TCoRO Book II, Chapter 24.

CHAPTER 24.

Burials

Hiid had no conception as of when and where she had dozed off. But the morn hardly blazed open with a golden sunshine and tweeties tweedledee'ing blithely in a rainbow-adorned sky. Instead of multicolored bears with cute little imprints of hearts and ice cream cones branded onto their stomachs -- which sounded rather painful when you seriously thought about it -- the sensation of her brainpan being used as a kettledrum and the hot, uncomfortable dampness of the surroundings flooded her awareness, as someone kept persistently shaking her awake.

She also must have slurred her first curses in English, as the figure looming over her snapped, "Wha' inne name o'em knickers o' Bhy'yryutdhar are ye drivelin'? Bleedin' hellpits, howe'er much did ye precisely gob doon 'em hardies ere ye went all blind-blotto, ye silly lass?"

"Mrrshhh... whossneim? Auuugh..." Enkev raised her hands to her pounding temples. Urgh, and why was the light so intense? That bloody damn showoff ought to have been fined for such too bright a behavior. Through the headache, she somehow realized she still wore her overcoat and furthermore a thick blanket over it. Which was quite illogical in this nigh stifling heat.

And yet, this was Mrs. Mhesch's hut, verily, so wherefore was Gheldah up there nagging at her and... Eergh, why did she have to blather on so damn loudly...?

"Triple-curst be 'em ev'ry spike o'em wossname dungfork o' Ahgtdoch'gruhtin! I harked wha' came to pass yester-night, aye v'rily. Alas, wheref're didye snuff out 'em commonly so bright a torch o' yer savvy, an' didna come knockin' on me door? Sis wouldna have cut yer heid off, an' 'em ravin' wee sister-son o' mine sat all dull'n shame-faced in sum corner as if he'd been gelded. O' course, I mighta been outta me mind in a way o' suchkin likewise, had I went me way through such eldritch hardships o' yonworlds an' bane-shadows mesel'. Howbeit, 'tis 'em sirra whose heart-chambers ha' been filled wi'em blazin' bale-fires o' yonrealms. But his wraths doesna seem to be but twistedly aimed at deir very laird, nay at me or ye or ane other li'l bugger."

Reason was trickling back into Enkev's brainpan with the speed of a dead platypus stuck in dried lava. This... this had not happened for years. Owowow oww. You verily forgot the foul aftermath, not to mention any potentially embarrassing revelations of, erh, deeds one might have committed during those utterly blotted-out moments. Egads, did she e'en have the courage to turn around? If there be some unloinclothed elfb0i snoring beside her on the mattress, those few virtues she had been strict about during the years would all be flushed down the toilet.

Gheldah tapped her boot on the floorboards impatiently. "We cannae ha' with ye bein' inne bleedin' katzenjammer all 'em hours o'em nighmost hereafter. 'Em burials be startin' on 'em high noon, an' sirra has decreed 'em very daytide an' 'em week to come as mourntides. There be such an itym as respectin' 'em who have begun 'eir journey down to 'em gates o' Tghuonegh'lchach. Hrrmh."

Enkev sluggishly rose to sit up on the bed, exhaling with relief as the dreaded night-company greeted at her with its complete absence. "Urrgh. Vat... purrials? Prithee taaks ye nei so loudly... Ei par-doons me- auuhg..."

"Hmmh. It verily ought to ha' been drab inne deepmost grief-halls o' yers, eh?" The herbalist's tone softened somewhat. "Howbeit, ye shoul' weet now whither to turn yer skiff, if 'em waters before ought to grow too restless an' 'em horizons become filled with hailclouds, eh?"

"Uhh... aye..."

"Fine. Now, hie an' ge' up, an' we'll take a look a'yer raiment."

After an hour or two and having been obliged to try several of Gheldah's more or less effective hangover remedies, nigh-on everything Hiid had angsted over the previous eventide felt utterly anserine. It was however a good reminder that she should listen to her own, sensible will and not submit to the sly whisperings of Miss Pessimism that in too large quantities drove you to seek for bottles or sharp objects. What came to Gheldahsch'ugh-Ach's will, there was simply no crossing it. Alike her sister, once you got under its command, you found yourself obeying at it almost subconsciously.

The morn waned out to be one of those humdrum overcast days of the Dusk. The rain had ceased, and the air stood damp-cold, and yet so still one might have believed in the presence of some higher hand keeping the winds in a tight leash. Hiid, in weeks and months to come, as she harked back to the very day, could recall only a medley of oppressing sentiments and the ceaseless, slow and deep singing that filled every street and later on danced up into the heavens together with smoke and swirling sparks from the bonfires.

The number of deceased elves in this attack of taischtdmahtd-rhivadai'an'tdhakoj Khran-Av'ees and his obvious alliance with the Bane rose up to seventeen. In any common battle this would hardly have been a significant amount. But the perished had supposedly been some of G'Uhageid's best warriors and wizards, including six of his sons who had come to their inheritance, two grandsons famed for their aptness in spellweaving, the warrior-witch Lghoughees, and daik'schepp Gha'ugonak,  G'Uhageid's mentor and long-time friend. The latter's passing had been on the shady side, as no recognizable remains had been discovered on the slayground. He had vanished during the last strike of this yonworldly being titled as a genuine daimon having emerged deep from the Bane's secret shadow-vaults.

The burial procession began from the farthest square of the town, and meandered slowly through the streets, some paved, some squelching with mire. All commonplace labor had ceased, and the townsfolk stood or sat on the sides of the lanes, elderly and sucklings alike. Those who possessed mourntide garments, were dressed in light yellow or green. Black, so commonly associated with death in other cultures, was on the contrary the color of everyday life, prosperity, and perchance also cunning and wisdom in Rha-kan'Ocka. The decorations were sparse, aside from a couple of G'Uhageid house banners and cloths in those grief-hues raised to high poles. However, in the absence of wind, every sign of honor hung sagging and crumpled, showing maybe a star out of the royal cupola here and there, or the suspiciously shaped center-rune in some utterly inappropriate positions.

Where the decorations lacked, the music nevertheless compensated everything by hundredfold. Every elf who possessed an ounce of musical talent had brought out their bagpipes, flutes, kanteles, zithers, drums, and other more exotic instruments. Every singer and player contributed to the deep, throbbing melody surging through the alleys, as if the whole town had been one enormous symphony. If there be one truth in the nature of the elves, it lay in their skill of music-weaving. That is, when they put their minds to it and tossed aside bar-jingles about Lhietd and Vanhvha'gah's fishy adventures. Though, their singing scarcely was some high, clear, silvery tune chanted beneath misty starlight. Instead, it was a rasping, pulsating rumble with something chillingly primordial threaded into the texture, as if the dawn of the universe itself had been glaring through the notes. The melody penetrated everything, filling the inners with a sepulchral agony that slowly crawled into the veins and dug into your every nerve, conjuring up images of decay and lost glories.

Hiid, particularly, as she stood in a street-corner beside Gheldah and a pack of her evening students lacking other family, felt as if some unnamed beast had been trapped in her chest, struggling to crash out through her ribs. Although, she had for a long while back concluded that the hearing range of the elves extended further than that of a plain human. Some of them must have droned on the infrasound level, which was well known to cause anxiety and fear in humans, even if the latter were incapable of distinguishing the sounds themselves.

This bit of geekery yet hardly eased Enkev's feeling of mingled disquiet and nausea. You just had to suffer through the standing, waiting, the oppressive minutes, if for the sake of courtesy.

Then, the winding funeral procession emerged from behind a corner. Guarh's magnified growl-singing had echoed already from several blocks apart, but now it boomed on with ear-aching volumes as he walked past, leading the whole cortege. The ground-dragging bright yellow robes clashed dreadfully with his purplish-blue skin and the fresh red paint applied to his face in swirly patterns. However, the bulky kantele wrought from the jawbone of some heavily befanged beast and hanging from a strap created at least a minor aura of impression. He struck snatches of complicated chords whilst limping onwards, followed by the handful of his inheritance-age sons still left, dressed into equal kinds of costumes and singing the same, incessant mantra. At their heels ambled on Ghirn and an a cluster of heavy-set younger women clothed into a rather ugly shade of light green, with their hair, instead of the normal braids of buns, pulled up into similar kinds of high ponytails as the men commonly used. Those who could carry a tune, hummed the melody or blew into sets of long pipes. Their voices were loud and deeper than those of your common Iota Sphere human males, but a certain kind of feminine softness rounded the guttural vocals anyhow.

Then came the corpses. Which were... bare, blackened bones, some mangled and oddly molten-looking. Hiid found herself struggling to look away, but a kind of involuntary, morbid curiosity kept her gaze fixed to the black skulls and cracked ribcages. They were being carried on yellow-draped stretchers without coverlets. Merely one body remained recognizable: that of a partially burned, 8-foot elf. The rumor rang that the daimon had no part in his passing, but that eldest G'Uhageid himself had put Ghoschkg out of his misery after a fatal injury.

The familiarity of these sights only intensified Hiid's unease. The perished in that horrible, haunted city, the graverobbers in Lhietd's tomb... She might well have ended up one herself, had the ghost-king lacked that oily grace.

Yet... what gave her the right to stand there, unharmed, while these beings of great power had been turned into grotesque travesties of their former selves at their prime age and strength? What the bleeding hell was her purpose, so that Lhietd had let her out? To be some kind of insufferable Mary Sue chesspiece on the board of some idiotic fantasy epic of kings and dark lords and mythical creatures? Where be the justice and reason in that? Where? Where?

Ghoschkg, Ahgtd'i, and Autd'erech had all been handsome, swarthy men, and this kind of puny malcolored imp was allowed to run on?

Her eyes stung. Not because of some particular sorrow towards Guarh's sons -- she had barely kenned some of those -- but because of the injustice and perverted twists of the wyrds, her own weakness, the mildly persisting hangover headache, and the bloody damned distressing music that just would not cease. Now it felt as if a tightening iron band was squeezing her ribs together, and the hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. Hugging at her sides and leaning against a wall scarcely helped. The structures of the hut behind only seemed amplifying the beat, and thus put her on the verge of retching. Just the thing she and everyone about would need right now: her weak stomach starting its own circus.

She glanced up at Gheldah. The elf was perchance one of those stonefaces who ne'er sniveled, and discharged the sorrow elsewhither. Her brow was knotted above the heavy glasses and the few age-lines were defined harder than usual, but that was all. As the turn came for Gheldah to join the growing knot of pursuers at the end of the procession, she mutely grabbed Hiid's arm so that the latter almost fell over, and stomped into the mass of mourners.

"Erm, Ggheld-aargh, Ei don'ts teenks it be pro-peer voor me ta bees heer, tees voor eem familee ov emm Ghhk'uhaghhk-eeds, ent eet bees?" Enkev hissed.

"Huh? Mayhap. Howe'er, ye ha' been playin' such whoppin' sillybuggers inne nighmost o' daytides that I ent givin' ye leave just to bugger off an' grab another ane o'em jugs o' hardies. Ye've bin but snifflin' an' frownin' half o'em tides herein, which o' course be pr'per an' all inne 'em burials, but no wee li'l maggot-bastard o'em yonpits coul' foretell wha' blethers migh' be fillin' yer heart anew hereupon. Howe'er ole are ye anyhow, cause o' ye verily needin' sum looking-afta akin to a wee li'l wenchling o' but a bleedin' handful o' hundred-years?"

Urgh. Indeed, just what Hiid had been thirsting for: more scolding. But she did not raise her voice, even if every word reminding her once more of yestereven's foolishness tasted bitter. Gheldah evidently did grieve beneath that hard expression, but the misery had been packed into a rigid, tensed lump coated with anger.

Or then Auntie Rouge was having a visit. That sweet lady had the reputation of turning plain sheep into raving berserkers who might knock your teeth off if you left a dirty fingerprint on their newly polished floor.

"But ees tees nay voor but eem familee, Ei canna-"

"Ach, by 'em firehammer o' Dthg'aar, if itchy ole Lhiekghi'oichnj be as keen as I reckon 'im to be, ent ye nigh-on 'is wee li'l concubine? An' he verily ent sum sodden gutter-creeper, but a prop'r sirra an' a G'Uhageid through an' through." At this point, the corners of the herbalist's mouth visibly twitched.

This stopped all argument. Face redder than bucketful of tomatoes, Hiid still did not deem it was all that suitable to crack jokes on a somber occasion such as this. Awkwardly she glanced up and around at the various G'Uhageid grandchildren and friends, but for once, nobody seemed to scowl back. Maybe they were too concentrated on the event to notice one undersized intruder with a deep hood partly shadowing her face.

Thence, the slow treading and thrumming of music continued towards the riverside. It was hard to tell how long the cortege meandered through the streets and squares in the chilly, humid, standing air, but it felt like hours. Hiid could only astonish at the stamina of the singers: at least her throat would have been positively parched unto now, but the humming and rasping merely beat on uninterrupted.

When the riverbank and the many bridges leading to the fields on the other side finally loomed in sight, the texture of the melody suddenly changed. With a rapid crescendo, the notes slightly heightened, and the tempo jumped up from its erstwhile tardy torpor into an agitated rhythm with long staccato sequences and odd, growling cries in the middle. At the beginning of the succession, a loud drum had started to beat, and the male G'Uhageids were dancing in an irregular formation. Enkev could glimpse only fractions of these from behind the crowd, but this feast with its eldritch rituals did not seem alike any other funeral she had beholden in Uhageiden Rho-dkhl'haakgz erenow. Aye, there had always been plenty of singing, but not such amounts of what felt like utter heathen shamanism.

And yet, she could not help but mini-brooding at the edge of her mind that someone down or up there heard this all. These Immortals, or whatever, possibly beheld every stamp of G'Uhageid's bare feet against the ground. The notion was mayhaps more unsettling than awe-inspiring, keeping in mind that the elves had angered the Immortals with their own greed and megalomania.

As a Rationally Thinking Modern Citizen™ taught according to the Iota Sphere education model to observe everything critically, she of course should have laughed at the idea of such lares and penates. However... if the presence of elves had not hitherto turned the ole non-belief systems upside down, Lhietd certainly had been the last straw. After someone came to pinch your rump from beyond the grave, the existence of an Underworld Lord was hardly a laughing matter any longer.

Soon a wooden platform raised above a shallow pool by the river was reached. One by one, the skeletons were carried upon it, and laid into a row amid kindlings and some sort of blue, sandlike substance used in pyres. The next bit came yet as another nauseating surprise for Hiid, considering how sickened she for aye felt upon seeing blood.

As the hectic music beat on, and the audience now mostly consisting of G'Uhageids had spread out around the pool, on the nearmost bridges, and even on the other side of the river, twelve of the eldest of Guarh's sons danced up onto the platform. At some point they had tossed away the yellow robes, and now sported only skimpy loinpockets with long bodkins tied to one side, their skin painted from head to toe with the same red, swirly patterns as decorated Guarh's face. Some beat drums, some threw cartwheels and somersaults in the air as they advanced at the corpses via several, steep ramps. Each elf deposited himself at the end of one stretcher, though oddly four of the dead remained without such an escort, Ghoschkg among them.

G'Uhageid danced onto the platform as the last person. It was to wonder how he suddenly could perform such complicated movements, considering how he had been limping noticeably a mere while agone. However, the chittering in the beyondplains and the blue light burning in his good eye told their own story: he had to be using different resources than mere muscle power to achieve this. He seemed to have agitated himself into some kind of trance besides. His fingers flew on the strings of the kantele, and his blazing, guttural singing was almost impossibly fast. As he reached the top, the bagpipes in the audience flared up into ear-hurting volumes, for the first time being accompanied by warbling, deep horns.

His sons then unsheathed the bodkins, extended each forth a bare arm, and slashed at the flesh. They let the blood pour down upon the blackened bones, and danced wildly around the skeletons, so that the whole platform trembled. The whole disturbing sacrifice was over in a matter of moments. The elves cast some kind of healing spells upon themselves, and the flow of blood was quickly staunched. It still made Enkev feel ill in the stomach and lower her gaze upon the muddy reeds instead. She and Gheldah were standing quite nigh the pool's edge, with an excellent view up to the yet unlit pyre.

Too excellent in Hiid's opinion. She still could not completely understand wherefore Gheldah had insisted on dragging her here. Whatever the herbalist might jest, she was not a relative, hunger and ill sentiments gnawed at her stomach, and the chittering combined with the oppressive music had transformed her head into a positive beehive. Yet... perchance there was some kind of moral in all of this. Those bleeding farmboys becoming some damned tinkly-sparkly bishie-elven wormrides were always supposed to learn morals from their wise old mentors, were they not? Somehow the mechanic could not help pondering whether Gheldah was serving just that purpose. 15000 years was not a matter to snort at, and she besides possessed this most stereotypical profession. You had to have a sagacious herbwoman somewhere in the story; otherwise it was not a proper fantasy epic. Bleeding hellpits.

Up on the platform, oil was poured over the corpses. They might be merely blackened bones, aye, but the fire would consume even those into the finest of ashes. Everything became burned; the valley upheld no boneyards. That which remained from the pyres was sprinkled onto the fields or slopes, or was left into the bosom of the waves like now. The G'Uhageids cast fire from their fingertips, and danced cartwheeling away as the flames began to lick at the bones.

And so continued the funeral feast deep into the night, the half-naked men dancing their odd rituals on the shores of the river around later-lit bonfires, the instruments blaring, and the deep singing seemingly never-ending. The pyre had already long ago consumed the bones of the young G'Uhageids and their companions, and collapsed down into the black waters. Yet, the flying sparks still reached out towards the skies, swirling and somersaulting together with those who were calling the souls of their lost brethren away from the unnamed, dark dimensions of bale-daimons, and escorting them safely into Tghuonegh'lchach before the throne of the Grim-Lord...

***

"Grahhah. Vhoitd yha mahtd! Cough up, mate."

With a small frown, Gho-Ni'ngobsch pushed a wee pile of coins across the table towards Ghaagh'urih.

"By 'em thunder-kiln o' Ugojh'umal, dem damned bugger's skinnin' me alive, him is! Ye canna bes playin' all honest, Urih, ye bleedin' well ent," he grumbled.

"I didna sees him cheat, 'tis yer tactics dat's a wee bit onne limp side," the light-haired girl sitting on his knee observed, and ruffled at his thick, curly hair. "See, didna I tells ye ye shoulda moved yer guuzghaby six steps intae north-east, nay 'em mhannyghantd thither an' thuswise."

"Snrrf. Mebbe me's gettin' a wee bit too hoarfrosty i'me heid fer 'em tricksy games o' tiskin, but me ent limp yet o'er 'ere, as ye bloody well saws, ye dids, lass!" the elderly man cackled and pointed winking at some unmentionables.

"Yeh, but ye needs yer bleedin' other heid to wins yer lost loot back," Ghaagh'urih laughed and took a swig from his tankard. "But donnae let yer heart go doon intae dem bleedin' hellpits o' yonbeasts yet, we ents ha' e'en begun dem match prolly, has we?"

It was an early evenfall in Rha-bhughsch'Obpjan Schot'durjlhinach, the borderland soldier outpost whither the ragged companion had flown a few days earlier. The two warriors were killing time in the common room with a small-coin game, pipes between their teeth and snack laid out on the table. The place was not so strict-order as the military bases of inlands, and the rankers were accustomed to strut around without uniforms and a girl usually hanging at least from one arm. On the very hour the outpost was admittedly under the rarer state of emergency, which had been decreed after the tidings of Rha-mahghu'Miankg's demise a while back. Still, the atmosphere remained far more leisurely than in the big cities with their street-patrols and stringent dressing codes.

The ghamyrluuschk steered by Ghaagh'urih had plonked down in the middle of this alarm. Things might not have proceeded so smoothly, had not one of the higher-ranking soldiers recognized him and Khran-Av'ees from the lowlandian wars. Of course, there was no hiding the identity of the unconscious half-giant thereupon. The fact that the actual head of the state -- believed to prosper and grow ample hassocks around his waist in the high palace of Rha-ghi'Leh -- had abruptly emerged from some hinterland woods in a poor condition, had naturally caused a hullabaloo of its own...

Fortuitously Gho-Ni'ngobsch and Ghaagh'urih possessed some better skull-fillings than giant, mutant hair bulbs. Which might not have been such a far-fetched idea, keeping in mind that the head-hair of some elves seemed nigh akin to an independent organ. Some sort of parasite living in the upmost cavities and poking its copious, thin tentacles through the bone might have explained better, say, the warlord's unmaintainable dreadlocks.* As it was well known, the word dread did not here simply pertain to the dirtiness or absence of a comb. Of course, combs would remain extinct around that hair unto the dimming of the hereafter, as it ate whole basketfuls of them for breakfast.

Anyhow, they had managed to put a stop to the soon freely flowing rumor-rivulets with a few well-placed words and nose-cracking punches. The Lord had his own plans concerning the after-tides of his upcoming awakening, and needed some rest right now. Unsurprisingly not all tales could be hindered, but Ghaagh'urih promised that if someone was found waggin' his bloody tongue abood dem dire matters herein, he'd bleedin' damn well rip it oot hissel' an' feed it to 'em damn buggerin' gutter-lizards. When the Lord was all well and gone, the base could brag on about his visit endlessly, if they thusly wished.

Thereupon they had been left at least into a moderate peace. New clothing had been acquired from the nearby village, and the ole game-sharks had soon won themselves pouch-fillings. Now, if only those of the elderman had not kept running out...

"Nay, but ye bleedin' well filcheds most o' me wee li'l coin already yester-e'en wi' yer outlandish tricksies," Gho-Ni'ngobsch kept complaining over the poorly advancing game, "By 'em firehammer o' Dthg'aar, musta been all 'em porin' o'er o'yer damn posh books dat ha' trigged yer heid brimful o'em canny cheat-tricksies. Me saws yer nose was damn well glued anew to ane o' dem nobby thingies tis very morn, aye verily."

"Naah, le' 'im bees, ye sillybugger," the girl cut in, her eyes fixed on Gho-Ni'ngobsch's next move on the board, "Now we ca' tells to 'em switch-troops we had ane o'em posh larn'd blokes payin' us a visit wi'em highlaird sirra hisself. Dere's 'em reputation ta be thoughts aboot, ye kens?"

"Yeh? By 'em bloody poison-spikes o' Vhe-dt'echinech, if he be all posh an' larned an' bleedin' lettered so through an' through dat 'em books'll soon start droppin' outta 'is arse, wha' bes me den? Canna ha' dem ole firstborn o' dem mighty Gho-Ni'n dem Wartooth all left behin', eh?"

"Naaeh," the wench purred, "Bu' yer verily dem K'Hagherdr o' Rhi-iztd'Ochghintd reborn, wi' yer spear mightier'n-"

CREEEEEAAAAK SNIEEEAAARRRG BONK BONK BONK STOMP GA-BLAMMM BANNNG CLAANNNG!

All three around the table nearly fell from their seats due to the sudden noise. It was as if a whole wall had been torn open somewhere nearby, together with something vast emerging through and starting to bang on to things.

BOONNG SKROIIIING KA-BANNGGG STOMP STOMP STOMP-

"Is we unda attack? Bloody dammit, dids 'em Bane-buggers fin' oor trail?" Ghaagh'urih scampered up, grabbing the hilt of the axe he had stolen from the bandits.

Other loiterers in the room were also hastily rising up from their pipe-smoking and game boards, coins clinking onto the floor and counters becoming mixed. The crashes rapidly increasing in volume appeared to be closing in on the very room, now also accompanied by yells and shrieks echoing through the corridor just behind the main entrance.

"Bloody hells, ent oor lord's room onne way hither? Hie, we hafta sees dat he ent-"

Just as Ghaagh'urih and Gho-Ni'ngobsch were about to dart to the door, it was flung wide open and a woman galloped in, squealing on top of her lungs. She was not fully highte as one of the play-wenches dwelling half-permanently in the barracks, but hitherto had been changing the beddings and feeding the semi-conscious Khran-Av'ees.

It was one of those classic speaks of the devil. Now that the door had been tossed wide open, the view down to the corridor became unhampered. The warlord crashed in a few seconds later, disheveled, beard unkempt, and wielding what looked like a whole cracked roof beam in one hand. The other fist was full of the hair of an unconscious soldier, whom he kept dragging along the floor. A paper bag torn in half with an eyehole punched through covered the disfigured side of his face; otherwise he was stark-naked.

"WHERE DOSSHTH BE THISSH BLOODY YONPITHH OF MAGGOT-BASSHTARDS AND PUSSH-DAIMONS, AND WHERE HATH BEEN HIDDEN THE FAITHFUL GH'ALOWAZSHHAHRH OFFSSH LORD KHRAN-AV'EESSSH, SSHON OF KHHR-"

Somehow, upon beholding the open-mouthed stares of Ghaagh'urih, Gho-Ni'ngobsch, and a knot of other warriors in the room, all brandishing their scimitars or axes in a ready-to-strike-any-second manner, a trickle of sense seeped into the southlander's awareness. The insane growling died on his lips. He staggered to a halt on the threshold, and after a short while loosened his hold on the beaten-up warder.

An obvious change sped through the gazes of the elves in the common room. They measured at the 8-foot figure up and down, and one after the other remained to gawk somewhere into the general direction of his midriff. The wench, who previously had sat in Gho-Ni'ngobsch's lap, stared unashamed at the vistas with a widening grin on her face. There were a few embarrassed coughs all around, and two girls in the hindmost end of the hall first waggled their eyebrows at one another, then burst into a fit of poorly stifled titters.

"Errhm..." Ghaagh'urih cleared at his throat. He seized a large fruit-bowl standing on a nearby table, upended the contents onto the floor, and rushed to press the dish into the now unresisting hand of Khran-Av'ees.

"Ah-em. If sir hasna harked dem tidings unto now, we is i'em outpost o' Rha-bhughsch'Obp, an' all's quite bonny an' dandy, aye v'rily. Me an' Gho-Ni'ngobsch 'ere will tells oor lord all 'em tidings, if milord woul' jus' puts dem... rhhmhh..."

The warlord blinked confused at the bowl. "What foolery be thissh? Where needeth the Shhupreme Masshter of the Khrandom a..."

The bodyguard grimaced and gingerly pointed at the problem at hand with a tilt of the head. Lord Khran-Av'ees looked down.

"Oh."

The manic ear-to-ear grin soon melted away from the wench's face, as the warlord eventually understood to cover the Vistas. And tightened into a disappointed pout, as the male, massive in every conceivable manner, turned slowly on his heels and was escorted out of the common room by the two minions. Unfortunately his long hair was so dense that nought interesting showed up on the other side either. What a shame, as you certainly did not behold that magnificent Sights every daytide.

Oh, and whence to start all that recounting... Sir was certainly not going to be happy over the tidings that he ne'er could be united with his faithful Gh'alowazahrh anew.

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