While my head may have been adorned with a most glamorous sun shade, I fear my pockets had suffered greatly and were sad, empty and dejected. This also meant I had no coins for goulash or ale. It was a terrible state of affairs but after I pondered my plight, I found a way to extricate myself from circumstance. “The good people of Owl’s Head and Soltown could use my help” I declared to the trees. “I bet they have need of my meager services. And while out doing good deeds, I’m sure to find adventure and reward.” With that, I packed a small bag of my belongings and headed to the big city of Owl’s Head.

It didn’t take long to make myself available and to be of use. Morton is still taking up residence in the local tavern and for reasons I don’t understand can’t seem to keep track of his ledger. I once again retrieved it from his lady friend with all due promise to tell Morton to come home. I presented the book and delivered the words of concern, yet they seemed to go unheeded as Morton slid some coins my way and ordered another mug of ale.

While down in Kingsport I also managed to bring back some medicinal herbs for Winslow. That poor fellow doesn’t seem to be getting any better. I also spoke with Laura which gave me enough of an introduction to speak with Wycliffe. He is a tough man to read, but he did ask me to look into the whereabouts of his companion Norman. I also managed to get word to Kelly while out in the nest of the Red Sash Bandits, so all in all, I did much good for the realm, and no body had to get hurt. Always a bonus, especially when it’s me that doesn’t get hurt. But it wasn’t meant to last.

Out on my errands of good tidings, I ran into some other travelers who bid me join them in a mighty quest. It seems there was trouble with a bridge passing and they would use my help in clearing the way. Oh my goodness! A rock slide? An overturned cart? A crumbling bridge in need of repair? Point me toward the trouble and let us make haste!

Clearly I did not ask the right question, nor did they clue me in on the more pressing details of the mission. There was indeed a bridge. It was indeed in distress. But the distress came in the form of a giant troll who felt that none should pass. I’m not quite sure who made him keeper of the bridge and what sort of toll he was trying to exact for those that sought passage, but all attempts to get to the heart of the problem and work toward a resolution where met with yells and fists. My fists, not his.

The brute left us with no choice but to settle the matter with steel. The odds and numbers seemed to be in our favor, but all did not go well. This colossus was a nimble little minx and flitted from point to point, smacking us upside the head and plunging his mighty fists into the ground, threatening to bring the whole structure down on us.

We all flew into action and did our best to thrash him about the kneecaps. I made the horrible mistake of running headlong into danger, but was only able to do damage to his ankles. Up close he was a far greater and taller threat than I imagined. He towered above me, so much so that I found myself looking into the recesses of his loin cloth. The heathen didn’t even have the common decency to put something on some undergarments.

The battle raged and we ultimately victorious. The way had been cleared and business could continue as normal. Normal once someone came out and carted his nasty hide away. We were asked to dispatch the devil not perform the cleanup. There are rules to these things you know. Although there was no one out there to meet or pay us, so I’m not sure who commissioned this help and the stipend we were to receive. But no time to dally, there was more trouble ahead.

At the moment of our victory we got news of more trouble and set off to battle yet another ill-tempered guardian of a bridge who probably didn’t have anything on under his kilt either. If only I were skilled as a bowman, I know exactly where to shoot.

But battle we did and like the other, this overgrown fiend met his match. We took a fair pummeling at his hands to be sure, but through sheer dumb luck and a few well placed jabs to the big toe, we were victorious. Alas, the horrible creature decided to take his final breaths and topple in my direction, trapping me in the folds of his codpiece.

I sadly don’t recall much after that and it’s probably a good thing.

 

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Whoa now! Nobody said anything about going after some giant troll that is 5 times our size and smells like cabbage! I brought the wrong cape for this sort of battle!

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Oh damn

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Jab him right between the legs and he will drop like a sack of potatoes! Unless of course he doesn’t have anything hidden away under that kilt in which we are in dire straights.

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Alright, who’s got the head?

More brilliant musings about my adventures in New Britannia

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