Posts Tagged looting

By Fletch

Wells I longed for a spit of my own tyme afer that crabgizzard dryad and more an more spyders bitin for shure.

I aimed to follow the hill path and explore a bit whilst the others rested up. Take a few deep breaths, mayhap hunt or climb a hillside I scouted last tyme we runt up to the claim.

All the fine stammels of the party wouldn’t hear to let me go without their feminine company, and I could not find heart to deter them. So off we went together.

And lo! We found a cave entrance, and our own virago got et up when the entrance closed its mouth. Our salver and me, we poked at the thing until it lost an eye and gave out. Whereupon Sondra cralled out, afore Nin cut the beast and dyved in for gold. A practical doxy, what knows the lengths of lootin. She took the eye and some bone and gooey-bits as well.

I’m not sure I’m good to the idea of boxin up pieces and bits of kill, but Nin tells that it’s good as loot, so I say to let the ewe be happy with her guts and bone.

Behind the creacher was a mine, where Nin looted a spear of spiralliness that propped up a miner corps, rather flash for mine loot.

Behind the mine whart a buryin-place filled with walkin dead. Now, sees, tis necessary I wit that those of feminyne adventurin notions be given due course in battle, for their own thought of self. No soft dimber-mort is of help in the field — they scream off from a dire squirrel and needs constant rescuin. I was vacationing anyways, sos I stepped to and let Nin booga the skelletons away with her symbol.

I even let the fine stammels lead the group, even tho they felled to a spike-pit.And when the Governor, Truth, and Anger rose up from stone, I gave the final kills to Sondra.

But Truth and Anger wher somethin else. 7-foot high, nare skinbare frigates with — hm. I kint wit what they were weildin, weapon-wise. I ne’er met a dell what was taller then me, and had everythin to distract. I played off battle once our gimcracks had upper hand, then was fine to watch the ewes duke it out to final. Aye yes.

Then, a short swim, and up through a grate with me girls to layabout in the sunny cliftop with King Dumbarton, new gold in my pouch and a fine dinner to come.

A good respit from spyders and rain.

by Fletch

Dilberries! Running ever-after, to nowhere.

Once  we left the keep, this bit of a Cove with guard-hair ramps up to us to tell us we’d ne’er met, he was Finch and he’d run us a faevor. We set to never meet again perhaps at the tavern up the walk aways.

As we were on toward our claim, we come across a slewed Elf-man, and run down the ogre what slewed him. Only, we think it slewed him. He mayent not. And the elf-man may have been cunning shaver anyhow.

Ech, no matter. When he was strained out, his Trug upped out of the hillside with a baar and we set upon them a’ well.

I learnd an Ogrish word from King Dumbarton: Hahrreg! means “Alice!” I wit the baar was Alice, which is sweet for a baar. I’d best go with Fellclaw or Cleavertooth, meself.

Twas the longest looting o’er an ogret pair ever, as every trace bit and bob was squeeled o’er whilst I alone was driven to the bags of the shiny stuff and looting the den. What care I for ipsy bedding, when there’s bags of coin? That there was meat and ale and a fulle sleep of comfort. Mayhap a mayden? And they toss o’er a baar coller. Oye.

Rather than marking and continuing up our claim, they all decided we bolt back to the keep. Again. To heal a meatshield whot would just throw theyself into the thick next anyhow.

And Lo! At the gate, it is bolted, for Eve is nigh. There is not a stick of fuel, and a dark forest alone to scavenge for twig. Myself and Rue and Liam trackt firewood in the dark, whilst the rest lollygag at the gate with the loot and food.

I’ll have ye now, of the three, twas Rue that bumbled in the bush playing snipe and got caught with arrow, by a shuffler bowman whot had offered hospitality to myself and Liam, and was caught off awkward at the sound.

We followed the cull to a halfling camp with fire and tent, where we payt good coin for bare broth and turnip. Course faire as compared to the sausage and tack the others were to had, aye. And ale, having been parched for all the scavenging for wood and aught.

The whole twas a burned wreck, and the bully of the den shared a tale of heart-rending, of the keep-folk burning a simpleman’s inn, placing him in such dire living.

Mayhaps the ale (as ma mum spake often Drink flies up fast for tall, comely men), but when offered a game of Hide the Turnip to help the inn, I passed gold gladly.

Aye, she was a faire-roe ewe, half-sized, with starlight hair and the devil in her eye.  There was gold in that lair, and I looted her thorough, taking my prize and leaving her delirious and sated as I stumbled to the fire to slake my thirst and view the dawn arizing.

O my key is bright, not rusty,
It is so oft applied
To lockes that are not dusty,
Of maydens that are lusty,
And not full fillde with pride. Ha-Ha!

Upon the morn, we Men of Adventure bid away back to the cart, the town, and mayhap a Decent meal, when we wit of a tagalong. That eve, Rue had paid for a half-price slamkin Hoor, who he may impressed with such Pity, for she unto him is now devoted. Oye.

And he does now claim that she is his ‘trothed. And she as to not a Hoor, but a torch bearer? Did he crawl to the wrong tent?

Double-oye.

Some culls just cannot hold to their ale.