll's regenerative ability was formidable, but the spear seemed to have become lodged in one of the creature's thick rib bones. Tantus closed his eyes and held his hands over the bloody wound in the creature, whispering the words of an orison, one that would ease the pain caused by the wound. What he was about to do the creature was going to be very painfull, and the last thing he wanted was a frenzied troll, even if it was weakened.

Hideous thing, the spear. He took the shaft in his hands, feeling his grip fail because of the slick blood. He took one of his white cassocks from his pack and used it to grip the shaft again. If he could push the blade in a bit, and turn it, he could dislodge the barb that was keeping the wound from closing. The barb was set deep, and he had to push hard to get it to break free of the bone...only humans would come up with a weapon this cruel. The barb lurched free of the bone, the spear hungriliy seeking to penetrate deeper into the troll's unprotected flesh and organs, and almost seemed recalcitrant to exit the body. Twice the barb tried to reset itself in the bone before Tantus managed to pull the weapon free.

He tossed the spear to his side, and returned to the wound. Regeneration was occuring, but at a slower rate than was to be expected. There was no telling how long the troll had been carrying the spear and how weak he was. He needed water, and protien to recover his strength.

"We have friends here. Have you fight with humans?" Tantus asked in Trollshow, sounding more like a snarling warhog than an orthodox monk. "Offer them the spear, as a token to the chief. They might offer you food, brother."

[Dream]

Grumple could barely maintain control.  The "first aid" hurt so bad, Grumple bellowed with pain, and nearly turned on his savior like a trapped animal that turns on the person who frees it.  But not Grumple.  Oh, no.

Grumple was different from other trolls.  Grumple had lived with men, with the friendly wizard.  Well, sometimes he wasn't so friendly and ordered Grumple around and punished Grumple, but Grumple thought it was probably deserved.  The wizard (what was his name again?) taught Grumple patience.  Discipline.  How to think and not just react.  How to plan and to follow through.  The wizard's daughter, (that would be Elwina) taught Grumple much more.

So in the awful pain as steel grated on bone, Grumple remembered discipline.  Grumple roared and gritted stubby teeth so hard that two of them snapped off.  Then the bad steel thing was out!  The spear clattered to the ground, striking off a chunk of a protruding rock, making an impossible keening sound that somehow seemed like a metallic wail of hunger and disappointment before fading out.

Grumple lay on the ground, exhausted, the ringing fading from large lumpy ears, with a torn body still in shock and heard the soothing, peaceful words of the kindly bugbear... 'Offer them the spear'...

Grumple raised a greenish-gray head and opened one bloodshot eye.  In as grateful a Trollshaw tone as one could possibly expect from a snarling warthog he managed to say, "Thanks.  You Friend.  Grumple go with Friend."

Then, reaching out an enormous bloody hand and wrapping it around the haft of the spear, Grumple spoke again -- this time with a tone that did not sound grateful at all; oh, no -- Grumple snarled out between clenched teeth (two or so being broken, of course),

"Grumple keep steel thing.  Grumple use thing - kill bad man hurt Grumple."

Then he passed out and slept.

[POG]

Baldwin heard the Grumple's bellow, but he mistook it for the bugbear who had just left.  He looked at his sword and uncertainty spread across his rugged features. With a grunt he sheathed his sword with the frustration of action denied.  Something was unsettling about that creature.  Why was he wearing monks robes? Baldwin looked at Smeed and said "I'm sorry, I don't know you.  I don't even know your name.  Why should I trust you with my sword?  Besides,"  He looked into the foliage where the bugbear had disappeared, "I may need it again soon.  "My name is Baldwin.  Well met."  Baldwin wanted to leave but his brother had made his decision for him it seemed.  He sat next to Rory's sleeping form, keeping his posture erect, eyes scanning the forest, while he sliced some more cheese and ate it slowly...

[Dream]

Captain Kraggis was not happy.  And to paraphrase an old expression, "When Captain Kraggis ain't happy, Ain't nobody happy!"  He was ordering extra work details in abundance and punishments were inflicted on those beneath him by the score.

He was growing impatient.  That goldbricking deserting no-good scout of his, Private Fox, had not returned.  It had been a week, now.  Which meant his spear wasn't in his hand, sharing those mutually delightful feelings of torture and mayhem.  You could say that The Tooth and Captain Kraggis were made for each other.

For, as he and he alone knew, The Tooth made him what he was, or at least it had helped.  When thrown by a strong and skillful hand -- which the Captain had in abundance -- this cursed artifact never missed a living target.  He could as easily skewer a bird in flight with The Tooth as bring down another warrior on horseback.  Or, for that matter, the horse.  Sometimes he could get both with one throw.  The men in his command held him in awe, and no man would be fool enough to joust with him, even in practice.  There seemed to be no way to avoid a serious or fatal injury if Kraggis wielded The Tooth.  Captain Kraggis' word was Law within the Blackhand.

So here he was, in the defeated city, with plenty of live prisoners to sport with and demonstrate his consummate marital arts to anyone who would watch... and they would, too.  No man of the Riders would miss an opportunity to slowly torment and execute the ex-defenders of the city.  He could order up the remaining populace to watch as well.

Kraggis felt that such an opportunity shouldn't be wasted, since The Tooth was, in a manner of speaking, fussy.  It did NOT seem to want to hit inanimate targets.  It would veer, or just fall flat.  He thought wickedly to himself... "That wonderful weapon seems to have a mind of its own!"  

The thought made him smile broadly.  Some of his men noticed, and cringing with fear, doubled their work efforts.