Since it was lunch time and I found myself in the company of a wayward bovine in an untended field, I made the best of the serendipity and had him over for lunch.

As I stoked the fire and added my special blend of seasonings, a lone figure appeared from behind a rock. Naturally, I waved in greeting.

“Good afternoon! Although you have appeared out of nowhere, you’re timing is excellent as I think we are at a perfect medium rare. That stocky chap was a robust animal so there is plenty to go round.”

Just then, the woman produced a pitchfork and began to brandish it about.

“Oh, that’s good thinking,” I complimented. “We can put a hearty chunk right on the end and give it a good sear in the coals.”

As I went to retrieve the skewer from her, she reeled back and gave me a sound wrap to the helm.

“What the deuce?” I exclaimed. “Very well, you can give him a roast over the open flame if you like. Makes no never mind to me.”

My comment was answered with another sharp wrap to the helm.

“Come now! I offer you a spot of lunch and you strike me twice with a pitchfork? What manner of civility is this?”

“You’ve made luncheon meat out of our animals! You had no right!” the woman screamed at me.

“Your animals? How so? I see no fencing. I see no structures. I assumed these were free range bovine,” I explained.

Just then, another chap wielding a pitchfork and a second with a flaming torch mysteriously appeared. Bringing up the rear was a vigorous chap flailing his sword about.

“I see you have some confederates coming to join us. Fear not. I will simply trim off a few more choice cuts.”

I tried to stand, but was thwarted by yet another strike of the pitchfork.

“I insist you cease and desist these attacks against my person!” I exclaimed. “Strike me once, shame on you. Strike me twice, shame on me. Strike me a third time and we’re throwing down the gauntlets!”

“What do you say about the fourth time you metal clad buffoon?” she hissed and struck me again.

With that, her companion ruffians took it as the start of the unpleasantries. The lad with the sword took the lead and struck me soundly about the midsection.

“You are the worst lunch guests I have ever come across,” I exclaimed as I drew my sword.

The shabby fellow with the pitchfork took his turn, but I deflected his blow and snapped the  implement in half. I threw a menacing scowl at the fellow with the torch, which was enough to cause him to hesitate and run.

The sword wielding hooligan was not to be denied and landed another aggravating blow. I returned the compliment with practiced Double Slash, followed by a devastating crush of Body Slam. Since he had brought about my ire, I felt no shame in a follow up Stone Fist and Flame Fist to the head. That quelled his aggressions against me.

While I should have stopped there, I was caught in the moment and went for a final round of Whirling Blades. This last move was a dash excessive as it incapacitated all my adversaries at once, some in a more permanent fashion than others.

With no other recourse, I snatched up the remainder of my quarry, stuffed it into a small bag and made my exit with due haste.


Oh dear, that last move combined with all this fire might have been a touch excessive and a dash hasty. The Oracle and the constabulary will certainly frown upon this sort of thing.

More brilliant musings about my adventures in New Britannia

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