Throg is not a happy dwarf.
It started when shade Danassen offered a helm of intricate craftmanship to whomsoever could take ten satchels from the hill-men of Rhuadar (Proof's Burden).
Now you might think that following the Brudhraw incident Throg would think twice before accepting another commission from a shade. Well you might think that but you would be wrong for our hero is not a dwarf for thinking twice when it comes to risking his mortal existence and so it was that he he was the first to raise his axe in support of this commission.
Needless to say Danassen ommited to mention that these hill-men live amongst the noxious vapours of the red-swamp. Neither did he dwell upon the fact that the fervour of their devotion to the Red Maid combined with continuing exposure to the swamp's evil influence had imbued each with the strength of three.
Undaunted the bold Throg called together a motley crew to tackle these devotees of the red-maid. The fellowship laid slaughter all around them and soon Throg had in his grasp the ten satchel's required. Off he set to present the satchel's and claim his helmet and here it is:
Oh the workmanship is fine enough and the steel will certainly turn a blade but Throg is not one bit pleased with the ornamentation. He feels like an infant's rabbit bed-friend. Sadly he cannot afford to replace it so he must endure the laughs of his fellows. Poor Throg.
It started when shade Danassen offered a helm of intricate craftmanship to whomsoever could take ten satchels from the hill-men of Rhuadar (Proof's Burden).
Now you might think that following the Brudhraw incident Throg would think twice before accepting another commission from a shade. Well you might think that but you would be wrong for our hero is not a dwarf for thinking twice when it comes to risking his mortal existence and so it was that he he was the first to raise his axe in support of this commission.
Needless to say Danassen ommited to mention that these hill-men live amongst the noxious vapours of the red-swamp. Neither did he dwell upon the fact that the fervour of their devotion to the Red Maid combined with continuing exposure to the swamp's evil influence had imbued each with the strength of three.
Undaunted the bold Throg called together a motley crew to tackle these devotees of the red-maid. The fellowship laid slaughter all around them and soon Throg had in his grasp the ten satchel's required. Off he set to present the satchel's and claim his helmet and here it is:
Oh the workmanship is fine enough and the steel will certainly turn a blade but Throg is not one bit pleased with the ornamentation. He feels like an infant's rabbit bed-friend. Sadly he cannot afford to replace it so he must endure the laughs of his fellows. Poor Throg.
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