Durin Do Grunrear Ironhold the second, High King of the North and Supreme Ruler of Ter’Ghul was in a bad mood. He had good reasons, five of them in fact. It wasn’t often that he was in a good mood anyway.
“Five attacks in the span of two days,†grumbled the high king. That in itself was not unusual. In fact, it was unusual to go more than a two days in a row without trouble
somewhere. Raids and counter-raids were an everyday fact of life for the populace. And there was still the threat of Dragons, Giants, and s when it wasn’t Goblins. What made these raids unique in that they had the marks of planning.
The king looked over the messages again. In each case a pair of Ogres had led the attack, acting as “battering rams†to get within the walls. From there the Goblins had fanned out and attempted to rush the keep. Only valiant efforts on the part of the defenders had kept the intruders from capturing the keep and winning the day. The losses of both sides were horrible.
And the King still couldn’t figure out what they had hoped to accomplish. The Goblins and Dwarves both knew that if they did manage to capture a fort, reinforcements would be there within the stretch of a few hours to reclaim it. They could shove a few raiding parties into enemy territory but even those would be intercepted. It just didn’t make sense.
With a heavy sigh the king let go of his thoughts on high strategy. It was time to meet with the Grand Council again. Shouldering his ceremonial Mattock, he sat off down one of the many passages that stretched off from the throne room, already in deep though about what he would say to the finicky group of Dwarves.
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Grubba was proud. He was conceited, vain, and all things of that sort, as Ogres tend to be. He was assured in every aspect of his superiority.
His muscles rippled and bulged underneath his cloak of Giant Bear skin. He was quite proficient with the iron-bound club that hung from his side and he was at least 2 feet taller than all of the little un’s that followed him in the cleared path he made as he moved forward. It was all very gratifying to the Ogre’s immense ego.
What’s more he’d been hand-picked by his chieftain for this assignment. The chief had told Grubba that it was because of his skill and importance that he had been picked to go. In reality the chief had sent Grubba because he was to stupid to realize that he was being sent into certain doom, but Grubba didn’t have the faintest clue of that. The only thing Grubba knew was that he was going to come back with a bag of Dwarven heads. Then he would get his pick of the females, the best food, and the most comfortable quarters.
With these comforting thoughts in mind, Grubba didn’t mind the fact that right now he was trudging through snow up to his waist. He didn’t even mind the annoying little un’s walking in his tracks. He was going to be
rich.
Edited by: [url=http://p068.ezboard.com/brpgww60462.showUserPublicProfile?gid=pdrydia>pd]
at: 6/10/05 17:06