Snippet #1332551

Lug looked over at Elkin, as they both lowered their weapons. Both felt an uneasy about this. Not only did the boss have a great dislike about being awoken but the man who had ordered them to go get him, well he looked more like a man they would have waylaid in the mountains then fought besides. Wasn’t Blackiron sending warriors to join them? Admittedly, those following the fellow looked plenty warlike and they looked a great deal like the warriors that sometimes chased the clansmen into the Teeth but why would they be led by some money counter?

“You go get him” said the older brother.

“Why I got ta go” whined the younger.

“Cause I said so” growled Lug, giving his smaller brother a shove.

Elkin knew for a fact that he wasn’t able to force his older brother into do anything and they he’d only end up with a few extra bruises if he didn’t go. With a resigned sigh, the bowman ran back into the village of Cillinas and didn’t stop until he reached the house of the former village headman. Slipping inside, he wove his way through a maze of sleeping men, in various stages of undress and beaten women, mostly curled up in a fetal position. It was in the last room of the house, where he found the chief.

Raygar was sprawled out in the middle of a bed designed to hold a whole family. Laying near his massive body were three of the village women, ranging in age from seventeen to twenty-three. They looked less abused then the others the bowman had seen, with only one of them looking like she had been hit and that looked like it had only been done once. Of course he couldn’t seen the mass of bruises on her back or the dark spot of blood under her hair, from when she had hit the wall, after the chieftain had struck her once, as a warning to the others.

“Chief” Elkin half whispered from the doorway, hoping that was all he needed to do. The fat man didn’t even stir from his slumber. The small man tried again and again, taking a step into the bedroom each time. Finally he was standing at the edge of the bed, near a just about empty cast of dark ale. Screwing up his courage, the archer walked around the bed, so that he was on level with the boss’s shoulder. Reaching out, he shook the big man and called out his title.

Before Elkin could take a step back, Raygar’s ham-like hand shot up and wrapped around the bowman’s neck. As bloodshot, piggish brown eyes opened, the clansman was lifted up into the air, as he clawed at the hand, which had cut off his air. Slowly, the big man rose from the bed, listening to the choking of his follower, as the three women fled to the corners of the room. With a careless flick of his wrist, the Moon Blade chieftain flung the wretch across the room and strolled over to the cask, lifting the small barrel to his large mouth to finish off the ale.

“What” the fat man finally growled, as he threw the empty ale barrel out into the hallway.

“Chief” wheezed Elkin, struggling to his feet, “There’s someone here ta see you. He’s got some fighters and said that time was….time was….short or somethin.”

"Did he" said Raygar, picking up his vest and throwing the boar-hide and iron ring garment about his chest, before pointing at the youngest woman in the room, “Get me pants wench! And me belt! And me boots!”

A few minutes later, a fully dressed Moon Blade chieftain emerged from the house, blinking in pain from the light. Before the big man had taken more then half a dozen steps, his boar appeared from a half collapsed barn, hay clinging to it’s bristles and trotted to it’s master’s side. Together, they walked to where Lug stood watching the strangers. All around the village, clansmen stood in knots, weapons out and ready.

“So whos you then?” half-bellowed Raygar, planting his hands on his massive hips.